Emptybottle.org

That's just 6000 more names on some server in the basement of the J. Edgar Hoover building. At least paper petitions were hard for them to process. By the way, has Springsteen sold the rights to The Rising to any yeast manufacturer yet? Can't see nothin' in front of me Can't see nothin' coming up behind I make my way through this darkness I must have left the damned oven on too long...

Or maybe Viagra manufacturers?

Don't waste your time with petitions, especially online ones. Congressmonsters will only react if they are getting real mail from people who actually live in their district. Copy the text of this very worthwhile message, paste it into a document, PRINT IT OUT, sign it, and MAIL OR FAX IT to your Congressional representative and senators. This is a noble enterprise, but to have any chance of being noticed, it must be done in the way that reps will respond to.

i think this is great! lets go for it keep up the good work guys

Any small bit helps. I fail to understand why someone doing nothing has to try to "rain" on the parade. Who cares if my name ends up in a basement somewhere? I demand to live in a free country. Give me liberty or give me death. "Fuck you" Machine. I am free. An online petition is a great start. Sending letters can also help, but anything... even just talking to your friends helps. I would rather be free than afraid. To those that whine from the corner... go to Vegas and get laid.

Dear Oz, Cryogenic freeze? I compliment you on your powers of observation. It is extraordinarily rare to come across a person with such heightened awareness. It must relate to your latent psi factor. Truly, I am impressed. Knauf Fiber Glass took two and a half hours to notice a black cat atop their smokestack with a large orange and silver banner blowing in the wind. All of their employees came to work, all of their security blithely roamed about (I watched them), and no one saw me until I started my climb down (I was cold and fairly disgusted by then). Only Fate intervened, allowing for the only person in the entire plant with half a brain to just happen to be looking up at the right time. When I crashed the Republican Convention party (a few days after my smokestack climb) that they had here in Shasta County, I came across a similar situation. My friends organized a Rally against Globalization, corporate greed, the Enron scandal and Cheney's refusal to release the documents, peace abroad, some Knauf thrown in for good measure, etc. Basically, it was a Circus-Circus event. Naturally, I made an appearance in my Cat Outfit. Mr. Jones, the California Republican candidate for Governor, was there (apparently they slipped him in the back). My friend, Kitty Cantrel, head of the Feminist Women's Health Center (they do abortions), was there protesting Knauf and third world exploitation (she had signs made up). She is the one who got me my lawyer, Eric Berg. As we were peeking in the front lobby of the Redding Convention Center, Kitty says, "Yeah, all the pigs are there, Just look at them eager to feed at the trough." She then pointed out all the leaders in our oh so Republican community, who helped take money from who, for what favors, etc. I set up my get away car, having one of my young boy Earth First! minions (he had a Firebird of all things) set to make the escape. I then snuck in through an unguarded (!) stairway and into the Republican party. I perched up on the main balcony and looked down on all of the party goers for about eight minutes. None of the security noticed me (I mean I had a black mask and cat ears on). How amusing! So in Grande Dame fashion I meowed and descended the staircase, my cape blowing behind me. People began to point and whisper. I had some of the party laughing and waving to me. Some looked distressed or confused. I then proceeded to skip about the convention room blowing kisses and being fairly noticeable in my naughty ways. I give the security their due props. One of them grappled me by my elbows from behind. I guess I was too busy blowing out kisses to notice him slip in back of me. He pinned my elbows behind me. I was breathing sort of hard from all of the skipping. He started to "escort" me off to the back to some sort of mysterious fate. I remember laughing and skipping while he kept holding my elbows. He said, "I like your skip." My, I thought, are you this suave with all the girls, or am I special? I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of an actual spoken word, of course. He took me to an exit in the back and turned me around. It was very fetishlike. I could tell he was terribly turned on, as men often get in power struggles. He seemed infuriated and exasperated. I chuckled at him. He then shook me, not too hard, but enough to give him a few guilty reflections, I am sure. I looked him in the eye, the way an old Madame explained to me once, in order to command, to hypnotize your prey, in the way of a snake charmer. I leaned up slowly and almost kissed him, but did not. He blinked, looked at me as if I were the devil in black come to steal his little soul, opened the door behind me. "Go," he said in that haunted, hungry way. "Go, be free." I tilted my head, gave my most undefinable look, twirled in my black cloak, and was gone. I beelined to my get away car (running, running) and we all sped away, pedal to the metal and went out for coffee (I only ordered milk though). I have never told anyone the complete story of the security guard and my wickedness. I did not think most people would understand. I was hardly a victim. Please. So you are quite ahead of the game, my darling. I will, however, allay any lingering fears you might posses. No, I have not frozen your seed to be tested by my minions in a secret Swiss lab. No, I am not planning on cloning you for genetic organ material or sex slaves to be keep in my underground dungeon complex. No, I have not sold samples on E-bay to the highest bidder. These are all excellent ideas and I could undoubtably torment you all night with the unending plethora that currently occur to me, if I so chose. But I will be kind. I took your seed, a Man's Elixer of Life, the essence of the Godhood in physical form and with perfect love poured it upon the roots of a tree that I am fond of. I will not explain to you the meaning of this or the details of how I rubbed it upon the wooden roots, for some things are unknowable. Consider it an act of Passion. I am thankful for the time we spent together. I felt pleasures I had not thought I would experience. I had no intention of tossing aside something so beautiful. I wish you warmth and great happiness. May your journeys be filled with dark wantings. Yours, Meow

Dear Oz, I am feline but not fickle. I have every intention to fully exploit your talents and expertise by shooting a swell little PSA with you. I am uncertain as to whether or not I am a media whore (as you so colorfully suggested the other night amid our amusing and delightful conversation), however if I am such a thing, I am most specifically your media whore. My friend Athena is not the jealous type, I assure you. She is one of the hippest, coolest grrrrls I know. She was simply having relationship problems that required some time crying into a pillow after the inevitable axe kicking to the curb scene she had to accomplish. I suspect that all the therapy she needs now is her meowing kitty once again in a bathtub of milk. However, it is very sweet of you to be concerned. I find you kind. I like people who are kind. Kindness turns me on. Makes me hot. Which reminds me. I would like you acquire a hot water bottle. If you want to experience our private performance art scenario, I am going to insist you prepare. Rome was not built in a day and neither can this particular art be done properly in a single night. I request that you begin training at least once a day. Use a natural oil, such as olive oil or almond oil. Mix this at one to three parts water. Baking soda also works, and is quite healthy. You will find this to be a pleasurable experience and really very natural. I want to fulfill your fantasies. I want to give you pleasures of an unearthly radiance. I want you to touch the heart of God. Yours, Meow