Tag: satire

The Monarch Of The Universe

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mon of uni

Another never again moment. I’ve had way too many of them, late nights hugging the toilet bowl somehow empting more contents from my stomach than went in. How many times was I thinking I may have just thrown up my liver or pancreas? How may times have I said never again? Well at least this time I’m saying never again not because I’m puking up my internal organs from mixing every alcohol I could get my lips around. Nope not this time, this particular never again moment is because my hallucinations are over the top. Never again will JT take five hits of barrel acid, a favorite tripping substance for LSD users like myself. One is sufficient for a fantastic trip because barrel acid is pretty powerful, two is pushing it a bit closer to the edge and not normally recommended. Taking three hits is unusual and dangerously close to going over that edge but its not unheard of. But five?! That’s just fucking insane man, something that even the most seasoned tripper stacked with frequent flying miles wouldn’t do that on purpose. To be honest clinical insanity was what I feared most.
So how is it that I am laying in bed in a room I share with my brother tripping like McMurtreys cast of loonies in the cuckoos nest? Because in a moment of sheer marijuana driven panic I made an ill advised choice. My Mom came back unexpectedly and I had five hits of premium trip-worthy barrel acid on the table. I was looking longingly at my freshly acquired controlled substance contemplating who I would abuse them with when I heard the door open. In a rush of paranoia I grabbed all five and shoved them quickly in my mouth. Not in my pocket where they would have been safely stowed from sight but in my mouth! I heard her threatening heels clanking closer as she approached the kitchen and I did the only thing I could think of. I swallowed. Mom came in and glared at me, “What are you doing here in the kitchen? What are you up to now young man?” As I swallowed the tabs I nervously responded, “What do you mean up to? I ain’t doing nothing.” Mom believed that parenting was a responsibility in which she was obliged to constantly belittle me and correct my English. She was relentless at making me feel like shit, “You aren’t doing anything JT, and don’t lie to me I can tell when you’re up to something, you look like the cat that swallowed the canary.” I had recently smoked a joint blowing the smoke out my window and I almost chuckled thinking about Tweedy Pie and Sylvester but I needed to keep it together and switch the focus, “Okay, okay I’m not doing anything mother, just looking for a snack. Why are you back so early anyway?” she stared at me in an all too familiar way, deadpan suspicion “Yea well I forgot something and your dad is outside waiting. But if you don’t want to tell me what’s going on maybe I should just stay home.” Jesus Christ no! Just the thought of that made me shiver perceptibly. Time to use my ultimate teen weapon, the disdainful you never trust me sarcasm, “Yea sure Mom, I’m planning an mass murder, I was just in here choosing which of your knives will make the cleanest stab! Why is it you always think I‘m up to something? You never trust me.” I knew I sold it. Mom shook her head in mock disgust and started towards the door, “One of these days JT you’re gonna say something you’ll regret and someone will take you serious. For gods sake grow up. You stay out of trouble and we’ll see about lifting your grounding tomorrow. Go clean your room and then we can talk about trust!” As she walked out the door I sneered while under my breath I spoke bravely, “Yea fucking right, my groundation! What a fucking joke!”
I was pissed off because most everyone else I know is at the Civic Center at the Jethro Tull concert and I’m stuck here because I missed and assignment in social studies. Social Studies, another joke! Anyway this acid is gonna start coming on in a while so I need to prepare. Time to head up into my sanctuary away from this screwed up world. Up to my bedroom which I share with my older brother who just won’t move out so I can have it to myself. 22years old and still living home the damn loser. Not me man as soon as I turn eighteen I’m outta this shithole of a house. Fuck it, at least I will be tripping my brains out tonight. Little did I know how close to literal that would become.

The cid was kicking in so I got settled in. What to do? First things first. I lit some patchouli incense and turned on my blacklight to make my psychedelic posters burst with colors and movement. I pranced over to my cheap stereo to choose an album. Being in a Jimi mood I put on Bold As Love, side A. It starts off with a funny UFO spoof then quickly kicks into a typical Jimi Hendrix guitar explosion. The album was awesome and premium tripping material. I laid back on my bed and began seeing some very strange visions. The ceiling was normally blank but because of the LSD I perceived it to be full of images, most of which were moving like a film strips. Popeye strangling Brutus, Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote running in circles like a dog chasing its tail, and that sort of thing. High def hallucinations. After watching these assorted hallucinations awhile I had to keep reminding myself that they weren’t real. Then I focused on one in particular, Wimpy humping Olive Oyl and he was pumping away to the music. Popeye, Brutus, and an array of cartoon character I don’t remember were all watching and cheering them on. Olive was panting and moaning her skinny and boney legs way up in the air, and Wimpy had lost some weight and was unbelievably in time with the music, thrusting along with the chords. Other characters were clapping, Olive was screaming “Ohhhh Popppppeye!!!“ and Wimpy kept saying “I’ll gladly pay you Tuesday for a good fucking today” still pumping as if dancing. I laughed out loud until I realized something strange. Not that the scene wasn’t already strange enough but this was scary strange. The music Wimpy was humping to was not the album I put on. As a matter of fact it was music I never heard of before, filled with really weird electronic sounds. I jumped up, the hallucinations disappeared and I ran to my stereo. The album was over and I had no clue how long ago it ended.
I shook my head trying to get straight and flip the album over. I stood to reassure myself, “Its just a trip JT, you’re tripping and everything’s okay. Only a trip, it’s the acid, none of this is real.” Feeling only slightly better I headed back to my bed but someone stopped the album. When I looked over it started again, then happened once more. I was certain my asshole brother had come home, knew I was tripping and thought it would be funny to goof on me. “hey cut it out man, that’s not funny!” No response. I looked around. No sign of Robert, no one anywhere, but the music was now playing normal. I turned to get back to my bed when one of my posters, an American Indian chief with tie dye colors all around him began moving. He was breathing and flexing his muscles, holding up a tomahawk. “Holy fuck! This isn’t fucking real man, it can’t be.”
The full force of the five hits of acid were hitting me now. I slinked back into bed and closed my eyes tight but they kept popping open. I had to keep reminding myself I was tripping so I wouldn’t flip out. Can’t sleep, no one to talk to, I gotta see myself through this. But right now I have to take a pee. Off to the bathroom. One of the things about tripping is it intensifies every feeling, whether its making love like never before, hearing music that pulls at your soul, or even pissing. Even better than that pee held in during a long road trip waiting for the next rest top. But there is another oddity when tripping, when you see am image of yourself and its distorted you need to focus and look away before you begin to freak out thinking its how you really look. As I turned from the toilet bowl I was confronted with a full length mirror that had a most frightening and imposing figure staring back at me.
Everything seemed to come to a halt, even time itself. I was staring at a foreboding image of myself painted like a warrior of some sort complete with a bizarre war paint. Split directly down the center of my face and body was a line, on the right side everything yellow except two stripes of dark brown war paint on my forehead angling upwards, a semi circle around my eye, and two more stripes on my cheek in a downward angle. My left side was a dark brown yang to the bright yellow yin. I must say I looked fierce. I stared for a few seconds trying to intellectualize the event and put it into perspective but my perspective had gone out for a walk in the woods and I wasn’t sure it would ever return. The war paint began breathing, or pulsating and changing colors. War paint of dark brown, bright yellow, and dayglo orange were spinning around my face. My cheeks were drooping, my nose twisted and my forehead protruded immensely. I was hideous, a worse image than finding a face full of pimples the day of a date. I issued a long drawn out “Ohhhh My God” and forced myself away from the image. Like I was a Piccaso portrait escaping from a Salvador Dali landscape Nothing was real, I had never come close to hallucinating this hard. I trembled and forced myself to head back to my sanctuary feeling like I was stepping on feathered mattresses repeating “that wasn’t you. That wasn’t you” as my Mantra.
“Shit man, I gotta get a hold of myself here and start enjoying this again. Where the fuck is Popeye and shit?” I thought I was alone but to my surprise I received an answer. “maybe I can help.” I looked about the room, no one here, only me. Oh Jesus now I’m hearing hallucinations. I walked over to the stereo thinking it may have come from the speakers. Nothing. I laid down and tried meditating when a butterfly fluttered in front of me and landed on my chest. I stared in confusion when out of nowhere it began to talk to me. That is to say it communicated to me, it didn’t actually move its lips and speak. It communicated in an unspoken language it called the language of the cosmos.
TBC

The Dinosaurs Revenge

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dino-revenge

The sands of Arabia are the voice of the desert and hold ancient stories of life and love amongst the pebbles of mysterious lands. The mighty Arabian wind picks up fragments of the desert floor and scatters them about to remind the grains of gravel that the songs of the wind are far more powerful than the tales of the sand. The Arabian wind boasts of songs at a time when the desert was merely an ocean floor unable to speak or even hear the songs which were sung in the land of Pangaea when the giant dinosaurs ruled the world. The desert however is unimpressed by such singing for it has mystical tales of hidden treasures, flying carpets, and camels being passed through the eye of a needle. Stories so rich in legend that can be told for a thousand and one nights without repeating a single tale. Being the voice of the desert it speaks directly to the men and women who walk its hot dry paths and explains to them how they should live their lives. That’s power! But the wind speaks only to those who understand the language of the universe and its stories travel far beyond Scheherazade. The wind claims to have been the only entity to have heard the songs and cries of the dinosaur, sad soliloquies of betrayal and deception which ended their world dominion, a song which ends in revenge, for their demise was ushered in to make room for the intelligent future rulers of the earth, humans. Humans who would one day inherit their curse, the curse of fossilized petroleum.
Petroleum responsible for the gallons of blood spilled along the desert carpets in battles to have dominion of the liquid gold, a liquid that would one day be so concentric to human survival millions would die chasing ownership of it. The dinosaurs curse is songs of ships sailing upon mirages and sinking in the sands of time. Men who claimed this cursed oil in the name of their Gods, be it by the scimitar of Mohamed or the sword of Abraham. Death would fell men by the score in an attempt to exchange that blood for oil and the wars would continue to curse humans until they bring about their own mass destruction. Oil, the curse of the dinosaur destroying their eternity.
The dead carcasses of the dinosaurs would ensure the fates of humanity. It was no accident that humans discovered the remains of the giant scaled creatures could be converted into energy that was destiny. Being human accepting it a fate wa not enough, humans had to know everything about the animals. For many years human assumed the dinosaurs to be big dumb clumsy creatures but now scientists and paleontologist believe many dinosaurs to possessed more than a low level of intelligence. Since the resurgence of dino-interest studies have gone much deeper into the social lives of these gargantuan lizards. They have correctly identified the Theropoda bipedal dinosaur to have above average intelligence with the ability to perhaps have evolved human like brains had they not been vanquished. What they haven’t yet discovered is that dinosaurs had a complex system of communication that rivals any human form. They were able to communicate not only with each other, but with the creator of the life on Earth, Gemna. In fact it was Gemna from the planet Lekiel who first planted the message in the DNA strands of all living creatures of the Triassic period. A coded message that has survived billions of years and millions of mutations and still exits in all living things today. Finding and decoding that message may be the only thing that saves us from the Dinosaurs Revenge.

NEXT:
Pangaea, Just Another Day In Paradise

Last Day At Windows On The World

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a window

Smell ya later

Working at Windows on the World was the most awesome experience I ever had in the restaurant industry. Fast paced and crazy during service but the waitresses were gorgeous. In fact the waiters were gorgeous too, most of waitstaff were Bohemians. The war between the front and back of the house was non existent because the expeditor was a buffer between the two factions and took shit from all sides. The pace of service was so intense we never really had time to build up animosity anyway. But nothing in my career has ever compared to the camaraderie in the kitchen.
Eight cooks on the hot line, four in the pantry, an a dozen or so prepping, and about sixty workers in the kitchen at any given moment. In the kitchen we spent what little quiet time laughing and getting to know each other better. It was like a damn fraternity. For four hours of service we were all we had to rely on, we all had each others backs. We snuck extra chef coats to each other, beers, joints, whatever. We got high after service and met for drinks before heading out to our homes or wherever we went. We became extremely tight nit.
The thing that I remember most was my last day there. They have this cute little ritual they perform for the people that leave that they love. And I was well loved, the hippie cook who played the harmonica into the expediters microphone, made everyone recognize the moment of silence for John Lennon during the global memorial at his death, and the teller of numerous jokes and puns that kept them chuckling for hours. So I was destined for their ritual which to be honest made me happy despite what the ritual consisted of.
In the back of the kitchen were three huge cauldron kettles for soups and the like. Considering we served over a thousand people a night the kettles had to be big. For the last day of any coworker they loved they reserve the largest kettle on the end filling it with an array of obnoxious liquids. Outdated fish stock, outdated eggs, vinegars, wines, anything they could find to make a disgusting smelly bath to dip the departing warrior in on his last day. My last day!
When the shift ended I knew it was coming because I had seen it before. Some fight like hell and end up getting bruised up, some try to sneak away before anyone grabs them, and some, like me, take it as a sign of love and a sort of torch passing. I passed by that kettle two or three times and I gotta say they really went all out for me. Stunk like rotted skunk anal glands, ripe with overripe vegetables, fish guts, and many things I decided were better not to try and identify. This was going to be one gnarly shit bath and I am going to be stinking for days.

My time came, and my coworkers grabbed me and dunked me like four times, worse than Ollie Dee from March of The Wooden Soldiers. I kicked a little and made a big scene out of it but in truth I went in it willingly rather than fighting a losing battle with ten ornery line cooks. Besides I wanted them to have as great a memory of my last day as I would. A lasting memory, although mine would have an added lasting effect of carrying around an odiferous array of decayed and rotted stenches for the next day or three. I came out dripping with gross puddles of digestive waste. Needless to say I gave them all hippie hugs which they tried in vain to escape always happy to share. I always shared my weed and beers with them so I felt it only proper to share my nefarious lingering funkfest of stink.

What I hadn’t considered was my trek home. Even after washing and changing into my street clothes the elevator ride down 106 floors had people congregating as far away from me as possible, and at least two women gagged at the fetid aroma. I was like a walking silent but deadly rank fart after an evening of beer and eggs. I had visions of a visible stench trailing behind me like a stink shadow. Everything in my wake gasped for air. Everywhere I went people turned to look at me shooting me snarly looks. I had no dog to blame and it was clear I was the epicenter of the situate of smell. I stopped in The Market Bar on the ground floor for my last drink with the crew and the bartender asked me to leave. From there I got on the E train to take the subway up to midtown. I felt like Pigpen from Peanuts as people moved to the other end of the car. Finally I decided to ride the subway in between cars hoping the wind would remove some of the foul smelling carousel around me.

But the aroma offended any in its path, even me. Its not like when you let one slip out and wonder why everyone holds there nose because being the owner of the fart, the one who dealt it, the smell never quite seems as bad. But this odiferous cloud of decayed matter clung to me as if it would never let go even offending me. My olfactory senses were forming an official protest threatening to impeach me if I didn’t shower and scrub with entire bar of Irish Spring and then douse every inch of my body in cologne. If I hadn’t gagged six times already from the stink stream I would have been offended but I knew I was about to take the advice willingly.

When I walked through the door I was greeted as I was every night, with the most enthusiastically happy hound on earth, my Afghan Hound, Stella Blue. No matter what kind of day she had she was always overwhelmingly happy to see me and shower me with canine affection. Unfortunately not one second after jumping up on me her ultra sensitive nose began twitching and I know dogs are not supposed to register emotion but there was serious disappointment in her eyes as she stared at me, shook her ears back an forth and ran the other way. Into the shower I went before any further embarrassment. I decided I needed to burn the clothes and I showered four times in a row. I then marinate myself in so much cologne I could have driven a taxi. It took me three days to completely eliminate that dark cloud of revolting essence of BO emanating from my body, and while the “O” finally skulked away the memories of Windows On The World has never faded. Stella finally got her groove back and forgave me, and the ten dozen or so flies that followed me home that night have since relocated. All in all being dunked in a kettle of decomposed shit water was like a dis-initiation imparting not just the squalid stink but a memory of a lifetime to always take with me for surviving that intensely hot and brutally fast paced kitchen, and if my memory serves me correct I loved every stinking second of it……PEACE

Snow White and The Seven Habits of Highly Ineffective Dwarfs

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snow

Once upon a time, there was a fantastic opening line for storytelling. A brilliant line in which you could use to begin a story and introduce the main character, be it a queen, a prince, a witch, a beautiful young women, or even three little pigs. From there you could then begin adding whatever elements help you to spin your yarn, be it spinning yarn or spinning straw into gold, poisoning apples, candy houses, gingerbread men, or any metaphor for life you use as your icon to express your points. The brothers Grimm were expert at this having woven a plethora of subliminal tales that kept the young ones starry eyed and motionless awaiting the end.
One story in particular has infiltrated our culture assaulting our values having us accept an unmarried young lady living with seven diamond mining miscreant males deep in the woods. If a young lady today admitted to living with seven dwarfs she would likely be telling the story on her reality television show. Come to think of it, the dwarfs somewhat resemble a much tinier version of the crew of Duck Dynasty. Here comes Snowy Boo Boo and the bayou backwoods jokers. Who are these seven dwarfs anyway? The truth is Snow White has a book deal in the works and has officially chosen The Existential Baker to prepare the press release.
Hers is a story of the consummate underdog overcoming all the odds and poor advice to remain atop the world of Fairy Tales. Snow is perhaps the most loved and popular fairy tale heroines of all time. Mary had her little lambs, Belle had her beast, Red had her wolf grandma, Ariel her voice, and Gldilocks had her choice of porridge, but none had to struggle as hard to remain an icon. Quite frankly when it came to giving advice, the little legends sucked.
.Having been given the name Snow White was the real curse. She was forced to live her life giving everyone the impression she is as pure as the driven snow when in fact murky slush is a better description. And worse than that she had to deal with Queen bitch on wheels. The mean queen gazes constantly into her mirror making duck faces and taking selfies when she notices a few new wrinkles one day. The celeb gossip paper, The Daily Mirror posts a story of how much younger and prettier Snow is so she hires a duck hunter to cut out Snows heart. The duck hunter realizes its rabbit season so he fakes her death brining back the heart of an alligator or something and the queen thinks she is back on top of the pretty polls. Discovering the hunters deceptive practice the queen has a fit, kills him then poisons Snow. Snow enters into a coma at the Dwarfs crib ( what happened during those days is an upcoming tell all written by Doc) and stays that way until a full grown dude, a prince or something slips her the tongue effectively waking her from the coma, and the perfect ending, they live happily ever after.
Snow tells a different story, one of bumbling and mistakes that could have been avoided had she not been under the care of the seven ineffective Dwarfs and she is finally ready to expose them not as helpful concerned garden gnomes, but the bumbling mini clods they really are. It’s a self help book designed to assist anyone in need avoid having themselves thrown headfirst into a coma awaiting a necrophiliac prince to come and kiss them. At one point or another each of the dwarfs has a golden opportunity to avoid the painful tribulation. Here’s a synopsis of her story.

Independence

Bashful’s unpopular advice . “Be reactive not proactive Snow, wait until something happens before you get ahead of yourself. Just always have the fan point away from you so when the shit really hits it won’t get all over you. You know the witch has done bad things to others but how can you know what she will do until it happens? Could be in a piece of fruit, could be a dart, or maybe she is just gonna roofie you at the bar. Worrying about it won’t get you anywhere, wait until she makes her move, then we can plan a counter attack. Besides, that way you won’t have to go out into any social situations where you need to meet knew people.”
Dopey’s dope advice. “Begin at the beginning not with the end in mind. Puff a bowl before you do anything so you won’t need a plan or to be organized. Don’t waste your time worrying about the end game, you may never even need it.Just get high and make sure theres lots of munchies around. Being proactive is like a belt made of watches, nothing but a waist of time.
Sleepy’s alarming advice. “No need to assign any priorities to anything. Best thing to do when your worried about stuff is to sleep on it, don’t do anything until you’ve had a good nights sleep and a couple of naps. Sleeping never hurt anyone, you don‘t lose when you snooze you get more when you snore! Just don’t forget to set your false alarm clock.”
Inter-dependence

Grumpy’s begrudging advice. “Who cares about a solution? Win-win? Balderdash, poppycock, bullshit! The only one who should win is me. But do I ever win? No! So the hell with everyone else, just look out for numero uno sister.

Sneezy’s nasal advice. This is my feeling, and its nothing to sneeze at Snow. When she tries to talk don‘t listen to what she has to say, drown out her words with a big sneeze. A few snot droplets does wonders in getting someone’s attention. Then you don’t have to hear them whine or anything. You don’t need to seek to understand, she has nothing to offer, unless she has like a box of tissues.

Happy’s stoner advice. Synergize my ass Snow. You need to like energize with a re bull and a blunt. You want people to work with you and get stuff done get them high and give them some Red Bulls, then they’ll like do whatever you want. They’ll even…..Oh man I forgot what I was saying. Anyway Snow everyone likes some good weed, to get, ah, to get, um, I forget again, but whatever, just light one up and you’ll have everyone on your side and like ready to help or something. Oh yea, and bring pizza man, everyone loves pizza.

Finally Doc gives his professional opinion. “ Let me fill you out a prescription. What do you want some pain killers? I’ll hook you up with some percocet, that should help. Sharpen the saw my dear, you never know when you may need to build stuff.

So you see Snow has quite a tale to tell, a story of what should have been a painless succes free of coma’s and necrophiliac orgies. Because of the habits of her ineffective Dwarfs she dealt with much peril and many hardships. Be sure to look for Snow’s follow up sequel called “Show Me The Monkey”. It promise to be full of salacious tales of the groups secret life in the forest. Also soon to be released is Doc’s new tell all. The Magnificent Seven ride again. High ho high ho its into bed they go. Big things come from men with small packages. …Peace

Sexual In Your Window

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sexendo

“Dad, what does sexual in your window mean?” Not a question I was prepared to answer my four year old because part of me wanted nothing to do with a conversation involving sexual innuendo with my daughter and the other part, that premature, I mean immature part of me wanted to make a joke about sex, stalking, and peeping Toms. But the question was asked and I had to attempt to explain it. Other questions followed as she grew up like the one that nearly caused me to drive off the road after she inquired what “Dad, what does eff you” mean? She even lifted her middle finger to extenuate the inquiry on our way to kindergarten. Or the time a few years later when she wanted to know why everyone was mad at President Clinton for doing oral sex with Lewis Insky. That one took some serious thinking because it was on the news hourly. Anyway, here’s how NOT to explain sexual innuendo to a child.

Sexual innuendo, double entendres or just sex puns. The more you play with it the bigger it gets so think long and hard before entering. Once you rise to the occasion you can go deeper and deeper into it. I try not to use sexual innuendos much because using them incorrectly can make you go down, and then its not easy to get it up again. Just about anything you pull out of your vocabulary can hint at one sexual practice or another. Something as normal as wood becomes a solid morning image and if its not standing tall its hard to beat. We use wood to erect structures and if a woman is looking for it you can give her the lumber and she’ll crack a smile. It can get downright indecent which is to say is if its long enough, hard enough, and deep enough, its in decent.
Maybe its because we have so many nicknames for our sex organs. Penis, dick, prick, cock, wiener, boner, and these are just some the ones that can be ‘slipped in’ a normal conversation. I grabbed the thorn bush and pricked myself. If I fold it over I will be half cocked. I like my wiener on nice soft buns and so do my buddy’s Dick Hertz and Hugh Jerkoff. On one hand you could have the member and in the other the shaft, its stiff competition between the two. Its easy to make a boner.
The vajay jay is no different. Vagina, pussy, snatch, twat, slit, box. The pussy cat slit the box with her claw to snatch the magic prize. The lady garden cream pie has been compared to a beaver, kitty, love pie, love tunnel, and a poon whatever the hell that is. The nether regions get explored with a cave dwelling love stick in search of a happy humping with an exciting climax. With so many slang terms for the various sex acts and the tools used to perform them its near impossible not to cum across an innuendo.
Basically I try not to give a bang to innuendos because on the hole they take a lickin’ and keep on tickin’ but they often slip out and you could get screwed in the end. I can’t put my finger on it but most of us have our minds in the gutter and like it there. A man and woman like to get something straight between them and they can do that by acting on whatever pops up.

Sex is in our face all the time sometime even sitting on it. We use sexual sport analogies, I got to second base then went in for the score. My bat was raised and her glove was open. Touchdown! In food, what she needs is a hot beef injection, maybe I should give her my sausage. I’m so hungry I could eat at the “Y”, maybe have a bearded clam or fur lined taco. Automotive, give her a lube job with my dipstick, that’ll grease my nuts. We are constantly pre-occupied with sex. Even the technical explanation of why we laugh at sex jokes is suggestive. What comes off our tongues is processed in our pre frontal cortex and the laugh cums in and out of the temporal lobe. We love getting it on and from what I hear men think about doing it every sex seconds while it takes a women sixty nine. No wonder everything we hear can relate back to sex.

A common vulgar sexual term is fuck. Popular misconception is it came from Fornication Under Consent of King, or Forced Unlawful Carnal Knowledge, and while an entertaining bit of trivia the truth is it a derivative of some dudes name, John Fukker. But that doesn’t stop us from fucking an sucking our way into a multitude of sneaky ways to get it in a conversation. Getting laid, the old in and out, screwing, humping, banging, poking, shagging, or other acts like going down on, sucking off, polishing the helmet, giving head, eating out, jacking off, and on an on. There must be fifty ways to fuck your lover. We love double in tenders and in your endo’s.
So I will try to keep you abreast of innuendos and entendres without making you feel the boob. I usually put out on the first date because I’m loose. I prefer it tight but I’ll take it anyway I can get it. It will help me if you respond to my explorations because I do have a big ego but I prefer to not stroke my own. I like having it stroked for me. If you’re up for it we can enter a discussion but I suck at them and I get licked in debates. Then I end up with it all over my face. Hope I laid it out for you in a way will stand up in court……..Piece, I mean PEACE

Open Your Eyes

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alex

Fight Club, DC rules
Are you a republican or democrat? Oh Tea party? I get it, I get it, don’t take away your guns, get rid of gay people, and stop the handouts because everyone on welfare is lazy. Oh yea, I love the chastity belt, where’d you get it, Lord and Taylor? Oh I’m sorry, did you say its a faction of republican or republican’t? What’s that, an independent “no bullshit politics” believer. Love Jesse’s boa by the way, very stylish. Hopefully it will help him win the gay vote. So how long have you been a moderate? Staunch democrat? Cool, can I borrow a few bucks, I’m a little under employed at the moment.
WTF is up with all these political party fixations and all the fighting, don‘t politicians know the first rule of the fight club? Why does everyone who claims to belong to a political party feel a need to jump on every bandwagon the leader of their party feels will hurt the other party? I feel no obligation to any particular political party because not a one of them have all the answers. You can fool some of the people some of the time but if you lead a republican to gun control he won’t drink an drop of common sense. A democrat in the hand has the other hand in your wallet. There must be some sanity somewhere.
I registered as a liberal back in the 70’s in part because they embraced many of my beliefs and in part because I knew it would piss off my Dad. And it sure did, I endured constant lecturing about how dumb a move that was. That’s because my Dad was a staunch republican’t. He went so far as to vote for Barry Goldwater but that’s Goldwater under the bridge. The demo-cats out of the bag now, I belong to the Liberal party. But that’s in name only because as I understood it I needed to register as something in order to vote, and I wanted to vote. I believed my vote mattered, that it counted. I guess that was the liberal idealism in me.
If smaller government meant less politicos I would be for that in a second, but by smaller government they mean less federally mandated programs. I believe in everyone getting a fair shake, I was taught “share share that’s fair” which I in turn taught my children, and I believe we need to have some specific guidelines to live by. I don’t trust many people to play by fair rules because the game today isn’t the age old its not if you win or lose but how you play the game, its how badly can you defeat everyone else so you can take more than your fair share. As a rule if Trump is against something I’ll be for it, an if he’s for something I’ll be against it, because he represents what’s gone wrong with capitalism. Greed. How much is too much? No limit for the greedy, all they want is more. And then they want tax breaks on top of it. The ones who can afford it the easiest want what I refer to as corporate welfare, because its still a handout even if you don’t need it. Greed leads to corruption and maybe eventually anarchy.
Anarchy is good in theory, do whatever you want whenever you want but what if there were no traffic lights? Imagine how many accidents there would be? And how could anyone run a business if people could just walk in and take what they want. Unfortunately we are way beyond being able to successfully adapt the honor system as a society. The bottom line is we can’t trust each state to work together, as in the “United States” because too many states want unfair advantage and bigger government means they may have to share. Big government doesn’t mean more congress people, it means more rules and regulations to ensure all the states play nice.
So time maybe to abandon a total democrat or total republican view, maybe its time we as “the people” need to stop fighting with each other and begin compromising. The word wars between party enthusiasts is downright hateful, filled with untruths, out and out lies, and twisted views being hot out from news outlets. Maybe even subliminal. And its all the outlets, not far left lamestream media or right wing fair and unbalanced anger oriented made for TV news lies. Stop listening to hate driven opinions from television and research stories yourself. Because if we aren’t willing to listen to each other we have no right to blame congress, they get their strength from our blind faith, which should remain nothing more than an awesome rock band. ..Peace

A Hunting I Won’t Go

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dead-jerry-rifle

Any Time The Hunter Gets Captured By The game

If I had to hunt for my food I would starve. My whole family would starve because the closest I ever came to capturing a meal was the time I dropped a can of Pringles and chased it down a hill. Perhaps it’s a morality thing, I mean its not like I’m a flatulent oozing vegetarian I love a good steak, but I don’t need to see it slaughtered. I’m still haunted by the one time I had to chose my own lobster only to have it sentenced to death and served to me with a plastic bib on. Why a lobster would wear a plastic bib is anybody’s guess, but back to the point. At the time I couldn’t help thinking what a shit I was for pointing out an innocent lobster to have it sent mercilessly to its death to satisfy my eating urges. One of those things that just kind of stays with you from childhood through older childhood.
Basically I’m saying I’m anti-hunting. I get that some people feel the need to sneak up on and slaughter animals because they have antlers but personally I don’t get it. I‘m not just being a tree hugging liberal about it, although I have hugged my share of tree‘s, but I walked the walked before talking this talk. That’s right, this peacenik hippie freak has walked the wild hills of Loch Sheldrake NY, up in the Catskill mountains, with a loaded rifle in his hand and lived to tell about it. I had mentally prepared myself to use it before leaving, but by the end of the weekend I was mentally prepared to use it on the drunken rifle toting deer killers. How does a long haired hippie freak in a bright colored ski sweater end up hunting wild animals you ask? A trade off.
I had forged a friendship with a dude my age at work named George. George was an avid hunter, going into the hills stealthily in camouflage during bow and arrow season only to return a week later with heat seeking shotgun shells for the opening of gun hunting season. He had been soliciting me for a week to come and join him as I stood my ground until one day he proposed an offer hard to refuse. “JT seriously dude, hunting is the best thing ever. There is nothing like it.” Now that I took as a challenge. Being a confirmed Deadhead I knew for a fact the actual quote is “There is nothing like a Grateful Dead Concert” and I let him know that in no uncertain terms. His response caught me off guard. “I tell you what, I’ll go to one of your Grateful Dead concerts if you come with me next week.” Hmmm, another challenge. I have brought four people already to their first Dead shows and have made for converts. If I go hunting next week it will force him to go to a show and he will also try weed for the first time. Irresistible offer. “Cool”
So it was set that next week I would travel up into the mountains with a loaded weapon in my hands and as a consolation prize turn a friend on to The Dead and get him stoned. For my part I went out and bought a few magazines, Field and Stream, Outdoor Life, and Sports Afield to get myself familiar with all the latest on hunting protocols. What I learned only made me think I was making a huge mistake. But a deals a deal so I called George to find out what to bring. “Just make sure you dress in bright clothes, warm and in layers, and don’t wear that deer musk cologne you use.” Got it! “Okay, and its not cologne, its patchouli oil. But okay, I won’t bring it. I’ll be ready.” I went through my clothes noting a black leather jacket would not be appropriate and opted for a bright red yellow and blue ski sweater and of course layers. Off we went.
The plan was to drive up Friday night and stay at a motel in town, get up early an hit out into the forest is search of some helpless animals to brutally slay. Back in the seventies drinking responsibly meant wearing a seatbelt while guzzling so we drank a few beers on the way up. By the time we got to the motel the only thing we were sporting was a slight buzz. But the bar at the motel took care of that. It was like some kind of frat party or something, a ton and a half of guys getting drunk and doing shots. Pool table, jukebox, all the comforts of a local dive bar. Guys kept coming over to buy George a drink, and when he introduced me bought one for me as well. I’m not a carpenter but I got hammered that night. 2AM and I still had 2 coasters in front of me so we did two shots of Jack Daniels and called it a night. Tomorrow is the big day, the first day of hunting season and I can only assume the only advantage the deer will have is all of us having killer hangovers.
When I finally shook off all the fog from last nights alcohol I realized that all the guys I was watching head out into the woods were the same guys that were so smashed last night. And every last one of them had a bright orange vest, bright orange skullcap, and at least three quarter of them had orange pants as well. Either this was a prison break or hunters wear a lot of orange. All except me of course, who was in the height of winter style with my fleece lined red Nordic ski hat and my bright multi color stylish ski sweater looking like Jean-Claude Killy leaving the slopes of the alps to join a group of murderous hungover Orangemen into the Catskills. That was when the paranoia began to settle in, and I had gone from fierce hunter to frightened sheep following the crowd in two seconds. George sensed my apprehension and led me to a spot halfway down a mountain, “You stay here JT and if you see a deer shoot it. I’ll be around seeing if I can spook one out” He left and I was alone wondering what I will do once I really do see a deer. I kept thinking about Bambi and I decided I better not look the animal in the eye or there I no way I’ll shoot. The opportunity never came up, although I did see a cute bear cub off in the distance, and I watched a group of beavers working in the stream. Dam they were good!
George came back and collected me for lunch. We went back to the bar at the motel to get some chili con carne and when we walked in half the crew from last night were there and drinking already. The paranoia quickly returned as I listened to them talk about a kill, a shot, or something called a “sound shot” George came over with the chili, “You okay JT?” “Yeah I’m okay, little cold and I wish I had something orange to wear. By the way George, that dude over there was talking about ‘nuthin but a sound shot‘. What’s a sound shot?” George looked a tad concerned, “When you don’t actually see the animal but you hear it making a sound.” I was floored. Holy shit, what if I was sounding like a deer? I ate my chili in silence but all I could think about was these drunken fools taking sound shots after lunch.
The rest of the trip was uneventful and I basically hid in the woods trying not to sound like a deer. Along with the other hunters we got drunk at night and they kept talking about how they will “sacrifice the animal” if they have a decent shot. Luckily the weather took a bad turn and it was snowing too hard to hunt effectively. George got off one shot but missed but I never even raised the rifle to my shoulder once. I was okay with that. I said I would try hunting, knew it was not for me but found out I was understating how wrong much it wasn‘t for me. To this day I have never killed another animal, and I never plan to kill one. I eat meat, I’ll even eat venison, although I think its bullshit they call them deer when they kill (or sacrifice) it but venison when they eat it, but I guess it eases their conscience after slaughtering an unarmed animal. I did take George to a Grateful Dead concert and got him stoned, and he had a great time but didn’t convert. He was and always will be a “Rolling Stones Guy” but as long as he digs it that’s cool. He did smoke weed with me a lot more after that so I did make a bit of progress. I lost touch with George, as is usually does life got in the way and we both moved on and I’m sure he still hunts and that’s okay, because I still indulge in my passions as well. I used to wonder what I would have done if I was face with the opportunity to shoot an animal, would I have taken the shot. But as time has passed I have come to realize there is no way I would have pulled the trigger. I’m proud of that fact but in the end if I couldn’t buy food I’d be dead and wouldn’t be here to write these twisted stories. It is what it is…..PEACE

Fly On The Whitehouse Wall

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afly

II.. Be Afraid, Be Very Afraid

The short lifespan of a fly doesn’t have all that much in the way of excitement. Oh sure if we find some dead body its like an all you can eat buffet for the entire family but there’s nothing exciting about being a fly. We have very little needs, we like to eat, puke, and eat again, then rub our hands together and head out to look for something gourmet, like a still warm pile of dog shit. And this human has three dogs so I decided it would be cool sticking around here. Of course as long as I’m not sticking on some murderous fly paper. Bastard humans make those sticky tapes smell just like lady fly fluids and I’ve witnessed many a friend thinking he was gonna do some mid-air muff diving only to find himself trapped dangling in a gluey mess. But I don’t want to bore you with the details of the danger of life as a fly, I want you to hear some real interesting conversations I was privy to here on the wall in the Whitehouse during the days of what humans call the Watergate scandal. From my original vantage point of the wall I was able to hear quite a tale with a cast of characters that, well lets just say for them to call our larvae maggots is extremely hypocritical. They think their fecal matter isn’t odiferous but any fly worth its proboscis can smell a politician miles from the beltway. C’mon, I’ll walk you through it.
Seems after The Pentagon Papers were released to the press this Nixon guys popularity ratings were tanking and it wasn’t going to be easy to get him re-elected. That’s when Howard Hunt came in the office and if talking shit alone was a meal I would have had a smorgasbord. I’m still on the wall here in the oval office along with G. Gordon, Tricky Dicky, Howard Hunt, John Ehrlichman, HR Halderman, John Dean, and John Mitchell. There seems to be a lot of tension in the air because Hunt had just offered up a plan to break in to the same hotel I was in just last night to spy on some democrats or something. “Listen Dick,” pleads George, “Howard’s right. Larry Obrien, the chair of the DMC booked a room at the Watergate Motel. My sources tell me he has credible evidence of some bullshit connection with You Mr. President, and Howard Hughes” Nixon shuffled and tried to interrupt but Liddy held him off, “Please Mr. President don’t say a word. Not a single one of us believe you did anything wrong but my source claims he has convincing looking forgeries implicating you and Hughes. Obrien was heard saying he’s gonna use them to bring you down. Not gonna happen! My team is going to liberate those phony papers and destroy them. Then we bug his room. We all know how Obrien loves to chat with his commie pals and I’m certain we can find evidence that the democrats received funds from Cuba.” Tricky Dick isn’t fully convinced and turns to Howard, G. Gordon Liddy’s co-commander. “What the hell kind of proof do we have that those liberal shits are getting some dough from Castro?” Howard was prepared, “Mr. President, I have reliable sources that tell me LBJ and Castro have been involved in private talks dating back before the whole Kennedy thing. Maybe even has something to do with Killing John, who knows. What we do know is the dems are getting a lot of cah from somewhere and we can all guess where. My sources tell me they have confirmed communication between members of the Democratic National Committee and Cuba so maybe we can get a confession or find a paper trail between Castro and the democrats, there’s no doubt they’re in cahoots . We’ll sink those liberal chumps. Those bleeding heart socialists love Castro and don’t have a clue how dangerous he is Its not only in your best interests Mr. President but the best interest of our entire country. Of our constitution!” From my vantage point on the wall I could see a satisfied smirk on most of their faces. Dick began pacing, “Mother fuckers are gonna ruin our nation Howard, no doubt about that. Let me think about this. We have to make sure no laws are broken, I don’t want any implication to anything like that. In the meantime what about you Bob? What’ve you got on that hippie insect John Lennon? How soon can we get him and that oval eyed bitch of his kicked out of the country?” HR “Bob” Halderman stepped forward, “Dick this isn’t gonna be easy, this is a tough one. He’s got a lot of support from a lot of people and the press loves him. I’m not sure taking him on is in our best interests right now. So far we don’t have concrete proof of any illegal activity. Remember what happened with Liddy and Timothy Leary?” Georgie boy shot back obviously pissed, “Fuck you Halderman that wasn’t my fault you piece of shit, it was the fucking judge. But hey, if you can’t fucking get rid of John Lennon then maybe I should have a go at him my way! I‘ll make sure to use concrete!” Shit was heating up and there’s nothing a fly loves more than piles of heated up shit.
At that point all the men began yelling at each other about all sorts of things and I couldn’t really hear much until John Dean loudly took control, “Okay everyone that’s enough, calm the fuck down this is getting us nowhere. Lets just concentrate on this Watergate thing.” The room got silent and the leader of the free world weighed in, “John’s right fella’s, lets get back to getting me re-elected then I’ll go after that prick peacenik Lennon. I’ll put Kissinger on that, Henry loves the goddamn publicity anyway. That piece of shit hippie Lennon really pisses me off though! Who the Hell does he think he is coming here from England and telling me how to run my country. Anyone tell that hairbag that we kicked the shit out of his piss ant country and then had to save they’re asses from Hitler. Fuck him and his God save the queen bullshit. Henry will send that peacenik prick back to England. Now what’d you have in mind for the liberal dems? We can’t afford to let Mondale, Humphrey, or Teddy Kennedy get in here and destroy the country. I have enough crap on Ted if he makes a run we‘ll bury his ass at Chappaquiddick. That idiot Eagleton’s gone already and I’ll take the rest of those commie socialists down too. Liddy here assures me plausible deniability, but I’m telling all of you right now, this meeting never happened. I will deny any and all of you here. Remember if we don’t hang together each of you will surely hang separately. Any one of you sonsa bitches caught are on your own, because I never approved anything and this never happened. Now I’m gonna leave the office for a few minutes in case anyone needs to talk about plans. That way I don’t hear or know nothing. Just remember, Richard Nixon does not break any laws.” Let me tell you this fly was pretty impressed. That Nixon guy was one slick human. He left the office and none of the other balooka’s could hear but with my intense fly senses I could hear the tape machine in his drawer still recoding.
Lidddy was the first to speak. “Howard and I assembled a team, they’re broking into Ellsburgs doctors office tonight to get his files. We’ll bury that bastard, but in the meantime we gotta keep Dick in office or none of this shit will matter. The same team that robbed the docs office are gonna break into the Watergate Hotel grab the bogus papers tying the president to Howard Hughes and plant a bug in O’Brien’s room. Then we’ll know everything the democrats are up too.” Hunt stood up and took over, “Look you guys, this is how its gonna be. Anyone, and I mean anyone gets caught at anything its deny, deny, deny! None of us wants to go to jail, we’re all in this together. But at the same time we’re acting alone and any criminal activity will be on you and only you. I didn’t say don’t, I said your on your own, we have to do what’s necessary for the country, that’s our duty. Everything we do here is for America now. Can you imagine what would happen if any of those fucking idiots got control of our Whitehouse? So lets agree right now to work together and do whatever we have to do to get this shit done.” Great Bundle Fly that man was convincing, if they do lose he has a future as a motivational speaker. I think I would have flown head first into a bug zapper if he convinced me it was for the benefit of the entire fly kingdom. And it was obvious the rest agreed because they all began happily planning and asking what they could do to help. Two things at this point, first, I was wrong about the dogshit and getting tired of donut crumbs, and this was really getting interesting so I left my post on the wall and nestled into Georges suit jacket for a change of venue and a new food court to check out. When we left I could still hear the tape recorder running.

Tale Of The Tapes (Fly on the wall tells all)

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fly-on-the-wall-print

I…Sticky Lips Sink Ships

I swear sometimes its like they don’t even know I exist. Well that’s fine with me because my Dad always told me its better to keep your mandibles shut and be considered a fool than to make some buzzing noise and remove all doubt. Besides, with those new fangled fly swatters and bug zappers my species has been taking a huge hit in the census reports. I prefer to just sit on the wall and quietly listen to these humans ramble on about all their petty nonsense. Interesting surroundings here I must say, much too clean for this flies taste with not even a crumb or juice spill for me nibble on, but I am in The White House and this is The Oval Office so its only a matter of time until I come across a big pile of bullshit.
I’m not exactly sure how I ended up being a fly on the wall in the Oval Office but the last thing I do remember was sleeping at a bar in a hotel nice and warm all snug in the hidden hairs region of a women that picked me up in a bar. Destiny was her name and my destiny was to find a comfy place to sleep in her warm vulvic pubic bed. I had just flown in from Boston and boy were my wings tired! Destiny had been drinking when some dude started hitting on her. “What’s a beautiful woman like you doing alone in a bar like this?” Phhhhtt. Real original! I started dozing off because I had a feeling this clown wasn’t getting anywhere with my soft hair snuggle mattress . He said his name was George and he claimed he was a powerful man in DC. Oh yea, and a Scorpio. I fell asleep when he started asking Destiny what her sign was assuming Georgie boy wasn’t getting any honey tonight, at least not from Destiny. I got the feeling the asshole was married and Destiny would no doubt pick up on that too so I felt safe and sound curled up in her warm curlies. But great God Brundle-fly was I ever wrong. I never woke up from any of the tussling and troddling but damn if when I finally did wake up if I didn’t find myself here in the Oval Office stuck not in destiny’s coochie cot but in a thick and sticky mustache belonging to George, who it turns out is better known in Washington circles as G. Gordon Liddy.
G. Gordon was a real son of a bitch, even by fly standards. Let me just say that I had no trouble throwing up on his smelly-ass liprug to dissolve some of Destiny’s leftover love juice for my breakfast. He makes puking easy. Apparently he was some kind of bigwig in the FBI and has been screwing people over for a living for some time. He was a personal friend of the other asshole in the office, Richard Nixon. Well listen to my tale as I play the taped conversation and you’ll get what I mean.
“George, did you read what those Godless bastards at the Times wrote about me last night?” George started rubbing his lip which is what caused me to relocate to the west wall. “Dick, I’m telling you, some sonava bitch is leaking stories to those damn reporters and they want to print whatever they can to discredit The Whitehouse. What you need is an experienced, um, plumber, a plumber like me to find the leaks and eliminate them.” Nixon was clearly angry and interested, “Your right George, those pricks are out to destroy me, to take me down. Every chance they get The post, The Times, those pricks Severid and Reasoner, they’re all trying to screw Richard Nixon. Let me tell you George Richard Nixon will not be taken down by some liberal atheist commie shithead. What’d you have in mind?” George shuffled a little as Richard stared out the window. “Look, I have a source who tells me the Pentagon Papers were released by someone working for General McNamara. I have a name. The sonova bitch copied classified files and now wants to leak them for his own agenda. There’s something I want to try. This asshole goes to a psychiatrist and I’m going to liberate the files of this ratfink bastard from the shrinks office for proof. Then we’ll nail his communist ass to the fucking wall! No one will believe a word he says. Listen, I know a few guys from the organization I can still trust, and with me as their chief I’ll find him and any other scumbag commie leaker and get rid of them all. You’ll never be implicated in anything, It’ll be my operation and I’ll run it. Of course I’ll keep you informed but this will give you plausible deniability.” Nixon smiled, “Plausible deniability? I love it George, okay lets go with that. You head up my group, the Whitehouse plumbers.” George was one of those control freaks who need to assert his dominance and replied, “Operation Odessa Mr. President, in here we can be called the plumbers but officially we’re Odessa, part of the Committee To Reelect the President. I’m gonna get my guys together and I’ll report to you in two days. I already have my lead and he’ll be the first sonava bitch to go.” Nixon shook Georges hand and said, “No names George, not yet. These prick liberals are trying to ruin me, ya know? They want to bring own America, become commies and make it normal for our kids to be homos. I don’t think they even believe in God. You bring me some results and I’ll make sure you get rewarded.” George shook Dicks hand, “My reward will be serving you Mr. President, just leave things to me. I have the way to deal with the unpatriotic hippies. I’ll get rid of all your problems Dick.” George left and Dick opened a drawer of his desk picked up a microphone and softly spoke, “G. Gordon Liddy and President Richard Milhous Nixon, June 18th 1971.” and closed the drawer. Hmmm, odd these humans, they seem to secretly tape record conversations. I wonder why?
To Be Continued

How To Start A Universe

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cos1

COSMO AND THE GARDEN EARTH
(A guide to cosmic gardening)

PART 1. NOT JUST DUST IN THE WIND

Where should I begin? In the beginning God created the heaven and earth? I think that one is taken but why are we here? Some say in the beginning there was a vast empty space, a nothing vacuum in nowhere until a bunch of atoms spontaneously appeared and took to flying around everywhere (or nowhere depending on your view) when suddenly two overly aggressive atoms collided causing a huge explosion. Spontaneous combustion. The Big Bang! Yea, right! First nothing and nowhere then all of a sudden a Universe so huge it has no end. Wait, hold on, even better, first there was nothing and then the one and only god created shit to keep him from being bored. Spent six days building it then chilled for a few million years. A massive universe with one teeny weenie little speck where he created the supreme lifeforce, human beings that looked just like him, to rule over everything. First nothing then one man, one women, an apple and a snake. Now that’s even funnier! As a matter of fact both of these stories are a source of great humor and hilarity and the butt of many jokes at The Board of Co-operative Gods and Goddesses out in District seven. At any decent cosmic cocktail party you’ll hear no less than a hundred jokes about various theories of how life came to be in any of the life gardens but the Earth stories are by far the most numerous. The “monkey trials” keep gods and goddesses laughing for hours on end at inter-galactic get togethers. There’s not a god worth his sodium chloride that hasn’t heard of Darwin, Moses, Jesus, Mohamed, Elijah. Or the Talmud, Koran, The Bible or even The Upanishads. Stories of a pure evil horned devil with blood dripping from its hands and fear bolts being shot from its eyes keep them rolling in the anti-matter with tears of laughter. Satan, Lucifer, Serpent of Evil, Beelzebub, so many knee slapping names for the antichrist. Oh yes, the earthlings grown by Cosmo are a source of great amusement to all the gods. All the gods? Am I saying there really are many gods? Does a pope defecate in the woods? Is a Polar Bear catholic? Can white bears jump? Of course there are many gods, and many galaxies supporting forms of life. Did you really think you were the only living beings in the entire universe? Jeez, and I thought Wookies were dumb. Well sit back you Vader naysayer and let me tell you the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Well maybe a fabrication or two along the way because YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH!
In the beginning, Once upon a time, at the outset, none of these phrases apply because life is a cycle with no beginning and no end. There has just always been many gods and goddesses with varying responsibilities. Gods an goddesses perform certain tasks or serve a particular purpose. Some create wind and motion to make global gardens spin, some enforce the law of gravity, some create laws of physics to apply differently in different area‘s, and the brightest gods ponder deeply the laws of the universe and how they should be applied. These are the most intelligent gods and goddesses and they held court to make decisions about everything. It is still known today as The Board of Co-operative Gods and Goddesses. (BOCGG) They made the decisions that effected the farmer gods who were expected to grow and experiment with the various galaxies across the universe. Each galaxy was tended to by its own god. There was great and clever Simon in the Tolkien Galaxy, Mychrighton in the Andromeda Strain Galaxy, The red haired beauty Lucille who watched over the Bobaloo Galaxy, Luke-ass who presided over The infamous Jedi Galaxy that was far far away, and so on. Here in our Milky Way galaxy, the farmer was and is the god Cosmo. Such a good farmer is Cosmo that they named the entirety of space after him. The vast space of the universe came to be known as “The Cosmos”. Travel was known as Cosmic travel, knowledge as cosmic knowledge and any left out odds and ends in space became known as Cosmic debris. Hey there brother, I’m not jiving you bout that Cosmic debris! Cosmo is indeed an accomplished cosmic gardener, in fact he is somewhat of a legend among the other gods. In Solar system 728KJ he had cultivated nine grooving spinning garden orbs he called planets. From the tiny and excruciatingly hot mercury, to the equally tiny but totally frozen Neptune he tended to all nine magnificently. Like the giant Jupiter (which for some reason had red eye in all the family photo’s) with an assortment of moons, and the ill advised named Uranus (No need to tell you the jokes at The District with this one) . He put some cool looking bangle bracelets around the lovely and mysterious Saturn, and named two of the planets after his own Mom and Dad. The entire universe was touched at the naming of Venus and Mars. Yes Cosmo had really taken pride in that particular solar system. But his pride and joy and claim to fame is most assuredly for his work done on one particular planet, known throughout cosmos as garden earth. Garden earth is a rather insignificant looking planet in solar system 728KJ. It is the third planet from Sun 728, and has the benefit of the perfect amount of sunshine. Earth also has a considerable amount of water on it which is the other essential ingredient in growing things. Sun and Water in abundance makes for a smashing garden. Cosmo wants to make planet earth, in solar system 728KJ the most prolific and successful garden in all the universe. With a vast ocean to create clouds which would in turn drop water back into the garden a system of synergetic energy is created. Cosmic irrigation! Garden earth is a thriving ever-growing populace world. A wide variety of vegetation and many roaming creatures inhabit the garden.
But what you see on garden earth today is not how it was at the beginning so put on your seat belt as we travel back in time to see how this all came to be The Planet Earth. Catastrophic is the best way to describe his first attempt. Maybe he wasn’t mature enough or maybe like a fool he just rushed in but either way it’s a story that is told and retold as far away as Gabor40904 which is about eight billion gazillion gamma light years away. To you that would be a mere two point five septillion miles give or take. At any rate here is what happened in Cosmo’s first attempt.