Wednesday, October 25, 2017
An explosion of girly curl flaxen, ya you
"An explosion of girly curl flaxen, ya you"
I was the schmuck; I see it many times, when I travel, even in the theater of my own psychotic mind. Thank you for dragging me off into the chamber of Jonathan Winters, for now, like him--you dillweeds gave me a get-out-of-jail free card. And I always liked Monopoly. I perpetually play the part of terrier; moreover, this is dedicated to a girlish woman I knew, and she was a terrier--allegorically; I don't need to see Jonathan Winters so soon again, for he resonates within.
The lady loved me. But I was anchored down by a woman's greedy gravity that had metaphorically castrated me in my youth. Tear him to shreds, and all because he doesn't attend our adolescent orgies or party with us--yup, King is a freak, sitting at the Jewish Temple with two beers and a pack of smokes--we drop him off there on the way to Pandemonium, you know, the party where all the teenage girls are subject to toxic cooters, constantly craving, as their brains are crushed beer cans--everything has a purpose, even beer, just don't be a wanker and waste the gift. But Daddy, Game of Bones is on. So what I say--architect your own Game of Bones. It's all frequency and sublime intention.
Saw the angel girl in a dream. Is that illegal, to have a dream? She was loving a soul with her eyes closed and heart open. It was nice. It's nice to be nice.
Wish I would've known. Wish I would've told her. Even still, I tell her now, and forever--that she is one hell of a lady. And it was good to know her, even if only in a bitter kiss of time. Amen, Amen, Amen . . .
Cagney and Lacey--even G. Gordon Liddy fears them
"Cagney and Lacey--even G. Gordon Liddy fears them"
Throughout the 1980's, I was terrified of two female cops, but they weren't really cops--you tell me, or I'll have my dog take a toxic load on your front porch, possibly.
I was born with four nipples. My ex-wife chewed off the small ones underneath. No horseshit Wang. My cousin has three nipples, but his package is mightier than mine, on certain scales of measurement. He could've been a porn star, but those folks get terrible health insurance I hear, and who really wants to put their dingus in a beehive.
Oh well. Getting my ass kicked everyday. We all are; however, we can be saved by the Blood of the Lamb and the Confession of the mouth.
Plenty of aircraft in the sky lately. You notice?
Tuesday, October 24, 2017
My last Blog sucked a tailpipe
"My last Blog sucked a tailpipe"
At least, not a banana in the tailpipe, or my too numerous to count sessions of robotic sodomy, ya know--the colonoscopies, and that creepy doctor with the long fingers--don't ever shake his hands at a dinner party my friends--you rich putz.
I'm calm. Sucked down a lung dart. Drinking G2 thirst quencher. My dog got a buzz-cut, and she looks like a damn coyote, and it scares the hell out of me--I had a dream she mated with a coyote, so I think my doctor needs to show me ink blots and write me another prescription. Gee whiz Beaver, don't you want me on more medication too? I'll get a Pez Dispenser for my new anti-psychotics, ya dolts. Why not let me smoke a skinny joint with some good shit inside? What, want the side effects of protracted pill-popping drive me mad, or into some delinquent state, developing Parkinson's-like symptoms or growing man boobs? Trust me sweet soul sister, ya, you sleazeball and your twin brother who gives me that glare everyday--you know what I'm saying. Gotta be on guard, and remember the 1950's, when my Dad was carrying me around in his hairy scrotum. Oh, is that myth too? I didn't come from my Dad's nutsac? How dare you lecture me like a father! Only a man who wears the Roman Collar can do such things! I liked to get bitched out at Mass. I like to be phobic concerning God. Because, now, he tells me: "Don't be such a pussy Mark." So what if I don't like foreign pubic hair on the commode at a filthy eatery. You know what happens in restaurants? The Chef is a drug dealer, the dish-washer has herpes, and the server has jam under her painted nails. I'd rather eat out of cans, and even the FDA allows one rat dropping or mouse hair in all canned goods; still, that's pretty good, since the factories are flooded with filth and folly. Co-workers screwing in the bathroom, or what the hell ever. I worked a job as long as I could, and was the best, but people screwed at work. I finally woke up and saw that selfishness is da bomb bro. And I would never dream of wearing my baseball hat backwards, because a Savage yet Saintly voice tells me: "Don't be a poser!!!" Live in truth--always in truth! Even if you're wacko, unless of course you screw your sister's husband--that's for you ladies out there, and I love ya--I'm the one who can't get it up without a six-pack. Expose them, and what the hell, expose yourself--you're a freak too Mark, but I never put a gerbil up my hairy asshole. My poor mother.
I wrote about the theft, but it was teenage Crusade, of the American Flag with my Nordic buddy, back in the day, under the cover of the Moon, and me piloting the getaway of a scalding XR 200--it was quicksilver till 60 mph. The watermelon. The pumpkin and bowel movement. The pet monkey--no, I've never mentioned that, but I might. Might not.
I think this Blog sucks too, but I'm a man of truth, and sometimes you gotta suck it. Maybe the black helicopter outside scared the shit out of me, and I chain-smoked two cigarettes before puking in the sink. There are no sky gods--it's Southwest Airlines, you fink. Or, maybe not. What if the crazies turn out to be right? Kinda be the ruination of your weekend. Friday night would be a real bummer, like it has always been since they took off THE DUKES OF HAZZARD. Boss Hog was like a metaphorical father to me, you sum bitches.
Go get 'em Dodgers. But without the Yankees in it, it all seems kinda boring. Would've been iconic. East Coast versus West Coast. Still, I think the Gulf of Mexico is involved now. Will I ever purchase a pot pie again? I'll get the turkey. Cause I'm a jive-turkey too. We're all, every goddamn one us, a bunch of sons of bitches. What, you don't think my mother bitched me out in the day? I called her a sea hag once, and she hit me with a horse crop. Real nice lady. Still, she gave me life--I guess if you birth it; next, you get to belt it. No, that's terrible! Yes, yes it is. You can always mind-warp your child with psychologists. Or better, psychiatrists, and make them drug addicts. Wish my parents would've done that earlier--I might've went to college and been just like a crooked politician.
So goes the Iceman. Caught a skink in the house with my bare hands the other day. My step-father was freaked out. He just sat in a chair and was watching for it all day, as if he was terrified. Kinda bothered me too, but we got it, or I did; regardless, I never liked CAGNEY AND LACEY (1981-1988) during Ronny Raygun's Administration. Oh well, keep an eye out. If you don't hear from me by tomorrow--call the President.
Jericho Liveth
"Jericho Liveth"
Thought Brad Pitt was good looking. Not being gay. Or am I? Saw Chris Jericho talking about the Dodgers--he's Pitt with Roid Rage. Good for him. He'll kick your ass. I'll watch. Get in there and hit someone, you NERF football gamblers!!! You never suited up a day in your life.
Don't damn your demons. Develop them. You witches and hags heard me! I fancy mermaids myself. Eat Chicken of the Sea tuna--guess I'm not gay.
What ever happened to the 1970's? The Carter Administration had great television, Reagan gave us steeled motion pictures, and with the former Messiah in office, I thought I was delivered into the Promised Land of Drag Queens. Truly, you transformed America. Maxine Waters is your legacy, and Putin smiles, at you, not me, because I have damn reverence for a ferocious fighter--you schmucks!!!
Aren't you proud of him? He's an attorney. You mean, a crook? Class Action Lawsuits are the biggest crimes. Jesus loves you--they say; next, you're paying them millions, and they never remember you. Greed. Evil. Synonymous. Good for you. Learn to sell ice cream.
Always wanted a Chevrolet. Had one. Camaro. A friend. Small Block Eight. Four Barrel. Hot and heavy on the highway. TRANSFORMERS exploits Chevrolet--I heard you schmo, yeah, you told me that. I like the Chevy. He's a Green Beret, drives a Chevrolet--my Nordic buddy wrote that song years ago. It's nice to be nice. Whispering charms into people's ears. Flattering them with compliments, to set them up for the kill. Priests listen. If that elderly lady brings you a fudge bunt-cake; next, throw it away. It contains toxic contagion!!! In my humble opinion.
And who are you to tell your grandmother of your great deeds? She's been around the block kid, and you're nothing. Yeah, keep trying to put me behind the Eight Ball. James Cagney told me that was your intention. Even when you tampon-picking rebels go overseas, you're damn proud to be called YANKEE. Southern Generals were not better generals, just better dressed. End of lesson.
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