The black man ate popcorn and laughed and laughed whilst he watched on the Situation Room teevee four Americans die in Benghazi, because he believed those Americans were teabaggers who had applied to the Internal Revenue Service for tax-exempt status, their teabaggerness identified through Associated Press phone records obtained by the Justice Department, writes Joseph Fawcett Farah in World Nut Daily.
“Everything with this Kenyan is connected,” chundered Fawcett Farah. “And what it is connected to is his Marxist monkey hatred of all that is Good and Decent and White in America.”
Tony Crankalucci, chief propellor-beanie of minddestroyer, has meanwhile confirmed that the black man’s badness is driven by “Zionist neurons,” which transmit Orders to an army of nano-engineered “Wall Street and London” operatives who circulate in his bloodstream.
Turtle Scrotum, titular head of the Confederate States of America, ejaculated in his pants on live television Wednesday morning, as he triumphantly exclaimed: “We finally got the darkie sum’bitch!
“His wanton disregard of these slain tax-exempt phone-record-identified teabaggers,” continued Scrotum, “there in some desert where brown people run around with the sort of guns the darkie would deny good white-blooded god-fearin’ Americans—this is more than the kountry can stomach. We will impeach his Kenyanness, and then we will steam-clean the White House, to make it fit again for decent white folk.”
CSA Congressmember Louis Gohmert Pyle was shown Wednesday on CNN utilizing, there in his office, very large crayons, in order to draft articles of impeachment. The first of which reads:
The other night, for no reason known to me, but one no doubt connected to Satan, some cat, or cats, upended a bookshelf, and spilled the poetry books to the floor.
The cats of my acquaintance have never really approved of poetry. For instance, in another decade, in another abode, the poetry volumes were subjected to a wanton urine rain.
The culprit has never been caught or confessed, and remains at large.
The bestained tomes, meanwhile: too many just too odd and obscure, and therefore not replaceable. So they remain in the collection. Ruint.
Cats are actually proud of their Luciferian penchant for drizzling urine. See the recent best-selling collection of poems, penned by cats, I Could Pee On This, pictured there to the left.
It is a known Science Fact that cat urine is so pungent that fresh spray let fly in, say, Albuquerque, can be smelled within moments on the Moon.
I am not really sure why, of all earthly substances, cat urine is the King Reeker . . . save for “the powerful and obnoxious odor of mendacity,” as Big Daddy puts it in Cat On A Hot Tin Roof. (See: cat: there are no coincidences).
I believe it may have something to do with the fact that a cat’s natural diet is 100% flesh and bones. This requires stomach enzymes so powerful they can basically break down concrete. In their power, these enzymes are of stench.
Cats also use their urine as a territorial marking mechanism. And apparently it is necessary for a cat marking something in, say, Icepick, Minnesota, to olfactorily announce ownership to cats living as far away as Venus.
Anyway. Among the odd and obscure bestained volumes in the poetry collection is I Never Saw It Lit, which is pictured there to the right. This book I remember, and retain, because years ago it caught my father’s eye, when he and I were roving the old Berkeley wholesaler Bookpeople for tomes to retail in our modest bookshop up north, on the Russian River. He thought it a worthy effort. But then said, “though probably nobody would like it but me.” I put it in the cart. Because it wasn’t, it developed, to sell. It was for me to keep. To remember him by.
Another of the poetry collections that the other night spilled to the floor was a thing called Leaves of Poetry. This volume contains a poem or two written by me.
And this is where we naturally segue from cat urine, to my writing.
Apparently I wrote these poems when I was 11 or 12 years old. And they were then pressed into a book, together with poems by other wee ones, and distributed to the masses by the county school system.
One of the poems I wrote bears the wildly creative title “Summer,” and goes like this:
Summer is hot, dull, and dry It’s when under the sun Your skin starts to fry And when, on beaches, Boys like to spy On girls in bikinis Who might walk by.
I see that here I was not only already wedded to the Oxford comma, but also afflicted with the need to employ commas at every opportunity, even inventing opportunities that, to a Normal writer, might not exist. I was also then too aroil with these little mini-strokes that cause me to arrange words in odd order. I was grousing about the blasted heath of summer, a constant to this day. And, even at age 11, Eros was elbowing in.
I frankly do not understand how the bit about bikinis was permitted in a collection of poems by junior-high students assembled and then peddled across the land by school officials.
If, today, I were 11 years old, and submitted such a thing, the teachers receiving it would shriek and poke their eyes out. Then hustle me down the halls—patrolled by “school resource officers” bristling with mace and pepper spray and guns and truncheons and whatnot—to be taken into custody by the deans. Who would immediately and permanently expel me. I would then be placed in a cage, and paraded through the streets, pelted by the outraged populace with eggs, tomatoes, and full beer cans, condemned as a dangerous pervert. I would be thrown in a dungeon, and there be subjected to electroshock treatments. Until I had been transformed into a True American. One pledging allegiance to Thanatos. Rather than Eros. Hoorah.
This week we were asked to endure the dog and pony show in a clown car known as “Benghazi.”
“Benghazi” is single-word shorthand for the most recent of innumerable attempts by members of the Confederate States of America to once and for all Get the black man, the black man who has committed the unpardonable sin of occupying the White House.
Though this week’s was hardly the first “Benghazi” “hearing.”
Oh no. These things recur cyclically. Like locusts. Or lice. Or scabies.
My favorite so far was the “Benghazi hearing” where Congressional members of the Confederate States of America, so avid to Get the black man, unthinkingly babbled and blurted, publicly, the classified information that the so-called Benghazi “US consulate” was in fact a CIA spy-nest.
During a recess, some Sane person advised them of their boneheadedness. They then came back to announce the hearing was adjourned, and that everyone should just forget all about it.
“Benghazi” refers to a September 11, 2012 assault on a CIA spy-nest in the Libyan city of Benghazi, wherein Bad Brown People succeeded in killing the US Ambassador to Libya, Christopher Stevens, an information officer, and two mercenaries contracted to the CIA.
From the get-go, members of the Confederate States of America wedded themselves, till death do they part, to a Reality in which the black man bubbled up some popcorn, and then sat there in the White House Situation Room, and laughed and laughed, as he watched, in real-time, four Americans die in Libya.
More recently, members of the Confederate States of America have hitched themselves to a second Reality. In this one, the lazy, shiftless, shuffling, bumbling black man went off to bed without knowing or caring one whit what was going on in Benghazi—downing a couple 40-ouncers, and then hitting the sack, so he could get up early to go waste the (white) taxpayers’ money by playing golf or basketball.
On Wednesday of this week I heard the towering ignoramus Sean Klannity advance both these Realities as if they were both equally and at the same time true.
For, in their hatred of the black man, members of the Confederate States of America have gone quantum.
You see, in quantum physics, it is possible, say, for something to be both a wave and a particle, simultaneously; for an object to remain whole, but also, simultaneously, split to pass through two separate doors; for a cat in a box to be both, and at the same time, dead and alive.
So too, in the quantum Realities occupied by the people of the Confederate States of America, it is possible for the black man to both eat popcorn and laugh as he watches Americans die, and also, simultaneously, sleep through the whole thing.
Clearly, people who think in this way, are not really using their brains. Their brains are instead locked away in some deep shelter. To which they have no access.
It would be nice to conclude that it is only rightwhacks who suffer in this way.
But no.
For shortly before I tuned into Klannity, to monitor his latest arrow-through-the-head take on this and that, I had spent some time with a brain-in-deep-shelter nimrod who spins a propellor upon his beanie over there on the left.
Yes. I had paid one of my periodic visits to the twilight zone of Tony Cartalucci.
Cartalucci is an alleged “lefty” freelance froot loop who places pieces in the various turds that Alex Jones floats in the punch bowl of the intertubes, on the flaccid Iranian government organ Press TV, and with something called Liberty Roundtable, which foams at every orifice that “Masonic Jewish financiers” are “advancing a totalitarian ‘New World Order’,” with Jews as “foot soldiers and cannon fodder in a diabolical multi-generational plot to destroy Christian Civilization.”
Yeehaw.
When not sticking a hatpin through his frontal lobe at these other sites, Cartalucci also dribbles and drabbles in his own digs, a place known to me as minddestroyer.
During the 20 minutes or so I most recently spent surfing the Cartalucci minddestroying sewage, I learned that:
—The Russian puck band Pussy Riot—with several members currently in jail for offending Vladimir Putin and the Russian Orthodox Church—consists of nothing but “bigots and hooligans,” in willing service to “Wall Street and London.”
—Aung San Suu Kyi is a slavering murderer, jefe of a crazed cabal of “genocidal bigots” in monks’ clothing, a willing cat’s-paw of “Wall Street & London,” and guilty of “sedition.”
—Global climate change is a total hoax, perpetrated by “banksters and oilmen.”
—The Boston Marathon bombing was a “US/Saudi/Israeli” false-flag operation. At the same time, the two Tsarnev brothers—including 19-year-old Zhokhar Tsarnev—are “longtime CIA double agents,” who somehow suddenly and unaccountably ran amok. (Note that it is possible for the minddestroyers to believe that the bombing was both a US/Saudi/Israeli false-flag operation, and the work of deep-cover Western spooks who went rogue . . . in the same way that the rightwhacks believe the black man both ate popcorn and laughed while Americans died in Benghazi, and also was asleep and knew nothing about it. Quantum.)
—The Muslim Brotherhood is owned and controlled by Israel.
—The Chechen national resistance movement, which has been around for 600 years or so, was created by the CIA.
In this last nuttery, there is at least some Hope. For if the CIA did indeed found a movement that came into being some 550 years before the CIA itself was created, this means the agency must have secured the secret of time travel.
And since the CIA can never really keep anything secret for long, this means the rest of us will soon be able to be out and about time-traveling too.
And so we can then go into the future. To a time when people, left and right, do not keep their brains locked away in deep shelters. But instead actually use them.
Associated Press phone records obtained by the Justice Department, writes Joseph Fawcett Farah in World Nut Daily.
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