McRib is back!!!

   
   "McRib is back!!!"
   
   Glorious Mysteries today.  Go with Pittsburgh gold.  Samson, kinda Nazareth, so much so, untying the bind, like flax fleeing disintegrationways.  Jango Fett's son's gun--an exact duplicate, not altered.  
   And the McRib is back.  What is more American?  Swine.  But a Hog is good for something--like a football team, charging fiercely.  And the potent aroma of BRUT.  So healing, Saint Raphael Green, like emerald armor, and the Irish know about this, as do they beer, poetry, and spirit.
   So, my ex in-laws who sang "LOVE SHACK" and performed 60's dance moves, though they only partied during the 70's--I would tell my ex:  "Get them the hell out of here.  I'll give them beer--now make them go."  Beer for a pleasant exodus, and for my horses.  Fond stirrings of my past; specifically, a gallant and ghostly Mustang housing the 4.2 Liter eight-cylinder.  Nice.  Weird.  Cool.  
   McRib is back.  

The Amazing Spider-Man (1978) - OPENING 2

The Delta Force (1986) - Jewish Passengers Scene (2/12) | Movieclips

King David--get me . . .

  
   "King David--get me . . ."
  
   Not a cold heart.  Not Mr. Freeze, or whatever the hell ever.  Just WON'T let people take what is not theirs.  First.  Base.  Maybe.  Still:  To pleasantly push in God's Face.  To shine His Lord's Light.  Never himself, in all his fighter/bard strengths.  A gray-haired nimbus, before a proper invention of the nimbus.  Moses is smoking awesome.  King David has the Heart of Gold, and Neil Young can't find it in Alabama.  It's kinda/sorta true.
   But really--King David needs not my or nobody's defense; he made it!  

Go to: Bar or Church?

   
   
   "Go to:  Bar or Church?"
   
   Don't be such a sanctimonious squat, or you will be selling the world Earth's fever, like Al Gore; moreover, don't be Mister Smarty Pants and think your shit doesn't smell, unless it doesn't.
   You have the Divine Spark, the Heart, the Spirit, what more but a remembrance of Cinderella do you need?  She is gorgeous.  Yet, like the phony Aaronite's may falsely think, you lust.  But you do; specifically, after the Sacred Heart, first owned by King David--in my opinion.  He was brutal.  Cold.  Froze people out.  Ordered deaths on his death bed, of ice.  His Son, Solomon--was all mind.  Life is a battle of the mind, unless polluted by a weakened sub-conscious full of phony bologna.  Go fry yourself a sandwich, you Bush League mystic.  Even me, at times, when I'm only talking to Brownies--they like too much beer.
   Just know:  Always judge yourself, for everybody else does, even if they don't give a rat's ass about you, they want to affect you; hence, affect yourself.  God is Good--nothing else; therefore, align yourself with God.  Always ask for more challenges, and you can do battle with giants.  Hell, you may be one yourself.  

Steve Earle - Copperhead Road (Lyrics.)

A Were-Wheaten Christmas (7)

   
   "A Were-Wheaten Christmas (7)"
   
   Maybe to wrap things up--never neat and tidy, yet what you might call:  sloppy magic.  What a name for a band.  Sloppy Magic.
   Freddy Hart didn't hate her stalker Sister, Lady Shaqdiesel; moreover, was not upset at Hulking out of her clothes, or hilariously so as she morphed Were-Wheatenways.  Comedy, yup.  Tragedy, sometimes; however, ALWAYS comedy.  Life is a SEINFELD episode, it got Aceline through the cuckoo's nest, though Chief wasn't there and fleeing to Canada--they have nuclear power plants up there.  Canada is especially "Cowboy Way" in the West, yet not the far West.  I like to spell WEST.
   GMAN was way more downtown cool than the ravenous Red Tornado, thirsty for programmed justice, and your conscious phone is smarter than you, unless you carry a piece of copper in your pocket to calmly conduct the orchestra of going to a grocery market and spying the sway and strut of so many making you noxiously nervous, so much monstrously so that golden, cream-filled Twinkies magically appear from your pretentious pouch, like busy bunnies hopping, and the savvy Peter Cottontail gets liquid-papered by freaking Father Christmas, until he lives to lay eclectic eggs again.
   It all worked out, as this is not working for mundane me.  Gonna study Euclidean Geometry and see if that makes a damn difference--let the water flow, you damn beavers . . .  
   Freddy Hart got:  CASUAL.  Wore the Reebok brand, for an instant.