Big fish eat little fish. Fish are cannibals. Or should I say “ergo fish are cannibals” and make myself sound like I’ve got credentials. Never mind, let’s get down to it: camels don’t eat camels.
Draw your own conclusions.
What camels do is they walk around with a hump full of water and Arabs on their backs, which is worse than eating fish. Bad camels. Don’t they know a terrorist when they see one? Don’t they watch Fox News?
A sharp bite and an irritable disposition, that about sums up a camel. You could throw anyone up there in the saddle or whatever it is people sit in or on to ride around on a camel, Mussolini or Hitler or the whole damn Bush family, Monica Lewinski with a cigar up her cunt.
There I go with the nasty talk, and there goes my chance at a writer’s grant from some black-ops institution, but what the hell, there are lots of things could be stuck up a cunt, a cigar is just one of them, something to light up afterward and celebrate Christ taking names on the money changers, in the Far East, on the East Coast, east of Eden, in the Information Age, on talk shows around the globe, the world of blah-blah, sandwiched in between commercials, starting up high and heading on down the food chain, or the other way around maybe, both ways at once most likely, if we only had time to do an analysis to find out, but we don’t so take my word for it, blah-blah is coming in riding camels and from on high like a drone, blowing the wedding party to smithereens.
Maybe I’d better back off, come at this from another angle, maybe sit down and write a novel over the weekend, a roman a clef, one last shot at the blah-blah crowd, hit them full in the face like a freight train, it beats sitting on the couch all weekend with a stun gun and a lit cigarette, waiting for someone to kick in the door. Or maybe not. All my novels so far went down like torpedoed ships.
The whole world is scripted. There’s not a wise man left shuffling thru the desert looking to hook up with a Savior. All the game plans are stuffed like piñatas with the pygmy children of butchered minds, babbling on about freedom’s not free and therefore (ergo) our right to own not just guns but cannons, in case someone tries to take something away from us.
Vigilance is what’s called for, we need vigilance, if you’re vigilant you’re alert and don’t have to think and you’re primed to play in a Red Alert world and strike out at Arabs and camels and cannibal fish.
If we stand together as one nation and fire simultaneously at anything that moves, there won’t be anything left to be afraid of.