Those who command resources always need more. It’s in our own best interest, according to their lawyers. It’s an odds on favorite, according to the bootlickers. It’s the end of the line, according to those who execute the code.
All the advance thinkers agree on one thing, but they don’t know what it is.
Check out the true story of old mother Hubbard. You’ll be amazed, or my name’s not Heranimus Botch. It’s not what you think. She didn’t go to the cupboard under her on volition, she was forced. The dog did not dance a jig, it danced a tarantella.
Got reamed out at batting practice. Shit a turkey while basted on balls.
Them’s the breaks. Religion is big business. It’s all in your bible, just cross yourself and ask google, while you lose your shirt in the wind. Religion is spiritual, you god damn better well believe it. So be careful what you ask.
It was a very intensive meeting and they paid plenty for it. Most ended up in intensive care. Some of their brains are in jars in the cellar. The entrails of those who had guts were exposed on the mountains. The behinds of those who were behind have been hidden from view.
Fête accompli.
A pure white filter is only the beginning of a Winston
It’s what’s up front that counts.
The big difference is filter-blend — clear, rich tobaccos specially processed for filter smoking!
There’s nothing whishy-washy about Winston. For up front of its modern, pure white filter is filter-blend. That’s what gives Winston its famous flavor. And after all, that’s the whole idea of smoking,
Winston tastes good, like a cigarette should.
Welcome to the rod and gun club. Let me take your coat before you make a run for the mountains. A burn in the bush is worth two in hand. Don’t make any deals until you’ve spoken to your grocer.
They conducted a survey to find out who lives under the bridge.
And they were:
Someone who is too clever by half
An itinerant tinkerer in a greasy sleeping bag
A bespoke tailor and herds never heard of again
Spies for the government on tax-free commissions
Disgraced politicians.
Defrocked priests
Written-off editors
Lame dancers.
Itchy swimmers
Slum lords
Capons, croutons, cast-iron stomachs
Rusty windpipes
Mutes blown by a stuffed potato.
Agents of the electron freedom foundation showed up at the port last night. You couldn’t see them until you looked at ’em, they might be double agents, dopplegangers. They were known only by the spin they could put on the tale.
I almost felt some words coming on that I would write down, as my mother used to say.
Is this the man? Is this the man who shook the earth and made kingdoms tremble?
It is recorded by Sempiverous Vivitius (in Vie de Scipion l’Africain, the archaic French translation by Master Bodo of Bourgony) that Caesar said that at low tide the Celts would bind their captive women to the posts of the pier, and poke fun at them as the tide came in. The tide came at
sixes and sevens
round numbers squared
square numbers in a round whole
higher numbers
irrational numbers
numbers too tight to mention
But don’t worry your pretty head about ancient history or higher mathematics. We’ve gone far beyond that. When’s the last time you saw a captive woman? In the heyday of Fu Manchu ? When the lily-white girl got up-ended by the jungle bunnies? When the Nazis let loose their gorillas on the Red Cross nurses. You might remember, it happened just the other day.
Under the Warning, Alert, and Response Network (WARN) Act of 2006, cellphone users cannot opt out of the presidential alerts. Please stay tuned.
Excuse me ladies and gentlemen but I seem to have lost my drink. Scout’s honour, in the last half-hour I haven’t touched a drop. Nor have I had a sit-down meal, since the day Jesus slew the Philistinians. Then give me a shot of water. The water of life, made of two kinds of gin: hydro-gin and oxy-gin. Cleans your sheets and shorts your stocks. We are the people who made slaves of the Romans’ wives. They brought it upon themselves for puking in the oak groves. I can see it all now. You’re going to thank me for this in your next life, when you make a big comeback as a wasp.
I’ve just got to be the most authentic person that I know of.
No bones about it.
No two ways about it.
Not a snowball’s chance in hell.
Not in a coon’s age.
Not until the pope’s not catholic.
Not until the bear doesn’t shit in the woods.
Not until my shit don’t stink.
Not until the end justifies the meanies.
“To plow is to pray; to plant is to prophesy; and the harvest answers and fulfils.”
The Truth Seeker
THE LEADING FREETHOUGHT JOURNAL OF THE WORLD.
Largest, Cheapest, Best.
“The Truth Seeker is to-day the strongest foe with which Superstition has to contend.”