VECTOR XI.
The Archive Geeks
and the 2nd Toryan War
The tales on the two remaining Disks were compiled by the original prehistoric
author from acroamatic accounts handed down from generation to generation.
Some speculate that Disk XI portrays an actual cataclysmic War which resulted in
the destruction of the entire archaotic proto-civilization of the twentieth century.
FORE-WARD
The Saga of Metaphysics Anonymous and the Midtao Inn
Two Great Houses there were in the Adobe of Ptar, nexii of college unseen and
commonwealth unknown to the penny aristocrats and dollar booze-wazoots of
Memphis on the wined-arc seelie mysstyslippery Ippississimus: (1) Hivad House
percolating perched on the electric-hued Sixties-seventies cusp and (2) the
SWANGIN' Midtao Inn glimmering beaconlike through the sooty, tenebral
eighties-nineties interstice.
Tales told of Hivad appear elsewhere. Here is the time and now the place to
relate something of the history of the Midtao Inn.
And, how about Metaphysics Anonymous? Did it have its conception in the
heart of a yearning? For something beyond the bonds of the none-too-fine 9-5? Or
was it simply maudlin nostalgia for the days of yore when hippigraphic haints
wandered the coffee houses and headshops, brandishing bongs and banjos, lighting
their pipes in the parks and groves where bodhisattvas come and go, talking of
Jefferson and Thoreau?
May that as if be, MA had not its original beginning at the Midtao-- no, that was
in San Francisco where Memphis and Mississippi met synchronistically to cool and
groove by the Bay. The beginning at Midtao was a second inkarmaction entirely.
MA waxeth and waneth in a wavelike locorythm o'er the years, packed with
synchronistic networkings and spurred to blumenkraft thereby. It took some respite
after Saint Frisky, then arose phoenixian from its eschers at Fantasia in Memphis.
Then, after another brief incubation period, it met in force at the house of an
animistic spirit liberator near Memphis Snake University, the demesne of Baba
Yaya. For Bubba (who'd squeezed about as much of the wine of goodly cogitation as
possible from the turnipheads in the Anguish Lit Department at MSU), stumbling
upon this happily happenstanding was gills-in-balmyhead for a complex of needs.
And this complex of desires included not only a sweettooth yen for the golden olden
days of decades past but also a need for noumenatic nourishments which could be
harvested only outside the confines of the Weedpatch of Conventional Wisdom.
Captain Nemo was there, who'd seen Bubba where and abouts some years ago at
Hivad House. And the luster of Helios shone once again on the neural nebulae of
those prescient and unaccounted for. Once again, Nathan was the only entity
unshaken. 'Twas a night.
And was it really the very next day that Nemo and Bubba found themselves in
neighboring offices? Perhaps. So saith Nemo, who lieth with his tongue only if it
will promote intellectual elitism. If not then, it was most certainly soon thereafter.
What matters is what followed, for it was then that Nemo proposed holding the
meetings at his house, the Midtao Inn, just astonie's Thoreau from the ancient site of
Hivad House. B'avalonian seasons ensued, lasting some eight or nine years, Shire
Reckoning.
'Twas mudmight in the moon of Watt, and the mind hung gibbous and sere o`er
the Trippist Monkeys.
Part 1: Eld Juan's Gnus
Tempus fugued, luffing all Bubba's old twitcackle cronies awash on strange
strands distant in mind or space: Heebie all letheed out on Dia Isle of Petmouse,
Fleebus and Sheafer accrux the Great Divide, Aramie coked out back in the land of
King Cottonmouth, the Myrr shipping Danish care cars to AEthiopia, the Bear
transmigrained to a Pokerswine Lama, and Eli dood (or so 'twas all edgy) and
buried undersod ("Probably reincarnated already," Bubba thought, nervously
eyeing the Kinder girding him about.). Druvid had likewish gone over the Ley, done
in by a malingering illness, despite the beast-laid efforts of all the kinks whores and
all the queen men.
The dare departed, the dear deported, aard echo dance of yearn brought Bubba
back once more to Tin Isis and grand ol' Mome Fish Snake U, in ardor to pursue a
degree of tactical writhing as a grad strident, teaching freshmen Anguish lit by
morn and working on his Ogrish Master legree by night, in an inlust repettipat loop.
Owled Juan shewed up one techtact day, Preternal Juan, Juan the racial
indiscriminal, Juan the sexywill indus crete, taomansion hopper and dimension
harper, wearing an iluviant orogone-lined astral lobe (given him by his squeeze,
Pistil Sophie, upon her return from a tour of the ley markets in Jambu La La), solar-
wind-powered propellor einjine invention perched atop his neural nebuley, and a
full set of kernacoptic crystal terra pins packed in his bangalong.
And here's how it swung: As tamewent by, Bubba grew wearier and warier of
monoslobic debate with the pentameter heads in the Tentpole of Juice at Snake
University. Then one fitfull day he was holding forth on this subject when Prof.
Moe Chart spoke up.
"You know, dear fiend, there's a place you can go."
"What? Sugar Shack?"
"No, Mythril Fusaics Unonerous. They're meeting tonight. I can take you
there."
"Will there be Moslems or Christians there?"
"No, Mythril Fusaics doesn't believe in cerebral sacrifice. But there might be a
few Hobbits, a Jew of Alexandra, some Dwerrows, and a Baal Witch or two."
"Sounds like my kinda folks. When do we absconday vu?"
"Have you graded all your essays?"
"No, but I know they'll all get A's. They all copied off the Korean kid. You read
one, you've read them all."
"Then we can go now."
"So what are we waiting for? Lead on, MacBeth!"
So Bubba followed Moe down Freeghost Street to where the Bough House
nustled in a deweygrin nook. Grain the buccolo, groin the bogie loo, and grand the
elium trees penumbra solishly sheltering the cottage wherein dwelt Baba Yaya and
his soul squeeze, Shellie Persephonica. Bubba drank in the sight of the house, green-
on-green immerged in floral verdure, with eminently caressable sculptures stark in
the soft glamour of the lune light. He was all unawary that the foliate finny gar of
Fate had fingered him for an anti-procrustate knapsack. Ah, but a couple hours'
sojourn amongst the Sophiheads can wooley the beast-lewd plains of hearth and
home. Which only goes to show how mythtaken feys can be.
And inside! Hoo-hah! Round the Fable Runed was coaxilated a fine croppa the
best salvey diviners Mome Fish had to ophir up. For Nelfer Aquelfer was there, and
Marinish Rhymer, Carpwand Nemroad and Urn-Mysst Mu Kraken, Brews
Elvenbred and Kid Blue, Peniswolf and Warm Furribarrios, Hamhock Oms with his
pal Profuser Whatsit, Eddie Al Posey and Mock Eddie Sayd, Sassie Greenchoice
with her galfreud Judy Indus Skies (Luci's sis), Mare Z. Doats and Lamzy Divy,
Adimus Homerprimos with the smithy brothers (Don Cuproyal and Pupper Kenny
Capsian), dionysish Naeon Tetragramaton, Kid Jambalaphile, Arnunkel Wyrrdie
and Auntie McAstral, Bob Dobbs, Hayzeus the Juciferian and Zooloose Refract,
Cattie Catlick with her beau Guzazza "Treedoller" Bill, Diem Portuna with Phyllis
Stein, Omar Goshmagalli and Connie Sue Trah with Randy Goatknabe (drooging
along his fiend Bucky O'Conner) and, of ceres, their host Baba Yaya with his
squeeze Shellie Persiphonica. O, how rite loosley they hoehoed daygander!
Then what to the wandering Bubba's eyes shoulda peer, but a manitaur
shellayler with a toony mainwyr, an ovary stoker so leafly and loose, he knew when
the mome rent 'twas Al d'Nous.
Antivapider than Engles discourses became, as they ranted and rounded then cooled
once again:
"By the beer or the profit-taking! By the lard unleaven! By the yayhoos
yelping, 'The lord takes a big helping for his elf!'
"Now rasher! Now brasher! Now thunder in quackzen! Nom comment!
Gnome cervix! No'm, Donnerman Nixon! To the Toyfell, Bauhaus! Till we topple
dee Gaul! Mayas' tray! My asp Re! My astray befall!"
Quoth Don Cuproyal, "With these showers sooty,
the dragoon marching, parched by rote,
invaded every vale and swigged licquers from
avenue in joined dread,
deflowered Wendy's effortless ache with his
sweeting beam and spared her in every hole and heart.
Helf in the room his staff Korie srumed,
while Somali fools mocken melody,
then slurpen ollier nort the ovaltie.
So sicketh he not her with his coarsage,
nor longen fork the goon in elle garage,
nair pryde her to licken strained miroge."
(To Bubba, all be couth in sunderry logre.)
And then the song of Baba Yaya:
"They have leaden Gaard in geld
and bowound Him round with stable clause and rotaries.
They annoy goodhead with gibberiche
and make them tow their lying houndmutter.
They have tried to hyde the strange of their loins
and stamph them so foul of Saut Pitar that they can barley breed."
Then Al took the flure:
"Deva Void is my ship, pardo! Sidhe will not haunt.
Sidhe breaketh the dry rape dose indios.
Sidhe stalks thee and rides thee 'til otters
they ashtarpress thy bole.
Sidhe breeded thee, Indra, massive pie-at-us jest,
boorish fame's fake.
Far way though I balk roody ballet, utter shudder wardeath,
we shall veer to WEVL.
For Tao art pithseed,
theorawed, and highs daft. Day come forth be.
Now repair, rest, eat a bull by formee,
in the prescience of anemones.
Though hannoyen djinn by Brand One bawls,
Maycup traumeth clover.
Sure, a ley-goddess sent Parsee Veil willow tree,
alder daze, dovely strife,
and Eye-Shield wall, Indra:
How's Utterland? Four Rivers?
Hoot, man!"
Said Bubba then, "They're not to blame,
for philosophies lame or lack of same
Om unvirilment is theo culpa here.
These psychospiritual wimps, these underdepraved children,
these casualties of the Fifties and Eighties
are mirely buyproducts of a barnstable family life.
We should witty the poor sowls, helf them when we can,
or stay out of the neighborhoot when they get heilt
of sharp objects and other constitutionally
garteethed whippingry."
Auld Adimus couldn't resist just one more pithy quip,
"These hustling massas, you see, are like goldfish:
Toss them any flakey food, no matter what it is,
only that it looks like what it's supposed to be.
Sprinkle it over them, then they come to the tap, ravannas,
and make those waiters brawl.
They'll martyr for it, hype line and singcur,
then slink back down into the cowl bark debts to sleep till next Sundog.
And of course, when the wader gets too hard for their licking,
they statusways go ballyap."
Said Elfthin: "You're still grudgemittal over that damnipple, aren't you?"
"Senta pluma," said Phyllis, with a sardonic sigh.
That very folgering morn it was that Bubba, fedup with the Mome Fish Snake U
gritshoe ninecents, threw up his lechycorns on the parapet. (For Sacred Arroyo!
For Holy Cana Ada! For Haint Gorge!) Then he left the eyesorey howlers to go
fraylance as a buzziness writher.
So he got him an orogonic orifice on the ninetieth meridian, which the vulgate
know as Son of Lean Street, was saddling in and adjusting his typing chair when but
Al d'Nous who should appear! His own orifice, it twirled, was located so
zenchronistically next door. Straightaway they struck it off famulously, finding
themsoul so many spheres in commune: the mythicmusical, the arcantextual, fract
and frictal. They had even porked the same cullasses! And (merrybell diction!)
They shared the cellsave search, the Quaze for the Comic Mumoocosmy Whales,
Nagha, & Jung!
Then it was that they rose their swards and fledged a truth to the stairs and
bears:
"Since that we never metaphysics we didn't like,
let us carry cartouche to the Midtao Inn,
and there let the traume spire agrin and akin!"
Fifteen yore or morn they mead on Allsatyr Daze in the house at 888 South Pax,
where dwelt Al and his squeeze, Pistil Sophie (aka S'wester Thelema). A Core Be-
Know-Wit was engendered, the Mythtook Nauts of the Found Fable: wordcurver
and imagemaison, huebringer and singbearer, chaneliere and halucinologer,
karmrider and balmraider, fuzzykist and cycle logoist, and then the newly wove, all
gyred to the trace of the neolo gizmo, all proud to be on a mizzinmusk from the High
Hippississimus. Yea, Bubba was oft minded of Hivad House, for the Midtao Inn was
likewish a nexus for the Freestanding Wave and even Sita waited in the same
nekkida cicada woods, nearby Cupraum Stride and Mythisoma Elvenue.
Cool breezes wending aways through variegiated conversations,
psychics and astrologers in readings rooms and foodway,
crystal-therapists and geo-maniacs in the living raum,
shamanic rites in the Pyramid Room, animists passing in and out, and
passing out, and passing
unhinged heathens drifting up and down the stairs
out into the Coldpool and back again,
only to wind up sucking yod sparks in the orogonic trailer,
then float back out to embark, wafted aloft on the extasis mundi,
on a quest for the Holly Gazebo,
bonnie claire voyageant on the Great Corona Route,
past Hiker and Parkway through cudzu, Camus, and Cousteau,
the glittering universe of lexions, the Nameless Boo Ley Vaard,
canine corridors canopied with foliage,
Eleusian Fields, the Psyche Traume, and the star-swung
Eyelids of Lindesfarne,
re-turning always to the Nexus at Nine Hundred
"Delight. Respite."
They greated the reage of aquaria, the hormonekkid virgings, the commits and
aardquacks that Seldon shown through the aethers, and, ley green fin ally, the
wyrrdds and roomers of weirs. Filled with unangelical furflight, they torque the
remedia massage to mounting and valhallway, to jangling desert, to perkland and
firmlend and the farflung eyeballs of Lemure Man even bestretching furgone unto
the little panchovilles awaaaaaay out on the parry meter.
Wide stretched and strutted the mithra musical netword: from the Treesangel
land of the deepsooth something past Nymphers-to-Nessie in the maidstooth, to
Portal Land in the nardwist down to Saint Frisky, thence to Hellay's Punt and dumb
Diego, and back acrux the pray dotary prairie through Sedona While and Albion
Quaker, through Don' Taxar Canon and Naga Doses, through Del Oztechs where
the cantelope pray, through Mambamundo irself: St. Frisky to Terroran, Lush Ann
Hellas to ancient Carinse, Dollars to Deli, Poles to Neuchapel, Mymphos to the
Portal Raztus Edge in Thighbite, and back to Tan Essene once agrain.
&&&&&&&
Sedimental Journeymen
The lads walk in strange wakes, by tracks gone to weed,
along the Kings' Highway, stalking orbal remedies
past the warm furribarrios and through the colonnade of
maidenhair, Permian,
to the sacred glen where a circle of blue glass insulators signify
Polaris, Seven Sisters, Herakles, and Snake Dancer,
But they do not approach these austere demiurges.
Necturan naiads
(neither fairy nor fish, but both pedaled and finned to the gills)
whisper in the ears of their souls; they are faerie-led to the Gazebo shrine,
there, struck numb and speechless by sight of loonlit Mother Night,
unable to sit or stand, they perch on the rails of the rotunda,
swing free, verting and inverting through Foucalt's apogees and perigees,
thru Logres and Antilochus to Hem's Trail and Parathighs
then, resting their foraymen madgums on the rail,
exters samadhi, their craniums discorporating in clouds of light or so it seen;
The pagoda peak becomes their pointed hat,
parkland paradigms pouring in under the brim
with birdsong and cicada chatter
blending with the melodious laughter
of the bittersweet hershey-skinned blondes bouncing by
Kilohistories of countless pasts and infineable futures
ring round their redestined present primeval:
Edens in Olduvai, Southernly last Sumer,
Halls of the Mounting Monarchs at Memphis
"Ficht du nicht mit dem Rocketen WoMenschen!"
they seem to say to the lads, secure in their cultural trance
Alas, babes alone! Alas, B'avalonian lasses!
As we marsh drown through Finario!
So, resigned to monogamy, energized by 0X0 zen and tranquilized by endorphines,
Bodhi Sandkhar and Prof. Patagoni head home
to their fungi, test tubes, bottles, and intelligent artifices...
And the gesty was geis, and the pomace was gnice, acroamatics twice and their
thyrses thrice... Et, a posse ad esse valet.
In utter words, the philomello logos rhythm grew beyond all binds. After some
sabine years, an extra sincerey flirtation pod was added, and, over willed Juan's
abjections, the Coldpool was replaced by a jacuzzi. Woe unto thee, o Mythril
Fusaics Unonerous, for you forgot that auld preverbal saw: You'll catch more flea
souls with hottubs than with combu cha.
Paleface Refuse began to apeer in, taterhead couples and multiple nunpinheads,
coming not for the light but for the lux. Lacking all clues they were Contraries,
they brought their beers and bimbos into the floatation tank and piped All-Amerikan
Radio KLAN Froggy 500 fashionist "music" into the raveiant Void there. Then they
would drag their bloated carcasses back into the living raum, singing praises to
Mesicksafe and Runny Wrecktome. The affect on the grinhouse was like cigar
smoke in Eden. In leech of all the above and below, 'twas no miraculous dictum
that the Midtao Inn closed its doors of reception. (at least, for a time)
And here's how it winged: Kerning Aumfertile of Mukenny had got his famishy
stones aught in a trap when he stumbled over a phallaceous pern while graaling
mushrooms and rye for the Mome Basquin Maya gestival. So he was laid up abode,
a victomy triptolemia constellated by periods of phantasm, shortage of briefs, and
running at the mouse. Hopelessly hebephiliac, his ale pitar catharseized, he
continued karassing his one-eyed icthys until the inca pisces ran hut and haomad.
Then, peering into her gloaming shale, he whipped out a mojo sickle shell shimmy
circuit and sluiced the head off the oblong meduzone.
"These caps will be the keys to my little cosmos of the corner!" he croyed, and,
tushing them into the eyrie, addered, "Everyone must gat astonied!"
"We are a grid!" they all acrede.
"Hallow julips!" cheered little Peachbuns.
"Mallo Jello!" offered Dianixie.
"Farmed out!" Bubba marmoed in tieusmiasm.
"But just one thing," wist Adimus oddmoanished, "don't go mistaking paradigms
for that om or crux, the Rood!"
So they did, and the wittan flowed like walden. Then somewhere there in the
crannies of night, as Aumfertile approached the peak shexpeary Nth, he found
himsoul in a flowery bougher, align naugahid with a goddess of the murmant,
Euronika Dexterpod, a Levan Time dorsal-treader.
Nubility in the Workspaces
(or: Afrodeity on the Elfshale)
The pearl of great value, tho much underpaid,
The brown jade, gypsy-eyed, coffee-colored maid,
riding astride a shesail dojo catfish dragontide tale,
dances me entrance, like a sweet-scented diamond vortex,
whirling past Shiva and Shankara, Cyclone and Psyche,
drawing me thru Sinsorrow hazes, wile me or Nile me,
deep into the femalestrom; I founder, flailing,
and, gulping exstasis, drown in libidinous wonder.
If her thighs becup a blessing, we should quaff her sweet licquer,
And if a snare why, Who set her there?
By the beards of Sts. Omar and Baudelaire,
'twere a sin to so protestantly scorn
what tableaux Destiny has so very elegantly strewn
as a regalion rose petal repast before us
and thus abandon kissmeet for the nine to fife rigid mortis!
What was Aumfertile thinking on dat froggy froggy night? When he put a
pizano to the pluster: Did he hope or dare, or dare to hope, or hope to hoopoe
perpass, that somehow the mismantled protestute girdishes, those who surrounded
his main squeeze Queen LaCota, would smile on his celebarachian lovestylus?
Could he not foresee, with logic if not logos, that their heads would twirl like an
exorcist's nightmarie? Did he contart his analashes roundy round serpendlish,
binding over bookword like a Graceland Recreation Club aquabat, and, his orbitals
glamouring down Euronika's blake hall, cast all escutcheon to the wand and
squantumly rip the chardovey bright brocade of LaCota's domeish shtick piece? Or
was it semperfy a maidsmuddle that perked awe rye, that psaltry madsummers ave?
(Azulno, many a wyrrd and byrrd slips sly particle yokes twixt the beast-led
playings of moose and moon, gangly gliding in when the partholies that lead from
wold to veldt open in the interface tween soulstash and equusnachts on Allsatyrs
Daynight Eve. Eye, Jeem Arkings, Mini the mauser has slept on that bandana pall,
coiled, wed, and mistralbaal on the dorje step, when the zends of a vestal cum om to
ruse!)
ENDYMION/87
YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
YYYY
Thrown stumbling blocks, the hagging coffin less intense but still
harakting on at the inner edge of ingestation
Then the Solar Dance, gathering at the stillpoint Midtao Inn
(Wherein it is written eye et in Arcadia ergo of Rey/rocks,
stoned, ground heart loaves like linguistic ploys
in the shapes of blood and wind: ME2I812)
Yes I, bringing in Demeter from the frost,
was ambushed by the Light,
Shanghaied and held for rhapsodom
Y
UHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUH
AND I AM ONCE
And I am yet again
reborn as a myrman turning to be,
Limbs gently flailing in the depths of Photonic Ocean,
Clear, unobstructed radiance flooding my seascape
A deluge of awe engulfs me and I drown in wonder
Like Jesus and Carlos gulping my travel in lion's portions
Choking ecstatic on the dizzy verge of luminant knowing
Now enter the Dawns, golden, and Pagantry of Faerie, elleumaned
Causing the small God-frenzied creatures to scatter
here, there, and yonder,
Torquing all eyes to the advent of Eve and Astarte
(I shall sit and see and bide
till one of them makes Her way my way,
nor move nor speak till She does so)
U H
How, then, shall I make time, ere time makes me?
0 cents
May that as it be, the dash was cashed! Fortwit the stone madchin heated and
liquified, translucerated to an orogonic compubind right before his faery eyes.
Amorfortified, almost haomish, he sank beneath her wishdome lichein stein.
"I'm on a muezzin from Allah!" he crede.
'Twas a hard, dazed Knight upon the Moor, indeed, but what else could a
paradixies have undone so soddenly last sumer?
Narmer in a kern sage could he have dreamt what cattyclashmic
perverberrations were to come as a resully that moment's indexcreation, which a
lifeline of prurients could never repave.
&&&&&&&
Part DC: The Eve Elation of Jordangst Priest
THE QUEST FOR THE COSMIC MAMMIJAZZM, DISK XI:
Part Twa: Gottenboomerong
To the Clutch at Pallimono:
Thou art neither Wayskey nor dee Vine nor Buddha Lite.
I shall spew thee out of my mount.
To the Kirk at Palestony:
The sines of the foisters are fausted under sun,
until the kinders chinlings kindle the kith and cousins in
the skyword kitchen eat. Thus loop ye endlessy
in a vrilent seerkill. Prosthesis grim unless ye head
the livings of the Mahatma and the King;
there is no end but it be in peace, only
peace of the living or peace of the dead?
To the Krik at Dogless:
Continue thy good work in the nama the pitar, the soil, and the
hollyzeit.
To the Kluck at Wastewood:
Fool are ye who supsistern the leben
of pharosis, pluralgia, and the hardbrick of sore Isis.
To the Klark at Kant:
Clark can't and Immanuel can't.
To the Clerke at Khan:
Kookla can. But Willy?
To the Kirchief at Chichienvy:
Well have ye wrought and better than ye thought.
Yet I have one little thing against thee,
for that ye still love the torchings of the Nicotinians,
which I ate.
Be wary and repaint your shindos,
for the tame is axland.
To the Grrr Chef at Derektra:
Be wary towords the unlevitine fashionists,
shun the fallosaphis of the anhedonists,
and evoe void the steroid mouthings of the antisexuaryans.
Anathemate the immatriculate concepzions of those
who would carve simplicity from complexity.
For both freedom and happiness are complex, manifold,
obstructing oppression.
And this frightens them as a speck of dust, manilegged,
stirs the timorous breastie of the oppressive-repulsive annoial retective.
To the Kurd at Wae:
Vennsee guile
(SPRUCE
seekwild
FLOOTS)
brakes Indra furor's phaze.
Why don't you find a nice Budhash girl,
saddle down and start a familiarity?
Part Z: Idi Eats a Broad
Bimeby the moondeals haunted to mourne, and the sullygullies fell into plots, un
by angst. Then the Furless Larder, Henrial Volkzeimers (akak Mesicksafe),
garnered his veldt unto him and sprach unto his recthand man, Runny Wrecktome:
"Our bunnies are boasted and our barnies are bairned, but our rectooter pal
Ooter is a puce flooter! There loitereth yet a hundfoil of anachronists jollywaggling
their red briefs in the leeward breeze at me!
"This cannot do! This whorlnut be! Mine alt hearth can't stand the cumflexity!
You know how small hairy creators frighten me! Hype me, o dogmindo mine! What
can we do?"
"Just leif it to me, brasso mine! I know how to hundeal these lainghead
intellecheralls! Gift me but twelve times twelve days, plus a hefty secret budget, and
I'll half them eating out of your hind!" Runny answered with true grit induciasm.
So they took the whole chairlicky nation, put umoan a clamburr cleveration,
while Bubba still shattin with his heed hungdover, saying, "Wherjuh git the gang,
Jah?"
Bout dat time Bubba clambreed up, up and ever up fromout of his millimpedel
blahs, shook his sculls and groomed his gulls (sollying his new Ein Steingaard
carapad), luced around, snafood about, and caught a glimmer of a nocean that
something was amichmach.
"What happened to those rights I had the utter day? The ones I left lying
around here somewheres? They were right, there, weren't they? Or did Ham hock
them last Noctumbra? Surely no one made off with the wretched spare-bodied
things! Who would want them but somebody just, like me, anyways?" he bleeked.
The mistral whispered back, "LeFlore!" (only Dis and Hellingbore)
Gleefully the runnybuns rawhyde wracked the Liberty Contract, shitting from
the hep, like flies dropping the Amendments, selling off public lands to the
nagasockheed, the milleniaged redwoods to lumber curtallies, and freedom DOWN
DEE RIB BAH, all to reinsurrect an Our Tane Champagne Hour Amurrkhan
Holyword Planetation Reaper's Digress Good Ole Daze past what never was, not
since Coolidge and his boys eased our forefodders into the Great Depression
anyways. Grinning and granding like the pallcat that jestate the cannery, shaking
his grindpotterly geek forumlate locks, dismantling thirty years' egress (and the
economy with it), Runny squawked like Cheeta landing a talking role in Bigtime for
Bozo. Worse than Slixie Dixie, this goyboy grampiss twirled his pearl manhandles
and sexshudders, shooting himself in the foot every time he opened his mouth till he
had not a piggy left to markup.
Then his keepers wised up and kept the wordgrinders at forty armslength; a
shout or two and an arrogant lame oneliner slur was all they could get out of the old
Lipper after that.
At last the nasty little creature died of its own accord, having lived twice its
projected spamage and wreaked thrice its ejected damage. Bubba raised his grass in
repreciation of the funnyreel procession.
Ah but then, alas and alush come Prelection Day, Bubba found the liber-real side
of the card spare indeed: With three quarters of the old Ninnistration under
indictment while the rest, rosy-scented, published bestsellers and led pep rallies to
celebrate their sundry frauds (a little accounts juggling, the disappearing millions
trick, selling arms to the Enemy-of-the-Week, nothing out of the ornery for your
ordinary Rat Publican), the media decided it was time to crack down on these
hypnocrits. So they laid a burndetta stake-out on the candid acts.
Yeahboy, you gotta hand it to the medea noisehunden: they were really on the
schtick that day. The Democrazies fell like flies, their crimes flagramp: Letting
girlfriends sleep over, failure to footnote speeches, and one reporter rather had the
nerve to ask relevant questions. (They sure hung that aimbushing mutterfighter out
to dry!)
When it came down to a vote, only the Founder of the Funny Name Society, with
his running mate some ole guy who remembered Kennedy, was left to woo the
hearthlend. The Amerego, still smurfing from the blows dealt by third world bullies
like Vietnam and Iran, gave Ruinybarns Jr. 60% approval, while he won by a
mudslide in the erectoral collage.
"Oh well," said Bubba, "a quail in the bush couldn't be any worser'n a gas mask
stuffed with raw chicken. Whatever happens, it's gotta be better than the last 8 yrs."
Little did he know!
For, far in an overground banker Mesicksafe moneyfisted before the Reximundis
with a new New Ardor of the Aged: "Gather unto ye yeer nomerous farces, and
erodecate the Naghamaid Errantiks!" And the kings of the warold responded,
"YASSUH!"
Part Dose Equus:
Minewill, far up in Hebbin, Angelo Pretzelproaddle (Patron Protector of the
Astonied, Plumb Perpend, Merryingstare, Witness for the Muchplussed) stood
astride a river of molasses, nearby a polyunsaturated pool where grain-fed, cajun-
spiced fried catfish gamboled and leaped.
Taking note of the crusadismo down below, he called a conference with the
Great Mooder, the highlights of which we are honored to present here. (As
captured by Tom Swift Jr. and his Akashic Redactor invention and transcribed to
Earthly English by the Scribe of Memphis on his Corel Word Perfect):
Dialogue of the Mariningstir, pleading with Pistil Sophie to spare the lives of his
enemonies and his own virilent karna:
"But this world belongs to Mesicksafe;
It has always belonged to Mesicksafe; he is the King of this world."
"This world has never belonged to Mesicksafe, nor to anyone, vein or devain,
but this folk are yours for you are of them as so it has been from time before tame.
They were given you before Creation; they chose you before the Autumn of Aiden,
you the Rainbough Draken at the core of the Gilden Eyepull.
They plucked you, willye or nillye, fromm the Tree of the Knowledge form the tres
of dualage.
No choince you had in the mather: twasnt your plait to chace.
Now they have you, wile they or nileday!
They ate their kirk in the Gaard and now it is gone!
They mead their bade on the sward, and how it has gonged!
Thoth was it laid; theos has it staid! Now the bull is in your cart;
no sigh has Mesicksafe in the mater; only you have the sign of slay or flay."
"O Materstream and Mythrilstem, I loth to shatter his curful skeim,
so intrig-girdly, so induced-trussly woven, pious-strown wickurdly, and the
amorous cloven,
its beauty, though unlustring, loven, so dainty and yet so fierce,
and he hymshell having put so much warth in it, so stablished and them all so satis
in it."
"You have a euneech devanation for fair and just and happy," the Goodmesh
omsweared,
"with the principle starving and the tithe fat, half only seeming free and half sure
bundsmind.
This cansell bilked upon the sundry, this tierwar that alwraith goods to grind and
rind,
this Sinsorrow stricture, must someday slatter!
Woulds't mourn the pallid bonepick contrapsheen?"
"But Mesicksafe himself, has he not worth, by the very fact that he is,
that he exists, that he is a living creature with writhe to live?
I simply cannot bring myself to harm any sentient soul."
"In this you are more kind than Me, perhaps more so than is healthy for a
hero.
Mesicksafe, that hotairblown Ego of man, is only a phantom of Homo unsapiens'
cryaction.
Even the evolutionaries sellfur malmaturation.
Seeking froi he finds only fear. The Neurotic Devine, mistaking glut for gain,
tries to bind all to his kampfullsif vain. He is Misery Inkarmatime,
has made himself such, through many a long and arduous excarnaction.
No hope for him do I see, lest he be disarrayed:
only through the Gate of Thanatos is his Paradose.
Open this Gate and you kill nothing,
but only begin to free the Foul from his own Vajra Howl."
"What say thea then I should do, o Shin?"
"Take back what is yours by way of it choosing you,
what was yours before tame began, what was never really lost."
"Then I am assured to win?"
"That none can know, not even I. Ye maya loosen dee, ye maia to graven gee,
yet, if ye flee, then soon or late tis sure the Mother's skin willburn leprous and thin,
all life both within and without--will be shed
like autumn leaves before the onslaught of Nome Ember,
and the blue and white sphere a sooty bareing dread."
Mainwheel, back in East Guardville, Aramie Atalandash and her lover Mello
d'Aeon held fast in the river troyangel land, (city of Jack's Son, city that Jock
bilked) caringyears and cureyours erecting, healing the slake and wended, porifying
the O-packed, battling Sister Mofiend, Cousin Cokeswain, and Uncle Al Keelhaul,
up, up and ever up allsending to the bright, the levitorn mending, the gravorlorn
tending, and the wyscounsel lending to all who wooed here.
Fleebus and Sheafer in the dome West shone, though not until after some
graveley travel, chocking and aesthematic in the gratty aerie of Hellay. For Sheafer
must wind the kinked nookys and granniries of the Muse, as is ever the ardor of his
orverve. Nough said!
While Fleebus, losing his orifice, wandered in the Lend of Node. Till at list he
came atop a grime hell, uproiled his windows, ran in rout from his existstunts, and,
surrendering to despainsation, invited Thanatos in to break fast his mortal coil.
But ere he'd quite laid down his aurems, ere he'd quite fully biered his beast to a
badcoin, soddenly he saw the gleamering loving lief of leven, garnered his last
photons for a drive through the tor, and bors gushping but vitaviril out onto the
ground.
Thereafter the Dia axed Machina, and the boy felt air to a fartoon, purchased
himcell a lushurious star chariot, landed a readhead with big casabas, and sethled
down to helfiness in the City of Lust Angles.
The Myrk bairned strange faers before the Lourdes, shimmying from the
Nortarya down to the Sudafrit, and betook himsalve to Moot Sallyvaunt, bearing
with him the Core Vinowit.
There from the eleuvian corners of the Earth came the polegrooms: Albion
Gentry, Freya Kookies, Friars of Freezone, Wyrrd Uncle Pictus and Auntie
Clymacks, dazeytrays Gray Elm Aidenns, Verann da Cruises, and drytime Kraal
Nichts, Archive Geeks all. Then when the carning King in Versity received the
babble bull from the Fatagain (tootwit: "Okay to make crooksad upon thy southern
parts...") and culled the dreg goons to munch on Eveland, the astrolyric cumpunny
was randy for a feich.
Manewell, back in the Snakes, ward had reached the Geeks that the aromies of
the Trench King had joined the hosts of the Fatagain in a jiphead whoreley war to
extremate the Noushticks. The Geek tribbles then garnered for a paui waui at the
mundo on the riven, haired by the ornery mental mantle muse aeon.
They determined them to come to the aid of the No Woos Techs. So decising,
they hopped up their wiccing laingbeats and souled over wind ark seas to undercut
the siege of Sailvote by hitting at its source of sobereye, the fibriled City of Tory!
For 'twas said: "A liddell fibril dooya!"
Forewarned in a dram from Morpheus, the Toryan hosts marched down to the
shore to meet them. Far as the subtoral orbitals could peer stretched the ranks as the
foes faced each other across a brief feel.
Owled Wind, Kink of the Archive Geeks, raised his sanbaal high, and the "Bad
Ol' Hymns" of the Archive Geek airomy rang oon:
"Got freed angels!"
"High Cockalorum!"
"Cana Bah Sendica!"
"Fear eile airson Eachann!"
"For Antan!"
"Poictesme!"
"And Pointeye!"
"Remember Pilot's Knob!"
"Mount Joy!"
"And Alice Dee!"
"Faering Goy!"
"Goth and Ge!"
making the ground to shirk like a fibrilating bed.
Then the Toryans, hearing the sound and feeling that jittery ground, thought
sure the exxontone was enematized. Not a panatelloon but dribbled with excitement
at that perspect!
But Oxkiller the Flat-of-Foot stood out and harangued his Toryan bretherwhine,
shaming them, and pointing out what miserable shape the Geeks were in. So, taking
heart, the Tories charged the Archive rinks.
Merry Doc fell, rubbed by a firebomb juggernaut which nearly succeded in its
attempt to violate the laws of physics and the principles of Aristotle. Meander Paul
was hacked by Oxkiller, his heed rolling in the grass and cain like a fuseball.
Grinpoppy Malachy received a blow in the aaooga from Doc Tarry and dood lithing
on the grunt.
Then the son of Mesicksafe, Izan Sehtolcnialpa, heartened by the Toryian
successes, flog into the frag with his sobre heiled high. Quack as a snook he cut down
Robe Ray and Chemosavvy, then chapped up Peg Matricks and Panish Meal Red.
Auld Wand, seeing the slother, assended the gnarl and preceded to fance with
Izan. The Geek suddenly slapped the Toryan's blade aseed and troost, the
dragoonbather slattering Izan's money-layered shield and pearcing his britch till it
coomb out his bark; debth dirkened Izan's I's and he flail to flounders, lathed lao in
the flywar of his yearth. Then, without stepping to clannish blood, Auld Wand went
on to fell Raygunomie and Geniezeus, till the rotwangers scathered before him and
he could no mayr kotch them than faze inthru the wind.
Mienwooley Bubba feicht with the deutzen nerrows, staving back to draw his
laingbough eros and schlitz them as they flaid in dissertay. Artnock and Rosneck
went to grunt, then bullysh Aryesmam, and growld Agunny Cumstuck, pursed in the
groin. (What a devaing shot that was! Bubba's hind was goaded by Herafrodeitie,
Goodest of Players.)
A couplet of doorjays (strewn by Strangebrew) hit King Christslur in his craw,
threw his thought, and sent his soul heiling all the way down to the nudderwold.
The hingemen tried to close on Strangebrew but he loit aboot him rechts and
links. They fell like shocks of wheat, souls hauling doon to Kadesh, their cornreds
flean like leaves before the wooly harakhtane floy, and Strangebrew, in the heath of
bethlam, gave chase.
Then Judvishus and Doc Tarry, seeing Strangebrew sephirated from the rasta,
ran to Oxkiller, saying, "See, Phlegermouth! The jungbaal cut off from the Ellume
Whored! Nourish our chants! Let us coil hymn and we sell sea what well
becommon he streams!"
Strangebrew, stranding amid a peal of copses, fended the troikalike adtact, but
then astory era from Fat Krono's bow glazed his brue, the rosinsang ran into his
eyes, he misstopped his didges, parrties went allrye. The three creweled round him
and longed as one; he felt the trione fear slazing his inwords; dath dirkened his oys,
he foil to grout, and the three began to strap him off his aumyr.
Peniswulf and Warm Furribarrios, seeing this, tried to flight their way through
to him but were stopped by Musmellhome and his brather Sniflhynie. Dionysh
Halogrammatwand, though, cane dune from the gnoll and contended with them all
till Auld Wand arrived. Swinging his singrill in an arch, Auld Wand snapped
Oxkiller's cottontrust. Then the Torians-- Judviscous, Dog Teary, Musmell and
Snifl, and even blustering Oxkiller-- floored to safety behind the wail of Tory. But
Peniswulf kotched Big Daddy-o Din, while Warm Furribarrios twirled the Divine
Donderhead. So the Toryann host was crappled yet that mich mire.
"Alas, breaderwine, I fear we campf too late," Dionyshush mourned.
"I fall exudingly wicc," said Strangebrew and respired.
Then Carol Mordre chilinjund Adimus to one last bout, rising her raper high
and shouting, "Caveat thee!"
"Oiled hoar!" the firstreker replied, "Have escautcheon! For achen and agayin
hastdu comat me, and elfairy thyme I lewd thee lao, foil theorotty yayers, and now
wilt thou?"
"Take it back, Commonish!" she yaoled;
"I dike it helfbeck," he returned. "Sowart not oiled!"
"Temporal spunk! Sun of Even! Thou Day!" she harled back at him, baring
garious fings.
She reared, thrusting at his lion, but he (knowing she, ast all dimmorals, could
never dance) parseed, faindled, and troost, in and out, high and low, slacing strip
and hacking breastplaid, shiving uff her graves (she coldnut torch him for his
fleshing deference) till her pale baddy armortage flurl in the durst, shyold
splendored, hellmate thripained, essward bracken, she fled to the safety of Tenebras.
"We'll mate achin!" she called from behind the wall.
"Not if I seize you first!" he tauted.
Then the Toryans, huddled within their prism wills, confeared amongst
themselves as what to do to save their whorey hides, if not the Caindom. Whining,
moaning, pissing, signing, groaning, hissing, till at last the clammer oozed over the
walls and smuck the ears of the Geeks.
"Whut in Hebbin's name is that queery commution?" The Geeks asked each
other in puzzlement. "Could it be someone has made a bonefire fueled by sacks of
live turpentined cats?"
Finally Mesicksafe himself manifestered amidst the Tory host, his eyes aflume,
and, in a voice like Doomsday's sky snapping shut, thundered "SHADDAP!"
Dared a pin to descend, 'twould've clattered in the silence that followed this
behemoth behest. "Now listen up, you sissies," Mesicksafe said, in a sevenfold
reduced verbiruption, "Here's vhat vee gonna do: I give unto you all mine prized
whore dervishes, from zee deeps of zee Dip. Zend zhem out unto zee Geek Hairos
und zhey vill pfall like snufflicks in Penoobria! Zhen, shall I cause Petrotextile to
appear, flapping up from zee Conjurassick Pitchpile. Mittout dem verdam Arkife
Geek dumkopfs to beatrice zhem up, zee O'Danaan hosts vill crumble before you!"
So they trucked out the Toryan Whores. "Look!" the Geeks cried in delight,
"The Tories have made us a gift! Must be cause we've been so good lately, and
fought so well earlily (azulno, they only respect those who well resist them)!"
"Indeed," said Mesicksafe, "Dot iss zee correcteit! You haff been goot boys und
girls, Zo ve giff you gift! Zee! Zhey haff zee vord 'Gift' schtomped on zhem!"
And, show nough, when the Hellowanes squinted through the calors, they saw
blazoned on each pandrama's sparribs the word unquestion: Gift. "Well that proves
it!" they credulated in exbuberants. (Little did they know that "Gift" was
Torytonic for "poison"!)
Won by woon the Geeks fell for the Whored Herbs of Tory: First Fleebus the
Flaunafoal for a cuntfree goal. Then Bubba, seeing his karmrod byfallen, latched
onto a heart tomato, jiggling like a circuit chloen. Next the Carlbear folgedd like a
peckycood, drugged seething and gigging into mattermammy by the tingulating
bella, his shoal s'wester Rhianna of Thale. And Auld Wand also flell, bewenched by
unchantrisk Pistil Sophie, the Cometesse of Mate One.
Far across the wind ark bleu, the Murr befeel lochwiss, feeling ploy to a blundy
blau-augened wicking maynad. Then the Geeks lust all cataract with Mood Soulvat,
and the Myrkeys Peaquark pretired into a nannyry.
The Archive host, seeing their hoyroys enraptmen, and the terrotactile shade
blotting out the son, found themselves between the devas and a deep blue herd place,
so they fled the field of bedlam in a root. Then the Toryan Whores grasped our
hayrows by their codpieces and dragged them home to their dens to deflour them.
It was some moons later that Bubba and his friends, hats in their hands and
ashes in their hair, gathered meekly before the Sacred Halter of Ecaep Citsemod, to
plead before their Mastresses for a little time off.
"Just a psaltry Allsatyr Day, every once in an azurine Luna, if it please Your
Gracies?"
Narrowing their eyes, the better-haves looked at them long and hard, then finally
shrugged and said, "It matters not to us what ye do on Allsatyr Daynight men
things, we doubt not, of no concern to us. But see that ye dally with no strange
bunnies by the wayside, that ye render unto us your paychecks, and be home ere we
want you home, lest we turn to stun you forever and ever."
"You mean we can do whatever we want on Allsatyr Day?" Bubba asked,
incredulous.
"Well, not every Allsatyr Day. Ye must also take us out to supper betimes, at
places only movie stars and NFL pros can afford. But on all other Satyr Days, and
within the limits above set, do what you will--and don't bore us with the details."
"We may then wage peace upon the Toryans?" Cupthane inquired.
"Did we not just now say that we didn't want to hear of it? Do what you will
with your little friends, long as ye don't bring them home."
"W-w-w-well, maybe we'll just go out right now," Bubba stammered. "That is
if it's okay?" He added, raising his eyebrows, and looking as pitiful as he could
manage while mightily fighting back the urge to leap about in glee.
"Hmmmph!" the Fireys frowned, and, giving the genital wrenches one last twist
for good measure, said, "Be off with thee, then! Ere we change our minds!"
So away they clattered, knowing said change of mentation could come in a split
hair or at the topple of a skullcap. They donned their special "funny clothes" and
imbibed the imageic potion, then wended their tao up the helixing path to the
sanctum sanctorum at the high place (called "the pyre amid rum" by the vulgoat).
They plugged in the necessary females to the narcissary males, pushed the buttons
that must need be pushed, and consulted the oracle Kernputter.
Lights flashed and bells rang, thunders spoke and lightnings broke, and
Kernputter said:
"My sunnes, and nat my chyeff sunnes,
my frendis, and nat my werryours,
go ye hens where ye hope beste to do,
and as I bade you do."
The Geeks gazed at one another in puzzlement. "What the flort does that
mean?" they asked.
Kernputter replied, "Malory, Sir Thomas. Works, 'The Tale of the Sankgreal,
IX. The Miracle of Galahad.' ed. Eugene Vinaver. New York: Oxford University
Press. 1981. To be exact."
"Can you give us a translation into modern English?"
"Why sho!" said Kernputter, "But it won't have at all the same meaning."
"I guess it'll have to do, then," Bubba sighed.
"Here goes:
'My sons, and yet not my chief sons,
my friends and not my warriors,
go where you gotta go
and do what you gotta do.'"
"That's it?"
"Well, of course, it could as validly be transliterated as follows:
'My suns, and not my chafing suns,
my fans and not my worriers,
take your chickens where you hope they will best lay
and where the biddies do lay.'"
"That doesn't make a lick of sense," said Hurled Wayne.
"Then again, " Kernputter continued, "it could come out like this:
'My zones and not my chapped zones,
my fronds and not my weary years,
goyim tents, Hindu as ye rope trick hoodoo,
and asinine bidding, too!'"
"Hoodoo?"
"You do."
"Do what?"
"Remind me of a man."
"What man?"
"The man with the hoodoo."
"Hoodoo?"
"You do."
"Do what?"
"Remind me of a man."
Grinding his teeth, Bubba leaned over and whispered to Al, "How do we get out
of this?"
"Maybe if we just leave quietly, he won't notice," Al answered furtively.
So they filed out of the chamber and back down the mound, leaving Kernputter
inchimimg obliviously behind. They returned to the Pluteau of Tory. There on the
escrapment sat the giant ptory tucktale, its gut distended, while the Geeks
approached warily: There was not a Toryan in sight!
It made not a motion as they came right up to its spurs, only stared weakly at
them through bleary eyes. Was it a trick? Had the Toryans some kind of bizarre
ambush planned? Buy that as if me, the Geeks had no choice but to take what
advantage they could. So they gutted the petrotechfile right then and there, schlitzed
him open from stomata to sturmada.
Then (lust and behest!) out rolled the Toryans! spilling right down from the bag
bird's schlit gut! each as round and as plump as a giant beachball turkey! Helpless
as overindulged ticks, their little heads and hands and feet sticking out like
messbygotten pimples on the spheres' surfaces
"I think we can scope what's happened here," wise Adimus porpoised. "As soon
as we were out of the picture the Toryans proceeded to feast on the lux till they'd
stuffed themselves helpless. Then the pterrordickdeal, seeing an easy lunch, gobbled
each one up whole without even stopping to chew, till finally he was as helpless as
they!"
Then in the pimplish pointy heads piggly eyes blinked and swinish mouths
blubbered, "Mercy! Mercy! O gentle and forgiving magnanimous pacifist
brothers!"
So the Archive Geeks, taking pity on the poor blobs, picked up sticks and poked
them along, rolling them down to the beach, careful not to crush their little heads
and limbs. Then they launched them out to sea, one by roly-poly one.
"Where go the currents, this portion of the oceans?" Bubba asked his kernrads.
"Where all streams flow, these plongitudes," Adimus responded, "to Cheju Isle,
south of Korea, where our Toryan fiends will no doubt be taught by the inhabitants
the arts of plow-pulling and rice-planting-- provided of course, that they run not
aground at Samoa, or worse, New Guinea, where I hear the old arts of cannibalism
and headshrinking are not yet completely forgotten. 'Twill be a memorable voyage,
to be sure. And now, let us to home ere our wives awake and turn to stun us forever
and ever."
So ended the Toryan Wyrr, and with it the Domination of Tame over the World.
(Yet, for our heroes, the Dominion of Tame was just beginning.)
{In the achronal was the neolog,
and the neologo was the neology,
and the neologizmo was the neologarithm.}
Far lay low the yow in town,
fuelall theo rooting yaweherds,
A jock demolition roses in the darm rest,
the ruining commisari to umberaid,
and the suarays are breathen unto dowshares.
Furry though the Yao in Thou,
foal the rutty yewers,
a chuckly molie rises in the dam nest,
the runing commentary to ambereyed,
and the swards furbitten unto taoshowers.
PENISH
(or is it only the Bitch Inning?)
&&&&&&&
COMMENTARY ON MA AND THE TORYAN WYRRD
This is a true tale, if metaphor be allowed. Even without metaphor, most of it is
true. I should think the metaphor of Archive Geeks vs the Toryans would be quite
clear. Metaphysics Anonymous was perhaps at its strongest when Mundaneville
was deepest in its Slough of Despond. And believe you me, the 12 years of Reagan
and Bush were about as deep as the Slough ever got, at least during the current
incarnation.
Some people speak of conspiracy, some of delusions of persecution. Methinks
there is no Great Conspiracy. People are too damn inept to pull that one off. But
there are always thousands of little conspiracies going on. I mean, who is really
stupid enough to believe that Oswald acted alone? Wellington didn't act alone.
Hoover didn't act alone. Coolidge didn't act alone. Paul of Tarsus didn't act alone.
Judas Iscariot certainly didn't act alone. Even John Wilkes Booth was able to scare
up a few maggot-brained psychos to help him out.
Now we have the Shrub, Bush Jr., for President, legitimate or not. I simply
don't like the look in his eyes, like a rich kid who just got his first pony. Gourd help
us!
back to the Harriet Mythos
