Randall "Tex" Cobb

   
   "Randall "Tex" Cobb"
  
   Tex, one big dude; plus, he had spirit, a deadly combination, was boxing in Vegas and became drunk punch.  The ref went up to him, asking him if he knew where he was.  Tex said:  "Yeah, I'm getting my ass kicked in Vegas."  Good man.  Pretty damn good.  I get my ass kicked everyday, and I love every minute of it, but not when you sleazeballs kick the ass of the innocents.  I'm not innocent; I've been a bad boy.  So, keep it coming.
   The sea hag and the naughty nurse are always in wicked synergy.  It has been written.  The naughty nurse is preggers, and I didn't even have to touch her.  Check it out--you're having my baby.  How dare you bring filth into my Father's House!!!  Go to your pagans, you pussies--you damn delinquent redskins!  And, like I've said before, I love the American Indian.  I've went down on an American Indian.  She loved every minute of it, and she was clean as a whistle, and gorgeous.  I revere her to this day.  She is honest, living in truth, and better than all of you schmucks who attempt to enslave her--hear me NAACP--don't touch the American Indian, for you are the ones trying to make them slaves.  
   I talked to the devil this morning.  I told him that he wears the DUNCE hat, for all the ages.  The jokes on him.  What souls does he get.  The shysters.  He gets to hang out with Hillary Clinton, Bubba, the Obama family, many members of my pseudo-family, and all the power hungry, like the Guild of Thieves--attorneys.  You know why attorneys don't get hemorrhoids?  They're perfect assholes.  
   I talk to one of my plenty of fathers everyday--his name is G. Gordon Liddy.  He tells me:  "Don't be such a pussy, Mark."  That's one of my names, but I go by many.  The Rand Corporation and their remote viewers can't crack me.  For I'm the Virgin Mary Herself--the Mirror of Justice.  Or maybe I'm not.  No, I'm just pulling your leg.  Or am I?  Thank God for America you NFL losers.  You know what the NFL is an acronym for?  Not fucking long.  
   My Grandma Bertha's people gave Blitzkrieg.  Lighting War.  Took over Poland in one day.  What did the polish woman do when she won the gold medal?  She had it bronzed.  
   I'm pig-shit Irish.  And I love it.  Plus, German, Serb, Swedish--hell, I'm a jumble of proportional paradoxes.  My Dad told me that I had no right to watch Notre Dame football.  He said I'm a mutt, and I never listen.  But I do.  To God.  Is it illegal to be a Catholic?  To believe a cracker is the ultimate power in the Multiverse?  Is my Priest brainwashing people and stealing their money?  You tell me.  Lock him up.  I dare you.  Take his Freedom of Religion, as you attempted to take mine; indeed, too bad I live in America.  The Greatest goddamn country there ever was.  I'm a killer, metaphorically.  I have a beautiful genitalia, metaphorically.  And yes, I'm crazy, allegorically.  Or is there truth in me?  Just an aspect.  Hell, you spit on the garbage man when God came as a mere tradesman.  The trick is on you.  Christ, uneducated, poor, lived with His Mom, and was better than all of you schmucks.  You hate Him.  I know it.  I totally know it.  Because you know, He is better than you'll ever be.  I love every minute of Him.  Is it illegal to say He is my Lord?  Gonna lock me up again for talking to Jesus?  Face it--you hate Him.  You dirty shysters hate Him.  
   I'm gonna talk to my pal now, have a cigarette with him--I mentioned him yesterday--his name is Huckleberry Hound.  He's blue.  He's just a dog.  A nice dog.  I used to watch him as a child in the 1970's.  It's nice to be nice.  It's nice to be a child.  I'm just teasing.  And remember King David's wise words:  "God made leviathan for sport."  This is America.  She is gorgeous.  Please, don't steal Her from me.  She even loves you.  She loves us all.  And I weep when you say we have no rights, for America tells the truth.  She says we have every right.  Even a right to be weird.  God Bless America.  I'm just teasing.  I'm a frightened little man is all.  Or am I?  

Rh Negatives and Psychiatric Asylums

   
   "Rh Negatives and Psychiatric Asylums"
   
   It was hilarious when they forged false testimony and delinquent documents to lock me up--the best part, so many damn pussy cops came here, like what--I'm an army of one?  And you man in the shirt with the collar and glasses, I know your name; thus, I have power over you--never use your true name, or change the one you have, for if people know your true name; next, they have power over you.  At least some of us natural born freaks do.
   One cop, the nice one with the mustache, the only one whose dreams I'm not in, he was terrified to touch me.  Wise man.  He knew they were framing me, wanting my mother dead the moment he saw me.  Some cops are nice, like you young deputy with the red hair, driving me gently to the asylum, telling me all about your family--I like you, but your partner, well, I'm in his nightmares too. 
   Took three of them to even budge my lifeless body off the ground, an old grounding spell with a special stone in my pocket.  I told the one pig:  "Hey, you with the muscles, I'm not resisting, just gonna lay here, I'm only 120 pounds, and if I can carry my mother around, and easily, all day, your big muscles can move me."  But he couldn't budge me.  I was laughing inside.  It took another huge pig to even get me moving; next, another for my anchor.  Yup, right in front of the Virgin Mary's image and my own Rh negative mother, they carried, struggling, me out in front of an entire neighborhood observing in awe, and I was chanting the Hail Mary, in French no less, and praising Her--also in French.  Oh, my Mother knows you better than you know yourselves, for She is Queen of Heaven, Virgin most powerful, as white as snow, with ice-water in Her veins.  Wouldn't you be pissed if you watched as they murdered your son, right in front of you, having knocked His teeth out, lashed Him, mocked Him with a crown of thorns, put nails, larger than the ones at Home Depot through His four limbs; next, pierced Him with a lance, gambling for His garments, as King David did give prophesy concerning his metaphorical Son over 1,000 years before.  It's always metaphor--right?
   I'm tired now.  Just woke from a dream, and I was Popeye the Sailor Man, hanging out with the mystical Jeep.  Too, Colin Caperpickle was wiping his fecal matter off on the American Flag.  I try to protect my mother from murder, and that bastard walks free, for defiling what men died under?  You dumb pigs.  Arrest the right people, or tell your local politicians you're not enforcing unjust laws anymore, only the right ones--you filthy schmucks!  Why work for the man, when you can be the man.  The man is a dildo anyway, and his wife loves her dildo more than her husband.  What--he's the goddamn Pope?  I don't think so.  Pope Francis doesn't flash a badge to get cheap troll pussy, like you Barney Fifes that can't get it up without a gun.  I've proved my potency; moreover, my son has got some big balls.  You know why men give their wives daughters?  I do, so look into it, you low sperm count finks that can't make her squirt.  
  Anyway, I'm relaxed now.  Colin Caperpickle doesn't need to be in my dreams, you filthy media clowns.  Get his sorry afro ass off the television, or us, the people, stop watching it, and let their celebrity die.  Radio is better anyway.
  Oh well, I forgot to mention my friends in the psychiatric asylum.  They were nice people.  Even the Nordic who threatened to slit my throat.  But we became friends, after I told him thanks for being an enlisted Marine before they threw him out for being too brutal.  I told him:  "There's always redemption, brother."  Anyway, they all had hazel or blue eyes.  Freaks, mutants, circus people--my people.  I was a celebrity there.  After two days of being out, I started packing.  My step-father, the Bill Cosby of the family, putting pills in the pudding, asked me where I was going.  I said:  "To see my friends again."  They're a hell of a lot more nice in there, than you snakes running around on the streets.  Jason from Friday the 13th is a nice guy.  He just won't die.  You know why?  He was an innocent child, and people tortured him.  Tortured him because he was a sweet boy.  Loved God, his country, his mother.  And the bullies saw his innocence and hated him immediately, tearing him to pieces.  But the jokes on them.  I like Friday the 13th movies.  I always pull for Jason.  He wears the white hat, but most people can't see it.  I was born on the 13th.  The Virgin Mary's number.  Go figure.  Nah, don't worry.  It's all fake.  That's what school tells you.  But why then do I have no monkey protein, nor my mother, in our blood?  A doctor said it was a mutation.  I asked him if I was a mutant.  He said:  "No, no, that's not it."  I told him he was a shyster, saying it was it, at least scientifically, for why else would the dumb shit say I have mutations flowing through my veins like ichor--you schmuck.  God Bless America, Israel, and for all you Democrats, yeah, I like Mother Russia too.  Hell, I'm a quarter Serb, and we're cousins to the Russians.  Oh well, I guess I'll go turn on the news and watch America's new folk hero Colin Caperpickle become a national icon, while I struggle to save a dollar, and drink cheap beer, while he has millions, screws gorgeous women, drives a fancy car, and all I do is work, not seeing a dime for it.  That's my country.  And I still put my hand over my heart for the National Anthem.  Because my mother raised a pretty decent kid.  Pretty decent.  And for all you brothers who think you have it bad.  I've been thrown in jail in 3 different states.  Get over it.  Some cops are pigs, and some cops are doves.  Like everyone else on this goddamn prison planet.  

The Cult - She Sells Sanctuary HD traducido y en vivo

Mad Dog

   
   "Mad Dog"
   
   Was talking to a shaman, gotta love the American Indian, and he told me about the wild dog I came upon during the witching hour out in Cool Springs yonder 10 years ago.  He said, I chose not the animal, but the animal chose me.  Maybe the shaman was a she, maybe not.
   The transgender native further explained of the dog's power.  Said:  "It's their problem now, for the Spirit of the canine is within you."  Went further, communications with Idaho Indians.  Great people.  Strong.  Brave.  Beautiful.  Never envy beauty, for beauty has her way.
   Anyway, I was told never to worry.  For a soul dies if it follows a coyote.  I guess old Obi-Wan was right:  "Whose the more foolish--the fool, or the fool who follows him?"  And the coyote is the wise/fool.  The shape-shifter.  The trickster.  Second unto the Great Spirit.  Just ask old Saint Francis or Saint Roch, the Patron Saint of dogs; plus, the falsely accused.  
   I've always minded my own business.  But like Bluebeard's wife, the ignorant pry, and I get pissed--I mean, I get really explosive.  I don't want to call my fellow dogs in, ever--there's Snoop Dog, Scooby-Doo, Huckleberry Hound, and more.  Have you seen my man Snoop Dog lately?  He might be in your house.  Nah, I'm just crazy.  I don't know anything.  Life is nothing more than a flux of atoms, and then you take the dirt nap.  Right?  That's what they teach you in school.  Thanks to my Virgin Mother, I never spent a day in the classroom, not even when I was there.  

American Bad Asses

   
   "American Bad Asses"
   
   I'm coyoting a portion of this; nonetheless, works for me.  Here's 3 American Bad Asses.
   
1.)  Harry S. Truman--no college, good for him, never getting Kool-Aid poured down his throat, and baby:  The Buck Stops Here.  He said, more or less:  "You can accomplish anything--if you don't care who gets the credit."
  
2.)  Hunter S. Thompson--this bad ass never met a narcotic he didn't like, and I say, good for him, you bunch of liberty haters.  Hung out with the Hell's Angels.  Drank the shit out of it; plus, liked to blow up gas propane tanks in his backyard with a shotgun.

3.)  G. Gordon Liddy--when God was passing out bad asses, no man got a better one.  Mr. Liddy transcends muscle, the little killer, being pure gristle.  His bad ass was locked up in the Federal Penitentiary for near 6 years, and all he did was kick ass.  They sent some Black Panthers after him to rattle his cage, and Mr. Liddy went into them with pure spirit.  He always said:  "If you're in an alley at night and 3 guys try to mug you; next, pick the biggest and ugliest; then, go into him with everything you've got.  Too, I have the largest genitalia in America."  Guy's practically a Saint--in my book.  He can get a woman pregnant by simply sitting next to her.  It doesn't get any more bad ass than this guy.  

STAR WARS Episode II Anakin and his mother

Saint John the Eagle; plus, Dogs

   
   "Saint John the Eagle; plus, Dogs"
   
   I can't remember, even though my mind is photographic, the number of people who have tried to kill me, persecute me with brainwashing, lock me up in 3 States, and in a psychiatric facility.  Go screw yourselves, or my Mother will do it for you.  YUP, AND I BOLDLY SAY TO YOU BASTARDS THAT DOUBT FATIMA:  The Virgin Mary has legs.  The best.  She shows her legs to me.  They're ivory.  As white as snow.  And She has ice water in her veins.  I'm frigid myself; thus, I honor my Mother, without Freud's demon.  I don't even blink.  She is my Mother, you pornographic sleazeballs.  If you think you have your Salvation Protestants, think again.  You take Christ off the Cross, and deny His death.  You have no crucifix.  You kill the Virgin, because Martin Luther had an Oedipus Complex, the bastard--the fucking German schmuck.  Nietzsche even abandoned his German heritage, because Martin Luther wanted to screw Jesus' Mother.  Get over it!
   You steal the Holy Family.  You steal Mary, the Angels, Saints, Prophets, and Kings.  You put Jesus in your pocket, as if He doesn't have a Mother.  If you can't stand in the Virgin's presence; next, you can't stand in the presence of Christ, for He resides with His Mother--She is the Gate of Heaven; moreover, She has great legs, all angels do, and I'm pleased with Her perfect beauty, for beauty has Her way.  Are you mad at God because you are ugly?  You fools.  The Virgin is the ultimate super-model, and I'm freaking ugly, and I accept it, honoring Her, and not complaining about my portion.
   You hate beauty, because you do not possess it.  You have envy.  You sea hags that destroy true love.  Your daughter was meant for me, and I was meant for her.  Recall Easter Sunday, when you bitched out my Rh negative empathy, saying that I was not good enough for your daughter.  Too young; too stupid.  Who is the exposed and unmasked sea hag now?  I came not to bring peace, Christ mentioned, but put daughter against mother.  Your children do not belong to you, but God Himself.  Remember how Tobias did love-make.  All for the glory of God.  And he had an angel dog, that you spit on.  Learn how to sell ice cream, as you've crushed true love.  But you know what hag, she still loves me, and I know it.  Your husband wants to see her smile, and he is obedient and faithful, ever patient, like Saint Joseph himself, and you make him your prize and your property, when he only belongs to God.
   Am I crazy?  Am I homosexual?  Indeed, how bad do you want to know!?!