Send The NRA To Hell Send The NRA To Hell Where They All Belong

soon the redpublicans will be celebrating their great and historic victory in repealing the ACA. You, however will be left with either no health insurance, or less coverage for a higher cost. I hope that you will join in the celebration and wang chung tonite.

Light my fuse.....

His body in Alexandria,

His head in Damascus,

Where lies the soul of John the Baptist?

  Headless bones in Alexandria

Boneless head in Damascus

Shall we introduce them?

They seem a perfect pair

One can walk

One can roll

Along ancient trails

They can walk and roll

Hootchie

Hootchie

Hootchie

Coo

Chrima, Chrima time is here..........

For many of you, Christmas is a time of year to celebrate the birth of your savior.  For others, it is a time to celebrate the joy of friends and family.  Some of you may just be jonesing for the presents with your names on them under the tree.  Some of you may be naked, smeared in blood and strange symbols, dancing around a blazing fire in a clearing deep in the woods, celebrating the Winter Solstice, thanking the Earth Goddess and banging Satan.  And then there are those for whom Christmas is just another shitty day in a long, long stream of shitty days.  For me, Christmas falls in there somewhere.  So what I am trying to say is that whatever Christmas means to you, think of your fondest Holiday greeting, and pretend that I said it to you.  Then go on and celebrate Christmas in your own special way.  But please don't kill the dog or the kids.  They don't know what the fuck is going on anyway and are innocent.  Hey, Solstice people, send me some photos.  And if you wish to imagine that I said 'embugger me, Beelzebub' to you, well go ahead, even though I probably didn't.  But I might.  For all the rest of you, take that quart of eggnog you bought at the super market over Thanksgiving for god only knows why, and add in that half fifth of Canadian Club that was left over from another long, dreary, lonely Christmas Eve, and mix the two together.  Shake well.  Next, blow out the pilot flame in your oven, and turn the gas way up.  Adjust the rack to the middle position.  Sit down at the kitchen table, if you have one, or on a wooden crate if you don't, or just stand there, and pour yourself a nice big glass, ignoring the possibly rancid smell.  Sprinkle some nutmeg on top if it makes you happy. Or some gin.  Or vodka.  Drink up.  Now that you feel so sick to your stomach that you wish you were dead, go kneel in front of the oven and stick your head in.  Don't worry about the grease streaks on your cheek, it won't matter where you are going anyway.  Put a dish towel down first if it really bothers you.  If you are an idiot and you followed the above instructions with an electric oven, then your hair is probably on fire right now and you should seek help.  Running, hair aflame, screaming down the middle of the block is a good way to attract attention.  Unless, of course, none of your neighbors give a shit about you, which is part of the reason why you are running down the street naked on fire to begin with, but that is another tale for another time.  Oh, I skipped over some of the instructions.  Before you go to the oven, take off all of your clothes while drinking the nog.  When you are good and snockered, and are slurring your words in that adorable way that drunks so often do, start calling your friends, which shouldn't take long since you are all alone on Christmas, and wish them a Happy Holiday.  Not a Merry Christmas, as they may not celebrate the Christian Holiday, but the more politicly correct nondemoninational all faiths greeting.  Don't tell them to fuck off, as you want them to feel bad later when they learn of your death, or in the case of you electric oven folks, your recent committment to the loony bin.  You should leave them wondering why and how they failed you.  Could they have done anything different?  Well, could you have?  If you are wondering this, then the answer is probably yes, you could have.  Pick up the goddamned phone and just call.  It will only take a few moments of your precious time to wish them well, and may mean more to them than you could ever possibly imagine.  And a facebook or myspace greeting is a cop out and it sucks.  And if you have to listen to a slurring drunk or crying, lonely slob for a few minutes, well, so be it.  Your fucking kindle, or Ipad, or Xbox, or giant ribbed black dildo ain't going anywhere, unless you forgot to turn off the dildo and it vibrates itself under the sofa and you sit there wondering days later what that noise is and where the fuck is it coming from, and then you find it in the dogs bed all chewed up and licked clean along with your underwear in a similar state.  And that nice roast beef, ham, turkey, goose, spam for you Hawaiians, or god forbid, tofu for you really messed up people, well, enjoy it, but please remember to be kind to others, people and animals alike.  And yes, even tofu people, I'm sorry that I made fun of you but I am not coming over for dinner.

Hillbilly racist

hungry poor

hillbilly racist

hungry poor

aw hell I'm gonna spend all my thoughts and energies on the

Hillbilly racist

For many of you, Christmas is a time of year to celebrate the birth of your savior.  For others, it is a time to celebrate the joy of friends and family.  Some of you may just be jonesing for the presents with your names on them under the tree.  Some of you may be naked, smeared in blood and strange symbols, dancing around a blazing fire in a clearing deep in the woods, celebrating the Winter Solstice, thanking the Earth Goddess and banging Satan.  And then there are those for whom Christmas is just another shitty day in a long, long stream of shitty days.  For me, Christmas falls in there somewhere.  So what I am trying to say is that whatever Christmas means to you, think of your fondest Holiday greeting, and pretend that I said it to you.  Then go on and celebrate Christmas in your own special way.  But please don't kill the dog or the kids.  They don't know what the fuck is going on anyway and are innocent.  Hey, Solstice people, send me some photos.  And if you wish to imagine that I said 'embugger me, Beelzebub' to you, well go ahead, even though I probably didn't.  But I might.  For all the rest of you, take that quart of eggnog you bought at the super market over Thanksgiving for god only knows why, and add in that half fifth of Canadian Club that was left over from another long, dreary, lonely Christmas Eve, and mix the two together.  Shake well. Next, blow out the pilot flame in your oven, and turn the gas way up.  Adjust the rack to the middle position.  Sit down at the kitchen table, if you have one, or on a wooden crate if you don't, or just stand there, and pour yourself a nice big glass, ignoring the possibly rancid smell.  Sprinkle some nutmeg on top if it makes you happy. Or some gin.  Or vodka.  Drink up. Now that you feel so sick to your stomach that you wish you were dead, go kneel in front of the oven and stick your head in.  Don't worry about the grease streaks on your cheek, it won't matter where you are going anyway.  Put a dish towel down first if it really bothers you.  If you are an idiot and you followed the above instructions with an electric oven, then your hair is probably on fire right now and you should seek help.  Running, hair aflame, screaming down the middle of the block is a good way to attract attention.  Unless, of course, none of your neighbors give a shit about you, which is part of the reason why you are running down the street naked on fire to begin with, but that is another tale for another time.  Oh, I skipped over some of the instructions.  Before you go to the oven, take off all of your clothes while drinking the nog.  When you are good and snockered, and are slurring your words in that adorable way that drunks so often do, start calling your friends, which shouldn't take long since you are all alone on Christmas, and wish them a Happy Holiday.  Not a Merry Christmas, as they may not celebrate the Christian Holiday, but the more politicly correct nondemoninational all faiths greeting.  Don't tell them to fuck off, as you want them to feel bad later when they learn of your death, or in the case of you electric oven folks, your recent committment to the loony bin.  You should leave them wondering why and how they failed you.  Could they have done anything different?  Well, could you have?  If you are wondering this, then the answer is probably yes, you could have. Pick up the goddamned phone and just call.  It will only take a few moments of your precious time to wish them well, and may mean more to them than you could ever possibly imagine.  And a facebook or myspace greeting is a cop out and it sucks. And if you have to listen to a slurring drunk or crying, lonely slob for a few minutes, well, so be it.  Your fucking kindle, or Ipad, or Xbox, or giant ribbed black dildo ain't going anywhere, unless you forgot to turn off the dildo and it vibrates itself under the sofa and you sit there wondering days later what that noise is and where the fuck is it coming from, and then you find it in the dogs bed all chewed up and licked clean along with your underwear in a similar state.  And that nice roast beef, ham, turkey, goose, spam for you Hawaiians, or god forbid, tofu for you really messed up people, well, enjoy it, but please remember to be kind to others, people and animals alike.  And yes, even tofu people, I'm sorry that I made fun of you but I am not coming over for dinner.  

 This Xmas note is meant to be taken lightly, not literally. I am going to be spending Christmas with a dear friend, and I am going to be calling on the phone other dear friends that I am not with who mean a lot to me and that I am grateful for them having been a part of my life.  And if I don't call you, well, then there is always the nog.

 So remember this Holiday,

Call a friend,

Adopt a pet,

take some food to someone less fortunate,

give a toy to a child who has none,

pet your dog,

tell someone that you love them,

throw out some bread for the birds,

since the media has determined it is necessary to broadcast everything that humpty dump says my mute button has never seen so much action..........

Happy Horror Days

Another day at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue

3 months into the Biden presidency, former president Trump and former Attorney General Barr remain in the White House bunker, into which they locked themselves following Biden's landslide victory in November. According to White House Staff they occasionally peek out the door, only to scurry back in due to the snarling and barking of the Biden's dogs, Major and Champ. According to an unnamed source "..those dogs can smell a rat a mile away."

J the B

He’s been to England He’s been to France Stuffed inside a smugglers pants Israel, Egypt, Iraq and Iran Planes and trains and caravans Followed Jesus into China And all over Asia Minor Killed over a fucking whore For a king’s honor Nothing more Head chopped off On the floor Now he rests in Damascus In his tisket tasket basket Wants to follow Jimmy Buffet Wants to know just what the fuss is Parrot head, Baptist head Maybe even a Deadhead so many options for the Baptist Awaiting Jesus In Damascus Anybody know what time it is?

Bug

Dear Mr. G,

 While northbound on I-95, just 3 klicks south of Yemassee, South Carolina, I’d  pulled over to the side of the road to change a flat tire on my ’67 Dodge Dart GTS.  Yeah, I know, bitchin’ car.  I popped the H-cap and was struggling with the lug nuts, obviously tightened by some gorilla, when I thought I detected movement in the brush behind me.  I stiffened and braced myself, and got this terrific adrenaline head rush, when I heard a voice say 'hot enough for ya?'.  Not looking around, ‘cause I suffer fools and strangers poorly, I replied 'yeah, and when I find the stinking cockroach who tightened these lug nuts, I will really be hot'.  I then heard the word 'asshole', so I jumped up, turned around, and squashed him with my left foot, which was shod in a Doc Martin’s hobnail soled punk rock shit kicker boot.  You can imagine the impact that had on your poor friend.  Gotta say though, he wasn't much of a roach.  Wouldn't have lasted an hour in Nam.  Shit, the bed bugs in Nam would’ve taken him out. 

 After I lit a smoke and calmed down a bit, I realized that he had really said 'that's cool', not 'asshole'.  Oh well, you shouldn’t sneak up on somebody.  ‘Specially me. 

 Anyways, I feel really bad, especially more so if he was a family member or close relative of yours.  I noticed there were some papers taped to his back, and found your name and address, and I am forwarding his remains and personal effects to you.  He didn’t have no dog tags. Might’a been a spook or something, who knows.  He was toting some canned mackerel, but I ate that.  Spoils of war, babycakes.  Oh yeah, he had some speed, and I took that too.  Just a couple of white crosses.  Probably scrounged it at a truck stop.  I gotta long drive ahead and already have wasted enough time dickin’ ‘round here.

 Anyway, I have left a small memorial for you at the site, an empty Pabst Blue Ribbon can, in case you care to visit.  You know how you see all those flowers, crosses, and other stuff at the side of the road where I guess somebody got snuffed.  Are those people buried there or something?  Were they so deeply ground into the tarmac that it was impossible to scrape them off?  Let’s go visit Uncle Albert’s grave at mile marker 183?  Anyway, it seemed to be the thing to do.  I noticed that there were a lot of empty Pabst beer cans around here, so to help you out, it's the one with Pall Mall menthol 100's butt's crammed in it.  Not the regulars, the 100's.  I have to go through that every time I buy a pack.  Jeez, it’s hard enough for those people to make change, much less understand english.  Sorry for the butt's, but I didn't realize that the can was destined to become a memorial.  It is near a hand written sign, nailed to a tree, in the woods bordering the highway, which reads 'Joy to the World, the Lord is Coming'.  That one always cracks me up.  What’s the next line, 'Let earth receive his load'?  Da da, da da, 'and wonders of his spunk, and wonders of his spunk...'.  Sorry if you are religious, just my sick sense of humor.  Sure hope that the big guy upstairs has a sense of humor too.  ‘Specially ‘bout that commie ear necklace.  But I ain’t got that no more.  Also, I left a dandelion sticking out of the top.  Looks, well, kinda nice.  Better’n an M-16 stickin’ in the dirt with a helmet on top.  Seen a lot of those.  Half the time there wasn’t nothin’ under it ‘cause there wasn’t nothin’ left to find.  Ever see what an RPG does to a man?  Don’ ask.

 Sorry about the little fella.  Before he died, he forgave me, well actually he cussed me out pretty bad, but I knew he didn’t mean it, and said that he was sworn to pass on something very valuable before he passed out, I mean passed on.  It was supposed to go to someone named Igor, but it was too late.  He told me about something that he called the 'Roy Cohn disclaimer', and that it was a very powerful secret, known only to a select few.  No shit, Sherlock.  Can't wait to pull that one on somebody.  Was your friend, by any chance, a Grifter or Gypsy?  He then asked me to sing his favorite song, 'More often than not', by David Wiffleball or somebody like that.  Some shitty Canadian draft dodger or the like. Strange request, but I knew the song.  I mean, who doesn't?  Jerry Jeff Walker did a real kick-ass version I heard on a jukebox once in some Texas bar.  Left a couple of teeth in the gravel parking lot there too.  Them were some nasty rednecks. Well, to make a short story even shorter, he then croaked, during the third verse.  His final words were ‘give my love to my mama and my 15,341 brothers and sisters’.

 Sorry that I didn’t have a body bag with me to stuff him in.  Only had a baggie, but that had my weed in it.  Which reminds me, if you scrounge around a bit in the Pall Mall butts, you may find a roach or two of a different color, if you know what I mean.  Also, sorry about the Roy Cohn thing, but I’m gonna need that for myself for a bit.  Got some trouble with the IRS, you see.  But, I am an honorable man, and will get it to you someday.  That’s my solemn promise.

 Whoa, flashback time.  Incoming!  They’re in the wire!  Blow the Claymores!  Where is that fucking M-60?  Shit, shit, shit, oh fuck, Medic!  Medic!  Don’t forget his leg!  See ya in hell, Charlie!  Take the body, but leave the morphine.  I said leave it, mother fucker!!  Oh god, oh god, oh god……………….