"Living with quasi-Bill Cosby"
What a great old man. A family man. Has a love of his life--himself. No pills in the pudding. No incarcerating the innocent through a crooked system. No notary fraud, possibly attempted murder; indeed, just a great old man--so full of harmony and peace.
Keep drinking the Kool-Aid. It only takes one brave man to buck the system. Is it you?
He would never put pills in the pudding. Or would he? 27 Xanax in a week. Dr. Death giving numerous pseudo-opiates and barbs years ago--I have it all recorded. Or do I?
Intrusion by lawyer chimps into Doctor/Patient Confidentiality. Pay offs. Favors. What, do I have a Trump fortune? He does. Smell his money as he mocks your bald head and longs for your lovely wife. Wouldn't you. Look at his matrimonial mistake. Can you blame him?
Oh well, it's great to always be a target of murderers and thieves and liars. It's great to be beaten down and loaded heavy with opprobrium.
Great Game last night. Iconic--even without the Yankees.
"Lawnmower Chimp"
She tells him he's the best at everything. He looks soooo good for his age, though she has bigger dreams, like Large Marge. As soon as his tongue starts hanging out of his mouth and he's drooling a massive fluidic river--she'll move him into a nursing home; next, become a silver girl, with all the other fatties, and the Lawnmower Chimp will be peeling bananas, just a head--he should've quit while he was still a head.
And there's this neighborhood. Maybe mine. Maybe not. Shadow people. White wolves. A UFO here and there; plus, you got the naughty nurse and sea hag, their poor husband, the only decent one, cutting his grass everyday just to get out of the house. A shifty marsupial who likes to golf and go on alcoholic benders; plus, he practices voyeurism, watching the abused sexual champion go down on lovers, the mystical priests walking down the street, and everybody runs for cover, an old man with two six-guns who keeps an eye on an Arab that nobody ever sees, a goddamn Democrat too, a pseudo-Saint who thinks he's the reincarnation of Doc Holliday, a vampiric woman, and members of the Hebrew Tribe--one lady came running out of her house, screaming: "This is the weirdest fucking neighborhood!!!" It is, but own it. Be who you are. If you want to be a ballerina; next, morph into a stocking-covered dancer, giving us asphalt ballet--it's all good.
This is America. God Bless Her. We got freaks, geeks, schmucks, schmoozers, losers, and a Wheaten Terrier here or there. Don't be such a pussy. God has a sense of humor--if not; then, why is 70% of life on Terra's turf a form of the beetle?
But remember Jack Kennedy kinda saying: "The coldest part of hell is reserved for people who stayed neutral and didn't pick a side."
"The Craftsman: Christ"
Imagine, if you will: Sicily, 1913--you know what I mean. Do you? Always take your Vitamin D3.
Loved Scripture. Still does. Turned His back on the ladies; as a result, they craved Him even more. No education--just an angelic autodidact, more or less. Went to Temple. Spit on by many a Rabbi; plus, always spit on by the rich man save the likes of Joseph of Arimathea. Just a carpenter, living with His Mother, after a foster father proved to be the terror of demons.
But at 30--He had enough. "Don't do it Jesus--they'll kill you." A Mother did plead. Her, Queen of ALL virgins.
Listened to His Father instead, knowing a Psalmist from the past. And He was a Son of David; plus, a god--the One, True God.
Animism, showing that Solomon was not clothed in as great a splendor as the flowers; next, would metaphorically spit His tobacco juice on the ground. You getting this? Nope. You are not.
They began to fear Him. Knew He was not a poser. Offered women, fame, money--on the mountain. Turned it all down. The brain doesn't die after a flatline, not immediately.
Was Transfigured first, if only to show Himself. Now, in Hell--operating at Full Power. Shake and Bake brother.
Who is this man.? Sucker--you had the chance to know. We all did. And spit on Him like the rest.
"Shaggy versus Buffy"
Where's your way of weirdness; moreover, my dog is wily; anyway, Shaggy has the fashionable goatee, mostly wears the same t-shirt, usually green or red, and his only partner in fighting crime is a slobbering canine, but that dog (Scooby-Doo) loves him; plus, proves to be a loyal ally.
Some say Buffy is her or her--ya know. Let's not go all natural blonde and back to the movies, but maybe--ya know what I'm saying; regardless, she has a couple of tough cookies to hang out with, and that makes her all the better.
Whether it's a dog--just a dog, or an army of friends, you can do anything as Truman mentioned--as long as you don't care who gets the credit.
