Archive for January, 2015

O Hoireann O

This is god. Transporting wee nascent beings through the drowning waters. So they may be able to Be.


This is god. Sunrise, next door, on the neighbor: Mars.

Good morning, neighbor starshine. We will fully join you, in the great wide open, when we can reach you, evolved, without machines, without bodies.


This is god. Brothers, falsely separated, because there are “politics,” and therefore one brother, through murderous arms, must live in a dirt-patch called “North Korea,” and the other brother, though murderous arms, must live in a dirt-patch called “South Korea.” And so they must needs, at all times, except every 50 years or so, live separated.

But the love—the god—never goes. Is never separated.


This is god. Dead cartoonists of Charlie Hedbo, going back, the next week, after death, to work.


This is god. Hebdo-massacred dead man. Charb. Dead because “he was a child, who drew in a newspaper.”

French satirical weekly Charlie Hebdo publishing director Charb poses at their offices in Paris

This is god. This is what is. And forever will be. Alpha unto omega. Never to be let go. Marianne.


This is god. Here, her sing.


Listen Here

Automobiles Are Over

Graham Crackin’

The extraterrestrials who are assembling candidates for the 2016 Republican presidential contest just can’t stop themselves from ceaselessly churning out ever more freaks, frauds, mutants, and monsters. These extraterrestrials had so much fun breeding and building candidates for the 2012 campaign, I guess, that this oh ashleytime they are adhering to no limits at all. For, with still some 22 months to go until election day 2016, already they have introduced some 617 separate weirdsmobiles vying for the GOoPer nomination. Every freakin’ day, it seems—and this is without exaggeration—they roll out some new ludicrous loonbin to heave his or her cracked cranium into the ring.

Today’s balderdash was Ashley Wilkes, senior senator from the Confederate state of South Carolina. Wilkes was previously profiled here on red. As what he is: the otherwise perfectly useless plantation son, unfit for the really important things, like riding to the hounds, or diddling cousins, but who can be depended upon to serve the Lost Cause there in the legislature, keeping the Yankees at bay.

Every one of these extraterrestrial roll-outs is programmed with his or her own private personal hallucinatory vision of how it shall be s/he who will successfully ride the white horse into the White House. Wilkes today shared his particular hallucination. And a hallucination it surely is.

John “Old Man Shouts At Cloud” McCain had previously wished to name Wilkes as his vice-presidential running mate in the doomed GOoPer jihad for the presidency in 2008. However, party elders vetoed Wilkes, for the same reason they vetoed Charlie Crist, another McCain fave: because these are closeted gay men. (Poor Crist had even gone out and got himself a wife; but, alas, all for nought.) The elders also vetoed a third McCain fave, Joe Lieberman, on the grounds he was a Democrat, which the elders considered a perversion nearly as anathema as being gay.

It was after this triple whammy of refusal that McCain famously exploded into one of his titanic tantrums, and rashly announced that he would accept instead, as his would-be VP, Meth Mouth, a crank-controlled tundra-termagant that Science Men have proved conclusively is Literally and Measurably dumber than dirt. But whom influential GOoPer brain-trains like William Kristol desperately wished to penetrate with their penises. The Kristol-naught theory was that, if he succeeded in elevating Meth Mouth to the VP spot, she would, in gratitude, permit him to slip his wee shaft into her bottomless slot. Alas, Kristol was unaware that Meth Mouth prefers penises that are black, and which enter her flesh after she has snorted cocaine off a 55-gallon oil drum.

It is because the 2008 GOoPer presidential jihad was Doomed that the nation was spared a Meth Mouth presidency, which would have occurred as soon as McCain was informed by the generals that he could not, as he wished, attack Russia over Georgia. At which time he would have stroked out, and gone under the ground. Allowing the Meth Mouth crime-family to pee freely in the rounded corners of the Oval Office, and indulge in crazed drunken brawls on the White House lawn, until she—soon—succeeded in searing the entire planet to a cinder.

It is only because humans are rapidly evolving—notwithstanding all seeming evidence to the contrary—that Wilkes this go-round is rolled out as a potential presidential assembly-liner.

For whereas but seven years ago GOoPer gayness was considered among GOoPers an Unholy Crime against God and Man, rendering unacceptable, on gayness alone, any GOoPer so inclined, today no GOoPer gives a shit, so long as the gayyep GOoPer promises to bomb and strafe and stab and slit. And this, surely, Wilkes, he has promised to do.

Some may object that Wilkes is not gay. These people consult the true-life non-fiction tome Gone With The Wind, and protest that Wilkes was married to Melanie, the former Hamilton, with whom he produced children.

Uh-huh. Sure. Gotcha. Right.

That Wilkes is gay is such an open secret that Runt Limprod has for years aired a parody riffing off Brokeback Mountain, called “Return To Saddlesore Canyon,” which broadly, no hints at all, presents a gay-blading involving Wilkes and McCain.

Too, a close reading of Gone With The Wind reveals that the children produced out of Melanie, allegedly sired by Wilkes, were in truth planted in her womb by Rhett Butler.

Don’t believe me? Read it again. Still not satisfied, we’ll then go to the DNA evidence.

Ashley Wilkes was simply too otherwise occupied, to ever create—and upon a woman, ugh—a child.  He needed to try—and fail—to ride to the hounds. To diddle—male—cousins. And to keep the Yankees—cursed Yankees—at bay. There in politics. Confederate States of America. Uber alles.

Ride it, Ashley. This time—even the extraterrestrials do say—is your time. The time is right. Feelin’ hot. Feel it now. Much harder now. Get on top more. Do the right thing.

Great Moments In Farm Animals

Red readers were first to learn that former Texas governor Rick Perry is actually a farm animal, the result of a Dr. Moreau-style experiment seeking to cross a man with a steer.

It didn’t work.

It so didn’t work, that he was born without a brain. He is like that Star Trek episode where Spock’s brain was choke it downlifted entirely out of his body; his stiff and wooden, mindless corporeal container then had to be controlled by a little box in the hands of Dr. McCoy.

This is why, when Perry “reads,” he does so with the words upside down.

Just as it was extraterrestrials who removed Spock’s brain, so too was it extraterrestrials who bred the Perry farm animal. These same aliens, as red readers learned, in truth bred and/or assembled all the Republican 2012 presidential candidates. Just to fuck with the humans.

Further red research revealed that a supermassive black hole has taken up residence in the Perry cabeza, rendering the farm animal incapable of rational thought, even if he had a brain in there. For whenever Perry attempts to form a thought, it is immediately sucked into the black hole, where it disappears, never to return.

Later it was determined that all light stops when it encounters the farm animal; Penny’s cranium is where light goes to die.

It has by now become Obvious to All that the extraterrestrials are again in charge of breeding and/or assembling the Republican candidates for the 2016 presidential sweepstakes. These aliens had so much fun yeehawfour years ago, they simply couldn’t pass up the opportunity to reprise their efforts.

Already they have rolled out such new mutant freakazoids as Ted Cruz, more a dingo than a human, a man whose face consists entirely of putty, and who reads Green Eggs And Ham on the Senate floor. And “Doctor” Ben Carson, something crumbly and stale out of an old Easter chocolate box, who actually convened a speech to announce he is “not crazy.”

So delighted were these madcap extraterrestrials with some of their 2012 creations that they are bringing them back in 2016 for an encore. These retreads include Rick Santorum, the grub in a skin-suit; Captain Underpants, the official Loser of the 2102 presidential election; and, yes, Rick Perry, the one and only, once and future, farm animal.

They have made a modification to the 2016 model of farm animal. They have put glasses on him. This is supposed to convince voters that he has become smart. It might seem that a more efficient method of rendering the creature intelligent would involve putting a brain in his head. But that, I guess, wouldn’t be as much fun.

I have worn glasses since the age of five. But every time I see a photo of the farm animal in specs, I rip mine right off. For I don’t want to be dumb and dumberassociated in any way with that spectacle.

The reason for this rambling entry is that I recently came upon a tube featuring photos of the pre-glasses farm animal accompanied by actual true-life quotes from the brainless one’s very mouth.

As a Public Duty, I thought I should reproduce some of those here. So I have.

So that you all can make best guesstimates as to how much heroin you should lay in, to survive the upcoming campaign.

The extraterrestrials, they may find this shit funny. But the rest of us, we need Medicine.

Mayor: “Beijing Is Not A Livable City”

Cities are wrong, and they are all going to be put to sleep.

Wang Anshun, mayor of Beijing, knows this. And so, last Friday, he told China Youth Daily: “Beijing is not a livable city.”

Currently 21.5 million people livemove in Beijing. That is 21,450,000 more people than is Sane.

Wang admitted that there is no longer air in Beijing. There is, instead, poison.

Wang, a former official in the state-controlled petroleum sector and in north-west China’s Gansu province, said the pollution was caused by its distribution of polluting factories and skyrocketing ownership of motor vehicles. In his speech, he demanded that Beijing’s polluting factories shut down entirely rather than “irresponsibly relocate” to neighbouring areas of Hebei and Tianjin.

In 2014, Beijing authorities closed 392 companies for causing pollution and took 476,000 old vehicles off the roads, Wang said.

He added that despite the choking pollution, Beijing’s biggest problem was population control, claiming the influx of migrant labour put strains on the city’s infrastructure. The city has 21.5 million residents and is growing at a rate of more than 350,000 a year.

People are killing themselves, living there.

As doctors tended the patients snaking through the ground floor of Beijing Children’s Hospital last week, it wasn’t the raspy throats and watery eyes caused by the city’s acrid air that concerned Li Pu most. It was the potential for lifelong lung damage and behavioral changes.

Li, a pediatrician focusing on early childhood development, is finding evidence of the cumulative toxic effect that pollution is having on children. It suggests that the acute sickness triggered this year by some of Beijing’s worst smog-cloaked days may be a prelude of chronic illnesses, such as heart disease, decades later.

Cities are wrong, and they are all going to go.

When even your mayor pronounces your city “not livable,” it would seem time to get out.

Meth Mouth Vs. Falafel Fondler

While farting out his show Tuesday night, Ted Baxter, noted falafel-fondler, mentioned that Meth Mouth, a colossally stupid woman up in Alaska who shoots speed in both arms all day and all of the night, can not really be taken tedseriously as a 2016 presidential candidate—not even among the ludicrous screaming meemies clambering daily aboard the GOoPer clown train.

Baxter opined that Meth Mouth’s professed interest in the presidency is but a form of “reality show,” and offered that she and Donald Trump—the well-known bankrupt wind-blown wig—would “certainly liven up the proceedings, but they need effective organizations in 50 states, and that’ll be a major challenge for them.”

Meth Mouth herself heard this, because she never sleeps, and is always watching the television. So she loaded up on some particularly powerful Panzer Powder, and then, screaming into the earhole of an assistant to Sean Klannity, dumbest man on Fox, demanded that she be permitted to appear on Klannity’s meth womanshow that very night, in order to respond to Baxter.

And lo, she so appeared.

And, brain shorting out on her beloved meth, said, among other things, this:

“On Fox, kind of a quasi or a an assumed conservative outlet, and we have all day listening to the Ts of Bill O’Reilly.”

“He’s talking about, the guests on his show tonight or oh the commentary on his show, and that would be oh all these GOP contenders thinking about running for President, like Donald Trump, Sarah Palin and he names them off. He says, ‘Oh what a reality show that would be, yuck, yuck.’

“Well the left doesn’t do that, okay they take the serious because this is war and hopefully the media, even the quasi, right side of the media, won’t be looking at this as some kind of reality show, a joke because maybe they have theirs so it’s they’re taken care of. They’re fine.

“No, the people of America deserve the best and competition through a GOP primary, whether a Bill O’Reilly or somebody else assumes a reality show or not, they deserve that competition to surface the competitor who can take on Hillary or whomever it may be and win for this country.”

The horror. The horror.

When I Worked

January 2015
« Dec   Feb »