Ahoy Mates! This issue was supposed to have shipped on Halloween, but due to a malfunctioning machine at UNC, it didn't. Never fear, for we were in the process of tranferring BeaconWay Press and THE JOLLY ROGER to our privately owned site, jollyroger.com, so as to ensure you superior and timely service on future voyages, and we went ahead and did it all today! drakeraft@listserv.unc.edu is now officially jollyroger@jollyroger.com! The formal christening of jollyroger.com (TM) will be performed later this month, complete with t-shirts. If any extra copies of THE JOLLY ROGER come sailing into your mailboxes from the UNC server, please delete them, or forward them to a friend, or your favorite resentnik instructor. Smooth sailing mates! --The Captains Corageous

Resentniks freak out when they sight our Skull 'n' Bones. They know what we've come for-- academia, popular culture, and all else that belongs to the honest soul.

While the world finds out how cool our Great Literature is, liberals just keep on prayin' their lies. They hate us 'cause we're too cool for words, except our own.

Ahoy Smiling Beard, Wizard, Brewer, Virginia Rounding and Captain Kangaroo! A Happy Halloween to you! 'Tis the season of spooks and spirits, and as the wispy phantoms are immortal, thus it is a season of Greatness! Watch now, on these crisp Autumn eves-- for when the curtains rise with the moon up high, then walks again all that did once die. As of late I've seen Melville haunting this land, walking alongside the Bard, sending shivers of terror running up and down liberal academics' atrophied spines. So hoist that skull and bones up high! Just a week ago Drake received a Sign. He got an e-mail from a long-lost kindred spirit who he'd given tennis lessons to up in Nantucket some years ago. Bootsy McCluskey, now a freshman up at Princeton and enrolled in villainous Joyce Carol Oates' creative writing class, e-mailed Drake a wonderful ghost story. "A Nantucket Ghost Story," is the title of the cool narrative that was inspired by the epiphany of events that transpired during that Nantucket summer a few years back. The story's printed in its entirety in the second section of this ROGER. Joyce didn't like the story, because she did not get it-- it was aimed at the subtler elements of our souls, and the liberals' threshold of literary subtlety is a machine gun. Also it has a pro-life theme. Tina Brown's vapid, pornagraphic publication, THE NEW YORKER, rejected it. Ahoy there peg-leg-- all seventeen of you! Bootsy's fine prose has touched Drake so deeply that he's taken to running five miles a day, benching his weight four sets of ten three times a week, and performing three sets of fifteen pull-ups. Aye Aye! When you're running up that hill, and it begins to hurt, hurt it right back! The taste of salty perspiration is but an appetizer to taking to the sea, and thus Drake is training hard for his forordained windsurfing adventure which shall commence on November 31st. Come the Jolly season, Drake shall shove off from Cape Fear, NC. His Noble destination-- Nantucket. Ahoy then Erik the Red, Captain Crab, Jammer, Drudge, and Howard Roark! Do you sense the rising breeze which inspires Drake? Have you learned how a whispering wind foreshadows the raging gale? Does your pioneering spirit look to the West, yesterday's noble frontier, and see Hollywood? Did your quest for the truth compel you do study for your SAT's and then your GRE's, only to have your lofty ideals and deepest instincts bludgeoned in the pernicious political games played by the postmodern liberal pedant? Did you take out student loans but to find you were funding the malicious educational machine which seeks to level all souls so as to make them match its jealous mediocrity? Did you attempt to become a Renaissance man and aspire to touch all the greats only to be time and again torn down by tunnel-visioned hit-men, and assaulted by gangs of liberal thugs? Were you pigeon-holed into a specialty to make things easier for the intellectually indifferent, racist administrators? Did you aspire to be the best but to be told there was no such thing? Ahoy Terror of The Woman's College! These words ring true to the landlocked soul! Then perhaps you too have but one choice come December-- to set out on your own upon a twelve foot board, hoist a skull and bones high upon the fifteen foot mast, and sail your schooner of intellectual independence up the East coast of this Greatest Nation to Nantucket. So be the Destiny of Drake-- he shall wage a war of exalting enlightenment 'gainst the Resentnik's Wrath, as greatness floats in the wake of his 258 liter 1995 Mistral Equipe. Ahoy New York Editors! When the wind picks up during the Halcyon days, it would be wise to keep indoors! Crouch behind your desks laden with nihilism-- for only the towers of mindless manuscripts can shield you from the Raging Reality that propels Drake as Providence commands. Is not Nantucket where Ishmael boarded the Pequod? Then to take to that permanent unknown, to voyage forth into the foundationless frontier of the unfathomable, to break free of bureaucracy's pernicious boundary, is but to pay homage to the piece of your soul which seeks the immortal True. What pirate wouldn't trade a thousand transcripts for the fleeting chance? And by taking to the foundationless element, Melville is paid homage to, and thus Shakespeare and the Bible are saluted, for these Great Works were Herman's beloved-- in the context of this immortal poetry was penned MOBY DICK. Drake taught tennis upon that Massachusetts island but nine years ago, and upon the island is where Bootsy's ghost story takes place, at the old Haunted Farm House at Top O' The World. It has made a me a believer of immortal ghosts! Ahoy then Icarus, Captain Stubing, Jolly Jim, Annie Oakley, Blow Hole, Knock-Knees and Thomas Paine! Raise ye the anchor, rig the sails already, and prepare to ship aboard the WWW's largest literary journal and the flagship of the conservative literary revolution! Man the Western Canon, me maties, as the jealous tyrants aboard the sinking corporate conglomerate presses attempt to take us down with them! Ahoy there! Is it any wonder that the established intellectual elite hate the WWW? Is it any wonder they detest this realm of utter freedom which allows moral talent to excel while leaving brown-nosers of their crumbling literary power structures unaccommodated? Technology is the friend of the poet, I say! For Great Literature and Great Science have been united in matrimony, and THE JOLLY ROGER is their grateful Son!

So now woe to those bureaucrat's who yet snub the truth and $erve their ignorant arrogance! And ahoy to $hannon Hoon's Ghost who has signed aboard the Good Ship! Woe to those executives who tempt the young with Snoop Doggy Dogg and corrode their souls with pornography. By doing such the liberal executive attempts to destroy my market in its formative years, I say! Ahoy Dead Bandit from geffen.com! You signed on last week, on the same day Shannon Hoon, the lead singer of Blind Melon, choked on his vomit for the Geffen record label. Is it you, Shannon Hoon's soul, who have come knock-knock-knocking on Blackbeard's Cabin's Door? Have you come here trick or treating for that which is absent upon the Geffen website? Was not Kurt Cobain's death enough to satiate Geffen's Greed? Then why did you, Shannon Hoon, follow him down the liberals' once good-intentioned golden brick road to hell? How many more drug-shooting, acid-dropping losers will the liberal boomers promote, and for what? While their partners-in-crime feminists kick the rhyming rational out of the once great educational institutions, paying off the morally ignorant University Pre$idents to turn the other way as the intellectual arts are plundered and burned to make way for petty politics. Why does Geffen continue to exist? To break down the family a little more? To liberate the kids having kids from the evils of the Patriarchy? To offer an escape from the sobriety and intellectual platitudes that dominate popular culture? To offer an alternative to what? Ah David-- you are the Goliath here, and your tired corporation is but putting yesterday's nihilistic culture on line, whereas we are distributing tomorrow's Great Literature in this noble medium. Aye aye then Dead Bandit! Why the morbid pirate nickname, $hannon? Did you exchange the moral sense of right and wrong for a lead role in a cage-- did Geffen get to you, and destroy your faith in the printed word of the Greats? Did they forget to teach you the sober way in the seventies in school? Were they more concerned that you have one teacher of each ethnicity? Did you sign your Soul to liberalism in exchange for acid, sex, fame and fortune, but to find it was all worth nothing without a Soul? Then you are more noble than Bill Clinton, for he signed such a small soul that he harbors no sober regrets, and each day he rises to promote nothing but nothing. I've walked the halls of the Geffen Offices in NY, and there I've witnessed hanging David's favorite poster-- a fist with one finger extended, saying something pretty negative about authority. The Irony of a dying ideology! For Geffen and his buddies are the cultural authorities-- I mean they were, and that is why the people of this nation were unable to view our Great Literature up until the advent of the WWW. Jump the liberal ship, friend, for I say Geffen's nihilistic dionysian fantasyland is sinking! It's Sunday morning and the people yearn for meaning and sober thought, not intoxicated sound! Read their wondrous responses to our words which ignite the rational in their souls! We never forget that we wouldn't be here if they weren't there.

http://jollyroger.com/beaconway/response.html

Ah Geffen! Am I bad for liberal businesses? Our Inevitable Great Literature illuminates the holes in the postmodern hull which is so riddled with hypocrisy that those who don't jump ship soon will be sucked down in the swirling vortex that follows a rapidly sinking vessel. Tell your friends, Dead Bandit, spread the word about the City this Halloween! For your "I'm Ok-You're OK" ideology is foundering upon the sunken vessels of liberalism's post-modern paradoxes! There is no way out of the liberal harbor without sinking, and thus you sail in perpetual circles, obfuscating the issues, attempting to destroy the young poet's dream that there is a straight and true!

And here, let me present my scientific theory of Liberal Self-Propagation. The theory allows me to map out the Liberal's path, leading us into the Dark Ages. If THE JOLLY ROGER variable is introduced into the model, the liberal's self destruct themselves, providing fantastic entertainment for all those who've signed aboard our cruise. Here's how liberals propagate themselves, while keeping society and culture locked in a downward spiral. Liberals advertise the horrors of AIDS while promoting the activities by which the disease is transferred. Liberals portend to oppose violence against women while cultivating Gangsta Rap. Liberals come out against racial discrimination while vengefully instituting it. Liberals flaunt compa$$ion and say they wish to end the dependency welfare state while funding it. Liberals seek more of my $$$$ to grow educational bureaucracies while eradicating the Greatest that has been thought and said from our schools. Liberals run anti-drug ads on MTV, in-between the million dollar videos that are at base inspired by the nihilistic intoxication of the dire substances. Happy Halloween Shannon Hoon. Liberals parade forth with a moral superiority while glamorizing all that is decadent and perverse upon the silver screen. Then the Liberals reach into the peoples' pockets for tax dollars to save the dying culture, and with the good folks' hard-earned dollars they fund photographs of barbaric acts and pagan desecrations of the peoples' religion. Liberals preach the virtues of cooperative communities and advocate the demolition of cultural barriers while gutting English departments and erecting the concrete walls of women's studies, gay studies, African-American studies, and other superficial bureaucracies for liberal philosopher kings to practice communism in. Liberal University President$ call for increased awareness of minority causes and greater tolerance while Feminists kick Great Poets (a veritable minority) out of their classes. From henceforth e it known by All that the modern liberal Creates Problems so that they can get Elected by offering Superficially good-intentioned solutions that Compound the Problems, and thus their Reign is Perpetuated amongst the intellectually inefficient and dishonest, while Great Literature and the Western Context are Pillaged, Plundered, Abandoned, and Buried. It's really getting on my nerves.

MTV executives, University Pre$idents! Have you no shame taking money in your moral Vacuum? Adam Smith, in a book he wrote before THE WEALTH OF NATIONS (which helped inspire the free-market economy many of you detest), said that a man must first of all ask if what he does is right, before he attempts to profit from it. Is moral indifference the right thing, $hapiro, for those in charge of educating the leader$ of this world?

Ahoy Bill Bennet! Shine the beacon of Truth upon Rikki Lake, and Oprah, and all those prostitutes who make a living off presenting the dregs and freaks of society as parlor company across this Nation. You handle that front Big Bill, and let me take care of Joyce Carol Oates. Leave the sinister woman who kicked me out of her creative writing class for loving Shakespeare to me. Ah! With a visage such as hers, what had she to lose by eradicating Romance from this world? Her latest fantasy trash novel, about the life of a contemporary American cannibal (I'm not kidding, folks-- this book was really inspired by Jeffery Dahmer-- she said so), came out earlier this month. It's called ZOMBIE. On the book cover flap some liberal advertiser writes, "Quentin P. is the most believable and thoroughly terrifying sexual psycopath ever to be brought to life in fiction, as JCO achieves her boldest and most brilliant triumph yet." She has peaked, folks. While Twain molded his soul to fit the form of Huckleberry Finn, Melville molded his into Ishmael and Ahab, Shakespeare into Hamlet and Lear, and Salinger into Holden Caufield, Joyce has molded hers into a character ripped off of Jeffery Dahmer's tabloid legacy. And it's the pinnacle of her career. I bet President $hapiro (of Princeton) reads his wife to sleep with this book.

In the novel President $hapiro's #1 favorite poetess writes, "NO-NAME freaked out struggling & screaming through the sponge and there was a gush of blood & * ****, * **** ******* *** * ****, so hard I kept ******** * ********* * ********* I couldn't stop nor even breathe I *** ******** *** ******* for air & when it was over & I was in control again I saw the damage done-- ******* ice pick rammed up to the hilt in NO-NAME's eye into his brain & the black kid was dying, he was dead, blood gushing from him like a giant nosebleed, another ******* & NO ZOMBIE." No Joyce! I will not soil the immaculate deck of THE JOLLY ROGER with your unedited profane, racist prose! Ah! Why does no one in the major media call you a racist? Because flying the liberal flag grants one a license to be a racist, as you are are reverently feeding the fire that powers the liberal turbine, and helps propagate your dark reign over culture. And then Joyce, because you and the NYT know that nobody reads your literary crap, you have the gall to spew the following contradictory, dishonest idiocy in an October 15 NYT editorial. In it you say that Hollywood's rewriting of the Scarlet Letter, in which the Adulteress and the minister run off to live happily ever after, is a vast improvement over the original work, where there's a price to pay for Hanky Panky. You lie, "The trajectory of what we might call the female vision, as distinct from the male, is toward the accomodation, not repudiation; life, not elevated death. . . this is, after all, the life force. Who would wish to argue against it?" You would, and you do it well, so there is no need for me to bother. You attempted to eradicate my existence in your class. Also, in your recent novel entitled, FOXFIRE, CONFESSIONS OF A GIRL GANG, you again eloquently express your female vision: "Yes we committed what you would call crimes. And most of these went not only unpunished but unacknowledged-- our victims, all male, were too ashamed, or too cowardly, to come forward and complain." OK, tough-guy, I know what the score is, and you nor President $hapiro can prevent me from telling everyone, 'cause I have e-mail. Your sole liberal agenda is to destroy the Greatness that you naively believe makes you mediocre. 'Tis not the way of the universe-- you are inferior because you fail to present Reality as it Is with the Printed Word, not because I can do it in a vastly superior manner. It is the liberal fallacy that one can strengthen the weak by weakening the strong. You have no literary, nor artistic aspirations. They do not matter in your profession. The artist's job is to exalt, to inspire, to mean something different to everyone, to instruct all who have the curiosity to learn. Your talents lie elsewhere-- in the art of destruction. You tried to boot me from your class, but you'll remember I dared you to flunk me, as I wasn't going to let your feminazi power-trip prevent me from conducting my reconaissance mission amongst the enemies of all That is Great. You did not make me, but your liberal arrogance allowed you to believe you could break me. That there's a fallacy that one who doesn't believe in God might succumb to. Also in your asinine NYT editorial you write, "One might argue that tragedy, the quintessential male art form, is a genre as artificial comedy or romance." Here you call Shakespeare, Twain, and Conrad phonies. But they are not enough to satiate your morbid appetite for destruction (good album). You continue, "Tragedy assigns the highest values to noble suffering, to courage in the face of defeat." Here you toss in Socrates and Jesus with the rest of your liberally-defined "phonies". To be cool in the postmodern definition is to be an ugly, spineless, cowardly, soulless member of a nihilistic University Faculty. There is no other way. Thus we can be certain that you would've kicked Socrates and Jesus out of your class for creating in a phony manner, and thus your attempt to boot me from your deprogramming seminars is turning out to be more marketable than my Princeon B.A. in Physics. Watch $hapiro try to take credit for it in his next Pre$ident$ Page-- "We encourage our professors to kick students out of creative writing class, so that they can gain better understanding of discrimination." You continue in your psycho-babble, "Tragedy is the art form which revels in death as if death were a kind of transfiguring experience, and not a portal to mere deadness." Perhaps deadness wouldn't be a transfiguring experience for you, but I contend $hakespeare wrote better when he was alive. Actually your stupid comment brings to mind another $cientific Theory of Mine. In addition to my Poetry for Physicists (published in the National Association of Scholars Science News Letter), my linear mind has as of late been working hard on another scientific theory, called the Special Theory of the Non-Existence of the Liberal Administrator. The General Theory, in which I shall soon extend the fundamental tenets to include non-inertial frames, such as THE BARNICLE OF HIGHER EDUCATION, WIRED, and ROLLING STONE, proves the non-existence of all liberals in general. My break-through theory, along with the irrefutable empirical evidence we have been gathering, will be formally presented in two weeks in a special pre-Thanksgiving issue of THE JOLLY ROGER, in which our commercial website will be announced, complete with a Great Books bookstore, Jolly Roger t-shirts, Baseball Caps, Bumper Stickers and more. The Grand Opening of this classic American Venture will be held on November 31st, the same day Drake embarks on his inevitable, perilous windsurfing voyage up the East coast to Nantucket. Don't worry-- he just ordered a Body Glove "steamer" top of the line dry suit which should arrive any day now. From here on out, jollyroger.com is all you'll need to know. It's the new conservative culture, sailing 100% independently of the liberal-boomer washed-up-failed-literature-nihilistic-words don't-mean anything-neon- postmodern, feminis, treacherous-univer$ity-admini$trator-$mell$-like- big-bureaucracy $ex&porn-morals-are-evil-as-they-empower the-honest system. I'm outta there, on a twelve foot board, dude.

And now, let me illuminate the heart of the Liberal Post Modern Fallacy, as illustrated by the juxtaposition of Joyce Carol Oates's (A) Literary Crap, and (B) Contradictory, 180-degrees-out-of-phase Statements in the NYT editorial which got printed because it makes NYT editors feel noble printing the idiocy of new-aging feminis. They have compa$$ion, and they like to $how it. In her editorial, Joyce's sexist religion of liberalism allows her to espouse that tragedy, comedy and romance are male literary art forms. What does that leave for her? Not much. Only the dark, decrepid miserable manifestos aimed not at exulting a general audience, but at private empowerment. Nobody reads 'em, except for wackos who feel empowered when they buy a book another wacko wrote. Circumambulate an Ivy League English Department, and you will not be able to deny these words, unless you are a liberal, for then these words shall have no meaning.

Tragedy and comedy are the two masks which the poetic soul can wear while creating. Both are capable of expressing the deepest elements of reality, for the spectrum of human emotion is a circle, where laughter and tears meet at the top. How many brave pirates here have wept out of mirth, or found their souls laughing as a last resort to fend off the indifferent darkness? Thus Shakespeare was able to weave humor and mirth into Hamlet's most noble plight, where Hamlet was called upon to avenge the darkest deed of murder, thus being called upon to become a murderer himself. And Good Melville in MOBY DICK had Ishmael, in the midst of the tragic pursuit to apprehend the ungraspable, muse that at times all men must think of this Universe as a practical joke which is aimed at none other but themselves. JCO contends that Comedy and Tragedy are artificial, but they only seem so to the feminist mind that cannot fathom the depths of the Reality these two noble art forms describe. But hey-- it's nothing new-- because the Arrogant Liberal cannot see, the Arrogant Liberal says it is not there, and darkness must be manufactured and instituted until nobody else can see, and thus equality is achieved. Then funny thing about all this is how the sinister, sexist witch attempts to ascribe her inferiority in executing the most noble literary art forms to the female "life-force," which wishes for sappy endings, instead of Reality. The thing is though, when you ignore Reality and try to institute happy endings, you get Communism. You can't pray a lie, Joyce. How many times do I have to say it?

But then let's not forget the other indicting angle of your morbid literary career, Joyce, which aspires to pop-culture and falls short. You lack the ability to compose a tragedy not because you are incapable of Darkness, but because you are incapable of Light. The same female life-force which commands you to pick up a pen to write ZOMBIE, also commands you to end the Book with the psycho-cannibal protagonist contemplating the amputation of various male and female appendages! The morbid thought you place in the cannibal's mind, which would indeed make the ending a happy one for the feminazi, is that by cutting off the right parts of each gender, all can be made equal. $hapiro-- what does your wife think of this? Will you try it on your grand children? If Jeffery Dahmer were still alive, I'm sure he'd take offense at Joyce's placing these pernicious feminist "outcome-based amputation" thoughts within his head. All I can say is you're a sicko pervert with a communist's heart and soul, and the Princeton creative writing department is a freak mu$eum. And I was ripped off, except for on Halloween that one year, when I showed up to class and you scared the hell out of me. Check out the face that sunk a thousand ships, brave pirates:

http://jollyroger.com/beaconway/scarystuff.html

And y'all liberals in the NYT are letting Joyce get away with murder here. The modern liberal cannot author a Tragedy, for a Tragedy must have somewhere from where to fall. Hamlet, Shakespeare's greatest Tragedy, is a wondrous work, for embodied in Hamlet are the highest attributes and most noble elements of man's consciousness-- honesty and morality. It is in the backdrop of the darkened world turned upside down where his mortal flesh becomes entangled in avenging the murder of the King, his father, by his conniving Uncle. Remember how Hamlet feigns insanity? This is just Shakespeare havin' fun with brilliant satire, as Hamlet is conducting himself in a manner that is every bit as outrageous and messed up as the illegitimate King speaking of Justice. Hamlet is perfectly sane-- throughout the play his intellect he probes the deepest and perceives the most, and thus he seems mad to the superficial who put too much stock in perpetual brown-nosing, such as Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and Polonius. Shakespeare understands that the political reality in human societies is often contradictory at its deepest levels, like the way it is with Joyce Carol Oates. I mean she sucks, and she teaches Creative Writing at Princeton, which is always ranked up there in the US News and World Report as a reputable institution. And the kicker is, Creative Writing can't be taught. For if it could be, surely she would have taught herself by now.

My novel, THE DRAKE RAFT FIELD TRIP, like CATCH 22 and HAMLET, is also a wondrous work which weaves together comedy and tragedy in a seamless vision of Reality. In the novel, the moral character of Drake Raft is placed in the community of Princeton University, where his forefathers, the authors of the Judaeo-Christian heritage, have been murdered by the evil witch, Sycroax.

http://jollyroger.com/beaconway/ADFBCH1.html

My generation will soon grasp the subtle essence of this masterpiece, for they are not the stupid dolts the modern Liberal constantly advertises them as being. Inspite of the fact that we were raised in a barren culture, where Ted Turner's superficial has dominated, and inspite of the resentniks and liberal media moguls who encouraged us to allow our immortal soul, deeper character, and higher intellect to atrophy, we are yet human beings, with a void in our hearts. The liberals did not change our architecture, as they wished-- they just eradicated the furniture. But all humans yearn for the True, and thus these words shall line the souls of my generation, not out of context intoxicated echoes from the sixties.

Thus, rather than writing a screenplay version of THE AFTER DARK FIELD BOOK, and dumbing it down as this one Hollywood agent begged me to do during the year he represented me, I have opted to educated the public as to the idiocy of the editorial elite. THE JOLLY ROGER is allowing me to create the context in which my work makes sense. They can either get on board, or be left in the wake. All that we pen is written in the context of the Western Canon, and to grasp the full significance of our work, which is laden with references to the Greats, it is essential that one be acquainted with the Classics. Smoking dope just isn't going to cut it anymore, as of now. Thus also to be found on the soon to be commercial WWW BeaconWay Press/ The Jolly Roger site will be BeaconRay's Great Books, which will specialize in selling the Great Books at Great Prices. Many liberals will be miffed that we are making money off the Greats, as (1) they hate other people making money without their permission, and (2) they hate the fact that conservatives are doing it with what they consider to be their territory, as liberals like thinking conservatives are idiots, as it helps them to rationalize robbing the tax payer of his $$$$. But when entrusted as the guardians of the Greatest that has been Thought and Spoken in the Universe, they buried the treasures of the Western Canon 'neath postmodernism, feminism, nihilism, MTV and educational bureaucracie$. They abandoned the eternal Truths in favor of a vessel fabricated from ephemeral politics, which any pirate worth his salt knows is a dire mistake. Most of all, liberals will hate us for coming up with all this cool WWW stuff without the permission of WIRED magazine. We didn't bother askin' 'em, 'cause all our stuff means something, and they're more concerned with neon. You can bet I'm voting Republican 'cause I don't want any of the jollyroger.com (TM) profits funding the publication of poetry that nobody wants to read. Algore told me it's a waste of trees.

Aye Aye then President $hapiro of Princeton-- yeah, you-- Joyce's willing accomplice in the destruction of all that is Noble! You have no intellectual goals! Your political goal is to perpetuate the darkness in which you and your liberal kin operate. By booting me out of class, Joyce sent the signal that to write beautifully was the postmodernist sin. And by failing to acknowledge my letters, you are attempting to destroy my faith in the ability of superior reason, logic, and rationale, conveyed via the printed word, to affect my Reality. But all that your silence is doing is providing substantiating experimental proof of my scientific theory, The Non Existence of The Liberal Administrator Theorem. With your help, I will soon have a name in the Scientific community. Because I harbor such a great faith in my Ability in the Abstract, I have stopped bothering to send you the letters I write to you.

And as Hell hath no fury like a women scorned, Joyce is a jealous creature. Having not yet won the Nobel Prize, one can see in the above passages how her jealously is continually driving her to out-herod her rival colleague, Nobel Prize recipient Toni Morrison. An ongoing racial battle exists between the two liberal poetesses in your creative writing department, which is exactly how the modern liberal educational bureaucrat wants it, $hapiro. You remember my maverick theory of Liberal Self Propagation. While Joyce murders NONAME black boys with ice picks, Toni Morrison writes, "I destroyed white baby dolls. But the dismembering of dolls was not the true horror. The truly horrifying thing was the transference of the same impulses to little white girls. The indifference with which I could have axed them was shaken only by my desire to do so. To discover what eluded me: the secret of the magic they weaved on others. . . If I pinched them, their eyes-- unlike the crazed glint of the baby doll's eye-- would fold in pain, and their cry would not be the sound of an icebox door, but a fascinating cry of pain." This is what it takes to get the Noble Prize these days, folks. And liberals call Twain a racist for his classic, moral novel which pays homage to the deep friendship between a boy and a man united in their quest for their freedom.

Joyce Carol Oates concludes her ludicrous liberal editorial in the once respectable NYT with, "the collective hunger for happy endings is predominantly female. . . and there is no mystery why." Wrong again. While you wish for the perpetual liberal reign over all literature, ensuring printed matter that flounders in debauchery, paganism and nihilism, I am vying for the happy ending, in which I utilize the WWW to shine BeaconWay Press's light of logic upon your and $hapiro's cunning crusade to make $$$$$$ off of porn and obfuscation, compose new works in the context of The Western Canon, and sail to glory and fortune and fame aboard this, the flagship of the Conservative Literary Revolution. Your ruthless creative writing committees seek to divide the people and erode their spirits with a pornagraphic literature based on gender, ethnicity, and sexual persuasions, while I seek to exalt and unite the peoples' souls with a literature of the Truth. Only the artist with the courage to be honest can author tragedy, for only he can brave the unknown and reach the boundaries of the human intellect and spirit with wondrous words.

Ahoy then Puce-Beard, Red-beard, Bluebeard, Nobeard, Yellow-beard, Blackbeard, Goatee-boy and Bearded Sally! Ahoy Naughty Girl Nellie! It's Halloween and the bright Carolina Blue reflected in her eyes overwhelms all! Aye Aye! She reminds us of our cause, and we remain steadfastly vigilant, our rudder straight, the wind at our backs, our Noble Destination dictating our Jolly Journey. The truth's salted wind is our engine, and we sail forth to compose new works in the moral context of the Western Canon. We are ever-wary against falling into the liberal trap of merely reviewing and critiquing their nihilism. Good Neitzsche warned against looking into the void for too long, for by doing so one risks the danger of becoming it. Let us not go after Don Quixote's Windmills, nor be overwhelmed by Ahab's monomaniac Vengance! Let us let these Greats instruct us on how to live, and let us remember what Salinger penned in THE CATCHER IN THE RYE-- "It is the mark of an immature man to die nobly for a cause, while it is the mark of a mature man to live humbly for one." Liberals wish nothing more than to see us to dive into their shallow, muddied waters! But we have not come to criticize-- we have come to create! Ahoy Bootsy McCluskey! Never put that pen down, nor lower your spirits billowing sails! I say now that postmodern literature never was, so it can never be, and that which is not is easy to forget. They said that words didn't mean things, and now, for them, it is true! They said that all is politics, and now, for them, it is true! They said there was no such thing as Truth, and now, for them, it is True! The pedant's and educational bureaucrat's underhanded treachery is of interest to the conservative artist only to the degree that it threatens the publication and distribution of our Great Works and the context of the Western Heritage, and also to the degree that it is capable of entertaining you. It is painful to waste good space in THE JOLLY ROGER quoting the morbid witch, but if I do not shed light upon the callous literary crimes of those who have seized the helm of the gorgeous gothic campuses, then who will? $hapiro? No way, dudes. They pay him a pretty penny to keep his mouth $hut, and they let him $peak at graduation$, and carry that $cepter thingie in the Parade, which is a pretty good deal for those who prefer the $uperficial over Substance. 'Tis another paradox of life, that the highest paid intellectuals are those who have mastered the art of not thinking.

Do you see it University Chancellor$, Media mogul$, editor$ of $mut? People are signing aboard my sleek, custom-designed WWW vessel in droves, for upon this cherried deck they can feel for themselves the pitch of Reality's wild sea, and breathe the fresh ocean air blown upon the winds of Truth. There's a sense of the rugged individual here, as fresh as the sea breeze herself! And this spirit is what endows the priceless cargo aboard the Good Ship with value. I say it's over now for the narrow-minded, pessimistic, morbid executives. $hapiro-- your $oul has no place in history, but as the $uperviosr of those who $tubbornly attempted to corrupt the young and destroy the True. And since they are utterly failing in hindering my gallant crusade, you'll get about a sentence. How's that for a sentence? The great literature which shall float in the wake of this pioneering schooner, the words which run parallel to the Reality felt by the contemporary working man, shall survive eternity. The liberals' waterlogged vessels have holes in their hulls too great to be filled by the postmodern soul-- and the peoples' tax and tuition dollars won't fix them, so stop robbin' 'em! Nay! Do not tread on me, I say! For the soul is not made of paper, and all the money in the world cannot fix the gaping void in the hull of your bankrupt postmodern ideology! The soul is fabricated from moral fiber I say!

When you see the people jumping overboard your sinking vessels upon sighting our skull and bones, know that it is because Nihilism is a cruel and indifferent captain. Aye aye then mates! Lower the ladders to these good mutineers of all nations and creeds who wish to ship on the ROGER! The will to Know is the only ticket needed for passage aboard our vessel made from, "Oak planks of reason, riveted with rhyme, built to voyage across all of time." And if a liberal administrator wishes to come aboard and raise funds for the truth, then haul him up and put him to work swabbin' the deck! No quotas here, $hapiro-- $urely you would like to $hip with us, rather than continuing to raise fund$ for your raci$t in$titution! This is a ship of Great Ideas, and a Great Idea is an immortal, immutable form free of gender and color, but not of morality. The modern liberal has it backwards. Aye aye then Ghosts of the Greats! Tonight, on Halloween Eve, we shall take Melville to Franklin Street here in Chapel Hill. While others mask their countenances, we shall adorn our souls with Melville's treasures, and speak our Pirate disguises. I shall read from MOBY DICK, and let the words fall upon the virgin ears of my Generation:

"Now being an anointed pilot-prophet, or speaker of true things, and bidden by the Lord to sound those unwelcome truths in the ears of a wicked nineveh, Jonah, appalled at the hostility he should raise, fled from his mission, and sought to escape his duty and his God by taking ship at Joppa. But God is everywhere; Tarshish he never reached. As we have seen, God came upon him in the whale, and swallowed him down to living gulfs of doom, and with swift slantings tore him along into the midst of the seas, where the eddying depths sucked him ten thousand fathoms down, and the weeds were wrapped about his head, and all the watery world of woe bowled over him. Yet even then beyond the reach of any plummet --"out of the belly of hell" --when the whale grounded upon the ocean's utmost bones, even then, God heard the engulfed, repenting prophet when he cried. Then God spake unto the fish; and from the shuddering cold and blackness of the sea, the whale came breeching up towards the warm and pleasant sun, and all the delights of air and earth; and vomited out Jonah upon the dry land; when the word of the Lord came a second time; and Jonah, bruised and beaten --his ears, like two sea-shells, still multitudinously murmuring of the ocean --Jonah did the Almighty's bidding. And what was that, shipmates? To preach the Truth to the face of Falsehood! That was it! This, shipmates, this is that other lesson; and woe to that pilot of the living God who slights it. Woe to him whom this world charms from Gospel duty! Woe to him who seeks to pour oil upon the waters when God has brewed them into a gale! Woe to him who seeks to please rather than to appall! Woe to him whose good name is more to him than goodness!"

"Woe to him who, in this world, courts not dishonor! Woe to him who would not be true, even though to be false were salvation! Yea, woe to him who, as the great Pilot Paul has it, while preaching to others is himself a castaway! He drooped and fell away from himself for a moment; then lifting his face to them again, showed a deep joy in his eyes, as he cried out with a heavenly enthusiasm, -- but oh! shipmates! on the starboard hand of every woe, there is a sure delight; and higher the top of that delight, than the bottom of the woe is deep. Is not the main-truck higher than the kelson is low? Delight is to him --a far, far upward, and inward delight --who against the proud gods and commodores of this earth, ever stands forth his own inexorable self. Delight is to him whose strong arms yet support him, when the ship of this base treacherous world has gone down beneath him. Delight is to him, who gives no quarter in the truth, and kills, burns, and destroys all sin though he pluck it out from under the robes of Senators and Judges. Delight, --top-gallant delight is to him, who acknowledges no law or lord, but the Lord his God, and is only a patriot to heaven. Delight is to him, whom all the waves of the billows of the seas of the boisterous mob can never shake from this sure Keel of the Ages. And eternal delight and deliciousness will be his, who coming to lay him down, can say with his final breath --O Father! --chiefly known to me by Thy rod --mortal or immortal, here I die. I have striven to be Thine, more than to be this world's, or mine own. Yet this is nothing; I leave eternity to Thee; for what is man that he should live out the lifetime of his God?" Amen!

The truth $hapiro, is inevitable. None shall know who I am, for they shall think that I am I, but I shall be Melville for the moment, as wee seek to imitate our Mentors. Ahoy Rush Limbaugh! Avast Pesky Pete, Lee the Liberal Lambaster, Frederick Mission, Bluesky and Shiver me Timber! It is the last day of the month, so raise ye the anchors, and rig ye the sails aloft on this hallowed eve! A happy Halloween to you and the over 1400 merciless pirates and liberal stow-aways aboard this brave ship of Destiny, as we sail onwards, ever onwards, towards the season of Thanksgiving and Evergreens.

All the best,

The Red Avengers of All the is Right and True
Elliot "Ahab" McGucken
Drake "Red Avenger" Raft
Becket "Bluebeard" Knottingham
Bootsy "Stede Bonnet" McCluskey

Part I
1. Sonnets by Drake Raft!

2. Readers Respond. Thank you, thank you, you're all too kind. If it weren't for you, we wouldn't be here. And check it out! We've been ranked the top 5% of all WWW sites by Point Survey! The Intercollegiate Studies Institute's CAMPUS gave us a cool review, and the NAS Science News list has published excerpts from our last Issue. And we thank the CHRONICLE OF HIGHER EDUCATION for ignoring us while running stories on feminists with e-mail account. By refraining from mentioning us, you have added to our credibility.

Part II
3. "A Nantucket Ghost Story"-- a ghost story by Bootsy McCluskey, about which Joyce Carol Oates said, "it represented hard work and improvement, but not as much talent as some of the other students." Ahoy! Joyce already hated Bootsy, as Bootsy called her bluff on the first day. Joyce was saying that often writers who receive recognition at an early age (like herself), suffer retarded development. Bootsy blurted out in class, "yeah-- just imagine how much better Shakespeare would've written Hamlet if his previous ten plays had been ignored." What Joyce failed to mention is that she is not a writer in the traditional sense, like Salinger or Heller. She is a political prop to make President $hapiro feel noble-- it does not matter what she writes, only that she is a woman who no one could ever accuse of $hapiro of hiring because of looks. Salinger and Heller wrote words people wanted to read-- words which exalted the human soul, and thus in their case the artists existed for the people. But for the modern NEA/NEH country-club liberals, with their hand in the tax-payers' pocket and their university presses subsidized by my college loans, the people, who are too stupid to comprehend liberal Greatness, now exist for the artists. 'Tis a world turned upside-down, and we pirates are here to right it. Welcome aboard Bootsy! You've made believers out of the ROGER crew!

So you look out over the tumbling surf,
Into the infinite gray beyond all,
With your feet planted firmly on the turf,
Your mind yet yearns to answer the wild's call.
Aye, aye pirate! You're drawn towards the water,
On towards the sea's undefined foundation,
You feel all that you seek can be sought here,
The reason equal to all creation.
Take to the boundless, though winds shall conspire
with the watery depths to snuff your light,
For in landlessness resides truths higher;
Shoreless, indefinite as God-- a moonless night.
Better to perish in this howling infinite,
Than to be drowned by the tide where you sit.

Delivering words to my generation,
No longer can resentniks prevent me,
Skull'n' bones flyin' high, exultation,
Western Science, me mate, set my soul free.
Got a score to settle, an axe to grind,
Liberals fear this pirate of action,
battling those who try to destroy my mind,
it almost gets me some satisfaction.
But I was put here for a nobler calling,
than studying postmodern misery,
I'll step aside while their tower's falling,
They never were-- thus they will never be.
Laid back, I walk the Southern Autumn street,
Pirating the beauty fate has me meet.

"I dropped acid last night," she said to me,
"Hate to say it, but it made me feel good,
but tonight I'm feelin' down and guilty,
And I think that it could help change this mood."
Girl, don't wanna see you go down that road,
Well-warn one way path into rock's abyss,
You'll burn out seeking to lighten life's load,
I'm afraid magic will fade from our kiss.
I guess I say it because I'm selfish,
'Cause I'm the only one it will effect,
For you to see this now is my only wish,
Before drugs make you blind to your soul's neglect.
There's pain, there's anguish, but take them sober,
For escape is all when all is over.

Late October, Carolina Blue sky,
I see her up there through the still green leaves,
Twenty-six and I've learned to wonder why,
With the certainty of one who believes.
She fades to gray, the sun never stands still,
The dusk of youth brings wisened mystery,
The permanent exists but within my will,
and seeks to be free as infinity.
So I turn from her with love towards duty,
Someday you'll see the faded ripples of my wake,
For though few fathom the deepest beauty,
All shall feel the tremors when vast souls quake.
What a thousand woman can never fill,
perfection in one, and only one will.

Tenured were the silent executioners,
Tenured were the ugly, aging witches,
Ten thousand smiling administrators,
Hosting cocktails while we dug the ditches,
While we took out all of our student loans,
Under the premise we'd be taught the truth,
At night the hall heard my x-girlfriend's groans,
Serving as this collapsing culture's proof.
But where could I go, and what could I do,
For in the higher truths, I still believed,
Then in my free time I found Hamlet's true,
And for Melville's plight I solemnly grieved.
On the day I woke up dead I just laughed,
For I'd become the immortal Drake Raft.

A weathered sign at the gate said, "KEEP OUT."
What could be a better invitation?
Today's forbidden Truth defines my route,
Where I'm not allowed's my destination.
For the reasons they seek to restrain me,
Are the same reasons I seek to be free,
You could burn my words but still this would be,
After dark the same ocean I'd yet see.
So turn on back now, dude, but I must go,
You've got your belief, your desk, your order,
But mine always burns when the wind does blow,
On the frontiers beyond logic's border.
Keep out, the skull and bones are there for you,
Unless you've come for Truth's beautiful view.

Better not let them catch you readin' this,
They're countin' on you to buy their text books,
Better not find sacredness in a kiss,
They need you to keep lusting after looks.
No, you had better keep buyin' CD's,
'Cause the economy is depending on you,
So smoke that joint, keep your mind in a deep freeze,
And accept the liberal elite's view.
'Cause their minds see all truth is relative,
And they use that truth so they can survive,
Take out loans-- money you haven't earned to them give,
So you can keep them and their culture alive.
Liars make great lawyers, thieves make great men,
Dead by dawn if you wield an honest pen.

Hurricane off the coast, windy fall night,
I'm standin' here alone on Chapel Hill,
Four in the morning, swaying traffic light,
Love this town, but I feel I've had my fill.
There's something vast calling me up the coast,
Got a date with destiny up in New York,
Have to choose before I become a ghost,
Nobody can walk both ways down Frost's fork.
To Reality's wind I'll rig my sail,
Twelve foot board, the Western Canon's my gun,
I was born to surf the truth's ragin' gale,
Nihilists shall fear my name, before I'm done.
I'll hold logic's blade to her shivering psyche,
and say, "Which word was it you didn't like?"

I'm the silent song, writing on the wall,
The forgotten element, unseen crack,
The face in the fog, the last curtain call,
They murdered me but now I'm coming back.
I am the fluctuation in the air,
When you're not sure whether something is there,
I am the unseen penetrating stare,
I am the requiem's forgotten prayer.
I am the sonneteer no one could hear,
I am the rainbow that no one could see,
You knew me by your subliminal fear,
You awoke one night to find you agree.
It's too late when you feel yourself falling,
Too late, nihilists, to heed the Truth's calling.

Date: Fri, 13 Oct 1995 23:59:55 -0400
From: MHensh@aol.com
To: mcgucken@physics.unc.edu
Subject: Great page

Great work, and keep up the effort --- Where do I get a T-shirt?

Date: Mon, 16 Oct 95 12:14:46 -700
From: James <***********@leland.stanford.edu>
To: mcgucken@physics.unc.edu Subject:
Keeping in touch, etc.

Ahoy, Ahab! Many thanks for the recent e-mail. Things at the Stanford Harbor (aka The Stanford Gulag) are most definitely not on an even keel. That scalawag of a university president we have here has come out in full support of affirmative action. Pity, I had higher hopes for the man.

But I take courage and refuge in the Great Books. Your encouragement to read them and to extol their virtues has inspired me greatly of late. In fact, for the first time, I am reading MOBY DICK. Moreover, I have bought a copy of Einstein's RELATIVITY and a copy of his IDEAS & OPINIONS. I look forward to learning from both these great men. Once again, thanks for the encouragement. Let's continue to sail the seven cyberseas in search of liberal booty!

Yours,
James "Captain Redbeard" Harris
The Stanford Harbor

I really like your page on internet. I am new to internet because my company just got internet.

In one part you say you can teach people how to like the Great Books. I will like to learn how to like the Great Books, and I plan on buying some to have in my house.

I like Rush, too, and I think the poems you write are very good. I never liked poems that didn't rhyme. Please let me know how I can learn more about the Great Books and how to like them.

Mike, Denver, CO

Date: Mon, 23 Oct 95 14:42:28 -0400
From: Lindsay Pamela Cohn
To: mcgucken@physics.unc.edu
Subject: a breath of fresh air

Um, Ahoy, maties (I'm not quite up with the sea lingo yet)

Let me just say that I read my first Jolly Roger (heard of you on the Repub-L discussion list) and I'm looking forward to more. I have been wandering the hallowed walkways of Duke University for about three months, now, and I'm having a wonderful time, but I'm missing the Great Books. Anyway, I'll be hearing from you all regularly now, and maybe I'll post a little of my own verse for everyone's enjoyment/criticism/entertainment/whatever.

Clear skies, strong winds, and following seas! Lindsay a.k.a Inge the Valkyrie

Date: Thu, 26 Oct 95 22:48:54 0500
From: "Wally J. Reef" To: mcgucken@physics.unc.edu
Subject: FANTASTIC!!! J.R. RULES!

DEAR JOLLY ROGER -- Fantastic! Stupendous! Thank God there is a voice of sanity in this cultural wilderness! Dittoes, Jolly Roger, megadittoes! Good luck, keep up the good fight! We are reclaiming the Soul of America!

Your brother in arms, Walter James Raleigh Reef

Hey, I really enjoyed your poetry....Hope I had permission to download it. Like to hear more about your campaign for conservative poetry. --Bill Juntunen

Finding your website was a breath of fresh air! I did register, but I'm so excited about becoming involved with such a group of people that I had to go ahead and e-mail you!

I loved your interest in the TRUTH! I am very disturbed by the modern crisis of rewriting dictionaries--particularly in redefining the word "truth." Also, I hope your references to the truth are indicative of a belief in absolute truth. Relativity makes me sea- sick! I won't keep you longer because I hope you'll return my mail very soon. I look forward to hearing from you. --Ky Sinclair