Executive Producers: Sir Alex Zoghlin, Sir Jim Baron of Jamaican Plains
Associate Executive Producer: Sir David Goes
Art By: Nick the Rat
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That was the best NA show evar.
The fiber-optic backbone internet was compromised from the beginning. It is not self-aware enough to know when or where it’s been poked into & tapped. Every photon stream rushing through it is an open book & always has been.
When my Vista laptop finally succumbed to gratuitous hard-drive thrashing in 2012, I moved to Win7 & found that the twin-screen icon in the system tray that displays network activity was gone. Why? Because you don’t need to know when your system is phoning home—slave. Way to go Microshaft. A third-party solution is available but many slaves probably didn’t notice that particular “functionality” was missing.
4th of July is a sad memorial-day requiem for the “freedom & democracy” we once (thought we) had. Three-letter agencies have their stenchy fingers in every pie & nothing can extricate ’em therefrom.
If only we could be dumb & happy again, as it was in the pre-Snowden era. Où sont les Snowdens d’autrui, etc.
Gonna draw on my mirror with lipstick
& eat enchiladas with chopsticks
Condi were a banker in Sri Lanker
& a financier in Myanmeer
Condi et a taco in Morocco
A hot dog in Hauppauge
Refried beans in Queens
& pesto in Modesto
Condi were spastic in Alask-y
inelastic in Nebrask-y
& disconnected-y in Schenectady
Condi were amicable in Kabul
malleable in Istanbul
a glowing ember in Denver
& a cornball in Cornwall
Condi were silly in Chile
& got carried away in Paraguay
Condi encountered Hilly in Philly
& bumped into Putin in Newton
Condi were bodacious in Bogota
mellifluous in Minnetonka
salacious in Sri Lanka
haughtily proclivitous in Rio Bamba
& frankly fellatious in Fallujah
All this Condi love, over the years. Well, tollybong; They say that *you ain’t a man until you’ve made it with the tan…*
ITM, citizen. Thanks for that feedback.
You’re a brave one. Most folks find the stuff off-putting, are mystified by it or avoid it like a plague. Here’s one more:
Condi wore a pink thong
in Hong Kong
& a pointy bra in Panama
Condi got sore on Cantor
and feined to be slim on Jim…
{kill me now}
Condi yelled my drone! in Cologne
and took her frackinghack back to Hackensack
Her jersey she ate to fight scurvey —
no, wait… that’s not right…
*that’s not right…
It’s not, really. It does not even work for surrealism. That guy ^^ is a douche-canoe.
Who ya callin’ douche-canoe, you fuckbag-ferry.
Condi found God in Garry’s Mod
and valved calynx where it twisted