The Interregna From Sanity: Admonishing Lunatics for Being Meretricious
Whoever says that titles must be relevant to subject matter, let them wilt away in the face of my brash rebellion against that general rule. Hah! There is no maintaining the boundaries of that which I shatter on a daily schedule. Clever, I am; sinical, I am not – For I am indubitably not “of, pertaining to, or consisting of a sine or sines, as in a sinical quadrant.”
Saddam Hussein has been brought into captivity by the American forces, one of the most monumental victories of the Iraqi war – short of conquering the country itself. A testament to why Fidel Castro ages away in Cuba, smoking cigars, and harvesting baseball players; most likely, at this moment, lounging on a couch and waggling a finger at Saddam’s pitiful, imprisoned image on the television. Truly, a man has been unmade in a mere year’s time. All he stood for, all he worked for, all he strived for, believed in, and breathed life (or death) into has been dashed or crumbled, decimated or annihilated, obliterated or restructured, redone or undone. History will not remember Hussein fondly. His lineage and legacy, his two sons: dead. This is the price paid for tyranny and despotism with malice.
Honestly, seeing Hussein brought down, humbled in all respects, and dug out of a dirt-hole like a muskrat makes me giggle like a gleeful schoolgirl; granted, a rather sadistic schoolgirl whom other’s pain brings pleasure (I contemplated extending that simile, but, just . . . No). In fact, let us all take a momentary pause in order to point, laugh, and ridicule the Hussein of today: the deposed leader forced to hide in a pipe underneath a farm, cuddling a pistol and his broken dreams. Unshaven, unkempt, unloved, undone: this is Hussein, this is a man toppled.
My first reaction to the news of his capture was to, seriously, giggle like a schoolgirl, too (Tee hee).
Let me just state, here and now, something that is not an opinion nor a debatable theorem or postulated argument: Michael Jackson is a freak of nature. In the biological sense of the phrase, in the sense of what nature is and what the definition of a freak is, one who is outside of the standards of a group or statistical demographic, he is a freak of nature. A ghostly white man of African descent living in the seclusion of the hills of Hollywood with impossible natural facial features who is worth millions and millions of dollars, that is a freak of nature. Someone who does not display nor show any sign whatsoever of coherent nor cohesive thought processes appropriate for someone his age, that is a freak of nature. I am not here to express hatred for Michael Jackson. I am not here to denounce him as a human being. I am here to point out that he is, by no means, not a freak of nature.
He is not a productive member of our society. Neverland is, quite simply, its own society and sphere – veritably its own plane of existence. Such a fanciful maculation on the eye of the world has not been seen outside of books. Wherein one man runs what is loosely an amusement park that caters to a handpicked group of children whenever it strikes him to do so. If chocolate ran like water and bubbles (not the monkey) could make people fly, I’d give the man a top hat and call him Willy.
Do I know there are sexually perverse things going on behind those closed doors? No. Do I think that Michael Jackson is someone to be trusted or believed to be in the right frame of mind? No.
I hate George W. Bush. Vote Green. That is all I have to say about that.
Adios
EOF
Saddam Hussein has been brought into captivity by the American forces, one of the most monumental victories of the Iraqi war – short of conquering the country itself. A testament to why Fidel Castro ages away in Cuba, smoking cigars, and harvesting baseball players; most likely, at this moment, lounging on a couch and waggling a finger at Saddam’s pitiful, imprisoned image on the television. Truly, a man has been unmade in a mere year’s time. All he stood for, all he worked for, all he strived for, believed in, and breathed life (or death) into has been dashed or crumbled, decimated or annihilated, obliterated or restructured, redone or undone. History will not remember Hussein fondly. His lineage and legacy, his two sons: dead. This is the price paid for tyranny and despotism with malice.
Honestly, seeing Hussein brought down, humbled in all respects, and dug out of a dirt-hole like a muskrat makes me giggle like a gleeful schoolgirl; granted, a rather sadistic schoolgirl whom other’s pain brings pleasure (I contemplated extending that simile, but, just . . . No). In fact, let us all take a momentary pause in order to point, laugh, and ridicule the Hussein of today: the deposed leader forced to hide in a pipe underneath a farm, cuddling a pistol and his broken dreams. Unshaven, unkempt, unloved, undone: this is Hussein, this is a man toppled.
My first reaction to the news of his capture was to, seriously, giggle like a schoolgirl, too (Tee hee).
Let me just state, here and now, something that is not an opinion nor a debatable theorem or postulated argument: Michael Jackson is a freak of nature. In the biological sense of the phrase, in the sense of what nature is and what the definition of a freak is, one who is outside of the standards of a group or statistical demographic, he is a freak of nature. A ghostly white man of African descent living in the seclusion of the hills of Hollywood with impossible natural facial features who is worth millions and millions of dollars, that is a freak of nature. Someone who does not display nor show any sign whatsoever of coherent nor cohesive thought processes appropriate for someone his age, that is a freak of nature. I am not here to express hatred for Michael Jackson. I am not here to denounce him as a human being. I am here to point out that he is, by no means, not a freak of nature.
He is not a productive member of our society. Neverland is, quite simply, its own society and sphere – veritably its own plane of existence. Such a fanciful maculation on the eye of the world has not been seen outside of books. Wherein one man runs what is loosely an amusement park that caters to a handpicked group of children whenever it strikes him to do so. If chocolate ran like water and bubbles (not the monkey) could make people fly, I’d give the man a top hat and call him Willy.
Do I know there are sexually perverse things going on behind those closed doors? No. Do I think that Michael Jackson is someone to be trusted or believed to be in the right frame of mind? No.
I hate George W. Bush. Vote Green. That is all I have to say about that.
Adios
EOF
posted by c.Jay Wrong at
8:40 AM
<< Home