GO and catch a falling star,
Get with child a mandrake root,
Tell me where all past years are,
Or who cleft the devil’s foot,
Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
Or to keep off envy’s stinging,
Serves to advance an honest mind.
If thou be’st born to strange sights,
Things invisible to see,
Ride ten thousand days and nights,
Till age snow white hairs on thee,
Thou, when thou return’st, wilt tell me,
All strange wonders that befell thee,
Lives a woman true and fair.
If thou find’st one, let me know,
Such a pilgrimage were sweet;
Yet do not, I would not go,
Though at next door we might meet,
Though she were true, when you met her,
And last, till you write your letter,
False, ere I come, to two, or three.
Xenomanes was excited to hear of the recent excavations into the tomb of Pompus Pilot. The word is that the dig has yielded a king’s ransom of nickle-and-dime illustrated novels on the subject of you know what.
Fulton B. Cruton, whose father was a far-sighted fuller brush man, and his wife Quinoa, once priestess of Delphi, were in charge of the excavation. Xenomanes had led several parties to Delphi in times past, and had a nodding acquaintance with Quinoa.
A man went over the mountains to look for himself. On the other side of the mountain, he mated with a woman looking over a cliff.
Groundhog Day is known to have its roots in the behavior of badgers in Germany. In some German-speaking areas, however, the foxes or bears were seen as the weather prognosticators. When the behavior of the bear was considered, the belief was that the bear would come out of his lair to check whether he could see “over the mountain.” If the weather was clear, the bear would put an end to hibernation and demolish his lair. If it rained or snowed, however, the bear would return to his lair for six more weeks.
We’ve been asked by the highest authorities in Christendom to reenact some of the more common everyday garden variety sutras, sprinkled with a few saucy outliers, from the Good Book, in accordance with the laws of our ancestors as has been laid under the seals of Good God Almighty, Jesus H. Christ, and the Ghost in the Machine, whose feast day is coming up June 12.
Let’s see what our next contestant has to offer. Don’t be surprised if it’s someone you used to know.
Our first question. If your pants are bulging and your mind’s in the netherlands, where are you at? A clue: It’s not in a continent.
If you answer this correctly, you’ll get the chair. In the big house. The chair of divinity. At Saint Mary’s school for wayward children, comedians missing from the funny farm – one held the bottle between his legs as he reached for a scrap of chocolate – side-show rejects, and tools of the capitalistic state.
Got reamed out at batting practice. Shit a turkey while basted on balls.
Them’s the breaks. Religion is big business. It’s all in your bible, just cross yourself and ask google, while you lose your shirt in the wind. Religion is spiritual, you god damn better well believe it. So be careful what you ask.
It was a very intensive meeting and they paid plenty for it. Most ended up in intensive care. Some of their brains are in jars in the cellar. The entrails of those who had guts were exposed on the mountains. The behinds of those who were behind have been hidden from view.
The Siren is the ship upon which Calhoon sailed when he discovered Keefers Rey, or Quay as the name degenerated. He was searching in the name of King Nimrod for the lost ships of Elvis, heading three points off Bermuda, when a storm blew him to Keefer.
It smells like someone just did a big load of laundry. Down at the stockyards, next to the pulp plant. Like Yogi Berra’s been eating beans. But I’ve been fooled before. When the fruit man had a finger on the scale. When the stories of the supreme being didn’t bear scrutiny. When patriotism was a play. When the time came to unearth my mother’s breasts. And to play ball like my father. Hollowed be thy name among men.