tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67858717169393955392024-03-13T17:09:36.051-07:00Gonzo PaperzFoundation for The Gonzo Awareness Project aimed at patrolling the perimeter of Government, Politics, Society, Strippers, Sex, Drugs, and Rock-N-Roll!Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6785871716939395539.post-27023983644951180832019-01-29T09:08:00.000-08:002019-01-29T09:08:24.141-08:00Watch Me Kill, short story by Anon Amous<a href="https://www.booksie.com/527807-watch-me-kill#EmmC4C2UZoI4JTBg.15">Watch Me Kill, short story by Anon Amous</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6785871716939395539.post-24430185709407872662018-12-01T08:57:00.000-08:002018-12-01T08:57:10.088-08:00Led Zeppelin - The Wanton Song - Practice Rehearsal Soundcheck Tape KILLER!<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/0dgkg_jrCMo" width="480"></iframe>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6785871716939395539.post-22747668856968518432018-12-01T08:54:00.000-08:002018-12-01T08:54:44.939-08:00Decadent Gay Blackout Chronicles (Homosexuals, of course) <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOwGDAExw7fOZO0CXtNtv5O8uqwFwh2CINp2DRoGu8aQ7YsOtCvQLqmNFId11NR7GlgPl8-LEDv80pwRpt-FIoKFJZvbzw5pzG13dgD4LpXOxvdcE-kCbY1kE8t7YaR-rJSA1h2_xDMUc/s1600/Charlie-Sheen-Winning-Demotivational-Poster--83842.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="808" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOwGDAExw7fOZO0CXtNtv5O8uqwFwh2CINp2DRoGu8aQ7YsOtCvQLqmNFId11NR7GlgPl8-LEDv80pwRpt-FIoKFJZvbzw5pzG13dgD4LpXOxvdcE-kCbY1kE8t7YaR-rJSA1h2_xDMUc/s320/Charlie-Sheen-Winning-Demotivational-Poster--83842.jpg" width="316" /></a></div>
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</span> <span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Apparently, Charlie raped the dead Corey on a set in the 80's Hahahahaha</span><br />
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</span> <span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">A MALE FAIRY TALE</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Once upon a time, a Prince asked a beautiful Princess, "Will you marry me?" The Princess immediately</span><br />
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</span> <span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">life moved on, rode motorcycles and dated thin, long-legged, full </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">breasted women, and hunted and fished</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">And raced cars, and went to titty bars and dated ladies half his age and drank whiskey, beer, and Captain Morgan, and snorted pink cocaine fro, Medellin and never heard bitching</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">And never paid child support or alimony, and dated cheerleaders and kept his ho</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">use and guns, ate spam and potato chips and beans and blew enormous farts, and never got cheated on while he was at work,<br />
And all his friends and family thought he was friggin cool as hell,<br />
And he had tons of money in the bank, and he left the toilet seat up.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6785871716939395539.post-87978615152316987242017-09-04T23:56:00.001-07:002017-09-04T23:56:09.140-07:00Suicide Chronicles (unedited)<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 5.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 5.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Georgie was an aging Vietnam Vet who suffered from 'Agent Orange' exposure and general 'dope sickness' from being a heroin addicted veteran. He was the uncle of other childhood neighbors of ours and my Dad always thought he was crazy. Not good crazy, like someone with a witty and colorful sense of humor. More like really drugged out crazy and out of control. I think he was a little bit of both and I enjoyed his jungle story experiences in Vietnam. He told me he once 'fragged' a fellow soldier because the soldier had shot and killed a rare White Lion in the jungles of Vietnam after warning him not to do so. The Lion was no threat. Just going about its daily routine as many in his unit were mesmerized by the sight of this awesome beast. The soldier raised his M-16 to take aim and Georgie yelled, "If you shoot that Lion redneck, I'll be returning fire towards you, motherfucker!" The soldier ignored Georgie's threat and killed the Lion dead on the spot. Apparently, another soldier agreed with Georgie and pounced on this guy, knocking him over to the ground hard. Georgie nonchalantly pulled out his .45 caliber hand gun and pumped two rounds into his fellow soldiers head, killing him instantly. He was proud of this because he would re-tell the story often. And it never changed so I thought it to be a true story. One day reluctantly, I asked him, "Why did you do that, it was only a Lion? He explained, "This idiot from Kentucky would shoot anything that moved. I was always too busy shooting heroin to really care about anything else. I never thought I'd make it back home anyway. This Lion was beautiful, not menacing, nor did it notice our presence. I was really screwed up in the head from the whole Vietnam experience and felt that the Lions life was worth way more than this redneck's life, so I shot him dead after warning him not to do so." He went on,"Killing had become a daily occurrence, and I felt that there was no sport in taking the life of this precious animal. I had more respect for that Lion than I did for myself and others in my unit."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">One day Georgie had nodded out in his VW bug from an injection of heroin while smoking a cigarette. The cigarette started a fire in the car which was parked directly in front of our house. It was about dinner hour so my Dad was home waiting to eat the fine meal my mom was preparing. He smelled an odd burning and peered outside the front door. The car was now engulfed in flames. So my dad ran outside to see if anyone was inside the vehicle. Georgie was slumped over the wheel, unknowing he was now on fire. My dad instinctively grabbed the door knob, only too suffer second-degree burns and tore Georgie from the car to safety. Someone else must have called the fire department because very shortly there after, they arrived to extinguish the flames and took Georgie to the hospital. My Dad was not really fond of him, but he surely wasn't going to sit - by idly and watch a car engulfed in flames before him. The neighborhood thought Dad saved Georgie's life. But he didn't much care to revel in heroic gossip and went back inside to eat and ice up his hand.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The cops showed up and asked him to come outside. He probably thought since he pulled Georgie out, they wanted to question him. And they did. While all four of them now inspect the extinguished Bug, they point out all of Georgie's paraphernalia that was not completely intact, but detectable to identify. There were syringes, burnt spoons, arm ties, and most alarming, hundreds of rounds of all different bullet calibers strewn about the car. They asked my Dad what his association was to Georgie and was very adamant about the live rounds laying all about. He explained exactly what he did, and was unaware of the drug gadgets and live rounds that luckily didn't turn into a small tank, firing bullets everywhere from fire and heat. After learning of these tasty tidbits of information, he was really pissed and lectured Georgie the next day about everything and adamantly stated to us, "Stay the hell away from him. Don't ever let me catch you even talking to him, understand me? That was the summer of seventy-six, just a few months before his own death.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">After my Dad died, I did occasionally hang out with Georgie in my teenage years. He turned me on to some great music that I still listen to. Joe Walsh, The Eagles, Jefferson Starship, and CSNY. Those California blends that always had a sound and feeling of familiarity to me. He also gave me my first couple of Carlos Castaneda's books, which completely mesmerized me. So he did have some intellectual endeavors, but sadly, heroin was his closest companion.</span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Unnamed Road, Ganaly, Kamchatskiy kray, Russia, 68402953.540307391500221 157.851562543.801689391500219 137.19726550000001 63.278925391500223 178.50585949999999tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6785871716939395539.post-71859743534300282492017-02-21T11:44:00.001-08:002017-02-21T11:44:19.363-08:00Hunter S. Thompson - Buy the Ticket, Take the Ride (Documentary)Hunter S. Thompson - Buy the Ticket, Take the Ride (Documentary)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6785871716939395539.post-39538980419906572062017-02-21T11:41:00.001-08:002017-02-21T11:41:44.041-08:00Hunter S. Thompson on Outlaws | Blank on Blank | PBS Digital Studios<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/P3QoKqEHS8s" width="480"></iframe>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6785871716939395539.post-81261106469906051762016-09-02T22:31:00.001-07:002016-09-02T22:32:26.580-07:00Godfather Of The Beats - William S Burroughs<div style="text-align: right;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKxbNF6lWoW4FsIBiHZxAC4i0G7idTAxkMTh3LIXCyzXTc1GmTPvtx7Lpq77FmdItsPokaRucpd_FwV2-E2lGj0tpKopM-c1GWvEQXVxqmFZOinqi6qY_3QA71j0n9YzYL94kVm0c4ryI/s1600/l_d41e020bcaca48dfafb08ffed911d9ba.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKxbNF6lWoW4FsIBiHZxAC4i0G7idTAxkMTh3LIXCyzXTc1GmTPvtx7Lpq77FmdItsPokaRucpd_FwV2-E2lGj0tpKopM-c1GWvEQXVxqmFZOinqi6qY_3QA71j0n9YzYL94kVm0c4ryI/s400/l_d41e020bcaca48dfafb08ffed911d9ba.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<ul>
<li><a href="http://avantgardefreepress.blogspot.com/2012/04/william-s-burroughs-paintings-and.html">Godfather Of The Beats</a><a name='more'></a></li>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6785871716939395539.post-20691497562109228612016-09-02T22:17:00.001-07:002016-09-02T22:20:08.577-07:00Rehab Romance The Lolita Anti-Christ Chronicles Memoirs From The Dead<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYkb9PudMivSAY8L4GKK1reLsYcFvJLOVAK2cRl5WwSaDC7WtGvVzbnIQA9sWe3aypkGGaGTZD0rcdGR3HVJ23Dovpmxsee2GgWnppcn-7arvndopWAh1-qAPPdd0Qbd3PuFU75TxNMGg/s1600/image+%25283%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYkb9PudMivSAY8L4GKK1reLsYcFvJLOVAK2cRl5WwSaDC7WtGvVzbnIQA9sWe3aypkGGaGTZD0rcdGR3HVJ23Dovpmxsee2GgWnppcn-7arvndopWAh1-qAPPdd0Qbd3PuFU75TxNMGg/s1600/image+%25283%2529.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://avantgardefreepress.blogspot.com/2016/08/a-word-from-dead-rehab-romance-original.html">Lolita Anti-Christ Chronicles</a><br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6785871716939395539.post-86452993554381598872016-08-03T13:20:00.001-07:002016-08-03T15:37:35.022-07:00William S. Burroughs 1976 Cut Ups Brion Gysin Symbol Word Imagery<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/xKfS1xemH6U" width="459"></iframe><br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6785871716939395539.post-2572644788790988842016-08-03T12:59:00.001-07:002016-08-03T15:38:18.530-07:00William S. Burroughs June 25,1986,on paranormal, symbols, dreams, magnetic minds, wishing machines and willful intent<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/d-2a0Rti6-Y" width="459"></iframe><br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6785871716939395539.post-6881885979438821822016-08-03T12:01:00.001-07:002016-08-03T15:41:49.836-07:00Mind Control Power - LSD-25, Leary, Burroughs, Gysin Meeting Of The Minds<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ax7gr2ngMhw" width="459"></iframe><br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6785871716939395539.post-31962019243005664542016-08-03T10:47:00.001-07:002016-08-03T10:47:26.030-07:00SUPERBIKE DRAG RACE 2016 - BMW S1000RR VS DUCATI 1299 PANIGALE S VS YA...<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/XyzFVDF2QOw" width="480"></iframe><br />
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Scorching the gauntlet at Mach speed!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6785871716939395539.post-88631295502044221452016-08-03T08:33:00.001-07:002016-08-03T08:33:17.479-07:00Freedom Fighter Ron Barbour<a href="http://ronbosoldier.blogspot.com/2016/08/muslim-pos-khan-is-islamist-terrorist.html">http://ronbosoldier.blogspot.com/2016/08/muslim-pos-khan-is-islamist-terrorist.html</a><a href="http://ronbosoldier.blogspot.com/2016/08/muslim-pos-khan-is-islamist-terrorist.html"></a><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6785871716939395539.post-52123640124383737882016-08-02T18:46:00.002-07:002016-08-03T11:40:35.501-07:00Michael Hastings Murder, Mayhem, Military, CIA, NSA, OGA, MK-Ultra, Timothy Leary, Millbrook, Mind-Control and Crystal Methamphetamine <iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/zm5E10EhSp0" width="480"></iframe><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6785871716939395539.post-36858819749519071132016-08-02T18:35:00.001-07:002016-08-02T18:35:29.007-07:00Shocking New Details Into Michael Hastings Murder Revealed<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/1olCBeu8Zq0" width="480"></iframe><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6785871716939395539.post-10340429081709457282014-08-11T03:27:00.001-07:002014-08-11T03:27:33.723-07:00Cavaliers On Wheels: Scorching The Gauntlet On The Isle Of Man<iframe width="560" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/vlxZs2-gICc" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br />
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Englishman, John McGuiness, sped away with his 21st win on The Isle of Man, 2014 TT Zero Race category. On the cutting edge of high-speed motorcycle racing, McGuiness is also the first to win the TT Zero Race super-powered by an electric motorcycle, riding at an average speed of 117 mph. As he scorched the countryside with a low roar and a zero emissions exhaust, a huge record setting moment for Mcguiness on the Isle of Mann and quite frankly, a huge win for electric powered motorcycles within the super sport of motorcycle racing.<br />
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Super-bikes and riders straddle the edge of death on The Isle of Man. Exhilerating, captivating, adrenalizing, and totally insane.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6785871716939395539.post-84970843191588301012014-08-04T21:59:00.001-07:002014-08-04T21:59:46.564-07:00WAKE THE F%$K UP AMERICANS!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP0ikn0hPumLsN4DixXsJqucgg9oN0Al0kMcoNUWHnG_bYZrDSaSULL_2JX8cu1pAKEbASziQP1XRZE8dRXDjqpzlLh5Wb3-MXAg-8mpTPkMFEQ61LNR6vBP4g5jtd-gBXCYE3tMcmPus/s1600/6a00d83451c49a69e2017eeacc38f6970d-500wi.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP0ikn0hPumLsN4DixXsJqucgg9oN0Al0kMcoNUWHnG_bYZrDSaSULL_2JX8cu1pAKEbASziQP1XRZE8dRXDjqpzlLh5Wb3-MXAg-8mpTPkMFEQ61LNR6vBP4g5jtd-gBXCYE3tMcmPus/s320/6a00d83451c49a69e2017eeacc38f6970d-500wi.png" /></a></div><br />
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This diatribe composition of pure, enraged, madness and irreconcilable differences, that will never change until we see and feel our government actually work for the constituency.......US, Americans completely pissed off regarding being pissed on in an ever constant stream of rhetorical bullshit layered on top of decades more fucking bullshit! I don't even no where to start....how about illegal aliens, documented or not? MEXICANS and other South American filth that illegally cross our borders everyday and night with their attitudes of entitlement. Hmmmm......where the fuck did they recently get the ridiculous notion that our land has become a red carpet conspiracy to defraud the citizens of the USA by our SHITBAG Prez, Fuck-wad, Barack Obama. And to think I voted for this creepy, flip-flopping, piece of goat shit.<br />
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So, we as Americans, are to ascertain, that this "dreamer" generation of disease and filth ridden children of terribly horrendous parents from South America, will be the real future success stories of many generations to come and evolve into true Americans? Who even believes a shred of this shit-train of illegal aliens coming to save the day, eh? You would have to be a blithering idiot and Mexican Muslim sympathizer who has consistently lied, nagged, fucked and sucked his way to the top to offer us this fucking goat-fuck mess of unreasonable proportions. Is this all he has to offer?<br />
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Yes, folks. This is old news, but politicians are bi-polar schizophrenics with an insatiable thirst for loose women, drugs, power, money, all the while feeding their narcissistic ego's, in total belief of their own fucked up lies. Yes, Bubba.....it's the unfortunate god-damned truth! Nonetheless, getting to the business at hand, rumor has it on the DC grapevine, John Edwards, may make a run for the 2016 Democratic Presidential nomination, or at least within the Independent party, in a desperate bid to hustle his whore-mongering ass, at a minimal shot, into a Vice Presidential pick for 2016. Don't Scoff! Anything is possible on the Ferris wheel in Washington politics.<br />
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Gonzo Paperz chose Sterling to conduct the interview, for obvious reasons, as John Edwards, agreed to sit down for a brief interlude and answer all of our inquiries.<br />
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Sterling: On beach front property, literally, in the sand, Key Biscayne is John Edwards home away from home within this luxurious bungalow cabana. Tiny, but effective commercial kitchen and Tiki-Bar to boot, (I guess his girly friends enjoy gourmet cooking). Extremely comfortable beyond the opened French doors leading out to the salty air, above the clouds, capturing the natural and unnatural sights of the sea. <br />
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Edwards: Sterling, can I offer you a Martini or wine-cooler?<br />
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Sterling: First off, I don't drink cherry-apple Martini's. I've been sitting here, quiet, gulping down on my bottle of Kentucky Bourbon, gazing at that silver tray of pink cocaine mounded up like a scene from Scarface. May I?<br />
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Edwards: I would never condone the use of cocaine, but all of our guests are free to enjoy the perks of the party. Do as you may, Sterling.<br />
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Sterling: While pulling off the mound with a solid gold, pen sized straw, my face instantly went numb and my head spun almost 360 degrees, as I screamed "Hiawatha" - "AAAHHHHHH". Mother of all dope, where did you acquire this batch of superb cocaine?<br />
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Edwards: Well, as you may suspect, a man in my position rubs shoulders with a few nefarious characters, as one of my staffers is a friend of a friend of Keith Richard. Shall I go further into the association?<br />
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Sterling: No! But it sure would be mighty nice of ya' to explain to me how you have several ongoing sexual associations with many women while your wife is grief stricken with cancer? And, how many children do you have out of wedlock?<br />
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Edwards: Well you threw that at me like a brick! Your interview, is, from my perspective, a feeling out process for another possible run in 2016. I thought this media frenzy over my personal life would fade away as the American people yearn for a President that can keep his word and get down to the business of Immigration reform. Work on a bill allocating billions of dollars toward Infra-structure directly effecting the economic challenges leading to the creation of more jobs for our American citizens. I can make this happen, Sterling, I just need one more chance.<br />
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Sterling: (While swilling down the last of my Maker's Mark Bourbon, I reach for the tray of blow and take two large whacks that go straight to my head, spinning my conscientiousness into a sudden, foul, hostile, and violent mood. His rhetoric crossed the lines of decency and clarity of when good men standby and do nothing to correct inhumane, delusional beasts, so far out of touch with reality, they need a good ole biker thrashing coupled with several high velocity back-hands giving him a great taste of the long knuckle. And I wanted that blow. God knows, he has no use for it.) Johnny-Boy, this is not my interview.....it's yours, asswipe! I don't even know what the fuck I'm doing here, only fulfilling a favor for a friend. So, from me to you, FUCK YOU and your whores! You're just a bottom feeding ambulance chaser, teaching your misguided daughter where to hang out in our various nations hospital emergency rooms, trying to exploit the injured and poor dieing patients. Pack that cocaine up in a zip-lock and I'll be on my way.....I'll be publishing none of this pathetic bullshit evening sit-down, of course. Fair enough?<br />
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Edwards: Well, no! I won't be bullied or extorted into giving you my dope. This evening is starting to get too weird and you're making me nervous. Step back for a second and think about what you just asked.<br />
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Sterling: I did, cunt! (I swiftly blocked his way into the other room, assuming his bedroom, and grabbed the tray with a stern balance and kicked him straight in the nuts while sliding the tray out of his grip. I side-stepped as he went down yelping and screaming like a spoiled, petulant child. I caught him square in the gonads. Edwards, buckled over and shaking from the shock, I begin rifling through the kitchen cabinets. I find a suitable container and scoop up about half a kilo and stuff it within my rucksack while heading toward the French doors, out to the beach trail where my flat-black Vulcan, Kawasaki loyally awaiting to launch at a moments notice. When out of nowhere, Edwards, leaps on my back, frothing out foam and blood from his filthy mouth similar to a starving, degenerate Baboon smoked out on a seven day Meth binge. I first thought, he may bite my fucking ear off.) Judas Priest ya' filthy pig-dog......you're spitting and drooling all over my neck and ears. What are you, a ferrel fucking animal, Edwards? Sweet dreams Johnny-boy-blue balls!<br />
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Sterling: (As I hoisted him up a bit, in one graceful motion, I swiftly hip-rolled and Judo slammed him to the tile floor, then sat on his chest slapping him repeatedly in the face fairly hard and methodical, as he screamed attempting to bite me. He then went completely limp, smelling the blood of defeat. Realizing, that I was late to a meeting on another more pressing issue, I gave him a few more swift kicks to the ribs where he laid, crying and spitting blood and bile like a "Baretta-styled" pimp beat down. When I mounted the Kawasaki, I heard child-like screams,<br />
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Edwards: "I'll trounce Hillary. I'll trounce Uncle Joe, and I'll twist Rick Perry into an oxycodone induced stupor. FUCK OFF, Sterling Frontier." <br />
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Sterling: Will visit ya' at "Club Fed" faggot! And off I roared to the Buffet compound.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6785871716939395539.post-66171616171985063912012-10-08T22:20:00.000-07:002012-10-08T22:20:59.671-07:00Taliban Cafe III<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiwBZp8flbfTE3gWLEc-noAo7qNWpO64dY96b7SUQXdg50FM1-xO4A0iJE0iR4PkFTSQsgQtLslasIzBESR_uGQrkRC7jUPNtRz_a5YrEvmY_S-O8rMTanTwRi60q8hrS-_HUonRhT-Y8/s1600/cheney-white-sheikh399-thumb%255B3%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="360" width="399" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiwBZp8flbfTE3gWLEc-noAo7qNWpO64dY96b7SUQXdg50FM1-xO4A0iJE0iR4PkFTSQsgQtLslasIzBESR_uGQrkRC7jUPNtRz_a5YrEvmY_S-O8rMTanTwRi60q8hrS-_HUonRhT-Y8/s400/cheney-white-sheikh399-thumb%255B3%255D.jpg" /></a></div>
My Jinni's comfort me by serving breakfast and start preparing the opium pipe. I sit there surrounded by infinite exotic pleasure, head in my hands and realize all of this happened for a definite purpose. I am here for a particular reason unknown to me. It's something big-time and ugly for sure, because no one receives this amount of pleasure over a blackjack win unless there's something attached to it.
My Jinni's see me in contemplation and tell me that they're very happy to be servants of mine and that they can provide me with anything I desire.
I pull on the opium pipe long and hard and ask, "Did I really play blackjack with Dick Cheney and George Herbert Walker Bush?"
As the warmth of the opium starts to take hold and overcome me with cool and soothing euphoria, she responds, "By the way, my name is Ophelia and this is my sister Mary-Catherine, and yes, you did play blackjack with Dick, George Sr., Karl Wolfowitz and Donald Rumsfeld. We like to refer to him as Rummy, he's a real bastard!"
I immediately apologize for my poor manners and re-light the opium pipe to fulfill my need for some sort of sanity. As I try and make some kind of sense out of all of this madness they bath and dress me in a silk white outfit and paisley designed red velvet robe. It was weird but quite comfortable.
I begin to ask them, "Do you hang out withe these degenerate assholes or what?"
Mary-Catherine replies, "We were Dick's Jinni's, we had no choice in the matter. He won us in another rigged blackjack game from that little queer Senator Mark Foley, and it's been hell ever since!"
I then ask Ophelia, "So you know Dick Cheney personally, his habits, likes, and dislikes?"
She replies, "Oh yes my savior, he's a filthy, careless, degenerate gambler that needs to be stopped!"
Tell me more Ophelia.
She replies,"He's an annoying narcissistic schmuck that is followed around by a team of medical specialists 24/7, constantly monitoring his heart condition. Their main concern is his poor diet. For breakfast he eats four over easy eggs, one pound of Boars Head bacon, slung corned beef hash saturated in bacon grease, two garlic and onion bagels, smeared with scallion and vegetable cream cheese and washes it all down with a full pot of espresso coffee. His snacks between lunch consist of liberally soaked shrimp toast, mesquite barbecued pork rhines dipped in sour cream and onion sauce, while constantly smoking foot long Cuban cigars while sipping cold opal Sambuca, babbling incoherently regarding impacts on his stocks of oil, gold, and diamond markets."
Well this news doesn't surprise me. His diet would make a fawn in the morning dew turn rabid and callous. As the opium pipe is passed around and shared, I ask Mary-Catherine if she would like to corroborate these crazy innuendos.
Ophelia, clearly upset yells,"This is not innuendo! We are Jinni's and unfortunately this is the God ugly truth!"
I back off as it is obvious they have a lot of frustrations to air regarding Mr. Dick. So I just sit back, smoke heartily and listen. "Go ahead Mary-Catherine, you seem like you have a lot on your mind. I'm all ears."
She replies," Ophelia is being nice in regards to Mr. Cheney. He drinks that Opal Sambuca in the afternoons and Cognac at night. He stammers around, drunk and nasty, bitching about his market fluctuations wielding Aldous Huxley's Brave New World, re-reading it in a seduced state of obsessive compulsive disorder. His heroes are Rommel the desert fox, representing military valor. Rasputin for his seductive magnetism, and his great love for Hollywood's American gigolo, now Buddhist convert, Richard Gere. His behavior has reached obscene levels. At times his drunkenness would get so diluted he would beg to get tied up and buggered by Richard Gere impersonators then turn on them, sadistically torturing them by a severe whipping, using the American Flag and a springed Billy as his preferred weapons."
"Mr. Cheney is a carnivore drafting the master plan by his High Priest, George Bush Sr."
"He gets things done as a pivotal architect in the diabolical dissension into The New World Order! A dedicated, loyal Big Daddy warrior bent on government controlled chaos, anarchy, and destruction! He carries on like he's some immortal Greek God gnawing on blood sausage and Greek olives sucking the Sambuca straight from the bottle spitting the olives pits on his parquet teak wood floor like marbles as his aides break their asses on the pristine waxed flooring."
" His aides never complain or speak of him in a disparaging manner. They fear him. Fear is synonymous with respect. Remember, he's Big Daddy's right hand man, completely untouchable as his dirty work is hermetically sealed in the American flag."
" Even in hiding he can be spotted in a local D.C. pizza pit, gorging himself with pineapple ricotta cheese slices, dripping grease down his satin tie, throwing the leftover crusts to his loyal gang of Doberman Pincher's that constantly hump the legs of his secret service aides. He is the devil incarnate!"Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6785871716939395539.post-86563918780292028222012-06-21T00:58:00.002-07:002012-06-21T00:58:57.894-07:00Taliban Cafe II "Black Jack"<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuGDs_udlm6L5kdlVhY_J09S6GWdEUbdveq4hu5we0rNJM8rcvneSKJy29m57EnCxnGYk0o5zwzfDTKaFheyNR_LWxW3fmnnxbTWeP_G9LR1-46FWzABF89CKB-x-N008axw98Kv3bMVc/s1600/jack-idema-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="298" width="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuGDs_udlm6L5kdlVhY_J09S6GWdEUbdveq4hu5we0rNJM8rcvneSKJy29m57EnCxnGYk0o5zwzfDTKaFheyNR_LWxW3fmnnxbTWeP_G9LR1-46FWzABF89CKB-x-N008axw98Kv3bMVc/s400/jack-idema-1.jpg" /></a>
I was awoken by the sweet aroma of smoked opium wafting through the cold cave air where I found myself comfortably warm in a bed of soft, red satin and velvet pillows perfectly positioned to be hand fanned by two exotic looking jinni's smiling.
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBF_a7gRnFTGpS2aKLRHeIolFSIVgLbNb4XC8TbjxPFCOZvv8U5icsUqYHc_KcFsa2Lyl24UIZ8hSU47b4PWFJ4hLy9dsvtUYZyVf0LO5pbe2ZSh74Pqh8BXtW_r8P1twXmT5yIfRSh4s/s1600/imagesjinnis+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="329" width="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBF_a7gRnFTGpS2aKLRHeIolFSIVgLbNb4XC8TbjxPFCOZvv8U5icsUqYHc_KcFsa2Lyl24UIZ8hSU47b4PWFJ4hLy9dsvtUYZyVf0LO5pbe2ZSh74Pqh8BXtW_r8P1twXmT5yIfRSh4s/s400/imagesjinnis+2.jpg" /></a>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW0Gi-ZOZmYNhXn42-EQm6oaDlLZ_mFhZ4ph1F3UOs9DThALojaWqAkTw4wONFgsI-qvKEpNmIcKehaFU3fUBN6Lsq93iNAN-KKKNyCq5bLADp1aC7gDo-4Xhi5wrWyXKgwHKlwhY1HkA/s1600/imagesjinni+q.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="302" width="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW0Gi-ZOZmYNhXn42-EQm6oaDlLZ_mFhZ4ph1F3UOs9DThALojaWqAkTw4wONFgsI-qvKEpNmIcKehaFU3fUBN6Lsq93iNAN-KKKNyCq5bLADp1aC7gDo-4Xhi5wrWyXKgwHKlwhY1HkA/s400/imagesjinni+q.jpg" /></a>
There were beautiful hand crafted tapestries that decorated the ceiling and walls. The lit candles in the room made the shadows flutter as they fanned me smoothly. Italian marble tables held crystal vases that glistened full of wild orchids and gold angelic figurines playing harps in melodic harmonies.
I felt wonderfully confused thinking, what have I done to deserve all of this exotic pleasure? Is this a gift, a dream, or have I died and gone to heaven?
When I situp from my sleeping position a curtain is unveiled and in comes the Russian waiter spinning his platinum serving tray ornately decorated with hot coffee, fruit, juice, eggs Benedict and a huge ball of opium with all the necessary paraphernalia.
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJANkFoJVw9zcf0g5KnO9cHu5slQrqMp9g3j6dSEl0CGN6T11QZlssrNPN-A329V1o-XuAacXeQAEQLtl170ROajCjpQyD70I7td6fLcRbwTSN-a8fe5VMwo8EbIAkvT35xTzhBAB_kW8/s1600/imagespoppy+pipes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="190" width="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJANkFoJVw9zcf0g5KnO9cHu5slQrqMp9g3j6dSEl0CGN6T11QZlssrNPN-A329V1o-XuAacXeQAEQLtl170ROajCjpQyD70I7td6fLcRbwTSN-a8fe5VMwo8EbIAkvT35xTzhBAB_kW8/s400/imagespoppy+pipes.jpg" /></a>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVMYcgjK-kZFQHQVaFCuFqxbEJVrQuRIA2KuY18t9KzSArHTOx1yoNoNGWgQFrMkZiEmffbVfAEm5lZKFNs4T9wHUSFWX3e9tSKLzIR9InuLc0Pp53bM8GsXDC3N-SG_L0MFJ4A66e-1Y/s1600/imagesopiumball.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="147" width="159" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVMYcgjK-kZFQHQVaFCuFqxbEJVrQuRIA2KuY18t9KzSArHTOx1yoNoNGWgQFrMkZiEmffbVfAEm5lZKFNs4T9wHUSFWX3e9tSKLzIR9InuLc0Pp53bM8GsXDC3N-SG_L0MFJ4A66e-1Y/s400/imagesopiumball.jpg" /></a>
Seeing that wild eyed sneer from the waiter jogged my memory a bit and realized I wasn't in heaven, but sure not in hell either. Not as of yet, anyway!
I vaguely start to remember some of the previous events. As the waiter turns to leave I ask him, "What the hell happened last night? I blacked out from those margaritas."
The waiter replies, "You created quite a stir last night."
He yells, " You won big. You raped the 'executive game' and Mr. Cheney almost shot you in the face."
"You won his jinni's in the final round of the blackjack game."
"After you won you acted like a drunken fool and taunted him. He threw his cognac in your face and whipped out his Walther P.P.K."
"Just as he took aim, Big Daddy rifled his raspberry Bartles & Jaymes and cracked Mr Cheney in his frontal lobe, knocking him out cold."
"You were a very lucky man last night."
"When you feel awoken and refreshed Big Daddy has ordered a sit-down with you. This time you might not be so lucky!"
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-tGZUwzEjxxW4KpCxdCn2PYjEFGLJu7aGM2RFnGSG0rUEfRmlcA5GalozUo1nlgE5w-Hita3fl2dRVVpn7CsLSDXVcaM-qkktvAxsfWjP42yTEPIyeF65KsVHCuiewEzCVTQ48cw4IT0/s1600/cheney_rumsfeld3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="278" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-tGZUwzEjxxW4KpCxdCn2PYjEFGLJu7aGM2RFnGSG0rUEfRmlcA5GalozUo1nlgE5w-Hita3fl2dRVVpn7CsLSDXVcaM-qkktvAxsfWjP42yTEPIyeF65KsVHCuiewEzCVTQ48cw4IT0/s400/cheney_rumsfeld3.jpg" /></a>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilLDmnkv53fh05rqEglLPtXPf6P1Kj8VkP_Cw9VbDitHDvnsS4O8HM-9JYqBdPrEMzhauj1VdLtl5ck2OK6V_fG0Fqc4jCWzPLUpFZlSrblXe85J61E9MPZHc_-i5QG9imdw4lvWjL4Gw/s1600/cheney-white-sheikh399-thumb%255B3%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="360" width="399" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilLDmnkv53fh05rqEglLPtXPf6P1Kj8VkP_Cw9VbDitHDvnsS4O8HM-9JYqBdPrEMzhauj1VdLtl5ck2OK6V_fG0Fqc4jCWzPLUpFZlSrblXe85J61E9MPZHc_-i5QG9imdw4lvWjL4Gw/s400/cheney-white-sheikh399-thumb%255B3%255D.jpg" /></a>
<object width="480" height="360"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/kPgFnRdTcKE?version=3&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/kPgFnRdTcKE?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="480" height="360" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6785871716939395539.post-90308267008670643702012-05-30T21:38:00.001-07:002012-06-01T22:13:35.746-07:00Memoirs Of Super Patriot Jack Keith Mercenery Status Assignment Taliban Cafe Post 9/11 aka Sterling Christianson<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdnIxHytu8yWXIef-Sh2ftYomyVbC3bcQdgt9WobxYVy1JmTmooXxdbF73KX4pclG3nCrnXgsPywBAmdTjosD3vvA0mivMiLXlLMGml2a2v8oobxDEMHibVt8VBuDbjHXpmyfrJ_hZV04/s1600/jack-idema-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="298" width="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdnIxHytu8yWXIef-Sh2ftYomyVbC3bcQdgt9WobxYVy1JmTmooXxdbF73KX4pclG3nCrnXgsPywBAmdTjosD3vvA0mivMiLXlLMGml2a2v8oobxDEMHibVt8VBuDbjHXpmyfrJ_hZV04/s400/jack-idema-1.jpg" /></a></div>
The Marquee flashed in a pulsating psychedelic rhythm of vibrant yellow, green, and red neon lights under the starlit moons bright night here in Kandahar.
It read, "Come One, Come All, Welcome To The Taliban Cafe". Gunfire and Tomahawk missile blasts echoed from the distant valley. The putrid stench of rotting flesh and gun powder permeated the steamy air in this lawless dead-zone of Islamic degenerates.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6WjzYMMyh8QUE41_4xd1FIBFjzzr4hSXl3zcki7iWsGcuovH75Z9KddfDZ9dNCwmAS3_YD4ekztZTaoZEnYz4IEjvkSJ_YXmssPUKmu8Eb6VJF1ntBW2qbXwdYzmF1hj4HlRrMBNI3rQ/s1600/b091_dead_taliban_fighters_2050081722-7245.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="238" width="324" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6WjzYMMyh8QUE41_4xd1FIBFjzzr4hSXl3zcki7iWsGcuovH75Z9KddfDZ9dNCwmAS3_YD4ekztZTaoZEnYz4IEjvkSJ_YXmssPUKmu8Eb6VJF1ntBW2qbXwdYzmF1hj4HlRrMBNI3rQ/s400/b091_dead_taliban_fighters_2050081722-7245.jpg" /></a></div>
The cafe host greeted me with a red eyed sadistic smile. He then led me to a polished red marble table where I was seated at the patio, gazing above, into the Kandahar stars as the Taliban played horseshoes in camel dung pits which were surrounded by small bonfires.
A Russian waiter wearing a red velvet robe handed me a menu and said, "Welcome to the Taliban Cafe, Drink Up! The Taliban Margaritas are laced with opiated crushed ice and poppy stems protrude from atop of our cocktail glasses like celery stalks from your beloved American Bloody Mary's!"
I replied, "Hell, I'm impressed! How about a double Banana-Strawberry Margarita, Pronto?"
The waiter returned within two minutes spinning a glistening platinum serving tray with the dexterity of a Harlem Globe Trotter, sliding me this radiating elixir of Kandahar Lightning. I pulled on the straw in savage thirst as the potion melted and dripped down my jowls seducing me with luxurious warmth and euphoria.
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Feeling a bit more comfortable, I take a curious and altered gaze out to the horseshoe pit where echelon Taliban entertain themselves by coaxing a local boy to fetch an overthrown horseshoe. With not too many choices in the matter, the boy cautiously proceeds through the sand in complete fear then grimaces as the Taliban duck for cover.
Kaboom!!!! (Massive explosion)
I shudder and see him blown to pieces.
Hot flesh, blood, bone and shrapnel smoke clouds my vision. He was just smeared by a 'Bouncing Bettie' while the Taliban belly laugh in a sadistic state of elation. "That was a real hot rod!" Screamed the waiter.
The Horror of it all.
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Liberally soaking my palette with this frozened warm cafe Margarita, I unblinkingly gaze into the menu. It reads "Smoke the hash and place a cash bet with the Taliban Polo Minister Of Recreation and get the line on the nearest after hours V.I.P. Kandahar, Casino Cave Bar where the deep players dwell."
My interest and curiosity was piqued in a state of pure Machiavellian need. I wave to the Russian waiter and he returns smirking while asking, "Would You Like To Place An Order?"
In my stupor I reply, "I need to see the The Taliban Polo Minister Of Recreation and request a shuttle to the Kandahar Casino Cave Bar."
I peel off a couple hundred from my bill fold then stagger off following another Taliban where they place me in the back seat of a 600 SL Mercedes Benz.
In a nearly blacked out state of diluted awareness, we drive off. As we wind through the bomb blasted streets, I can see the locals, hustling goat meat in the market square as Veal Marsala. Beautifully decorated with clove beads, sprigs of parsley and Mary Jane all the while they chain smoke opiated cigar blunts cursing in prayer.
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When we arrive through all the layered, interwoven stream of Afghan madness, they lead me to the 'Executive Black Jack' table, where seated to my left was Dick Cheney and seated to my right was the God smacked cavalier, "Big Daddy" (GHWB), our high priest, sipping a Bartle & Jaymes Raspberry wine cooler,enjoying the decadence of Kandahar finest young candy, melting smoothly in a luxurious lap dance of pleasure.
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It was a surreal moment. I thought we must be in ancient Babylon with the echelon of the Taliban as I notice Cheney and Big Daddy sporting robes of translucent hemp dress and sweated feet in Topsider leather sandals as the Jukebox blares a fanfare of Greatful Dead songs.
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'Fire In The Mountain' was playing. They were also strapped with AK-47's, high tech capsule gas masks, and grenades. It was then I fully realized, It was 'Big Daddy' all the way baby!
<object width="480" height="360"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/YAhEi7W1ib0?version=3&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/YAhEi7W1ib0?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="480" height="360" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6785871716939395539.post-7071702700963133552012-04-23T15:11:00.000-07:002014-07-13T23:55:40.291-07:00Cherry-Apple Martinis, Pink Cocaine And The Insatiable Thirst For Self Sabotage Through Lusty Whore Mongering And Bestial Political Bafoonery<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7GkPyDd7lhtWlxF3lwyqJvrecp_QjsyrI6dk5JxI0PpvU55WNJzB4vw5_kEEgf9-imnHUIpSpzNfIQJ-oN-NAep4t58bBC_nkBIi4WPkq-owoxs_ifDied1U2Hs_C-pIGTMTrcOiBpzs/s1600/john-edwards-mistress-gutsy-250.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="250" width="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7GkPyDd7lhtWlxF3lwyqJvrecp_QjsyrI6dk5JxI0PpvU55WNJzB4vw5_kEEgf9-imnHUIpSpzNfIQJ-oN-NAep4t58bBC_nkBIi4WPkq-owoxs_ifDied1U2Hs_C-pIGTMTrcOiBpzs/s400/john-edwards-mistress-gutsy-250.jpg" /></a></div>Coupled with a twang of Southern arrogance gliding out of a sharp, silver tongued -- Bastard -- a North Carolina University education, the degenerate tan and pruned pretty-boy-man-child, slithers by like a randy old musty sloth "ridin' hard and put away wet", out of you know who's lusty legs, all lathered up with a fresh scent of pharmaceutical grade, Peruvian Pink Cocaine ....."I love the smell of cocaine in the morning"! Behind his smarmy chuckle and power-entitled mind-set, there's a cruel and vicious carnivore just below the surface being masked by the charade of Mary Kay cosmetics and a well-practiced swagger fashioned, in of course, Italian suits and finely crafted leather shoes. Here lies one super-deceptive and thieving shit-bag you'll ever want to be associated with. You'll always walk away light in your wallet, confused, bewitched and definitely "Had" in a somber state of loss and regret...which could turn violent, adding just one more "neat" Jack Daniels. That's right, Bubba......John Edwards is no doubt a degenerate swine straight out of George towns casting of hyper-delusional characters with no shame seen, so far. A real, no bullshit, dancing fucking bear we've got here. This next segment is part 2 of the rare interview with once presidential hopeful, John Edwards - slick sloth Jonny Boy Blue.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6785871716939395539.post-6039558547048117322012-04-20T20:09:00.000-07:002012-04-20T20:09:11.613-07:00Michele Bachmann Racist Dingbat Extraordinaire<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's a pretty sure bet that most men would rather see Michele Bachmann in a Playboy centerfold layout than the blithering idiot she has become in the GOP race for the presidency. Yes, we know she's out of the race to become President and like in the case with Sarah Palin, she would also function better for us men within the parameters of a Penthouse or Playboy photo shoot. Most, if not all the bullshit that spews out of her vile mouth, is hair-raising and downright on the fringe of insanity. So she didn't get to where she's at now in politics because she went to Harvard or Yale. She's a pretty women with absolutely nothing to offer on an intellectual level. Lets just examine a few quotes from the Queen of idiocy -
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"I find it interesting that it was back in the 1970s that the swine flu broke out under another, then under another Democrat president, Jimmy Carter. I'm not blaming this on President Obama, I just think it's an interesting coincidence." -Rep. Michele Bachmann, on the 1976 Swine Flu outbreak that happened when Gerald Ford, a Republican, was president, April 28, 2009
I think she may have failed History 101 and Government 101 in her college days (or nights). *sigh* Moving on...
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"Carbon dioxide is portrayed as harmful. But there isn't even one study that can be produced that shows that carbon dioxide is a harmful gas." -Rep. Michelle Bachmann, April, 2009
I guess Science wasn't her forte, either. It gets even better Americans...
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"If we took away the minimum wage -- if conceivably it was gone -- we could potentially virtually wipe out unemployment completely because we would be able to offer jobs at whatever level." -Michele Bachmann, Jan. 2005
Looks like Economics wasn't her strong suit, either. Does she even have a college degree?
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"Before we get started, let's all say 'Happy Birthday' to Elvis Presley today." -Rep. Michele Bachmann, while campaigning for president in South Carolina on what was actually the anniversary of Elvis's death, Aug. 16, 2011 (Elvis was born on January 8)
NOOOOO! Not the King! Don't drag the King of Rock-n-Roll into your silly little incompetent mind.
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"It is horrific to know that in the African American community, 50 percent of all African American pregnancies in the United States end in abortion, 50 percent. That is a genocide of African Americans of the United States. It should not be. There are Americans all across this country who would love to adopt African American babies, but they can't because 50 percent of all African American pregnancies today are ending in abortion."
What the fuck does that even translate into?
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“This is just about waving a tar baby in the air and saying that something else is the problem. I have never seen a more irresponsible president who is infantile in the way that he continually blames everybody else for his failure to, first, diagnose the problem and, second, to address the problem. It’s always everyone else’s fault.” “The president is a complete and utter fraud and a hypocrite on this issue, with all due respect to the president.”
OHHHH, now we see. "tar baby"? A poor choice of words or the rambling truths of an insane racist women? But hold on, folks. It gets even better.
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"I look at the Scripture and I read it and I take it for what it is. I give more credence in the Scripture as being kind of a timeless word of God to mankind, and I take it for what it is. And I don't think I give as much credence to my own mind, because I see myself as being very limited and very flawed, and lacking in knowledge, and wisdom and understanding. So, I just take the Bible for what it is, I guess, and recognize that I am not a scientist, not trained to be a scientist. I'm not a deep thinker on all of this. I wish I was. I wish I was more knowledgeable, but I'm not a scientist." - Michele Bachmann interviewing with Todd Fiel at KKMS as quoted in the Stillwater Gazette, September 29, 2003.
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Now you tell me fellow Americans, Presidential material or Playboy material? Well that's a no - brainer! When everything is said and done, I'm sure Hugh Hefner would love to make that phone call.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0