Drive-By: Help Find a Cure For Trudeau
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WHEN in the course of human Events, it becomes necessary….
Welcome to the New American Digest: 2003-2020
Gerard Van der Leun
“I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched c-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Time to die.”
His soul stretched tight across the skies
That fade behind a city block,
Or trampled by insistent feet
At four and five and six o’clock;
And short square fingers stuffing pipes,
And evening newspapers, and eyes
Assured of certain certainties,
The conscience of a blackened street
Impatient to assume the world.
I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.
Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;
The worlds revolve like ancient women
Gathering fuel in vacant lots.
— Eliot
I CELEBRATE myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this
air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their
parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.
— Walt Whitman
The scientists are in terror
and the European mind stops
Wyndham Lewis chose blindness
rather than have his mind stop.
Night under wind mid garofani,
the petals are almost still
Mozart, Linnaeus, Sulmona,
When one’s friends hate each other
how can there be peace in the world?
Their asperities diverted me in my green time.
A blown husk that is finished
but the light sings eternal
a pale flare over marshes
where the salt hay whispers to tide’s change
Time, space,
neither life nor death is the answer.
And of man seeking good,
doing evil.
In meiner Heimat
where the dead walked
and the living were made of cardboard.
Comments on this entry are closed.
That was very funny, but he’s past help.
https://mobile.twitter.com/ontarioisproud/status/966413174424584192/video/1
Megyn’s got nothing on him. I rest my case.
https://youtu.be/wgX-RQZpJZk
.308
North America’s finest, a community organizer and now an Indian dancer.
There’s no hope for him ever finding his balls, but his condition does have a cure!
We’d have to hurry, as the practicioners that administer the cure are dwindling rapidly (President Trump is driving them out,) but there are still a few around the badlands of Iraq and Syria: they’re known as ISIS.
The cure is a simple one, all it requires is for Justin to lose his head; it’s not like he has any use for it anyway, and he’d look even better- and sound much more sensible!- without it. So off you go, Justin, to your happy beheading! If you ask nicely, I’m sure they’ll give you a certificate!
If they can just vote him out next election, then all of Canadia will find its testicles, descending as it were, from nowhere. if not, Balless they shall ever be.
BEHEADING’S Okay…. but I was sort of hoping we could get him to wear a hat made of pink mist instead.
If I look REAL HARD, I think I can find him my lucky bottlecap.
He is so offputtingly girlish. Oh my, no. And yet so confident and at ease in himself.
Sic transit gloria mundi. Such ridiculous people in positions of power at a time when sobriety is essential. Dance clown, dance.
Soak him in brine and brown sugar, and put him in the smokehouse.
A month oughta do.