Saturday, April 01, 2006


Special K ain't so special and I'm a fool for ever being born again to dream of waking up with no one around but just me and Mrs. Jones.

War is Peace.
Freedom is Slavery.
Ignorance is Strength.
Slam Dunked is Evidence.
Afghanistan is Iraq.
Iraq is Iran so far away.
Not far enough is Home.
Family is Enemy.
Church is the Lord's Bully Pulpit Bullshit.
State is Texask no questions, We'll sell you no fries.
Bush is President.
Truth is in you end all.

The US has always been at war with Iraq.

“I just want you to know that, when we talk about war, we're really talking about peace.” — Dupeya

...Because 2006 is 22 years too late.

What's your cry?
What's your crime?
What's your crimeny?

THIS JUST OUT: 03/31/06 thewaymouth goes south...

[Backdrop: First Jihad Against Danish Newspaper, Now Jihad Against One's Own...

Subject: your e mails
Date: 3/29/2006 7:42:26 A.M. Eastern Standard Time

Hi Mike,

Please remove me from your send e mail list. I don't understand most of them and I haven't been reading them.

Talk with you soon.

Aunt Ann

Well, it's nice to hear from you, too, Auntie Ann.

Of course it might have had to something to do with the intro to my very last group grope email that went out last week and went on like so:


...celebrating 1989 asteroid.

* Sorry, my Goddess child, Melissa.

Have to miss the ceremony of innocence drowned Sunday, your confirmation into
The One & Done Full of Holey & Catholickmyass & Apocalyptictoc Church.

Get the hell out of there sooner than I ever did.

What if it is all bullshit isn't a question anymore.

* Sorry. I never sang Happy Birthday for my father
...and meant it.

So you know I'm not missing the anniversary of the dawning of his spawning today.

But I will sing
to you when that most glorious time finally comes like
Mourning Do Drop Dead.

Coz I'm a Rev. Dr. of the Church of the SubGenius like that.

Mike Burns, Joe's Garage

Well, I guess my relatives don't like to be reminded that they ignored the childhood abuse of their innocent nieces and nephews by their fellow churchgoing brothers and sisters in-and-out of universal law. And in and out of church, as in we got our asses beat in the church parking lot before and after mass every week.

So now my favorite auntie has gone over to The Force. Just as my cousin on the same side of what was once my family, my fatherfucker's side, had earlier this year told me to cease and desist with my ranting on her emailroom floor.

PRESTO PRONTO: Well, wouldn't you know ol' Mikey's has just got to reply, respond, in kind, in fact, cruel to be kind to the cup of human unkindness of my own flesh and blood that runneth over and out my veins like so much black sludge.

So natch the following message was dutifully written and sent out yesterday morning to "friends and family," who may or may try to look away when I send them email (or even change their email address without telling me where to find them now -- talk about avoiding my corn stalking by changing the locks). So I go hardcore with the slowhand delivery, via the US Mail Compartment of Comportment...

Well, for the very first time in my life, guess who's trying to stop me now? The US Mail's going broke but still the mailman always rings his hands twice when refusing to help me reach out and touch my close ones because they don't like what they saw. Hey, Katie bar the front door, no fair! My close associates hadn't even had a chance to bum out on me again yet, and these federales were already jumping me with their toy guns and gums a-flapping a rap-a-tisk-tisk.

Well, nobody likes to see me coming round my mountain, but seriously my good old lady friends at my local PO, Thewaymouth Go Postal Orifice, didn't dig what they were seeing suddenly something this way comes and now were holding in their very own delicate hands:

several large manilla envelopes clearly marked APRIL FOOLS, but each tattooed with a large bumper sticker under the addressee's name, two or three of which may have definitely gone a little something like this:

"Support Your Local Pedophile: Attend Mass Every Sunday" and... "My Local Catholic Priest Molested Your Honor Student"

Now before all the brouhaha, everything was going hunky dory morning glory: the lady liberty held the envelope, addressed to Aunt Ann, that bore a sticker that read "On My Way To 'Church'". So this weepy malchick goes, "Oh, how sweet. I love Church. Why, I wish I were there right now." I was shocked but I withstood her pandering. She even held firm to her shaky grip when she saw several anti-Republican stick 'ems. But then she saw the aforementioned label warnings against pedophilia, and she said,"Oh no, we can't send these. I think this is offensive."

I was so totally shocked by this churchgoer's total lack of personal resolve against parishional pedophilia. I asked, "You think it's offensive? Well, is it against the law to mail them or is this just your opinion?" She shows them to her compatriot behind the counter, and they maintain it's clearly offensive and can't be mailed.

I said, "Hell yeah, it's offensive. I was brought up Catholic and I find it extremely offensive to know a lot of priests engaged in such behavior with my old fellow altar boys. Hello! This is my way of protesting such behavior, don't you know. Besides, it's for April Fools who still go to church. It warmly pokes fun while still warning them that your support of what goes on behind the curtain only encourages such evil." She still says she can't send them. So I ask for their stinking badges of documentation. She says she doesn't have any today. I say, "Fine. I'll be back."

So I returned in a moment with a legal Uzi and washed all the scum off the streets. But before the denouement I went back to my limo and covered the "offending" stickers with more innocent ones, most of which send up Mission Accomplished in Iraq, which has only cost a hundred thousand lives and creates new terrorists by the score with every day of death, yet offends no one in this damned country. But I did manage to slip on one "UNSAVED TRASH" sticker, under which you can still clearly see the word "molested," so the envelope under my good friend's name read, "UNSAVED Molested TRASH." So I return to deposit the envelopes back on the counter and so she hands me an official US Postal Inspection Service message to postal customers which I commence to read:

"Historically, the U.S. Postal Service has been at the forefront of the Federal Government's efforts to curb distribution by mail of unlawful adult and child pornography... an awareness campaign to enlighten the public on how you can protect yourself from unwanted sexually oriented advertisements (SOA) by mail..."

"Hey hey, wait a minute I say," I say. "This doesn't apply to me at all. I'm not sending pornography here! I am advertising against illegal sexual behavior by adults on children. Come on now. You think Jesus and God Bless America approves of pedophilia?" She doesn't say anything, but amazingly now accepts my unsaved trash. Meanwhile I comment, "I guess some people don't have a sense of humor, like the US Government, unless you count how they reacted to Katrina. Anyway, I guess what's funny to some people isn't funny to others. This devil's work is never done."

I paid my bill and walked out in to the bright light of day, the new sexual predator in town. Next week, I'll return and ask the biddies where I'm supposed to officially register.

Oh the irony: let's just sweep under the rug all open discussion of evil like dropping a carpet bomb and maybe it will all go away. Isn't that how those altar boy-rapers got started and still get away with it?

Anyway, let us return to the thrilling innocent joys of yesterday and present at last my aforementioned letter to friends and foe alike. But first remember: Keep your friends close, your enemies closer, and your priest up your ass. At least then you'll know he's not inside your child. Oh, look out! -- He came in through the bathroom window...

As in March of every year, Dupeya comes in like a lion and goes out like a liar. So to be removed from my from my phone/snail mail address book, please send the accompanying [UNITER] postcard w/provided stamp, back to the base to tell me to go jump in Lake Woebegone, or stand up and do your patriotic duty and report me to Homeland Security. For "even [George of] the jungle wanted him dead." Or you can lay back and not vote along with most of the rest of your fellow American idles and just wait it out. But whatever you do, don't encourage him and maybe someday that part of his multiple handicapped personality will fall off. "It won't belong yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah."

...For "there goes [Alzheimin] Rhymin' Simon" says, death be not proud for making him wait this long and steady as she goes. "A man don't go his own way, he's nothin'."

...I used to have a wife, but I lost her. Quite careless really, but I couldn't have cared more for at last I found out where it goes. I just wish I knew where it's gone. But no use crying over spilled milk. At least that's what it looks like from here. And that's where I came in...

Don't worry, I'll not go quietly. If you don't need my mad barkings, I'll go howl at someone else's moon. And I won't take it personally. APRIL FOOLS! I'll take it much harder than that, for my life's work, my words, my artful draft dodging and my telling the hole truth means a hell of a lot more to me than me, and how you swing at what balls I throw your way matters more than ever than what I'm like off the field -- a family member, an old school chum -- that was happenstance and this is a matter of life or death of a salesman of freedom, of nothing left to lose but these chains of APRIL FOOLS!

"What [April] fools these mortals be." They just don't get me. But you "get it (while you can)." I'm the King of American April Fools on the Hill, "voted most likely to piss and moan all the way to the grave..." or the end of the page, whichever comes first. But maybe that's where I'll finally find what you want and I deserve: peace (in rest).

Praise Bob.



Mike Burns has left the burning building...

Friday, March 31, 2006



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