george is off the wallington, and should be tried at the haig for war crimes

al agrees with me, and his attack on george made me dizzy. in fact, after hearing it, i wanted to jump off a clifford into the river jordan, but if i die, i won't be able to enjoy sax, so i didn't jump. instead i thought i might as well take an ike to quebec in the spring, which may help ease my heavy soul. if i'm lucky, i will keep walkin for miles, perhaps with my friend geofrey canada. if we get tired, we could ale a cab, and go to calloway. lauryn says the hills are beautiful in montreal. i'm a dreamer, montreal? for my miseducation could not stop me from dreaming, and even though the administration of bill clinton killed jennifer flowers softly with his shlong, i had the balls to dream of lucy, for she was a jew, see? see see isaiah rider. i've got the blues, now i just need the red garland, so i can plant a seed. i can seed clearly national organization of women, the reign of king george is almost gone, and soon, there will be no johnny moore nashing of teeth, so cash in johnny, while you still can. perhaps, if the lord is willing, you can sell your ring, because i know the fire at your holmes caused you and larry to lose everything you had, and i don't want to see you have to walk to the bread line at the first church of charlotte for food. so, go north to carolina st., and even if you have to take a plain to get there, i'll meet you in jamaica. you might haiti me for saying this, but this is my good aristide for the day. yes, you, me, and even linda need a tripp, for we have linngered in st. louis too long, and you can betty your life i'm on the marx when i harpo on this point, for i harbor no resentment toward you. for, on this darrin daye, i am off to the races, and there will be no horsing around, for i need a horse feather in my cap. you may think i dumont than i have to, but we all do what we have to due. speaking lo of which, i have it maid when i can go to the library and read any book i want for free. today i read with eric fromm here to eternity, and then i russelled through the shelves with bertrand. one of my books is overdue, so they will probably bill me, but i will block the calls from that plane jane of a librarian who keeps making passes at me. she hopes i will wilt under the pressure, but i would rather go 20,000 leagues under the sea than spend a night with her.
i'd rather be alone, for in the end, we are all alone.
just let me be. let me read, listen to jazz, take a walk on a nice day, and please, stop bombing poor brown people who pray to a different god than we do.
bye reader.

on visiting frank in a foster home

i went in, acting in a fine manor, when they told me that frank had moved wess. my friend joe was still there, and he seemed like a newman. he spoke of the hard times, but now sees a ray of sunshine in his future. the home was a fine place. constructed by larry and other workers of the world, you can count on the fingers of one hand a place that was better made than this one. all in all, it was a swinging time, until a nurse told me to harry up. roy was i mad. i won't trumpet that place again. in fact, i got on the horn and complained to all who would listen that they were off basie to throw me out. i wanted to duke it out because i felt it was off the waller that i would be treated in such a way. (insert helen pun) you know, i'm a
goodman, and for them to swing at me like that was uncalled for. i suppose i could have pulled some strings and arranged for a disciplinary action to occur against the home, but i would rather just say cello and bring it to an end, for there is enough conflict in the world without me drumming up more of it. do you think i should sing another tune? would that be the key to my happiness? wouldn't it be better to take a trip to francis. irish i could go, for this land is ireland, this land is your ireland. i harold the day when we will all cher the land, and sit in the sonny shine, and laugh everyday. give me that old time rock and rolle, esther, and let the good times rolle. for then, i will be back on my feet, for that old time rock and roll is the kind of music that soothes my sole. i love that sweet sole music, because it is so free, and i never feel fenced in when i listen to picket at knight during the midnight hour. i am gladys that time when i can enjoy such music, and i knock on nick wood that i will always be able to enjoy it.
portrait of diversity...the train comes to the chinatown stop, and a young asian mother comes on with her two young sons. the boys have bags of macdonald's food, and both pull out fish sandwiches and begin to eat them. fish, one of the staples of many an asian diet, but these two boys weren't really eating fish, were they? they were eating an elton brand, an image, a commercial. they were gobbling down the vulgar americanism of corporate domination. but, they had smiles on their faces. they didn't seem to realize that the rape of their identity was long underway. but why should they be any different? how many young black children have sat down to fast food meat, when their grandmother's chicken could put the garbage they now call chicken to shame? how many young white children have thrown in their lot with fast food, when their various ethnic backgrounds have produced food of great quality? oh lord, have they even taken our taste buds from us?
so here i go again, about to take that linda tripp again to pick jennifer flowers for helen, who lives near troy by the hudson river. i am going to plant myself in their surroundings, and take a chance on courtney love showing up on sunday. that would make me get happy.
a goal i have is to play hockey with gary, but we need a puckett. i thought i saw one on the kirby, but it wasn't. when i play, i often have cheating on my mind, but my mother is a woman who told me never to lie, especially with young girls who are not reddy for it, like helen. reddy or not, here i come, and though i really want to play, i will be a good sport regardless of the outcome, because life is a ball, and i am ready for freddie mertz, and as long as i stay lucy as a goosey, i'll be ok. desi a lot of bad things about me, but i don't gleason to a thing they say, honey. i will moon them if i get the chance, for that is an art form johnny helped me get quite goode at. stan getz good at it to, but he is often too horny to take part in it. last i heard from a cool cat named garfield, stan getz got a new blow job as an oral historian. he told me the job was a pain in the ass. ass see what he meant, but a job is a job, as the bible says, and it still is good news, for life is a holiday that the good man continues to cooke up for us. so be gaye and lie down on a matt, but keep a billie club nearby in case a strange fruit tries to attack you.
ciao.

monica will sell ass in the prostitution racket

she is known for giving morehead than the rest, and blewinsky away the competition from the other escorts. these are not back handed compliments, but are rather, strong points that need to be made, for though it is late in the game, that it is not my fault. there is still time for us to have a ball, holding court with like minded swingers out for a good time. you may say i'm on an esther rolle now, but there is no need for you to butter me up. ossie what davis is saying about me, but he is miles away from here, vacationing with angela, so his remarks are not germane to the topic. hitler was a dictator of germane. he was not a very nice mann. hitler often said that a big lie is better than a little lie, but how do we know he wasn't lying when he said this. perhaps he was cot lying? hitler would hammock it up, a real ham they said of him. hitler shot a mussolini in his pajamas, how it gott in his pajamas is beyond richard, wright? richard wright had a long dream, about 8 inches. well, we all get lena horney sometimes, and then at other times, our hard times withers away. if you are caught stroking for example, by mom, you may get a stern look, which will make you feel terrybull. then you may straighten up and cartwright. i know i had a hook in there somewhere, and that if i just took my shot, i would score eventually. perhaps i will put that line on craig hodges list, but they will probably keep it at ebay. then i could make them a second chance offer, but i would rather get off her than make them an offer. dapper dan would rather get on the casey and beer down, drinking up the scene, which needs to be scene to be believed. i am for reel when i say this.
but the whole thing is sad and will probably just give him the scotch blues. yes, we are living in the age of tina, and while i brooks no grudges over this, i wish i could cook up an alternative that louis would find happening. for, we are on a warhol footing, and our sole chance at redemption is not to toe the line, but rather, to take up arms in hand to hand combat. you may not be able to stomach violence, but it is too late to turn back, national organization of women. please, do not abort this attempt at revolution, for life itself may depend on it. at this point, do we have a choice? no, so stop acting like a baby. fight! if you must, go down swinging, for at least then, you will know you were a goodman.
to be frank, judging by the tony in his voice, billy may choose to die this way, as may helen, for we need to alter the helen earth our society is becoming. we can change this world. we can live like kings, not like the gnats we are currently forced to live like. yeah, i'm throwing bb's now, but freddie, you got to be ready to live like a king if you are gonna help build this hubbard up into a new world. this will not be a bland society, for there will be a john and a hooker on every block that new kids can gain experience from. this will help to turner their lives around in a big way, and while mary may be too proud to change her lifestyle, she is a plain jane anyway, so we will escort her off the premises. yes, we will have to measure the prostitutes and the constitutes, and then we can go to a dinah and washington down our food with a cold glass of wein. you know, i may not get any prestige from this blog, but i don't put any stock in fame anyway. i would be alfred lion if i told you i didn't want some recognition, but i'm not gonna run to gitler it. i am not gonna jazz up my writings for that, so please take note of what i'm ceying, ron. i am not going to ron after fame, or get a fake tan just because everyone else is doing it, and while i need someone to deleon on just like everyone else, i will not pepper my art with salty remarks just to become known.
i will stay true to who i am.
who am i again?

i'm gladys knight

for, as i travel on this midnite train of life, thoughts of georgia come to mind, and i can visualize ed wynn starrs falling on nearby alabama. as i travel down 25 miles of highway on amtrack train 007, my soul hungers for a bond with fellow blogger james, but it seems i can not barry on. how long must i be on the run? when can i return home? please, don't get benton out of shape over this, for while i babble like a brook, i am trying my best to travis down a new road. i road about it once, but my writing didn't stand a ghost of a chancery of being published, so i began to blog. so far, people have been wolfing down my writings, except for naomi, who has dekleined to read them. g-d, how no logo can this go? perhaps i need some parenti guidance, or the help of a strong christian who will place me on lockdown if i continue to criticize america in such a harsh weigh. but, i feel that i need to keep pounding away, for an ounce pf prevention is worth an ezra pound of cure, and giving my two dissents are the highest form of patriotism. in fact, i believe them to be an art form. ahh, don't monet about my writings! diego your way and i'll go mine if you don't like them, for i will not taylor my art to satisfy the tastes of the masses. i am set to drum that statement into the head of all who question me for being off bass, for i am not fiddling around. if you don't like what i am writing, than drift up to a roof somewhere, for i am getting board walking you through this, and if for one magic moment, you can depart, i would be free to depart from my broadway of writing and become johnny moore subtle. i don't mean to be rudy, lewis, but i know what i'm talking about, and i feel that i am finding my stroke now, although it may be in a different bag from what james is used to. but that's ok, because i feel good, and that's all that matters, and if some lady day gets angry with me for lying down on a matt and blogging on a holiday, well, it's a man's world, and i'm not sweating any cold remarks from anyone. so shut it, before i leave you bewildered and make you a prisoner of courtney love, for in the courtney of public opinion, you are guilty as charged. sometimes i feel like i need arrest, but my penn is mighty, and i need to use it, and even though i have not been able to cell my work, i have nerves of steal, and down into the pittsburgh of my stomach, i feel that i can billy conn my way into the hearts of manny a power hitting book publishers. for you see, my courage is far from common, and i am far from the south end of my rope. i am a versotile writer, and my lines have the power of an ak 47, so i press on. i just hope there is a haymarket for my work, and that it doesn't linnger on the shelves, blowing up my confidence along the way. for i am a good parsons just trying to have a lucy ball on this mother earth. emma looking for my goldman, just like every body else. i'm trying to stay centered, and to keep my karl roveing brain from reaching it's end point.
but alas, i tire of living in this hub. perhaps i should just bust a cap on myself, for i am pistoled off at everything. shoot, i'll never bring this madness to an end, for come monday, you can bettis i will march on to the bus and head back for another day to my psalm job, day dreaming of number 23's magic shot making ability. isaiah was good too, but perhaps i should not begat any more of these puns, for this should be a solomon occasion.
to be curt, there are millions impacted by floods, and if had a schilling, i would send it to them. let us make a pitch to stop these disasters. please america, don't drop the ball. catch on before it's too late to turn back now, for the byrds are dying, and you can't donald duck the issues just because i'm a little daffy. this is not bunny, this is serious. tonite, my goodman, should not swing, for you should not live like a king while such savage inequalities are recorded.
please please please, don't let me brown. to james, to pinko, to ron's favorite artest, and to all the rest, think hard.
and then, curtis blow this mutha up.

in a tan to one shot, brother ray makes the sole comment about the chairman's spelling of soul

weirdly, the chairman himself debated this spelling, and if he had a computer at home, probably wood have changed it in the nick of time, in a new york minute in fact. yes, it is minute detail, but hour spelling is important, and this spelling made for a second rate blog. today however, david is a newman, and my hard times are over. so, here i cum.
mr. carver is absent today. i absent for you yesterday and here you are today. everyone wants to throw their two absence in to the discussion, but we need people to speak their minds, for then we will find the truth, and the world will b. free. yes, i know it's a howie long shot, but howie are we gonna learn to live together if we don't start now. for we are disparate entities, desperate, motherless children searching for a new harold land of destiny. ahh, but i am only jason kidding myself, for i moss remember that the night is dark and i am far from a homosexual. rachael's child was a homosexual but sadly, death took him at an early age. i wrote a letter to his young teacher, a man named steve, who i didn't know from adam, explaining the situation. he was saddened, and then went into a rant, talking about the savage inequalities faced by working class youth in our culture. i told him he was on the marx, and said that i would give him a karl when i had the chance. surprisingly, he told me to leave him malone. if you ask me, he was barkley up the wrong tree rollins, and i said listen sonny, i will punch you until you are redd in the face if you talk to me like that again.
evette wants to stay in the class with me, but i would rather sit in here alone with my blog. evette thinks she is a singer. what she doesn't know is that she is really alvie singer. that was a good one, and when i see annie in the hall, i'm gonna repeat that line. alfred may be lion but i'm not, for i really said that. i wouldn't lie, for my weinstock would drop if i began to fib, and i would have to bob and mike weaver out of trouble. that would be a heavyweight on my shoulders, and while the anka punch worked for muhammed when he was in an ali fight, you still need to liston to the whole story, because all work and no clay make gene mcdaniels a very dull singer, and even when nat cole is outside, i still remember the month that mae cut her keith out west. kanye recall it? don't beat around the bush, either you blacked out and can't recall it, or you do remember it. you can find the answer in monroe, so stop playing with your johnson and defend your honor. i would rather be on her than have honor. i was honor roll, but i had to get off to wash off the butter.
the celtics play tonight. i think they will ed wynn by a margarine of 8 and a half points. i have a good felini about it, although i need to sea the game first before i can know for shore who will win in this battle of atlantic division foes. moses said foe foe foe, but he can go jump in a laker and eat kareem cheese for all i care. i should care, i should go around weeping that tree rollins has not been able to plant a seed as of yet. well, i suppose we need to seed what happens. it happens at lappens. i saw vikki carr there once serving a dish of food to gerald ford, and then they drove away. my jokes are fluid, but perhaps i should take a brake because everthing is moving too fast and i'm beginning to run out of gas. all in all, i think this was a solid blog. when you weigh the protons and the controns, i ion a good esther rolle here, and am having good times. i mellish this opportunity and am having big pun. i am not a player i just drink a lot of crush soda. there i go a gin. yo, i am rican of alcohol. this shit is phat, for i've got nothing to luz now that a heavy weight has been lifted off my shoulders. now i just need to wait and sea if these lines hold any water. john thinks they do. he lives in the 5th edwards, a pour district. i have an almanac for these lines. if i only had the benjamins, i could afford to live in frankiln. you mass believe me that i need kevin cash. did you catch that line? it probably threw you for a curve, so go to a varitek school. i'm not joshing, i think you can make it, so roll the dice, k? be a manny like david and do what you are due for. i know i am making a pitch here, but i really think you will have a ball, four what is life if you are not living in the fast lane. i'd rather be swingin down the lane like dan, who had a casey of the blues when his para pants didn't fit, so he had to marshalls the courage to return them. i'm takin this to the tj max, and i will tello everyone i see how i feel. they may not take the bates, but i feel fresh as a daisy. great scotts, i will boro through, and get my point across to every brother and sister all over this land, and i'll mc hammer out david justice, until we live in berry nice world that we can all halle as a place where no manning has to pey a ton for anything, and decency rainns down on all who have the wilson and the courage to strive for michael moore than we currently have. for though today may be the nader of our planet, and while i'll grant that i am green with envy over how others have lived compared to us, i refuse to give up hope. we just need to sesame what happens, and keep cynicism at bagel, or we will be creamed by the spread of disaster that will knife us all.
good luck compadres.
you have nothing lose but your chain of fools, so hang aretha from your doors, and light a fire that will shine brightly. we are playing a different brando game now.
it's on.

talking about hard times

talking about hard times, i shot the jj, but i did not shoot the sharif abdur rahim. you have a point when you say i should have passed on that gag, but with an assist from my joke book, my puns should be on the rebound shortly. if i could only block out what the people are saying about me and steal away to a quiet place, where i could drive my coach and score a peaceful holiday sleeping on a matt in the brevin knight. i know you say that you wouldn't send a brevin knight out on a snoop dogg like this, but gleason to what i say, for i have a woman who at the site of the first ray of sunshine, would gladly sail the river charles with me.
thoughts...on the cover of today's boston herald is a 19 year old student from wentworth. the young man has a black eye and generally looks like crap. it turns out he was arrested for the crime of celebrating, which doesn't seem to bother people when kool and the gang does it. the headline read "sorry boston." the kid is being threatened with expulsion from college. think about this. some young kid gets caught up in a celebration, gets his ass kicked by the cops, and is then threatened with expulsion from a college that is costing him $40,000 a year. AND HE IS APOLOGIZING???
at the parade for the red sox, some 18 year old white kid started yelling the n-word at a black cop for no reason at all. he was warned to stop, and continued to use the word, even claiming he could get the black cops fired. he was then arrested, but not before being cheered on by the people around him. this guy would probably not think twice about wearing a david ortiz shirt, or listening to a kanye album. it is imperative to remember that mindless diversions really don't bring people together in a profound sense. only a radical transformation of society otherwise known as a revolution can begin to alter the structures of power which lead to most white people being either active racists or indifferent apologists for racism.
having said that...go sox!! but...fuck the police, fuck the university system, and fuck stupid white rednecks. unfortunately, these three categories are not mutually exclusive.
we are a society of sickness, sucking out the sustenance the world needs to survive. look at me, fooling around with alliteration. big deal chairman, you can write a little, but while you are writing, others are DOING. they are starting wars while you are worn down. silberg tried to warn you that this wood happen, and in the nick of time, you herd his call like the sheep you so often pattern yourself after. naomi wolf says we need to stop acting like sheep, and cut the bull, but she can't get my goat, for as much as she may dog me, i'm too cool a cat to bee down about it.yeah, that shit don't fly with me. i ain't gonna parrot some shit just cause i'm supposed to say it.
i'm annoyed by a recent blues recording i have heard. it came out this year and is by a white singer. the title is "big booty baby." it rubs me the wrong way, but maybe i should butt out of this discussion and bring this blog to an end, but alas, i have already made an ass of myself, for when tush came to shove, i didn't bring shit to the table. rather, i was full of hot air. and now, i'm out of gas and need a second wind, or else i will continue to bomb on this blog. why is it called a blog anyway? what is that? and what am i doing on one? has it put food in one child's stomach? yes, chris childs had a good meal, but meal or no meal, i feel empty, as the vast sea of nothingness envelops me. if i only had a postage stamp, but i don't approve of them costing 41 cents, so i walk everywhere now, knock on people's doors, hand them the bill, and walk away. you can say i foot the bill now, but i got too much soul to toe the line, and if the gene shue were on the other foot, i'm shore dinah would do the same, even if she is 76er years old, for a good walk is just what doctor j ordered, so philly his order before he files a complaint and nails you on the front page for not bringing out his patti in a timely manor befitting a man of his age. this shit never gets old.
until the next time, keep your ion the prize, hold on i'm cummin signing steve christmas carrell's all the way. that may have been a frank remark, but dion the web all the time, so if it got under your skin, don't swing around this page again.
buy bye by

dave, sing your zirin song

jack and jill scott went up a lauryn hill, and then wrote the port heron statement. the signing of this revolutionary statement was televised live but my dead hands had trouble changing the station. so i danced the charlton with michael moore until i got sicko to my stomach. moses i shouln't have done it, but he should just leave me malone. i karled him up and told him that, but he said don't give me that jazz. instead, face the music, and if you can't afford to live in this country, get a house somewhere else, miles away. this may be a blue note, but i'm not in this for the prestige, for i would rather chill down by the riverside and keepnews to myself. ahmet a nice man by the bay, but he didn't otis me. if i could get a redding on his feelings, it would do wonders, woman, for my soul. but, it seems i will have to foot the bill of frustration, as d feet nears, and i get socked by the punch that is life. choose life, your mother did. hitler's mother chose life too, but she is usually not a poster child for the anti-abortion crowd. i am a bore, so shun me. if i marry, my mother in law will say i am not losing a daughter, im gaining a shun. i am so poor, i can't even pay a ten, shun.
g-d, what am i doing? what kind of a weigh is this to pound your eyes, deer blog reader? do you prey for me to quit this wicked game, dorothy, and to kansas every new kid on the block to vote for kucinich? i tell them to eat their kucinich so they can grow strong every weak, but they would rather watch dorris day movies, or sit on a rock by the hudson river as they think of helen way of troy. yes, i suppose they way their options, for life is helen earth. sometimes, astaire at them gingerly, and my rodgers grows hard, and i feel that i am in havens like richard, and my heart beats so that i can hardly speak low when i speak to courtney love. anyhere i hang my hate is home, though hate is not a family value. we are family, i've got all my sisters and me. once, i had assist, but i passed on the operation. instead, i went to a holistic healer who told me the concept of illness is all in my head, which i should go out of a little even if it hurts so bad. that night, i cried tears on my pillow and begged my doctor to take me back, but alas, i was on the outside looking in, as i could not get another appointment for 3 weeks because sarah was ahead of me, and though i tried to be stern and though i insisted on phillying in the nurse with my trouble, no one would sea me. i cried a river over this to lee, who was tender and pressleyed me to snap out of it. quitters never ed wynn and ed wynners never quit, he told me. oz see what you mean, but i'm a jew, d, i replied, and i ed wood dan rather nick my knee running through a garland of red roses than look like a stern joe, smoking a philly on the block with some new kid named jason. for, you see, i don't want to be trapped in a box, cause that way you can end up in an ali, tossed aside like a piece of clay, cause this is a gene old world to try to live in by yourself, and i take my hattie off to anyone who can wind this wicked race. man, i've got to get holmes and fly away like a bird to my woman who i love so dear, but it seems their is no magic in my dick johnson, so i turn turn turn like a byrd to a soporno, and end up caught between a rock and a hard place.
when will the readers mob my blog? i would kill for a few comments, and i will keep shooting posts until i get them. maybe if i die the color of my screen, people will raven about it and the sonny will shine on me once again, for i am a white on white man, polka man. i played a game of polka last night and had a pint of gin with romney. if i get my mitts on him again, i'll take his money, for the mormon i play him, the better i will do. but it may not be in the cards, for he seemed to have quite a chip on his shoulder when i told him i wouldn't do a load of laundry for him. i hope we can wipe the slate clean and make a brake from playing cards and listening to vikki talk about her carr, for romney, me and gerald can't a ford these nights on the town. there is too much on my plate, what with the dish network, listening to the platters, sam cooke, and hanging out with bob, a chef who gives me pizza mind and connects me with my pasta. that last sentence was a lie. food me once, shame on me, food me twice, shame on you. you've got that magic touch, johnson, and i'm tellin you the truth, williams. i wouldn't lie to you for i am not a great pretender, and smoke gets in my eyes everytime i think of you. maybe i will sing a different tune later, so tune in for what this looney tune has to say. don't duck out on me. keep reading. don't become a pig and work for the state, don't cop a plea, don't steal a little love, and don't rob, ok williams? hey, this is no laughing matter, so stand up and speak truth to tyrone power. don't bogart, rather, keep it reel. im not ryan robert, hang in there, for where their is an esther williams their is a way. ceasar built a sidy on a hill, but alas, it is time for me to climb down from my pedestal and go back to "work"
and death returns.
onward to 2:35