The truth is crass.
Music by Michael Masser, New Lyrics by A Man with A Mouse
I believe that Glenn Beck is an asshole
Shedding tears that crocodiles won't shed
Wipe away the skid marks on your sallow cheeks
Have you no sense of right; I'll make it easier
For the people listening - your euphemistic words, newspeak
I believe that Sarah is a retard
I can use the word - it's satire
She's classified type 1 on the Bristol Chart
That's very hard to pass
But tea bagging depends on her
I decided long ago, never to listen to Ann Coulter
He is spoiled, He's a witch
But he don't care - he think's he's rich
Michelle Malkin is quite the shrew
Birth right American - hypocrite too.
And there's the spinning man himself
Traditionalist top,
O'Reilly is a fabulist who
Bottoms to Aesop
Yes, he's a story telling man
But loud and crude and coarse
And just like all the rest of them
Leaves no room for discourse
I believe that Hannity's a sphincter
Verbalizing 6 on that Bristol Chart
Using Christ in ways that He wouldn't condone
Has Sean no sense of shame; I'll make it easier
For the people listening - your fair and balanced cred is gone
I decided long ago, never to worry 'bout Dick Cheney
His heart don't work, he won't be mourned
Hell hath no fury like a heart that's scorned
No matter what his daughters think
His work in Wash-ing-ton did stink
Less we forget the false prophet
A hominal dildo
With trusted dingleberries; his name is Rush Limbaugh
Yes, he espouses crap he leaves
On hair around his hole
It's dung on dung on dung on dung on dung, ditto.
So if by chance, a special bill
You feel is worth the fight
Will not be signed into a law
Find the wrong in right
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Midnight on Bailey Avenue
You might think that this picture of Max taken around midnight on Bailey Avenue a few months back is what the title of this entry refers to but in actuality it refers to a cat that walked the grounds of Bailey Avenue, the street on which I live.
Being a fellow who works from home, I got to know this black cat who had no problems catwalking up the driveway and checking out the garden in our backyard - just like the four-legged creatures who live there.
Before I got to know the cat, I assumed it was a territorial stray that was going to take control of the area and browbeat the backyard's rightful feline owner, Lucy, into submission. (Max was not that interested except to chase any interlopers away.) Often I would let Lucy go outside in the early morning light and wait for the inevitable cat fight that would make my heart drop and my feet run outside (with Max a healthy step in front of me) to shoo the cat with violent tendencies away. That day never came.
Lucy's litter box
Soon enough I realized this black cat was just looking for food and fun. So whenever I saw him I laid out some treats and watched from inside the house as he ate. I watched from my desk as he walked around the houses, up and down the street and back again. I watched from the living room couch as he walked past the bird feeder in the front yard - giving the birds that ate there a total ignoration. He was a sweet cat.
It was midnight this past Saturday and I was walking Max for a late night treat. On Bascom Avenue almost to the corner of Bailey, I stopped in my tracks when I saw this black cat lying on the sidewalk dead. It was most probable that he had been hit by a car and crawled off the street onto the sidewalk to die. I started crying uncontrollably. How silly I thought; I barely knew this cat. But the heart knows what it knows. I ran home, tears falling to the sidewalk, to ask George what we should do.
Ultimately George (my ever loving vacuum lover) went and got the cat and we took him to the 24 hour clinic in Campbell. They have a program where, for $44, they take dead animals, cremate them and bring the ashes to a potter's field for animals in Napa, CA. As the receptionist filled out the paperwork he asked me some questions.
What's the cat's name?
The cat didn't have a name, I said. He didn't belong to anyone.
Well, I need to put something here.
Can you put two words?
Whatever you want.
Found Cat.
He typed Found Cat and moved on to the next field. After a couple of other questions, I asked HIM a question.
Can I change the cat's name?
Sure, he said.
Midnight. The cat's name was Midnight.
He typed Midnight and moved back down the form.
I'll miss Midnight on Bailey Avenue. I guess he belonged to me.
MARCH 19 UPDATE: Today I received a Certification of Country Burial from Bubbling Well Pet Memorial Park in Napa, CA affirming that Midnight had been interred in a country setting. I didn't know I was going to receive this but I was really glad I did.
RIP Midnight.
Being a fellow who works from home, I got to know this black cat who had no problems catwalking up the driveway and checking out the garden in our backyard - just like the four-legged creatures who live there.
Before I got to know the cat, I assumed it was a territorial stray that was going to take control of the area and browbeat the backyard's rightful feline owner, Lucy, into submission. (Max was not that interested except to chase any interlopers away.) Often I would let Lucy go outside in the early morning light and wait for the inevitable cat fight that would make my heart drop and my feet run outside (with Max a healthy step in front of me) to shoo the cat with violent tendencies away. That day never came.
Lucy's litter box
Soon enough I realized this black cat was just looking for food and fun. So whenever I saw him I laid out some treats and watched from inside the house as he ate. I watched from my desk as he walked around the houses, up and down the street and back again. I watched from the living room couch as he walked past the bird feeder in the front yard - giving the birds that ate there a total ignoration. He was a sweet cat.
It was midnight this past Saturday and I was walking Max for a late night treat. On Bascom Avenue almost to the corner of Bailey, I stopped in my tracks when I saw this black cat lying on the sidewalk dead. It was most probable that he had been hit by a car and crawled off the street onto the sidewalk to die. I started crying uncontrollably. How silly I thought; I barely knew this cat. But the heart knows what it knows. I ran home, tears falling to the sidewalk, to ask George what we should do.
Ultimately George (my ever loving vacuum lover) went and got the cat and we took him to the 24 hour clinic in Campbell. They have a program where, for $44, they take dead animals, cremate them and bring the ashes to a potter's field for animals in Napa, CA. As the receptionist filled out the paperwork he asked me some questions.
What's the cat's name?
The cat didn't have a name, I said. He didn't belong to anyone.
Well, I need to put something here.
Can you put two words?
Whatever you want.
Found Cat.
He typed Found Cat and moved on to the next field. After a couple of other questions, I asked HIM a question.
Can I change the cat's name?
Sure, he said.
Midnight. The cat's name was Midnight.
He typed Midnight and moved back down the form.
I'll miss Midnight on Bailey Avenue. I guess he belonged to me.
MARCH 19 UPDATE: Today I received a Certification of Country Burial from Bubbling Well Pet Memorial Park in Napa, CA affirming that Midnight had been interred in a country setting. I didn't know I was going to receive this but I was really glad I did.
RIP Midnight.
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