life in the torture chambers, paul.

i feel off bass after watching the fire within, which burned me bad. i could use something lighter. if i could only watch something that was a good match for me. ah, i suppose it will all go up in smoke.

dahr jamail received an award along with a young palestinian writer. when the palestinian writer went back to his home, he was tortured by israeli police. go to democracy now for more.

colbert reminds us that democracy now will be followed by anarchy later, but of course, he is a goodman to have amy on. i'll bet you ten to juan, he is on the left, practically a young lord.

obama reminds us all that there is only one national anthem. touching. yeah, and there is only good dude running for president too, and it ain't you.

things you'll never hear...

please, i insist you stop this blow job this second

i want this job because i need to eat

there are worse things than shitting your pants

i'd kill myself if it wasn't a crime

zeppo was the funny marx brother

don't let the sun catch you masturbating

don't let the son catch you masturbating

my favorite show was amen

sometimes i feel like a childless adult


remember the british empire? we thought they were bad. but our shit is something else. their cannon balls were nothing like the shit we have. man, we can bomb you from miles away, until all the notes you sing will be blue. the art of war? forget it man. when we get the jones to kill, we kill, be they named hank, sam, or whatever they may happen to be called. when you add-erly up the dead, the numbers are high, although they are not numbers that colin powell, or few of the rest of us, are much interested in. francis, i know it seems that i am crying wolff with my anti war platitudes. i wish that i was lion, alfred, but it is all too true. how many times can a man bob his head, pretending he doesn't see, as he counts his weinstock and becomes more rich than any buddy of mine will ever be? only a shelley of a manne can live in a penthouse while others read penthouse while still others have no houses at all. i realize this ain't newman, but the hustlers of the world still make my fathead fill with anger. sometimes, i want to chuck the whole thing, but then there is a ray of hope, and i think of a newport, something that i have yet to feel and know. then i recall that i have rhode down this island before, and by george, i cease to wein, and i get back to the monkey business, this off the marx world we all inhabit. and still, the bombs fall, every davis they fall, and i can not trumpet a new beginning. and so, i remain kind of blue, workin, cookin, relaxin, searchin for my bit of prestige. sometimes i go to the pond, so i can walk down by the riverside and russell up a bit of nature in my life. by george, nature, how much more abuse from man can you stand? wayne you strike back, i believe man will be on the shorter end of the stick. but of course, we shoot the messenger. it's the same old jazz. we max our credit cards to the limit, but don't complain to the land lord when we see a roach. we drum up some excitement for things that are not the key to contentment. perhaps we become organ donors, but what do we do while we are alive? great scott, shirley we can do better than this! is it too late for the average joe to become a newman? for now, as i think about it, i am blue as the clock strikes 7, and the sonny is movin out. but, the tenor of my madness remains, and it is not even worktime! oh, we are passing over the cliff, and we have turned this earth into brown shit. i will grant you, there is still some green left, but in general, it is a bland earth, and this makes me blue.

the thing is, can we reach basie, or will we be counted out? the least we can do is go down swinging, with a miller in our hand, from glenn to glenn, and down the mountain side. irish you understand the tenor of these remarks.

now, was that something else, or what?