Mortaljive: The Rest is Silence

There is no still point in all the Universe, and that is the rock upon which I stand

Saturday, August 20, 2005


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The President of the United States, looking very, very relaxed on his toilet ("vacation time is toilet time") has reiterated his commitment to the Global War Against Shards of Broken Glass by refusing to give in to the big three "Shurds, Shardites and Shardunnis" who make up 96% of a larger, unknown number. "It's simple, really," said the President as he tore off an ivory ream of toilet paper and began to wipe his asshole rhythmically, almost hypnotically, to a song only he could hear. This was not nearly as discomforting as the little hand-clapping business he performed when he "flushed nacky bye-bye."

Turning his burr-laden ranch ass this way and that, the President pressed up against his bathroom sink and smashed his nose against the mirror, steaming up the looking glass and revealing the porcine cartilage of his "smell holes."

"Look, broken glass, shards, hot monkey sand, whatever you want to call it, it's broken glass in shard formula. It cannot be made not undone. If we stop now in our efforts to infringe on enemy glass shards, the threat of all that glass coming over here cannot be properly ignored. So, we must break glass to bring glass to glass loving glass owners everywhere."

When asked "What the fuck are you talking about?" by his wise-crackin' Man Servant, the President slapped his ass and spit out his nose, then hit his chin on his elbow and collapsed in a ball of twangy laughter on the bathroom floor.

Man, I wish I had a wise-crackin' Man Servant!

After composing himself by twitching every other one of his ligaments (first in one direction around his body and then back the other way) the President laid out his Broken Glass Exit Strategy for the members of the Press who were now preening and cooing in front of the mirror in his fancy shithouse. "When there are no more shardites, when the shards are made again to their rightful post-made state, we will then talk about bringing home the boys--and girlies--from their noble cause action violent shooting killing dying maiming destroying torturing candy thing. And not one bottle less!"

The President's Man Servant signaled to the Press Corps that the good dope was by the pool (finally!), and that was that: we poured out of the crapper like pus from Rush Limbaugh's ass. Looking back, we could see Mr. President wave to us soldier-like, declaring "Mission Almost Accomplished" and then dropping his drawers a second time. Seems he had a little more business to do before the "All Clear" could be sounded. His Man Servant shook his head in that slightly disgusted way professional Man Servants do.

Outside, in the Texas heat, we looked at a row of bottles on a low wall by the cement swimming hole. "Shard Wannabees" we call them, and they mock us with their faux dignity, their haughty ways, their defeatism, their liberal wholeness. They're practically asking to be shot at every day of their miserable lives. Me, I'm just going to kick back at the Millionaire's Club, lift up a glass of Texas Shardonnay, and point my pecker at the setting sun. Hell man, wouldn't you?


Image of broken glass from here.



At 10:31 PM, Blogger Oscar said...

I am too damn tired to do any better, but it seems important to at least point out that you're still a genius. The previous post was awesome too.

At 6:13 PM, Anonymous mandt said...

Who'ld have thunk that the cutting edge could be so beautiful. Great photo! M


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