Friday, October 30, 2009


Fatalists insist their names exist on God’s list of who will die when and why, but they still persist to depend on pills to delay the day they must pass away and wait to be born again as an ass, a snake in the grass, a rooster, a hen or a ballpoint pen.

Some look ahead to being dead so they can be rebred, recreated or reincaranated. However God gets rid of rejects, derelict hippocratic lunatics who sell their souls to Republican politics.

If it’s a fact that when I go I might come back. I pray God will not send me to this place in space of death and insanity that threaten humanity.

I’d prefer a life on planet Mars where a candy bar is the Official Food. Where a cow jumped over the moon and mooed and Saturn sat on a satellite and the fright of its bite sent a cry in the night that went on and on.

Came the dawn, Saturn was gone.

Thursday, October 29, 2009


While scientists strive to save lives of patients afflicted with cancer or other potentially fatal diseases, those with evil intent are bent on killing innocents to create terrorist incidents.

Suicide bombers clandestinely roam the enemy’s territory, sacrifice their lives to leave a trail of blood, gory and devastation
to be remembered by.

Why do waring nations have no regard for humanity and think the insanity of war is the only way to resolve differences of politics and religion which cause division among erstwhile friends and family? Why can’t responsible adults discuss, make decisions and agree both sides will abide by and at least give peace, togetherness and fairness a try?

Is life of such little worth that we must risk the future of this earth, given us in trust by the Lord, landlord of us all?

We all agreed at birth to respect God’s gift, the Universe, and the place in space we call Earth. We do not own the land, the sea, or any of the auxiliaries what ever they may be.

All these luxuries were loaned to us conditionally to use, not to abuse. As natural members of the family of humanity, man and woman, beast and bird, and every variation thereof, we are expected to honor and respect our sisters, our brothers and all the others.

Let us not forget our contract, on file in the Heavenly archives, can be terminated at the Creator’s will.

Monday, October 26, 2009


Whether I write fact or fiction fate will decide. It has been predicted that soon the world will no longer be here. Two thousand sixty will be its bye-bye time, as spelled out in rhyme by an ancient prognosticater. But he didn’t know where it will be after it is here no more.

I predict not just this world, but the entire universe won’t disappear, but will go to hell where it never rains or snows and the devil never will freeze his toes. Don’t fret about war or a falling star, a hurricane or torrential rain or a shimmy and shake quake, for goodness sake. These are things only God can make. Man will be the reason why the world will bid the universe goodbye.

A thousand or more centuries ago, a wise old man who predicted everything but the weather. got his act together, shut his eyes and what he saw in shock and awe was that an American president in the 21st Century would ignore the warning about planet warming which he found charming, disarming, but not alarming.

The next time the seer looked ahead everybody on Earth was dead and what had been the world was just a curled up earthworm recovering from a satellite storm.

Who was the seer who saw the whole world disappear? Have you ever heard of the great Professor C. Nostra Dumbass Guesser? He’s the guy who said bye-bye to the world in rhyme ahead of time.

What the professor failed to see was the universe being packed in a hearse, carted off to a bankrupt bank where it will remain until Uncle Sam goes insane in the brain and buys back the tanked bank with a SPUCKET of BIT and a three dollar bill.

All predictions will be proven fact or fiction in the nifty thrifty two thousand sixty. I can’t wait until that day, only about 50 years from now, give or take. WOW! I’ll be a kid of 180, + OR -, still blogging away. How about you?
Planets come and planets go, but there is one thing that we know---a million years from now nobody will SHIVE A GIT.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009


According to the RepubliCANTS, the Blue Dog blog antsypants Democrats and the nitwIt, shull of fit pundits predicted it would take at least four years to get the nation back in gear.

But in less time than it would take the GOP to sink in their red ink slime, the nation under President Obama, it appears, the
recession is over and that’s giving the Bush bandits FITS and SHEARS.

The Dow, somehow, is doing better now. The GOP, on Dumb Dumbya’s watch, hardly ever managed to raise Dow Jones a
notable notch.

Meanwhile, as is its style, the GOP under GWB. continued to botch the failing economy with Hooveristic incompetency.
The Crash of ‘29 suited the money mongers simply fine.

It’s said that shortly before the crash, Grand Daddy Bush and his kin turned their stocks and bonds into cash and became instant multi-millionaires. Did they have the inside track on what was cooking as the Dirty Thirties loomed and th uninformed were doomed to go from boom to bust?

It’s too late to investigate what happened then when manipulators in the know could win a poke while the world was going broke.

Few knew about the illegality behind the legacy that, hopefully, ended with the defeat of the GOP and the notorious, vainglorious, infamous shameful Bush misadministration.

Let GOP politics of the past be the last we will see from now until eternity, It's time voters realize crooks cooking books endanger democracy, threaten the economy, are costly to taxpayers who foot the bill of typical hypocritical political servants who serve themselves unselfishly, then scatter crumbs to folks like you and me.


We, defenders of the GOP, shall be critical of any proposition the opposition proposes, right or wrong. We'll lie and cheat to beat the enemy and get the vote at any cost. But if it looks like we've lost we'll resort to any sort of trickery to win illegally like we did twice before successfully.

We will prevail. We will not fail. But if we do, who will bail us out of the D.C. jail?

If we destroy the USA, that's OK, as long as we win on Election Day.

Sunday, October 04, 2009


Longevity lasts a lot longer if you belong to a member of a wild animal family. Elephants, especially. A hundred years or more is genetically expected for offsprings of Mr. and Mrs. Pat C. Derm who wore no pants when they romanced, making baby elephants.

The Derms were a healthy lot, living on plants and such. And “as such” they ate too much and over eating fauses carting and when gas passes with the breeze all the monkeys in the trees and the other jungle folk knew the Derms, sans underwear, were on a baby making tear.

To make a short story long, because this happened a long time before this rhyme was composed, baby El[y was born and quickly rose to fame and shame. She grew to be ten feet tall and ten feet wide with a belly always wanting more which put quite a drain on the Congo Wal-mart store of yore.

Elly, the biggeset elephnt in history, ten feet wide was known by all as Poohpooh, abbreviated to plain PP. She smelled like hell and the animals knew when she was in the vicinity, thanks to the jungle winds blowing west to east into the nostrils of every beast except the skunk who stunk worse than poor PP.

PP was afflicted with B. O. and the only way to cleanse her odoriferous body and slim down her obesity was for her to soak twenty four hours a day in a one thousand gallon tub of sea water and monkey pee, munching on low cal seaweed to satisfy her need for jungle greens and jelly beans.

It was estimated PP, already a hundred and one, could live much longer if she were free of African maladie like Peanulitis, Arfricolitis, Monkeyshinology and Tarzanism. Publications of the Witch doctors Journal of the African Medical Asociation under the classification.

PP wanted a second opinion before she soaked in seapeewater. She went to see Dr. Bwanna Bananna who explained why she stunk so bad.

“It’s obvious that, because you’re so fat, all that junk stuck in your trunk, waiting in line to get to your behind, has to pass through the digestive tract, which is so congested . By the time it gets to the bowels it’s not fit to she bit. It piles up in the Isle of Piles where it waits to defecate. Eventually, it’s transferred to Port of Last Resorts, reserved for fat trunk clunkers.

When it flows out of the hass ole it smells worse than fit that sits the shan. So now you knoiw. If you don’t lose weight you’ve got a date with the garbage can.”

PP told the doc the Life Buoy sits bath was doing what it was supposed to do, but the store had no more, that it was
against the law to pee in the sea and her big sits bath had sprung a leak. So what was she to do?

With that the doc opened up his safe and to PP’s joy, there were stacks and stacks of Life Buoy soap, shelves of 20 gallon jars filled with monkey pee and enough plugs to seal a hundred sits bath leaks for weeks.

“Have I got a deal for you.” Doc said. “I smelled you coming from ten miles away so quick as a flash I gathered my cash, made a dash for the Life Buoy stash and bought up the last of the soap you hoped to buy to get rid of the stink; and I think I was right;

“If you can’t cope, I’m your last hope and I’ve got the soap, but it’s not for sale. Here’s my deaI: I’ll trade you my soap for the ivory on your head; I’m not talking soap. I’m talking tusks. I’ll throw in the pee and do the sits bath repair free. And I’ll cut off the tusks for a nominal fee, I gotta charge a fee. Ethics, you see.

“But if you need more pee, PP, I’ve got an inexhaustible source, Me of course.. All my monkey patients have badder bladders disease and I charge them a penny a pint to dispose it. I suppose it will benefit you more than the Wal-mart store, As the saying goes, go with the flow. They pay me a penny, you pay me a dime and over time monkey pee will save our economy.”

Doc held out his hand. Pee Pee held out her trunk. They shook and the deal was done.

Pee Pee felt bad. She knew she had been had. But what else could she do? She’d miss her tusks but not her hell of a smell.