An Ode to the Odious

Well, they just couldn't hold on to power and play their advantage with a slight hand. No...for the purpose of the re-election, the right wing has decided to dig in for the fight, swinging just as far right as the Democrats have decided to go gauche...because, well...let's face it. There's nothing like a "level" playing field when both political parties decide to strengthen their positions as assholes; their sole differences are then defined by just to whom they are being assholes. Though, in this particular contest of the assholes, I'd say that the right wing is stretching its brown eye these days, because they seem to be putting out more shit each day. They're starting to become scary on a number of issues...but, for brevity's sake, I'll pick just one : the FCC and their blatant censorship.

Having grown up around these kind of people, I can't say that I'm all that surprised by their actions. Having paid the price of forsaking their own mind (and, in essence, their lives) in order to obtain a set of self-contradicting values (i.e., usually a morality adopted from the ramblings of an old textbook, not built upon the meticulous study of human beings and reality), they could not care less about being an obstacle to anybody's choices, since they are acting on the will of...well... somebody else more important...especially if "the children" are at stake. Jesus Christ...how pathetic of an argument is that. The only children at risk are the retarded kids who actually let nudity and/or "bad" words influence them; hell, when I was a kid, I laughed when I heard the story of another kid of my age who had been inspired by television to poison himself by drinking liquid detergent. Even my fresh, inexperienced, sophomoric mind was completely capable of producing the thought "Wow...what a fuckin' moron."

So, because the children are so fucking fragile, it looks as if we're going to have to filter reality so that their heads won't explode. Since radio and television are dangerous methods of communication that have the possibility of exposing reality and because such filtering will be impossible to implement, those will eventually be shut down. (That, and all stem cell labs will be forced to close, because you know how much the god hates it when you make cripples walk again. After all, he doesn't want you reversing his work.) With all those methods of communication gone, we're going to revert back to previous forms of entertainment. "Throw the Rock", "Jump into the Cacti", and spoken word will all be the rage once again...But no dirty words!!! So, as we devolve and as our thumbs fall off, let's sing praise to our demise through the prose of the ages...let's begin with a limerick...

PaOTCh

         A line of hebetude crossed me
         In penitent wait so to see
         Some Jews beat Christ with cross
         And to wail at his loss
         While I flail them : fait accompli!

And let's try something else...maybe a triolet...

Your Penis Is Not Your Own to Rule

         Your penis is not your own to rule.
         Said the priest, let it rest in God's chosen fate.
         Instead, think of it as the unborn's vestibule.
         Your penis is not your own to rule.
         Not for pleasure, by rote learn it as a tool,
         he whispered, as it he began to stare and salivate.
         Your penis is not your own to rule.
         Said the priest, let it rest in God's chosen fate.

And let's end it all with a tribute to my favorite institution : the FCC (a.k.a., the Federation of Communication Cocksuckers)...

An Areole Away from Armageddon

         For ages, unguarded eyes would see the raffish,
         Unabridged reality, sometimes without merit,
         Nothing tutelary to filter out the garish.

         But blessings upon us! The FCC, our parish,
         Is here to shield us, to tend to our fragile wit,
         To bowdlerize content, so our sanity not perish.

         Muted laugh, detonated gaff, wiped away blemish,
         But, alas, we still cried "Oh, dear lord --- I saw a tit!"
         Now ever more pressing, so much more to demolish.

         First Stern, whose invective tongue perforce we must punish
         And then cable, merely depravity for profit
         And then more, as the others expiate or languish.

         But let me regale inquiry, before more varnish
         And inform you that you do not have the right,
         To mute the muses, to suffocate, to tarnish,
         Keep pushing, you fucks! Returns often does anguish!