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Pets, Twats and Fallacies
by Captain Monday, Sep 3 2007, 1:53am
international / peace/war / news report

The pet section of this paper deals with my dog called “dog” my cat called “cat” and my pet budgie called “Frederick the Great,” so ends the pet section! The twat section could go on forever as female anatomy has always fascinated me but space limits my discourse to ‘how sweet it could be,’ so ends the twat section. The fallacy section is extremely popular these days in fact the world is running on fallacies; never before have so many people tolerated so much bullshit!

Fred
Fred

I need not press the point, as we all know it. Today we accept the most brazen LIES without objection, Truth is too difficult to bear or even face. Living in a dreamworld of propaganda, mass media fantasy and fallacious claims is preferable to confronting the horrid realty we have allowed our leaders to create. Madmen would be Kings, buffoons rule the house and murderers control governments. Millions of innocent people have been killed and millions more displaced for the want of a tank of gas – and that dear reader is why reality is no longer welcome in our lives.

Madmen are on the loose and somebody must deal with it before it’s too late. Duty and conscience calls, I have to see a man about a goldfish in Sydney Australia!

I leave the completion of this open-ended piece to whoever chooses to add to it in the comment section – I have an engagement with reality!


"when i feel my finger on your trigger
i know nobody can do me no harm
Happiness is a warm gun" – John Lennon/Paul McCartney

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on course
by cockswain Monday, Sep 3 2007, 11:48am

the whale is on the horizon

plain sailing

the course is TRUE!

the dolphin is free,
swimming in a blue,
blue sea

swimming FREE ...

Happiness Is A Warm Gun
by Lennon/McCartney via fleet Monday, Sep 3 2007, 12:41pm

She's not a girl who misses much
Do do do do do do do do, oh yeah
She's well acquainted with the touch of the velvet hand
Like a lizard on a window pane
The man in the crowd with the multicoloured mirrors
On his hobnail boots
Lying with his eyes while his hands are busy
Working overtime
A soap impression of his wife which he ate
And donated to the National Trust

Down
I need a fix cos I'm going down
Down to the bits that I left uptown
I need a fix cos I'm going down

Mother Superior jump the gun
Mother Superior jump the gun
Mother Superior jump the gun
Mother Superior jump the gun
Mother Superior jump the gun
Mother Superior jump the gun

Happiness is a warm gun (Happiness bang, bang, shoot, shoot)
Happiness is a warm gun, mama (Happiness bang, bang, shoot, shoot)
When I hold you in my arms (Oo-oo oh yeah)
And I feel my finger on your trigger (Oo-oo oh yeah)
I know no one can do me no harm (Oo-oo oh yeah)
Because happiness is a warm gun, mama (Happiness bang, bang, shoot, shoot)
Happiness is a warm gun, yes it is (Happiness bang, bang, shoot, shoot)
Happiness is a warm, yes it is, gun (Happiness bang, bang, shoot, shoot)
Well, don't you know happiness is a warm gun, mama? (Happiness is a warm gun, yeah)

Copyright applies.

Ballad of a Thin Man
by Bob Dylan via twain Monday, Sep 3 2007, 12:56pm

You walk into the room
With your pencil in your hand
You see somebody naked
And you say, "Who is that man?"
You try so hard
But you don't understand
Just what you will say
When you get home

Because something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?

You raise up your head
And you ask, "Is this where it is?"
And somebody points to you and says
"It's his"
And you say, "What's mine?"
And somebody else says, "Where what is?"
And you say, "Oh my God
Am I here all alone?"

But something is happening
And you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?

You hand in your ticket
And you go watch the geek
Who immediately walks up to you
When he hears you speak
And says, "How does it feel
To be such a freak?"
And you say, "Impossible"
As he hands you a bone

And something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?

You have many contacts
Among the lumberjacks
To get you facts
When someone attacks your imagination
But nobody has any respect
Anyway they already expect you
To all give a check
To tax-deductible charity organizations

You've been with the professors
And they've all liked your looks
With great lawyers you have
Discussed lepers and crooks
You've been through all of
F. Scott Fitzgerald's books
You're very well read
It's well known

But something is happening here
And you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?

Well, the sword swallower, he comes up to you
And then he kneels
He crosses himself
And then he clicks his high heels
And without further notice
He asks you how it feels
And he says, "Here is your throat back
Thanks for the loan"

And you know something is happening
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?

Now you see this one-eyed midget
Shouting the word "NOW"
And you say, "For what reason?"
And he says, "How?"
And you say, "What does this mean?"
And he screams back, "You're a cow
Give me some milk
Or else go home"

And you know something's happening
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?

Well, you walk into the room
Like a camel and then you frown
You put your eyes in your pocket
And your nose on the ground
There ought to be a law
Against you comin' around
You should be made
To wear earphones

'Cause something is happening
And you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?


Copyright applies.


 
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