Mearr, me hearties. Gather ye round, for this here’s a tale worthy of skin and bones that dance in the socialist moonlight. Alas. Today is another day to add more quilled apples of gold from your wordsmith with hope that some poor mate whether he be aboard or floating in a dingy somewhere off in the distance would grab the floating bottle with this message contained therein and “consume it” becoming aware that this ship is in dire straits. Perhaps this message will make it past the alien bottlenose sharks that are following aft with their friends the “Post-it Ghosts” that have trained them to swallow any messages whole that escape the Captains scrutiny.
To whomever this message makes it:
My tale begins with “Sew Them Lips Tight!” in the year of our Lord 2010 – day 513 of my captivity and this morning I have ventured back into my cabin to scribble my latest adventures of the USS America and her Socialist one-way voyage to insanity via the pits of Hell brought to US by those knaves of the Democrat Party headed by that rapscallion who calls himself “Captain.” Wave after socialist wave collides upon our decks and impending financial doom looms on the horizon as gold barons bicker back and forth drinking their Hava Nagila water while hacking on the dry bones of society furthering our decay.
I wish some knave would pour them a quick cup of damnation and rid these vermin that treat our economy like a Lava Lamp on mysterious drugs – alas, that is a dream that will fade with time. There are far too many that depend on the Captain for their daily snort – the powder is dry and white and many snort the incubus through his straw.
Gather ye the rest of the mates aboard and tell them we need to defect from the USS America. Send out the message – One Ping Only. And God speed to all that survive this nightmare!
While the ship was tossing in the waves the other night, I had a strange dream that one man stood up against the Captain and his cabal of “girly men” and said, “Insanity is only the lunacy proffered by the majority on this ship and they label their common sense as justifiable genocide as they arduously stifle others in the quest for truth. I shall sew thee lips shut with the hide of those loose loafers that you so churlishly guard. Your penetrating essence of paradox begs for a stitch in time to silence your whine – and I’m the one that will create some fun …”
So the dream begins…
Today we celebrate
One of our bold and brave conservative mates stealthily slithered into the Captains quarters last night and with the skill of a surgeon; he sewed the Captains lips shut with sutures made out of Tinkerbell’s posterior. We got so tired of hearing the constant barrage of Tinkerbell and his gay liberation blather that Brutus skinned his ass on the quarter deck as all hands laughed hysterically as the sun set. He-she won’t be flying anytime soon.
Just as the brazen mate of ours finished the last suture on the Captains lips, he noticed a group of midgets that crept in unawares from the secret society of The Mah-Ha-Bone. This terrible group prevented our brazen mate from completing his final stitch and he whisked off into the night promising another attempt, perhaps on the morrow.
The next day we heard shouting and lamentations from the Crows Nest that’s labeled itself as Fox news – so let the whining begin.
So let us raise our whine goblets and celebrate tonight that finally the Captain might keep his mouth shut for a season – but we know the better, but for now we celebrate the endeavor.
Yes, you dearest reader. I can see that you are filling thy mouth with goods that I have not seen in quite a while. Will you sharest with me and me hearties? Did you pray before you shoved those dainties into thy mouth? I thought so. Hurry lest the Captain applies a Sin tax that upbraideth not upon thy good fortune.
Having many things to write unto you dearest reader, I would not write with paper and ink but would rather tell thee to thy face over a refreshing banquet but one of my Editor mates by the name of Jeff Bennett keeps me hidden below decks under candlelight quilling all this verbiage under lock and key. Sometimes I get him to spray his Telebox glass with Ale because I consider it a manifest token of righteous judgment on behalf of his humor.
Whithersoever ye travel today heed my warning that this Jeff Bennett has fine-tuned humor so well that he might even get thee to spray thy Telebox also. Heed the warning.
I hear the Captain will soon curtail owners of gardens on what food they can grow – if any, notwithstanding the idiot who calls himself Bill Gates – the philanthropy propagator of Monsanto whoremongers that plan to starve millions through their population reduction program.
DuPont, Dow, Syngenta and other major GMO agribusiness giants are reported to be the vile raiment and back door of all this blasphemy. A Bill has loosed itself with the blessings of the Captain and has a maiden bastard name of S510 with a blessing of 501c3 ramifications that will collide harshly with this ship and its constituents.
I am sure wave after socialist wave will crash the decks and the little (excuse the adjective), shit-heads that have obtained the title of “The Dead Elephant Party” with grand greetings and salutations will inject this Jihad Watermelon into a more flavorful attribute that many an unlearned serf will understand and thus except the Bill in all its pumpinstance with the blessings of both parties which the Captain will sign quickly before any can awaken to the nightmare.
Genetically-modified food will soon (if not already) will slither on to thy dining room table and before the buds hit thy taste of thy mouth, Tinkerbell will ram the cob into thy posterior with a shout of victory unless somebody throws the Captain overboard with all his kindred!
The Global Eugenics agenda has quickly become the standard for Communitarian worship and nary an individual in this day and age would say it is a capital mistake to theorize about thy wiggling apostrophe in front of thy face when the dogs of war are tugging upon thy tail.
A wise man once said, “No man escapes when freedom fails, the best men rot in filthy jails, and those who cried ‘Appease! Appease!’ are hanged by those they tried to please.” But I say this as I toast my Ale; all come ye bastards to try to jail; we wont go down without a fight; we’ll kill ye bastards with all our might; so watch your back and guard your bones, we’ll throw ye aft to Davy Jones – Amen.
I’m going fishing today off the Barbary Coast – portside with barbless hooks because the bastards in charge have a writ in hand and a longing to obey fruitless stupidity. My second mate will have a great wooden hammer and shall bash thy heads of all fish caught and chum the waters of stupidity whilst we wait for a great whiner to ask:
“Why all the dead fish?”
And that’s when we cast him overboard into Davy Jones’ Locker and tell him thy barbless hooks we used frightened the fish to their death and hark, we have not a brave soul to save their fragile bodies from the alien bottlenose sharks. Perhaps ye should yell with a shout and we shall cast in more like you to help?
Barbless hooks indeed.
Eat well my friends. We have lips to sew and Butt Pirates to skin.
I add this also, that old wood and wine by a fireplace divine. Old friends and trust, wisdom’s understanding a must; for the great oak of truth will teach thee fundamental, that sewing Obama’s lips wasn’t merely accidental.
Aye me hearties. If’n yould like to read the entire column with all hyperlinks intact, me suggest that you get up of’n yer arses, and go to the original source at Shock and Awe Graphics (Ed.)
Published in the August 11, 2010 issue of Shock And Awe Graphics. @ntiCopyright © 2001 – 2010 Louis Turner. Republication allowed with this notice and hyperlink intact.
~ The Author ~
Louis Turner is the Commander of the Authors of the North, creator of numerous graphics, disloyal servant to the true emperor – Barack Hussein Obama, father to none, husband to a murdered computer, and I will have my vengeance in this life or the next. I will win the crowd. I will give them something they have never seen before.
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