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Bedlam News has this morning learned that George II-era Attorney General of the United States John Ashcroft and the 7th-Century time-travelers of ISIL shall together embark on a mission to the Holy Land to there combat thousands of stone penises and vaginas that wantonly lie nakedly displayed to the eye of all and every.
The bold and brazen sex organs have apparently been there in the great wide open fornicating without surcease for more than 8000 years. And people have Come to Watch.
“The fact that they are still visible today, thousands of years after being used, indicates that they were frequently visited, for short events, during a significant period of time, and by many people,” opines a heathen Science Man.
In the shocking photo reproduced there to the right and above, a stone penis can be seen Nearing a stone vagina, not caring who Knows or Sees.
“This must be Stopped,” Ashcroft fumed Tuesday night, as around him various Christianist sufferers wailed and rended their garments.
Ashcroft is well-known as an American politician who lost an election to a dead man, rubbed himself up with Crisco before taking the oath of office, abjures calico cats as agents of Satan, and threw a shroud over a statue of the Spirit of Justice, lest her bare stone breasts wreak havoc across the land.
Now—worse even than breasts—penises and vaginas are nakedly frolicking Where Once Walked Jesus.
“They must be Destroyed,” Ashcroft vowed.
In this are agreed the time-travelers of ISIL, who recently arrived in Our Time, looked around, and decided pretty much everybody and everything Here and Now should be burnt or beheaded.
“We will join the infidel Ashcroft in obliterating the Fornicating Evil from the Holy Land,” ISIL spokesman Abu-al-Dim-bulb Bow-Wow-Wow Ben-Wa-Balls-Butt-Buddy La-La-La told Bedlam News. “Then, when the mission is accomplished, we will cut off his head.”
“They shan’t cut off my head,” Ashcroft retorted. “Because it is protected by Holy Crisco.”
For the nonce, Ashcroft and ISIL are united. And together they may be regarded below. Singing a hymn to their creator. Thanatos.
This year for Lent I am going to give up reality.
I believe this is to be a worthy goal, whether one is Catholic or no.
Reality, I have determined, certainly serves to separate one from any and all gods.
As but one of literally numberless examples: here, in reality, we have some dirty little Danish dog who apparently believed he was “protecting his faith” by killing a kind and gentle man who made documentary films about an Australian child who sought to be a boomerang boy, Danish children whose parents are in prison, the hard journey of Vietnamese immigrants to Europe.
Finn Norgaard. That the name of the man. Who, in any real reality, should, and would, never have been shot and killed at all.
And then, of course, the dirty little dog next needed to kill a Jew. Dan Uzun. Who was keeping watch, by a synagogue, over the bat mitzvah of a young girl.
Because, in this reality, which I no longer accept, if you are a Jew, maybe, probably, you should best keep watch, always.
I’ve decided that people such as the so sad and lost little Danish dog are so ridiculous they don’t even exist.
If some dog-anus “faith” compels some dog-shitstain to stab and shoot, all that dog-bowel-blow does is reduce its “faith” to stinking hideous dog-shit garbage.
And that’s what we’re going to do. Keep right on laughing.
The dirty sad lost little Danish dog killed Norgaard in shooting up a Copenhagen jazz cafe wherein was occurring a small symposium on “Art And Blasphemy.”
What the dirty little bow-wow obviously didn’t get is that all Art by definition must contain Blasphemy. Because blasphemy is defined as “the act or offense of speaking sacrilegiously about God or sacred things; profane talk.” And the artistic creator, s/he is god. And will, ineluctably, employ both the sacred, and the profane, in setting forth all and every—unto, inevitably, blasphemy, about all and every, even unto all and every god, including the god of her/himself.
The jazz cafe, at the time the sad lost dirty little dog peed on it with his little dribbly bullets, contained one Lars Vilks—the apparent target of the dog.
After he erected said installations, Vilks widened all human minds by declaring the area around his art a free and independent nation known as Ladonia.
In 2007, Vilks submitted three drawings to a provincial Swedish art exhibition in the hamlet of Tallerud that portrayed that Muhammad dude out of Islam as a roundabout dog.
A “roundabout dog” was a Swedish art thing that had sprung up the previous autumn, in which anonymous people placed homemade dog sculptures—typically made of wood, but sometimes plastic, metal, or textiles—in roundabouts.
These dogs were of all sorts.
Why not, Vilks whimsically and puckishly wondered, a Muhammad dog?
For various different one knuckle-dragging howling imbeciles of Islam had an ape-shit. Foam flew from mouths, and hands went towards guns. Death-threats washed over Vilks in waves, and eventually he ascended to the same hit-list where also resided the now-extinguished sweet innocent little baby boy cartoonists of Charlie Hebdo.
Vilks neither courted, nor expected, this. “What I expected was that my contribution would be a local event,” he wrote. “But I was naive about this.”
He’s been under continuous police protection for the past eight years. Everywhere he goes, he is like a leper.
His career has suffered due to the security concerns among galleries and art institutions about exhibiting even work unrelated to Islam.
“Just meeting me or learning I am going appear somewhere creates waves of fear. They think the whole world will come storming over there and blow it all sky high.”
Dogs, as is well known to anyone who spends any time around them, may have various appealing aspects, but they also eat shit, hump all and every, and loudly and at length lick and suck their own genitals.
Why can’t somebody call Muhammad a dog?
What is the big deal? The guy was no more god than am you and I.
He’s less god, in fact, because he’s dead as dog shit. While alive, as gods, are you and I.
I’ll write that I am a dog. And I’ll write that Muhammad is too. And what I write is sacred. As well as profane.
If you’re some ur-human suffering from the Muslim delusion—or the Christian, Jewish, Hindu, Buddhist, etc., delusion—and you’re feeling oh-so-oppressed, like every human who has ever been on this planet has always and every felt oppressed, and you want to Get Back at Someone who’s physically hurt or killed your people: first, if you commit violence, you are lower than any life-form that has lived anywhere ever: and second, you don’t like a little shivering peeing-down-his-leg rat-dog go after people who just draw fucking cartoons. Unless you’re a sad pathetic cowardly little nut-less dirty Danish dog who lives to lick shit out his own asshole.
You people are going to stop this dog-shit. It’s putrid and it stinks and it’s crawling with worms.
You don’t cut it out, and the artists, who in the main really haven’t been paying all that much attention to you, are going to really turn on the light, and shine it straight through you.
You and the black dog who makes of you nothing but death. Caught, kept, creature of Thanatos.
We know Thanatos clearer than do you. Because we’ve been there, and come through, and are now gods in service to Eros. Subsumed in all the elementals, wallowed in all the temptations. And, now, like ollaves, we will say: if you don’t, soon, stop fucking around:
You want form, do you? I’ll give you form. I’ll make you wish for something nice and cozy—Something all chewed and digested for you—Look, the thing’s worn out—It don’t work no more. It ain’t in a pretty package, you don’t want it—Because it ain’t art.
A tree near a lake.
Greatness and Truth can never be in danger from these murdering wretches.
To perform one’s duty, be it now, be it clean . . .
The artist—They hate the artist. Mediocrity and servility are what they want. To get to the point—hell with all these bastards. I tell you it’s got to open up . . . hit the flow . . .
—Let me say
look it’s getting dark all the fame and stuff and crap hell
it looks more and more to me like the only really important idea
is to say yes to anything that brings life
and no to anything that brings death
step out of line and stay out of line
don’t let them kid you
this is a brutal and evil world
the war never ends
they’ll fix your wagon if you don’t give in
you can’t ever win with them on their terms
so reject the whole swindle
let them know where you stand
hell what good’s it how bright you get if you choose
to run along with the blood-stained bastards
every time the chips are down
i say it—art is giving life—art is talking to god
if the artist loses now the world is doomed
and I think the human imagination is being murdered
go into the darkness as clean as you can
—Kenneth Patchen, Sleepers Awake
There is a thing in Catholicism where one is not supposed to play or hear “Gloria In Excelsis Deo” during Lent.
I hear it every night. I hear it every day. For I am G. As are you. As the glory is, to us, in our highest: for we are gods. Even as we go into the darkness. Clean as we can.
Some kind of geek patrol down in Australia monikered MYOB has released a Horror Report called “Future Of Business: Australia 2040″ . . . apparently because it wants all Australians to be so filled with Fear and Terror they will unceasingly drink mass quantities until the entire continent is covered with a slick and frothy carpet of chunder.
According to these Wrongos, “all manner of business interactions will continue to be formalised, automated and digitised.” Humans will commute via jetpack to giant warehouses where they will work in holograms with their brains chipped and their bodies swarming with nanobots, and if they get paid at all it will only be “within closed networks, with major corporations able to create and manage their own money.”
We here at red have obtained a secret annex to this report, which provides photographic examples of the sort of mutant humans the MYOBs envision populating this Brave New World.
First, up there to the right, we see a baby engineered with a massive arm and hand, so that it can manipulate heavy levers and such; such babies thereby able to enter the workforce before they can even walk or talk.
Next, just there below, we see a baby with adult legs, so that it can rapidly run up and down the endless aisles of the giant warehouses, retrieving and then passing Buy Junk objects on to the giant-hand babies, so that the objects can then be loaded on Carts, to next be whiz-banged to some dock, where they will go into jetpack trucks to be delivered to Somewhere.
Reportedly these sorts of mutant babies are already at work in various Amazon warehouses across the globe.
For millennia it has solely been women who have been burdened with the dangerous and laborious task of bearing new humans.
In the Brave New World, all this will be changed, as men will be engineered so that they can sprout babies from the exterior of their bodies. As the babies grow, the men will continue to work.
An example of this process, with a man bearing a baby just about ready to fall off and go to work somewhere, may be seen there to the right.
Among the many Problems currently facing the humans is that they are subjecting the planet to a doody OD: that is, they are overburdening the world’s sewage systems with their poop and pee. Also, to grow their food, the humans rely too much on chemical fertilizers, which in turn rely too much on petroleum products, which are pretty soon going to be nowhere to be found.
To counter these twin Calamities, the MYOBs have engineered animal/human hybrids. The top part of the hybrid will be a human, but the bottom part will be some sort of animal.
With this wonderment, sewage systems will be obviated, because animals don’t use toilets. Instead, when the hybrids have to go, they will go out into the yard, and go there. Where they go, they will grow things. Which they will eat. The poop and pee of the hybrids will thereby replace the chemical fertilizers, which will no longer be necessary.
An example of such a human/animal hybrid, chopping peppers, peppers fertilized by her own poop and pee, may be viewed there to the left.
Finally, a lot of the humans think it is a bummer that they have to die. Therefore, the MYOBs have developed a system whereby the heads of old people can be lopped off and grafted onto baby bodies.
In this way, all the Knowledge of how to commute via jetpack to giant warehouses to work in holograms with brains chipped and bodies swarming with nanobots, will be retained in the shriveled old-people heads, while the young and fresh baby bodies will enable the Old Heads to continue to be Productive for many more decades.
An example of this old head/baby body graft may be viewed there to the right. This Old Head is actually on its third baby body, and thus has been able to Work and be Productive for more than 100 Continuous years.
This is all Real and you are All going to Like it.
In early November, with her party on the eve of an electoral walloping, Democrat Mary Tetreau had had enough. The Londonderry, New Hampshire activist was sick of the constant emails begging for money for a candidate who wasn’t even running for office yet.
When another plea landed in her inbox the day before the election, she unsubscribed.
“I’m not going to be ready for Hillary until she announces she’s running for president,” said Tetreau, a three-decade veteran of New Hampshire primary politics, who called Ready for Hillary’s early-and-often email approach “annoying.”
“People are tired of people asking for money every time they look at their email,” said Pat Sass, chairwoman of the Blackhawk County Democrats in Iowa.
“I’ll be ready for Hillary when Hillary’s ready for Hillary,” said Bill Verge, a Democratic activist who played a key role in John Kerry’s 2004 New Hampshire campaign. Like Tetreau, Verge, who said he has been “inundated with emails daily,” counts himself a likely Clinton supporter — but one turned off by the aggressive fundraising on behalf of a candidate who appears intent on postponing an official entry into the race possibly until July.
Hillary hasn’t announced a 2016 campaign yet. She’s busy polling more than 200 policy experts on how to show that she really cares about the poor while courting the banks.
Money-grubbing is always the ugly place with the Clintons, who have devoured $2.1 billion in contributions since 1992 to their political campaigns, family foundation and philanthropies.
What Republicans say about government is true of the Clintons: They really do believe that your money belongs to them.
Someday, they should give their tin cup to the Smithsonian. It’s one of the wonders of the world.