Some scrolls, (not scroll's tm-brand of chew tobacco's snuff)can't be refuted. The common good people hear and understand. Other's check NO, and die "inside" when they choose to betry the written words. It is a sorta negative Truth, checked and verified with heart (the seat of where all heathy-heart emotions are pumped forth like a gentle drum beat, and remain softly treasured and embedded) emotion, evoked, as when Thomas Paine * refuted the fakes of that day....

...*WHEREFORE, instead of gazing at each other with suspicion or doubtful curiosity, let each one of us, hold out to his neighbor the hearty hand of friendship, and unite in drawing a line, which, like an act of oblivion, shall bury names (hint RealName) of Whig and Tory be extinct (neocon?); and let none other be heard among us, than those of 'a good citizen, an open and resolute friend, and a virtuous supporter of the RIGHTS of HUMANKIND and of and of the FREE AND INDEPENDENT STATES OF AMERICA.*

...that's from "Common Sense." The capitals are exactly as Thomas Paine put caps in his Pamphlet that warned citizens' and could be read, and understood, by all social, and 'fake' economic etc., O, those designated classes we like to box humans into...and no 'shad-fish' for luch, I hope. One last thought from me. hark!

Sojourners is doing something. Get familiar with Jim Wallis, of the Sojourners inner-city working doing--- They are a 'gang' of real humanitarians.

We are to aim to be a human, right?

A ton of blubber may have swam up via the sewer gutter from Lethe's swamp, and some creeping slither-balls just don't get it. Meet the toothless hippo? The tusk-task, and a renal-task-it, a sure does take to Hold our human nostrils. He gulp from a wagging nose more today (?) of rice-a-phonier, Miso-barley-dung, and elephant's gag? What! Is he a rot-fish-head trip or What! A broth of NBC-muck saucy corn-porridge?

Recipe calls for corn kernels 'scoops' of waffle-crunch-cones...fetched from indigestible, irritable bowel syndromes Zoo-flops. Snot picked by you know WHY? Noy a cute, ping, a wiggle-nose bunny...

...I pay fur a slop-ice-cream cone for all eocons? huh?

Bill Moyers, I apologize. One day I remember you doing a interview with Joseph Campbell and thought, "Why couldn't I have married a wife that was a choreographer and fed birds from the porch?" Covet not, huh.

...Yellow Dog. No hose in the snow. No whiz on a elephant or a Waring's shaking leg, or a fire Orange hydrant, either. Warning! okay. Please.

...'hit' Sojourner's site as suggested. If the country 'hick' was not so entrenched in me, and I had a couple 'smackers,' I'd go to typing-class and find that Gal/Guy Noir. I'd buy her a half-glass of Pinot (and a bag of peanut shells) Merlot to scatter 'round some 'guest' (butt-in-line Salon-trash-hacks) vomit floor? O, I forgit, they snort 'it' up. I need a typist.

Bill Moyers, did you learn in bible school you must love your neighbor and forgive /~~,<*>...

...O, 7,000 times 700,000,000?

I hope you memorized that verse. My favorite is in the Gospel of doubtful Thomas, "kiss Mary's on the lips repeatedly." okay?

I say, "no go near e-ephook-a-nuts." Find someone better to love. Some kooks are in the wrong places lookin fur What!?

No feed ugly monsters nuts or grains WHO should be in jail cages snorting from a T-let...us-bowl. Mercy Mother, Utter Failure's, Hello Purgatory. Liberal? Tory? RWA? Loon? or a sipping fresh goat mild, human. I need to purge and barren quick git elsewhere. Giddy. Spread glee...yes. It's contagious too.

Fraud Guy kept me from jumping and descending precipitously into a sticker bush for being dumbstruck, again.

The cracks in the dumb sidewalks can make a dumb *K.L.K.* kinda dumb-dumb Dumbo's (journalist) trip? Isn't their a child song with those lyrics?

What ugly taste. My sense palates think they are fake-frauds, Real Fraud, and lowly reprobates. Bad taste.

I been sez told to 'shad up' because I called 'um KLK's barren and fur-ball creeps, next? Ah, shucks. Neocons will droop and glut in sorrow some day soon. They feed on slime, they become what they gulp up, and down, Real Slime. They are peerless slime-rush-balls, indeed!

Globed odes of a daily funeral dirge rot tin-lily's. Fakes. Not fragrant, but melancholy stains. Fosters hell's on earth. O, there is a Place for them and they won't find it comfy, either. 'um called ill sadomasmaschism bed-wet-fur-balls, also, imho! They are not what a sane human would call a morning red-rose stickers on a scroll, or outside in a beautiful war-torn sticker garden. The Tao speaks off them...they no know...

It's oxymoron and sadness to sink to descend along downward with their war-march, death staccato, and hear a daily dose of dirt-stanza's. It's not sane if you love what's real sweet and evanescence's. Are they haunted and of equivocal dark dungeon's, diabolical?

Promise. hush.