Well, first place, any church camp for teens run by an overweight person who goes by her first name, that stinks to high hell of psychological problems we don’t even want to think about. Do we.

Of course she wears glasses. And curly hair most all cut off. Can’t you take nothin for granted?

So these kids, their hormones are buzzin and pretty soon she’s got them yappin like dogs, weeping for Christ and George W. Bush, who almost overlap, both bein’ in the Pantheon, you see. Pastor Becky’s got her eye on a spot for herself, but it don’t do to move too fast. How many souls do you s’pose you have to save before you can sit up there with Christ?

When Pastor Becky thinks about very large numbers, she has to take a extra Ativan. Doctor says so. And the headaches from the yappin’ you just would not believe. Sometimes Pastor Becky lets herself be weak and dwell upon her years behind the cosmetics counter, where is was so damn quiet and the most she had to puzzle over was mascara, brush or wand. Oh here, she sometimes thought, take the wand you old bag and go home—but seldom, because she wasn’t being tested for the Lord, in those days.

Not like this. For one thing, sex. Pastor Becky is certain that at least eight of her campers are humpin’ like bunnies and she wishes to heck she had hired more Juniors for Jesus. Zip! Zip! Zip! She couldn’t very well unzip every sleeping bag herself now could she. Not and get a good night’s sleep. Besides which, it made Pastor Becky remember highschool—and what she wanted more than anything else, right now, was to forget her past, forget there is even such a thing as the future, and most of all forget she was stuck for life in that body, and wouldn’t ever be Pure Spirit.

Does the Spirit appreciate Ativan? She chomped another one down …

“Sedona is definitely becoming a place for the haves, not the have-nots”

Well for piss-christ‘ sake, name me one (scenic) place that isn’t.

Maybe in the flyover states. Bye, down there. Not compelling. We’re going to the coast, to buy up every inch of coastline, every single slice of view. To the Southwest as well; if it’s dramatic and we can build—we’re there!
Read the rest of this entry »

Those French. They cannot do one simple thing without style, without mood. Even geek.

Such hopelessly beautiful light.

The genuine, albeit grim, fun will be to watch the media profile Thompson in a way that proves they still don’t get it. HST once wrote, ‘No point mentioning the bats … the poor bastard will see them soon enough.’

What is my problem? Read the rest of this entry »

I can tell you what it is. Why anyone with a per capita of under a million casts their vote for Dubya.

It was there in the debates, it’s been there all along, but there are moments when the trick is particularly naked. Read the rest of this entry »

The New York Times:

Rev. Sun Myung Moon donned a crown in a Senate office building and declared himself the Messiah.

{ fin }