BartBlog

This week’s Scribe begins with a slightly renditioned song…

Come and listen to a story about men named Junior and Jeb
Rich, bratty, snots, always well-fed
Junior has a nack for shootin his mouth off so rude,
And makin comments far worse than crude.

Oily they are, rich from black gold, and Texas P.

Well corpses and oil have made them trillonaires,
Us plain folk wish dey’d get da hell outta hair!
Fuckin up dah country from Harlem to Californi-eh
Leavin our children with lotsa bills to pay

Hills of bills, that is.
Swimmin pools full, gay reporter porno stars.

Don’t be so quick to say good-bye to Jeb, Junior und kin.
They’re eager to give ya a gift you fer kindly droppin in.
You’re all invited back again to this locality
Have more heapin helpins with Rudy, Mitt or Huckabee

Set your ass back down for spell. Take your underwear off. Put it on your head. Ya’ll shut up now, y’hear?

Ye Olde Scribe Presents: Presidential Gold; Texas P.

Here at the headquarters of YOS International and Booby Hatch Defumigating Company: deep within the BOWELS where… if you’re unlucky, you might find his secret laboratory, Scribe’s most recent acquisition is being tested. A “gift” sent by some secret Santa; probably a pissed off Secret Service Agent… after all would you enjoy guarding this little turd? This agent must have known he would pay a high price if caught culling what Junior wants no one to test… yes, maybe even multiple costs, or fee-ces if you wish.

Pause.

Relax.

Scribe certainly danced a lot around the humor based mulberry BUSH to set up that one, didn’t he?

Yes, indeedie do, Junior can’t poop like normal folk. He has to have his own private privy. How would you like to have that duty?

Well, he that do dis, or did dit, or done did dat: choose any meat cleaver rending of syntax you wish… scooped a slimy, stinky sample from that port-a-john for a potty mouth Pres: put it in a shipping box and tied with a bow after wrapping it all in Christmas paper. Then it was sent it by special Currier and Ives… (That’s what the ghost of Burl Ives has been doing all these years… setting himself up an earthly bound shipping service.) …directly to Scribe’s secret labs.

Homeland Insecurity didn’t even blink. What did you expect? They stink at protecting anyone’s ass, or ass-SETS… if you wish.

What follows is an analysis…

drummers and their drums
pipers and their Jeff Gannon-endowed pipes
lords no longer a-leaping,
ladies known to have been dancers
milkmaids
Several swans and a hell of a lot of water
geese and their partial-birth aborted eggs
golden rings
calling birds and calling girls
Freedom fry feed French hens,
turtle doves,
a partridge and remains of a pear tree

Nah… Scribe is just yanking your chain. The analysis showed what we already knew would be there: a massive cocktail (for one cock… Cheney gets the big Dick version) of drugs including those force fed to extreme psychotics, cocaine, Draino (unsuccessful assassination attempt), Barney 1, 2 and 3 (four will be on the table tonight), more cocaine, Lithium and Valproate for his manic-depressive states, more Draino (second unsuccessful assassination attempt), Crack (as in both cocaine and from chewing out anyone who dares do disagree with his hinneyness.), GABAergic mood stabilizers and anticonvulsive drugs such as gabapentin, lithium, carbamazepine, and divalproex to control his rage, anabolic steroids to make him feel more a he-man and enhance his rage when necessary, puppies, kittens, Jimmy Hoffa (still sticking to the ribs after all these years) and the kinder, gentler, more sane, more human, only slightly digestable Cheney who thought we shouldn’t invade Iraq. (Digestive half life longer than the half life uranium-238.) Junior prefers his reprogrammed Cheney-bots who come out of their secret liar’s lairs every once in a while to say something insane.

The rest was of the same chemical makeup as normal poo, and the same as who excreted it. Yes, Junior really is full of…