Post-election, George Bush wound up in a fruit jar out at his mom's place in Houston. She punched in some air holes and stuck him up next to the cobbler.

Dick Cheney published his memoirs this month, in vampire script as expected. He's also reportedly planning to take over Rush Limbaugh's talk show, anticipating the day that Rush, Oxied up, collapses and dies in a gutter in downtown D.C.

Rummy the Dummy is trapped in a New York Times piece that purports to lay out a…

You remember, of course, that Obama bleated how much he wants health care reform, and then, under guise of "bipartisanship," kept spreading his buttcheeks to Tea Party Fourth Reichers--like all nazi groupings controlled from above by rich phantom bastards pulling the strings on their outfront, racist puppets below--who say fuck reform and who, by the way, want the president hung from a tree.

The Public Option, without which all talk of health care reform is just horseshit? Obama said…

Texas Governor and Republican presidential front-runner Rick "the Dick" Perry trashed evolution this week, saying it was "merely a theory...with gaps." This ought to play well in Iowa during the campaign ahead, where a measly 21% of Republican delegates believe evolution exists.

This idiocy is understandable,  I suppose, when you stop to consider that fully 79% of the Iowa delegates are rhesus monkeys...

Perry himself is more of a Gaboon viper: he's also saying that climate…

1. Go get a hammer: claw hammer, ball peen, doesn't matter.

2. No, wait--first, go to the beach and bring back some sand; take a pail with you.

3. Find where the rats have gnawed through one of your walls.

4. Take out the wall for access into the rathole.

5. Go buy a shovel and dig, so the hole's going down instead of straight back toward the wiring.

6. Pour the sand down the hole that you've dug, then pick up the hammer and…

He was young, dumb, and homeless when he met this girl named Debbie; they seemed to click and she took him home to play house.

She called it falling in love, but it was really a mixture of sex and confusion, and while the sex was good for a minute, they found out quick that they'd nothing much to say to each other, which ratcheted puzzlement upward.

Both sex and confusion got old in a hurry, leaving in train the boredom, resentment, and so forth that's found at the end of the…

"Which Jesus you talkin' about, man?" God asked me as we sipped and tipped on the bench down in Pioneer Square. "Them days they had seven goo-gobs of them monkeys bouncin' around in Jerusalem all by itself, talkin' about heaven an' Pie In the Sky, you know, like ol' what's-his-name, Brian, the one, Monty Python did his biography, man, an' showed all them other freaks-of-the-week who were tryin' to cash in on the same mumbo-jumbo an' usin' my name an' yellin' lights out! an' that is…

Take all those things that you'd rather die than have known: the horrors, the demons, the monsters in ghost form that made you ashamed, that made life not worth it, that pumiced your hopes and your dreams into dust.

You yank them right out of the bowels of your soul by the hair, each and every last one, and yell, "BOO!"--and then watch them shrink as you call out their names: Fat Tony, Casper, Zit Richie, HooDah--a goof's all-star cast, and you're gonna put all of those names…

The best way to go is in your own bed, a comfortable bed and it's in your own place and you've got the rent paid for, and all your markers are covered.

You've just polished off a mighty fine meal and every last bite's sitting light in your stomach.

Someone or something made you laugh in the course of the day, strong gut laughter that's echoed since then.

You lay back with a smile and a sigh; you've outlived your worries and outworked your demons, which is to…

Romanticism according to Webster if Webster is doing his job: the art movement and mindset that, first of all, renders everything larger than life.

It was born of the French Revolution, the one that shitcanned the old Feudal chains and brought with it the notion of Freedom--a capitalist freedom that soon proved a joke, but hey, maybe next time, you know?

Oh so solemn were the Romantics, putting their giants to canvas and page, and singing their symphonies too,…

There's something about the birth of a foal that leaves words gasping for breath.

The mare, gently nuzzing her newborn.

The foal bloody, legs spasmic, already dreaming of high country winds and tall grass.

And then the triumphant thunder of hooves.

The birth, the dream, both replays of eons.

And I hear the thunder and all I can think is--how the hell did they get in my room...?

"Onan," God said: "you heard the phrase, 'he ain't had no pussy since pussy had him'? Well, Onan had some alright, maybe not so you'd notice or nothin', and he should have stuck with spankin' the monkey 'cause all hoochie did was bring him mass grief.

"He's in the Edomite tribe, or maybe it's Judah, who knows, and his brother dies without leaving an heir and this is bad news 'cause these dudes are sticklers on property rights and the point is to keep all the money in-house, and the…

"Leviticus," God laughed, "that antigay shit, 'two boys fucking is wrong wrong wrong wrong!' and all that; there's a story that goes with that one, my man.

"As you know, the man was a lawmaker, right, Big Man On Main Street and all that good shit--but nobody knows how he got there, except it takes money to campaign for office, yet way early on the dude was a thief, and a bad one--the man couldn't shoplift free air--and he even did a bit in the joint, which shaped his…

Her mask dissolved a grain at a time.

Her face emerged out of memory bled white:

An amalgam of dust, sand, and ice...

Her eyes stared into an infinite void.

Blind but to costs.

And she knew the value of nothing.

"They got it wrong every time," God explained, "the Old Testament, man, its like a circus act, really, guys writing the thing kept hitting the mud pipe and next thing you know, it's 3,000 BC and they're putting spaceships and shit in the story, you know, like what's-his-name, Hubbard or some goddamn thing and it's Mickey Mouse shit all the way.

"Take Jonah," he said, "man, what a putz: face like a jeep tire and dumber'n turnips; chickenshit too. I sent him to Nineveh, tell all those…

Down the rains came, and Noah was busy ushering the animals onto the boat, two-by-two, male and female, God said no gays, which shows you what he knew, the cluck and...anyway, man, in went the lions and in went the lambs, and the apes and the hippos, and chickens and bed lice, and "roaches and rats?" his son Ham the shit-stirrer shouted; "that bossman's a sadist, I'm telling you, daddy, drowning the world and now this!"

Ham looked like Denzel…

I looked at God like he'd just sucked a whole pint of Mad Dog: "Fred Flintstone?"

"I'm telling you, man, they were the first, him and Wilma, and not no Adam and Eve; I mean, the Garden of Eden and tree snakes that talk--you simple or something? Besides, man, apples are good for your ass, I eat 'em myself--except, these days, all the good ones get shipped to Japan, which sort of pisses me off, but then, hey, they send us them cars and I got a Lexus…

One

Trouble was brewing in London that summer alright; Vampires, it seemed, had kicked ass in the Horror Department since Anne Rice's soft porno novels and Werewolves were pissed; they felt shut out of the action bigtime. They had other gripes too, you know, that business that Vampires are some kind of "fags"  and, hell, just the fact that they let all that meat go to waste and, what kind of low-rent, half-dead mango-pangos do that kind of stuff…

Washington made its state song the Kingsmen's version of "Louie Louie" sometime in the 80s, out of two versions cut by state bands: the first was done in '61 by the Fabulous Wailers, the Kingsmens' came out a couple years later, and their take became a national hit.

The Wailers were my first musical heroes, a group of high-school-age white boys who'd listened to all the r&b masters and kicked out the jams when I was a kid. Their music smoked the way it's supposed to, and…

In my dream I saw Joey Anchetta,old buddy, long dead; we used to fly like two birds in the sky.

Here in this dream he was down in the Market and soon as I saw him I wanted some dope.

I asked him to hit me a lick and he told me no.

And then his eyes fell out of his head and inside those sockets--unshed oceans of tears gray as flint; they might just as well have been salt for the thirsty.

And then he was gone, things got dark, and now I stood in a room in a…

We tromped through Rome, saw the forum and Victor Emanuel's tomb, the old Coliseum, and so forth, and I wished that my old-time street peeps were with me; we'd have blown out the lights in that town, let me tell you.

As it was, it was me and this woman, and she got this notion--she copped to it later--that I planned to leave her for some unknown reason, and she started fights and I almost did leave her and told her I would if she didn't get off my back.

People, man,…