Archive for June, 2015

Future History


“And it came to pass in the days before the First Jihad, that the Cosimanians were having an outing a the Cosimanian Beach, feeding the poor to the jellyfish while feasting upon hamburgers and hot dogs and other delicacies when it was discovered to their great amusement that by some mistake in planning a Catholic beach was positioned right next to theirs. As much amused laughter was indulged in by the Cosimaniacs, they noticed that while the young women on the Catholic beach seemed to attractive, they were so covered by their damnable burkhas it was impossible to tell.

Overwhelmed by the horror of such waste, they called up on the Great One to look down from the Astral Fortress in which he dwells for eternity in ferocious splendour and solve their problem. And at once a voice was heard from the heavens saying, ‘You blithering idiots! You have the Electropsychotronictepabeamer. Use it!’ followed by some grumbling about how he still had to do all their thinking for them.

And thus, with the playing of the Holy Bagpipes, the Electropsychotronictepabeamer was rolled out of the truck looking something on the order of a WW2 155mm howitzer, only maybe just a little longer with a big light bulb sticking out the end.

‘Uh, how does it work?’

‘I have no idea. Brother Weapon’s Master!’

‘Yes Brother Brewmeister?’

‘Consult the Book of Fun Stuff.’

‘And Uncle Chuckie, peace be upon him, said unto the gathered faithful, behold the Electropsychotronictepabeamer which I have created for your amusement. And the people drank, and feasted, and set fire to the poor in their hovels…’

‘A little down brother…’

‘And His Wisdom said, ‘Climb into the chair at the end of the beamer and put the Holy Helmet upon thy head. The helmet being put up on they head, plug it into the panel. Turn the dials three times. Thou shalt not turn them four nor shalt thou turn them two except that thou proceed to three. Having turned the third dial, three being the number of the dials, thou shalt push the big, red button and the enemy shall know the full weight of your power.’

And thus it was done and when the big, red button what pressed a brilliant light emmitted from the end of the electropsychotronictepabeamer and as it spead across the Catholic beach, the burkhas covering the women were all disintigrated leaving them naked in the sight of the universe and being filled with joy at their liberation they shouted as one, ‘We’re outta here!’ and fled from the Catholic beach to the waiting arms and protective heavy laser guns of the Cosimanian Orthodox while the men looked on in a drunken stupor.” St. Willard of Muskego, Book of The Acts of the Early Church.




Because I hate censorship. Click on the picture to make it full size for printing.

Confederate Battle Flag



Christmas of 1989. I had driven my girlfriend home and was sitting in my back room watching a video when Cleo the Cat went into my bedroom and looked at the door leading to the living room. I got out of my chair, went through the bedroom stopping to get my automatic pistol and headed into the living room to sit in my rocking chair and see if anything was going to happen.

Nothing did. I waited for a while, then looked out the window around the Christmas tree, saw nothing of interest and went back to my video.

The next morning when I went outside to get the newspaper, there was a line of footprints in the snow heading towards my front step, then turning, going across the lawn to the sidewalk that would have led to the back door, but turning back away from from the property. Clearly there had been a potential intruder who had seen the shadow of me, not even knowing I was prepared to blow him away, and decided that this was not an empty house and he better find a different one.

I was very happy. Disposing of the body would not have been difficult (no way would I bother with legal shit, I would have gotten rid of the body. When it was found it would have looked like a typical gangland hit and been just sort of forgotten) and who wants to do that work late Christmas night? Of course I was effluvious in my praise of Cleo the next morning.

The Wisdom of My Father


When I was twelve or thirteen, I was reading the letter column in one of my comic books (yes, they actually had them) and there was letter in it from none other than the stuffiest of stuffy Brits, Lord Hume (pronounced “home,” the idiots can’t even speak their own language) the UK Foreign Minister at the time, saying how bad comic books were and inviting anyone to debate with his son on the matter.

I was seriously considering taking him up on it but my father said it was not a good idea. First, I did not have the education yet to do it. I would not have been a match for my interlocutor. But second, and far more important, there was no reason to. Why would an American justify anything to a foreigner? Their opinions were worth nothing more than the squeaking of mice. It did not matter what this pompous British ass thought about anything, being nothing more than an official of a vassal state which existed only to follow the orders of their American masters.

Then he said words of great wisdom. “It does not matter what they think of us. It only matters what we think of them.”