Sunday, April 30, 2006

Baying at My Full Moon Again...and full mooning America

It Doesn't Seem to Matter to Anyone That One Million People Marched Yesterday in New York City Against the God-damn Stupid War in Iraq, Started by a Lying, Creepy, Language Fumbling, Stumblebumming, Little Prick, Side-of-the-Mouth Executive Who Loves the EXECUTE Part of His Stolen thegrowlingwolf
I was out there marching yesterday; and I was shooting the peace sign at all the gawking sidewalk revolters and defiers, like the big fat bellied cops who in their one moment of power were fathering us around--one of them hollered at me as I simply stepped off the curb waiting for side-street traffic to poke its way across the march, held up by a fat-belly cop out in the middle of the street. So this Mafia-reject yelled at me, "Get back up on that curb right now!" "You talkin' to me, Pilgrim?" "Yes, you, get back on the curb." "Yeah, or what?" He turned back and faced his portly pal. Cops playing cops. What a ridiculous looking bunch of thugs. Their uniforms didn't fit--they were sloppily dressed to put it nicely, plus all their cop toys, big overgrown radios, nightsticks, handcuffs were prominently displayed hanging all off the sides and backs of their belts, things on each side of their overblown backsides, just like the gay dudes used to wear their keys on their backside belts to signal if they were pitchers or catchers. What a bunch of silly bastards these "servants" of the citizens were. One saucy cop, a patrolman who got to stand on the sidewalk and grade the pot-bellied traffic cops playing out in the traffic was talking to his pardner as I passed, "What a bunch of losers," he spoke disgustingly. I said, "Yeah, but their not losing their lives over there in that cesspool your precious buddy-buddy the 'president' has got us entangled in. How about you, boys? You look about the right age for cannon fodder, how 'bout I sign you boys up, I'm a looey JG recruiter, so I can sign yore asses up right here in the street and have you blowin' away towelheads 'fore the night's over." They didn't want any trouble so they used what they'd learned in their tolerance classes and ignored me. They profiled me as a longhaired hairy crazy. And they were right. I was crazy as a rabid wolfhound all day. I'm crazy as hell because I was born in the good ole US of A and as such I was told a peck of bullshit lies, like about how if I were a good boy, Santa Claus would bring me nice presents at Xmas--that was bullshit; or how if I made good grades in school, I could worm my way on up to the very top...why, I could even be president of these here United Snakes one day, which is total bullshit and comes with no wiping; also, I was told that if I said my prayers to whatever almighty every night 'fore I went to bed, my prayers would be answered at any minute the next day. More bullshit. I prayed like a praying mantis for this fine young thing in my English class to fall head-over-heels for me and all she did was write in my annual in neat penmanship, "To a really really nice boy. I hope you get a lucky break one day, otherwise, I pity the fool." F you, too, you buffoonette, you clowness, you gorgeous dreamgirl. Bullshit. Bullshit. More and more and more bullshit until the earth turns shitty shitty brown brown, and smells shitty to the high heavens, which soon will also be full of bullshit, floating bullshit, orbiting bullshit. BULLSHIT IS REPLACING THE OZONE. We'll all turn brown, but not in a brotherly or sisterly sense, but rather in a bullshit sense.

"He tried to kill my daddy!" That was one excuse our ole buddy-buddy "president" gave for killing now 2400 troops and 100,000 Iraqi men, women, and children. The "president" quipped, "My olde wimpy pappy. Why, who would wanna kill my old daddy, 'cept maybe my mom, Babs? I've heard her say a few bullet-to-the-brain things about...ohhh, I better keep my god-damn foot out'a my mouth. You piss Babs off and you're pissed on, and believe me, she has a stream like a full-grown cow. You even seen a cow piss?"

Wasn't it logical and exciting how the "president" blamed higher gasoline prices on the Democrats. It takes genius to do that, to say that because the Democrats were blocking drilling in one of our fabulous wilderness lands in the Arctic, the poor olde unprofitable oil conglomerates simply were forced to raise gasoline prices. They didn't want to. My god, it pained their souls to have to raise prices another couple'a bucks. Hot damn! So, hey, citizen numbskulls, you gotta let your government ravage the Arctic, you know, melt it down, melting, too, all that f-ing no good ice up there--"Hey, could we sell that ice to Mexico? I know when I was a drinker--I did some other shit, too, but anyway, I use'ta go down to Messico and whooo boy, they never had any ice for your drinks down there; the need ice like India needs nuclear secrets." Of course, the big crude oil boys want to drill the bejesus out of the tundra looking for the piddling of oil there may be up there, though every sillyass geologist in the world agrees we better find an alternative to OIL since OIL is almost extinct, that's earl brother. Such idiots we have ruining this country. How can someone with a logical mind believe men who think they are "deciders" or "commanders in chief" or "executioners" or "being driven and instructed by 'that thar Gawd in Hebbin.'"

I was doing a little monkey dancing to Joe Smith and His Mormonics while trying to understand how anyone in their right minds could believe the babbling Mormonic lyrics they were drunkenly warbling, unless you are a male sexual maniac so you can marry a whole bunch of babes, have girl babies with them, and then be f-ing the girl babies, too, knockin' them up, having little Mormonic bastards. My favorite Mormon spot on earth is outside Juarez, Mexico, where they can marry animals and shit if they want to, F anything that walks and shakes its behind, even the damn Gila monsters..."Hey, Brother Josiah, hold that mean asshole up here so I kin poke him--watch out he don't bite ya, you silly bastard, I don't think he's gonna suck that olde gnarly thing'a yours!" Hey, we have Mormons in Congress: the idiot of all idiots, Oren Hatch, is a Mormon. The idiot, true idiot, too, governor of Massachusetts is a Mormon.

Curious about Mormonics? Here ya go, this blog pretty much answers all your curiosity about a religion made up by a fool and a drunkard, Joe Smith, when he fell in a ditch dead drunk and woke up with these golden plates which he translated because he knew old Egyptian hieroglyphics that a creature name Thumm taught him. Poor old Joe, he got so drunk that he buried the golden plates and then forgot where the hell he buried them when he was having his first drink the next morning. Holy Hypocrites! Why not believe that? Might as well believe that as to believe little Mary of Nazareth got knocked up without having sex. Yeah, sure, Mary. Here's your official Daily Growler Mormonics site

So, 1 million marched in NYC yesterday, led by Reverends Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton, Cindy "poor old dead Casey's mom" Sheehan, and they said Susan Saranwrap was there but she was in disguise I guess, because I didn't recognize her, or else she's an ole bird now and I remember her as a young flighty chickadee with big cans, like in that numbskull Mailol's movie about a New Orleans whorehouse where Little Brookie Shields is stripped down and ogled and we supposed F-ed off camera. OK, I'll admit, Jesse said there were only 300,000 folks in the march, but he couldn't see, not like I could. He was trapped up at the front, looking good, by the way, looking full of food, good health, nice grooming, and great Johnny Cash-like black garb. Jesus, man, all you have to do in this country is get your name in the forefront by being in the forefront just at one good time in history and you got it made for life. So Jesse couldn't see as well as I could; 30-plus blocks packed with marchers, still marching at 4 pm when I backpeddled and escaped the throngs ending up the Broome Street Bar where a guitar player I used to work with works as a bartender. We ended up talking about why his band can't get any gigs anymore and he was sliding me free pints'a Bass all during that time and I was drinking them and talking my ass off, my right foot killing me and my arms blistered by that wonderful old pleasing sun that was out all day yesterday blessing the whole event.

The news media covered all the fathers murdering their children--Jesus, that happens every day around here; or a spectacular car wreck on the Deagan or on Queens Boulevard, or some such jam-packed with SUVs thoroughfare, or a fire destroying houses or buildings, flattening them to ashes, yet the NYFD getting credit for a heroic job as always. And, of course they covered the asshole-smiling billionaire mayor as he goes about giving tax breaks to and helping his sports developing asshole buddies weedle new baseball stadiums for both the Yankees and the Mets at the city's citizens's expense--I thought the city owned Yankee Stadium--shows you how dumb I am. The billionaire mayor with no wife is also allowing another one of his suckbuddies to build an unwanted basketball arena right smackdab in the busiest middle of Brooklyn--moving out small businesses and housing for middle income or lower income folks--tearing down their homes and businesses so that some asshole owner of the f-ing New Jersey Nets can bring them over to Brooklyn for his gain and so his rich asshole friends can sit in total luxury and drunkenly or coked up watch the game from their luxury boxes.

I suppose they want to put domes on the new baseball stadiums. Probably the most expensive and therefore the most profitable way to build a new stadium in terms of the city picking up the greatest costs. That's no way to watch baseball. Baseball's best when you're sitting out in the open air, or under a refreshingly cool big open-air grandstand. That's the way to watch baseball. My favorite seat when I watch baseball is right behind first base. Boy what a great spot to see a baseball game, plus, you get a lot of line-drive smashed foul balls shot at your ass for 9 wonderful innings, and you get to encourage the home team almost face-to-face over there.

When Willie Randolph was playing his last year with the Yankees, before that big, fat, untalented asshole George Steinbrenner sold him off, that bastard, to Minnesota (where he hit over .300 and had a great year), in a game against California in a September game back in the 80s at the Stadium, a crazed, rather always sottish enviromental engineer from Cornell and I sat right behind first base. Willie was on first and we were pumped up, our lungs filled with encouraging passion, and Willie was itchy and we noticed it--he wanted to steal, so we started hollering, "Go on, Willie, go for it! You can do it, Willie, steal...Steal, Willie, come on you wimp, give it a go, Steal Willie Steal, Steal Willie Steal." Finally, it was too much for Willie and he ripped his ass off the base and took off flying for second. He got about half way and wham. He dropped. He had pulled his hamstring. He didn't play anymore that year I don't think and then that asshole Steinbrenner traded our Willie to the Twins.

Willie's back now with a vengeance, taking the Mets to a big first place lead over Atlanta, the always seemingly eventual winners of the Mets's division. I think the Mets can do it this year. They have the hitters, fielders, and some pretty good pitching, though Willie knows from his Yankee experience you can't trust even the biggest named pitchers.

See, talking about baseball calmed me down, took my mind off the Yahoo assholes who are running this country and the rest of the world, like Henry Miller warned in 1934, down into a bottomless pit.

Besides tackling the Mormonics today, I also intended on getting into a little Process Philosophy, a la Alfred North Whitehead, you know, I was going to explain the "human soul" using process philosophy, but my yowling, growling, howling, turning wolf forced me to bay at that bigger-than-a-big'a-pizz'a-pie, 'at's amore MOON.

Jesus, I'm beat. Better beat than dumb.

for The Daily Growler
The Daily Growler Quote of the Day:

From W.E.B. DuBois, from a recording he made in 1953, "Strange paradox that the poverty of a worker must be maintained so that he is forced to work for the rich" [from a speech he gave in Los Angeles]. Here's Capitalist Industry's class structure, according to DuBois:
1) The Rich Class
2) The White Serfs
3) The Colored Slaves.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

What a really amazing piece of writing!