Ancient Rant: Swirling the Bowl

Yea, and verily I say unto thee, get behind me Shaitan! Foul nether-demon, with the swimmers build... I forsake thy name unto thou. For it is written that on the twenty second day of the ninth month, of the 2000th year of our lord, should all thine sheep and Shepard’s take up swords and ice picks and march forward then back again, (lets hear it for Velvet on the center stage) strike thee down with supreme dislike and a wretched mood the likes of which have been foretold in the days of yore... and thus, the sweet baby looked up and with a tiny bit of drivel escaping the infant mouth, a foul stench arouse and consumed all that beheld him. For on that day, in that place, for that time, and for all time, the baby Jennings crapped forth from the womb of a crack whore to roam the earth, clucking, and plucking, and humping and booty dancing like tinky wink on speedballs with a bourbon back. and on the seventh day of luminant, the stocks did fall. and in falling, so fell several of the minor demons who where just standing there, leaning against the stocks, not paying attention, when all of a sudden, wham. The shit hit the fan. The fecal blast in the face. But isn't that how life is? When you least expect it, the person you expect the least will fuck you in the ass without benefit of lubrication, prostate massage (to get you in the mood) or forewarning...

So, tonight, this weekend, as you kick back your adult beverage of choice, be it beer, vodka, rum, or semen, give a nod to the all-being. Pay a small tribute. For one day, that same all-knowing supreme unit will cast a gaze unto your sick, twisted little ass and fuck you up, but good. I know. It happened to me. Now look at me. Clucking, and sucking and snorting and eating.... is this all there is to life, Manny? This is it. Sleep well tonight. Tip your waitress and have your dogs and cats spayed and neutered... don't spit into the wind, don't answer your wife when she asks if her ass is too big, don't piss off restaurant industry personnel until after you've received your food... dream the impossible dream.

Oh, though I walk thru the valley of poo, i shall fear no boll weevils...

...And unto the earth a great rumbling aroseth. Within all the bars, a sound of seven bells sounds - each with seven songs sounding so sweet so as to succumb to the sirens of seduction of cervesa. Alas, the mongrels with fire in their eyes having been burned for a thousand and seven days
saw that the cervesa was sound. And it was good."
(Falstaff 14:2-4)

" Why do you walk with so much clamor & untruth to your kind?"
"(thuk) (thuk) FffFt. (kh...) FffFt. (kh...)"
"But, The Cheech, you speak not in the tongue of Mutahn? Are you not of the blood of Mutahn?"
"Pp-ppbbthmnhah.... (thuk) (thuk-thuk) *dhat* *dhat* *dhat*"

The Cheech, climbing upon limbs & hips of the fair virgins within the sound of his voice, anointed (anointy-nointy) with oils his followers so that they could truly see the dance of Mon-khee, the
forbidden-but-we'll-let-it-go-this-time dance.
(Flashdance 2:25)