It Is Accomplished

8:43 a.m. Election day. So we shall play the national anthem of the Americans. Because there are no coincidences, when I entered the truck yesterday morning, and turned the key, said anthem immediately sounded from the radio, from first note to last.

8:45 a.m. We are cleaning up around the Manor. The deer droppings on the walk, these we call “Ryans.” The nastier, smellier stuff, there in the catbox, these are known as “Romneys.”

9:07 a.m. Runt Limprod is on the air. He has Oxycontin drips inserted in both arms. He is screeching like a man undergoing testicular surgery without anesthesia. All his howling delusions, he shares with us. The white people, say he, will today vote more for Captain Underpants than they did four years ago for Old Man Shouts At Cloud. While the black people and all the other inferiors will not vote as heavily for Barack Obama as they did four years ago. Captain Underpants will therefore walk his backwards ass into the White House, where he will immediately toss out onto the lawn everything the black people for four years touched, and there set fire to it. This is his Vision.

9:18 a.m. One of the peculiar traditions of the Americans is that the first votes announced in each presidential election come from a small village in New Hampshire, 20 miles from the Canadian border, monikered Dixville Notch. I do not like that name: it sounds like a place where people furtively creep through the night to cornhole one another: I do not want to go there. Today 10 cornholers voted, and they split their votes 5-5 between the black man and the underwear alien. The Drudges are so desperate they are beating this nonsense like a gong of certain doom for the black man.

9:35 a.m. Copts are a form of human who have been around since the First Century CE. They are into that Jesus guy. In the Fifth Century they broke with the Eastern Orthodox Church over theological matters so opaque and obscure that no one today can really describe or even recall them. Copts were the dominant religious outfit in Egypt until the Muslims rode in amid the Seventh Century, at which time they became red-headed stepchildren. They’ve pretty much been pouting about that for the past 1,300 years. Still, they persist in pretending they’re Important. Last week the Copts selected their 118th “pope.” They did this by placing the names of three candidates in a box, and then herding a blindfolded child to the box, who grubbed a hand inside, and pulled forth a name. That Copt became the new pope. Maybe the Americans could try something like that, for their elections.

9:50 a.m. Recently a Florida woman was arrested for masturbating in Starbucks. Why, passeth understanding, for masturbating in Starbucks certainly beats drinking their coffee. In any event, when the police arrived, she told them she was waiting for a friend to take her to the hospital, where she would confront the medical people with the tiny spiders crawling on her skin. This woman is a crack person, and spiders on the skin are a common side effect of huffing the stuff. Back in the day, I would periodically encounter people who wished me to scrutinize empty glass jars, which they claimed were roiling with crack and/or meth spiders. The point of all this, is that the Captain Underpants aficionados who will soon be screeching that the black man “stole” the election, will be the political equivalent of these people with phantom arachnids popping in and out of their pores.

10:19 a.m. People who are not Americans are not caring much about this election. It is probable that this disinterest began during the interminable Republican primaries, when non-Americans quickly sussed out what we also determined here on red: the Republican candidates were not actually Real, but instead pseudo-humans bred and/or assembled by extraterrestrial beings, out there somewhere having a laugh, fucking with the Americans. These other-worlders offered as “candidates” such preposterousness as a Dr. Moreau-like farm animal bred from a man and a steer, a grub in a skin-suit, a Wizard of Oz knock-off with eyebrows that moved and melted and slid down his face like something out of the climax of The Devil’s Rain, a bedbug in a skin-suit, a demented goose, and a raccoon. Eventually selected as the sacrificial goofball was the underwear alien, a sadsack who appears to have had the bones sucked out of his arms, and whose ass was placed where his crotch is supposed to be. He is like a rag doll sewn by inebriates. When tonight he walks off into the sunset, he will do so with his endowed penis dangling neath his back, rather than below his stomach, like in a Normal human.

10:43 a.m. A man with a brain parasite has posted a piece to Redstate in which he vows that Captain Underpants will attain 337 electoral votes. He awards to the rag doll states that in no known Reality in this particular Universe could flow the Ass Backwards way. These states include Nevada. No. For in Nevada they like their sex and gambling. And Nevadans know the Captain Underpants cult eschews both— except when a properly endowed penis is deployed in order to transmit a soul to a woman. There is much sexual weirdness in Nevada, but at least they appreciate there that intercourse is not necessary in order to award a woman a soul. Also, there are brown people in Nevada, and they know that the underwear alien has no use for them, except to mow his lawns. Too, Iowa. No. Iowans are Normal People, and they cannot go for a man who, when he walks, it is clear that his legs are screwed on backwards. Plus, Ohio. No. The people there understand that Captain Underpants would kill all their car companies and then rob their pockets when they lay dying in the gutter. Then, Michigan. No. See Ohio. Next, Wisconsin. No. Those people are of cheese, and cows. They can intuit that if the underwear alien ate cheese, he would break out into a rash, and, as for cows, he would strap one onto the roof of his car and then drive it across many states. Finally, Pennsylvania. No. Here, Ass Backwards hopes to cobble together a strange and unnatural coalition of radioactive mutants scarred by Three Mile Meltdown, and wild-eyed cohorts of albino banjo-pickers swarming from out the Appalachians. But this is not to be. During the recent hurricane, a Pennsylvania woman plunged into a raging torrent in order to save some baby ducks. No state where a woman on election eve has risked life and limb to save baby ducks has gone Republican. This is historical Fact.

10:58 a.m. Speaking of the Appalachians: West Virginia. There, they so hate the black man, that in the 2012 Democratic presidential primary more than 40% of Democratic voters cast their ballots for a Texas prison inmate, rather than Obama.

It has just been confirmed that white people who vote for Obama in West Virginia may enter the federal witness-protection program.

11:31 a.m. Brain parasites are increasingly a problem among Underpants devotees. For instance: Dick Morris. For the past week he has been flapping around the nation predicting the rag doll will prevail by six percentage points. This is the man who lost his consulting gig with the Clinton White House when a hooker he hired ran to the tabloids to reveal that Morris had sucked her toes while Clinton ranted on the speaker-phone about Monica Lewinsky. I am thinking that he sucked some dirty toes, and contracted a brain parasite, and that is why he is spouting this nonsense.

11:38 a.m. The hot water ran out before I had finished my shower. In keeping with the national pastime, I blame Obama.

11:59 a.m. Not even the oxy drip could keep Reality three hours at bay. Limprod just concluded his show with an Underpants obituary, praising the rag doll, and his wife—who may receive a soul so long as she receives Ass Backwards’ endowed penis—as “just the nicest-looking, most normal people.” Translation: white.


12 Responses to “It Is Accomplished”

  1. 1 possum November 6, 2012 at 8:56 am

    Silly Reds. You are abusing the droppings with those namings. The life form represented by that pair is well below deer or cats.

    All of us in Possum Valley voted today. The lines were long. Will be interesting to see the national totals later.

    • 2 bluenred November 6, 2012 at 10:32 am

      Your state is small. Why should the lines be long? This shouldn’t be hard. In the storm areas, they are allowing people to vote by email and fax, or at any polling place anywhere. This is the Future.

      • 3 possum November 6, 2012 at 10:41 am

        Some parts of our fine nation live in the past. My county ranks on that scale. Paper records for voting lists. The only concession to modern times is electronic voting machines. Not enough machines to accommodate all voters. Not enough people to check in voters (two with half an alphabet each). Still living in old times. 🙂

        • 4 bluenred November 6, 2012 at 11:04 am

          What is O’Kooky up to? Is she still round your parts, or has she been deported? ; 0

          • 5 possum November 7, 2012 at 4:43 am

            Sad to say, she is making noise about another Senate run. Spent all her money on legal battles and now trying to raise more. We shall see…

            • 6 bluenred November 7, 2012 at 7:45 am

              Why would anyone give her money? They should give it to the Gospel Light Mission or Chuckles The Clown instead.

              What were these legal battles? To establish that she has a functioning cerebral cortex?

  2. 10 Julia Rain (the deviant daughter) November 6, 2012 at 7:18 pm

    “his wife—who may receive a soul so long as she receives Ass Backwards’ endowed penis” – Let me get this straight: Because my husband was not sexually assaulted as a teenager, I don’t have a soul?

    I also think that Dixville Notch is a Scary name, and I also do not want to go there. Of course, I live within 100 miles of “Intercourse” “Blue Ball” and “Bird-In-Hand”, so….

    When David was working at Starbucks one of the times I was there, this clearly intoxicated couple sneaked into the bathroom to have sex. Well, I say sneak, but they where giggling loudly. I was kind of annoyed, since there was only one bathroom.

    Sometimes when I’m suffering from really bad insomnia, I see spiders like that. I call them spider-mice, because they look like spiders but move like mice.

    I’m happy to know that PA is saved from electoral humiliation by the duck-savior-woman. Thank you for the duck picture!

    • 11 bluenred November 6, 2012 at 7:29 pm

      According to the crazed cult to which cleaves Captain Underpants, a man has his penis endowed when a youth: this “endowment” is achieved by old men fondling it. Then, for a woman to receive a soul, she must allow entry to a properly endowed penis.

      This is what the Republicans wanted to run the nation.

      There in Pennsylvania—how far away are “Intercourse” and “Blue Ball”? ; )

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When I Worked

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