I wandered into a group of gals doing Yoga prayer-centering before the life-sized Betty Friedan Memorial Lava Lamp that is set smack-dab in the middle of the lesbian labyrinth in The Arboretum of afflicted faces at our Lady of the Senate, Nancy Pelosi, prayer, worship, and gathering space for our intentional community of believers and where it is the rarest of days (as in never) to hear the lectrix make mention of the poor souls in purgatory during the Bidding Prayers and, for a moment at least, I began to wonder if the Barque of Peter had not drifted a few degrees of its course owing to our great helmsman, Franciscus, being otherwise occupied with the concerns of global warming causing us all to smell like sheep (is that what he said?) and so I am writing to you for assurance that all is cool, as the kids like to say.
My buddy, Narvel Lee Cooter (he's a Bapbdist) is always dissing me because Our Lady of the Senate gathering space has the Narcissus Nave that is tricked-out with mirrors that make you look three inches taller and forty five pounds lighter and the nave is the favorite meeting area of the Catholic Organization of Women (We call them COWS) who strategerise there before meeting with the local Presider to keep him up to date on their demands that all male pronouns be eliminated from all prayers because sensitivity; their demands that there be at least one altar girl at every Lil' Licit Liturgy; their demands that the Presider accept as a lectrix, Skeeter Longbottom, the twice divorced, now out and proud, lesbian, who requires a companion Collie to deal with her depression and suicidal ideation; their demands that he should take a percentage of the collection and give it to them so they could take a bus to Minnesota where they can be learnt to make Dream Catchers, God's Eyes, and prayer mats for the Kareem Abdul Jabbar Masjid Center that just opened up here in Fuller Heights, Florida and where our Presider will be honored for his contributions in convincing the people of Polk County that if they refused the Mahometans a building permit then all of America's idealism would become an empty promise because religious liberty.
O, so far we have only three Mahometans living here and taking full advantage of the Kareem Abdul Jabbar Masjid Center but according to Ann Corcoran of Refugee Resettlement Watch, if you live within 100 miles of any Refugee Resettlement Agency then you are pretty much screwed as America continues its Invade the World, Invite the World (Steve Sailer description) Foreign Policy.
But that ain't what is really bugging me. This is; this is what my Bapbdist buddy, Narvel Lee Cooter, had to tell me about his political theory involving John McCain and American foreign wars.
Ol' Cooter believes that, well, I'm just gonna paraphrase what he claimed, try to follow along;
Take a look at John McCain. I mean, look closely. Not to the point where you become repulsed and spill a technicolor yawn onto the coffee table but just long enough and close enough so you will get my point here. I think McCain is the result of an experiment gone horribly wrong.
I think some scientist at the Jet Propulsion Lab dropped some LSD and then went to the lunch room and started eating Chicken and Dumplings. He was sitting there really enjoying the meal when suddenly he said to his colleague; "huh?"
Responded his colleague: "I didn't say anything."
Embarrassed, the tripping scientist grabbed his lunch and raced back to the Lab where he pitched the lunch into a Beaker and then threw in two dozen wings from a dozen Belfry Bats, the eye of a newt, 1/4 cup of extra strength dehydrated crazy ass rat bastard gall bladders, a pint of rocket fuel, and then ran about 257 Million Megawatts of power through it then tied it to a bowling ball and heaved it into the spent fuel rod containment pool at the Ventana Nuclear Power Plant (you know, the "China Syndrome" Nuclear Plant) where, two years later, a skinny dipping Jane Fonda stubbed her toe on it, hauled it out of there, and gave it to Dennis Hopper as "proof some weird shit is going down there, man"
Hopper used it as an ornament on his chopper and when he crashed his bike on the front lawn of the Jet Propulsion Lab trying to run over Bruce Dern (he starred in "Coming Home" with Jane Fonda) a cook at the Jet Propulsion Lab (The cook was an unknown young black woman we would all later come to know and love as "Wheezy" on "The Jeffersons") found it and rushed it upstairs to the scientist who created it saying, "Lordy, Lordy, lookit at whats I find Massa."
And Mr. Smarty Pants Scientist implanted the "thing" on a dead body and brought McCain came to life as a militaristic mad man.
At least that is Marvel Lee Cooter's thesis. Take a look at the photo and tell me McCain's head does not look like a Dumpling gone horribly wrong before it was brought to life..
At least that is Marvel Lee Cooter's thesis. Take a look at the photo and tell me McCain's head does not look like a Dumpling gone horribly wrong before it was brought to life..
I think you'll agree Ol' Cooter is either on to something or on LSD.
(Please find enclosed photo of John McCain)
Anyways, Amateur Brain Surgeon, because the Shadow Church no longer has any substance, all manner of weird things have started to happen as insanity and wild theorising have rushed in to fill the void left when the One Holy Roman Catholic and Apostolic Church went all Ecumenical and anthropocentric in the 1960s.
What do you think?
Signed,
Flummoxed in Fuller Heights
Dear Flummoxed in Fuller Heights. First of all, don't get me started you people; you know how irksome ABS finds the entire "enclosed please find..." thingy.
Quit it.
Now, as to the rest of your letter. I know Fuller Heights and in the local Palm Beach County Franchise of Dead Diocese, Inc. America, we all laugh at you because Florida is as flat as the chest of each member of the Chinese Women's Olympic Gymnastics Team - because the average age of the team is 13 - and so the name of your town makes no more sense than does the town next to Wellington, a town laughingly called, Royal Palm Beach, and which crummy city is twenty miles away from the ocean.
So, just so you know, your town's name is a joke.
As to the rest of your letter. Sadly, it evinces an understandable state of flummification owing to our great helmsman and his losing control of the Barque; but, to be fair to him, it has been out of control for over one-half century and so we must remain in full communion with our local Bishop and Franciscus for there is simply no alternative.
Yeah, ABS knows that paragraph doesn't parse, but, it's the times...
Look, Jesus is, has always been, and will always be, the Head of His One Holy Roman Catholic and Apostolic Church and so, we must stay faithful to His Church and to the Faith once delivered and we treat all novelties as seriously as Narvel's novel theories about McCain.
Now Narvel is prolly wrong about McCain but he is not wrong about the insanity of McCain; he is clearly nuts.
O, one last thing, the name of your buddy, Narvel? He was prolly named after Narvel Felts, the one-hit wonder whose name evokes images of red necks scratching out a living in the red dirt area of Oklahoma and Texas.
Wadda cool name.
Pax tecum, flummoxed in Fuller Heights, and here is Narvel's one hit. The way he modulates "reconsider" is reminiscent of what happens when an oil rig drill bit suddenly strikes a giant pool of puissantly pressurised oil 500 feet down...
(Please find enclosed photo of John McCain)
What do you think?
Signed,
Flummoxed in Fuller Heights
Dear Flummoxed in Fuller Heights. First of all, don't get me started you people; you know how irksome ABS finds the entire "enclosed please find..." thingy.
Quit it.
Now, as to the rest of your letter. I know Fuller Heights and in the local Palm Beach County Franchise of Dead Diocese, Inc. America, we all laugh at you because Florida is as flat as the chest of each member of the Chinese Women's Olympic Gymnastics Team - because the average age of the team is 13 - and so the name of your town makes no more sense than does the town next to Wellington, a town laughingly called, Royal Palm Beach, and which crummy city is twenty miles away from the ocean.
So, just so you know, your town's name is a joke.
As to the rest of your letter. Sadly, it evinces an understandable state of flummification owing to our great helmsman and his losing control of the Barque; but, to be fair to him, it has been out of control for over one-half century and so we must remain in full communion with our local Bishop and Franciscus for there is simply no alternative.
Yeah, ABS knows that paragraph doesn't parse, but, it's the times...
Look, Jesus is, has always been, and will always be, the Head of His One Holy Roman Catholic and Apostolic Church and so, we must stay faithful to His Church and to the Faith once delivered and we treat all novelties as seriously as Narvel's novel theories about McCain.
Now Narvel is prolly wrong about McCain but he is not wrong about the insanity of McCain; he is clearly nuts.
O, one last thing, the name of your buddy, Narvel? He was prolly named after Narvel Felts, the one-hit wonder whose name evokes images of red necks scratching out a living in the red dirt area of Oklahoma and Texas.
Wadda cool name.
Pax tecum, flummoxed in Fuller Heights, and here is Narvel's one hit. The way he modulates "reconsider" is reminiscent of what happens when an oil rig drill bit suddenly strikes a giant pool of puissantly pressurised oil 500 feet down...