These Are My Confessions

About once a year, I go through this ceremonial cleansing. Call it an exorcism if you will. Or a colonoscopy. I have to get the troofiness out there. But since I don't want to limit the scope of my troof -tellin' to just my Facebook friends and because I'm facing a major case of blogger blockage right now, I'll share some with you.

Efektiv 2day I is a librul hatin', God guns and Ameruka lovin' patriot! Get out of Amureka, hippys and Messicans! 

Hooray Capitalism! 

‎#TeamGingrich! 

God luvs rich white men! God bless them all! Xpt for Warren Buffet. He's a race trayter! 

I WILL ALSO FROM NOW ON USE ALL CAPS 2 DISPLAY MY RIGHT-NESS!! 

Whoop, gunlubbinjeebus! 

My favorite commercial of all time has gotta be the Dr. Pepper 10 ads. If it's not for you, it's because you have a va-jayjay, so stop whining.* 

I can't believe I dismissed the musical genius of Creed!

 Muppets suck! What are people thinking? Talking socks and imagination? Screw that!

Leave poor Rushbo alone! He's the victim here! 

Michael Bay's a friggin' Art God! 

Ed Hardy... it's like somebody threw up awesomeness on clothes! 

For Easter, Jesus wants us to wear a suit and tie to church, men. Why else did he die but for us to spend money we don't have to look like we're going to a pastel-colored job interview? 

Joel Osteen is my favoritest! He's like a shiny rainbow of promises and teeth! 

And finally, all the evidence isn't in yet! You have to give them time before you call it racist, racists. Besides, we live in a post-racist country. So, who's the racists now? Also, Trayvon was a thug drug dealer and he shot first, also.

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*Yeah, I gave up on the spelling inaccuracies later. Dead giveaway?

All Hail Loof S Lipra!

The most ingenious, brilliant and straight-forward thinker/talker/radio-and-tv host of the millennium is back on the air. And just in time to change me from my error-filled and muddled thinking. With clarity and simplicity that can only come from the mind of a true, scrambled genius, the honorable Dr. Loof S. Lipra has shown me exactly what I have been missing all this time.

I was so, dreadfully, sympathetically wrong and just not sociopathic enough to truly liberate society.

In point of fact, Obama hasn't done too much warring - he has done too little! I'm with John McCain and Loof Lipra on this: In order to save the Libyans, we must bomb the mess out of them.

In addition, the all-knowing and rightfully cock-sure Loof:

• taught me that we shouldn't mock the pain of the struggling rich. A measly million dollars just isn't what it used to be and it's hard for a US senator's family these days. They, unlike the working poor, deserve much more - but many have tax rates HIGHER than those lazy thugs making $25,000 are paying! It's as if the structure that the gub'mnt gives them allows the rich to make wealth in the first place!
• shows how America is the nation most blessed by God ever in all of the face of the earth. The proof is in our military might! Just like how God was with ancient Egypt, Assyria, and Rome.
• breached the gap in my brain that could not see how cutting services to the poor helps the poor. Of course, when they run out of options, they'll all stop being so lazy and take all those well-paying jobs just waiting for them.
  
• clarified how rightfully that war is expensive! I've been so frustrated at the tremendous price-tag of our Empire-building - half of our national budget, the murder of civilians, the toll upon our own soldiers in PTSD and moral ambiguities, the destruction of ancient civilizations, to name a few. But then Loof showed me that those concerns are mere eggs. And America is the best omelet ever!

photo © 2009 Michael Dorausch | more info (via: Wylio)

These are your friends...


• step-by-careful-step shown me how important it is for Jesus that America eradicates all them filfy Muslims from the face of the Earth - starting with Israel and the local terririst-bomb detonating house of worship (aka, the mosk). This way, he'll finally be able to come back from hiding in heaven (Jesus is scared of them) and wipe out all the other unbelievers with his magical angry powers.
  
• has also patiently demonstrated how the Cubs are the greatest sports franchise ever and how they'll win it all this year, next year, ad infinitum until Jesus comes and then after that!

photo © 2009 Seth Anderson | more info (via: Wylio)

Have you listened to the almighty words of Loof S Lipra? What has he taught you?

The Waste Land, the Seriel, pt. 3

Unreal City,	60
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many.
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.	65
Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,
To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours
With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.
There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying 'Stetson!
'You who were with me in the ships at Mylae!	70
'That corpse you planted last year in your garden,
'Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?
'Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
'Oh keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men,
'Or with his nails he'll dig it up again!	75
'You! hypocrite lecteur!—mon semblable,—mon frère!'
II. A GAME OF CHESS THE Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,
Glowed on the marble, where the glass
Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines
From which a golden Cupidon peeped out	80
(Another hid his eyes behind his wing)
Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra
Reflecting light upon the table as
The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it,
From satin cases poured in rich profusion;	85
In vials of ivory and coloured glass
Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes,
Unguent, powdered, or liquid—troubled, confused
And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air
That freshened from the window, these ascended	90
In fattening the prolonged candle-flames,
Flung their smoke into the laquearia,
Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling.
Huge sea-wood fed with copper
Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone,	95
In which sad light a carvèd dolphin swam.
Above the antique mantel was displayed
As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene
The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king
So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale	100
Filled all the desert with inviolable voice
And still she cried, and still the world pursues,
'Jug Jug' to dirty ears.
And other withered stumps of time
Were told upon the walls; staring forms	105
Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.
Footsteps shuffled on the stair.
Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair
Spread out in fiery points
Glowed into words, then would be savagely still.	110

The Light Above Cities

The following poem, written by Jay Leeming and found in his book Dynamite on a China Plate: Poems, is stolen from Garrison Keillor's The Writer's Almanac public radio broadcast. Hat tip to Jeffrey Overstreet.

The Light Above Cities

Sitting in darkness,
I see how the light of the city
fills the clouds, rosewater light
poured into the sky
like the single body we are. It is the sum
of a million lives; a man drinking beer
beneath a light bulb, a dancer spinning
in a fluorescent room, a girl reading a book
beneath a lamp.

Yet there are others — astronomers,
thieves, lovers — whose work is only done
in darkness. Sometimes
I don't want to show these poems
to anyone, sometimes
I want to remain hidden, deep in the coals
with the one who pulls the stars
through a telescope's glass, the one who listens
for the click of the lock, the one
who kisses softly a woman's eyes.

Eliot's 'The Waste Land' - a seriel

T.S. Eliot (1888–1965). The Waste Land. 1922.

The Waste Land

I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering	5
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,	10
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch.
And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,	15
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.