The sad relationship between terrible people and the people that they are terrible to

fig.52.355) you are upon which I am fed and this grass is golden to me

The kids on the steps are talking about the weather. A few of the women are still singing but most of them have started to cry. A few of them are holding up uterus pictures, one or two even have pictures of their kidneys. There's a girl in the back that can't see so well. Her left eye is milky. The man that's standing with her is big boned and sad but he still smiles like an ocean full of bears. The loudspeakers announce, "Today we're making a Judge from all of your sheep testicles and batshit. C'mon, c'mon down!"

"First there's salt potatoes from Syracuse, then there's the baked beans of Boston, after that's the terrapin of Baltimore, then the scrapple of Philadelphia and finally the frankfurters of Milwaukee. But I'm not really a sausage person, especially not with Patty sitting with me. She doesn't make eggs anymore, our marriage is all but toast. I won't be eating any sausage soon," His robe is stained. The white fabric is starchy, it's creased and has worn through where the days have caught hold. His colleague too the right laughs and says, "Damn, those kids on the steps are yelling their heads off about, creole okra and slaw. It's all creole okra and slaw out there and it looks like you've had some."

Being a virgin doesn't exclude anyone from being a rapist. Rape is a sexual assault with or without force, by a sex organ, other body part, or foreign object, without the consent of the victim. The big book didn't say any wee delicate jingle jammers need even be present, they can be in Tupelo for all that it matters. Still this is a dangerous meditation for a chosen supplicant of the values and relationships between two dark spots on the sun. It's a spooky night here in the swamp of Day Town where Consumer culture is a form of material culture that's facilitated by the market and thereby makes fast a particular relationship between the consumer and the goods or services that they consume. Traditionally social science tends to regard consumption as a trivial by-product of production.

Social scientists are nerds. They have their pointy pointy-heads to blame for not caring about you at all. They don't care about this hearing or the scorecard. All they really care about is the can of cola that was secretly secreted into the room of the big talk. Where the blinding heat of the chamber, the filth of the wet pots that are steaming in the corners just behind the distinguished gentlemen who have left their filth inside them. The thought that something cool and distilled could ever survive in here as these old men turn and belch or belch before turning is almost ludicrous. The term time flies, which is normally used to draw attention to the rapid passage of time can sometime be found translated into latin. In latin it sounds like, tempus fugit. The guy furiously taking his notes, stops. He drops his pencil and swears before wiping the sweat from behind his ear. Returning to his pad he writes, In latin anomaly sounds like, anomaliae.

"These are the corners that will keep," one of the distinguished colleagues tells the room, "It's the time that we've spared for beating the senseless back into the slack of their trousers." The once round desk is chipped on all of its sides. The camera misses the mottled surface of it, the Johnson piss stain and the drawer into which Roberts shoveled the lion's share of his lynched hangnails. All of these men seated here lack any but the most tenuous connection to the makers of the chairs in which they now sit. Instead, all of their books are props and they're used unironically to hold open doors.
One of the lads drops his box of fruit. The sad runner with the ticker tape still caught in her shoe leans into the wall at the back of the room as the old indian guide sleeps in starts, dreaming about the station wagon that his mother left behind. There were six lawyers and then there were four. There were twelve more after that but three had to step out for soup. The lady outside the door asked for the pay phone but nobody cares enough to answer her. "I think we're about ready to begin now."

This what an addendum looks like: Later in the day as we sat and listened to the swearing and the coarse mutterings of the old cowboys lax in their robed chores and high barbary. We listened as the final voices dimmed and the clarity of this breach became better known to us. There's unclean and then there's unclean, there's unclean animals, there's the uncleanliness caused by childbirth, then there's the unclean diseases and the unclean discharges the filth and what have you. There's so much that's so so unclean. But there was never any doubt that they would not confirm Little Lord Fuzz-Nuts. They had no intention of holding up their proceeding or truly questioning the validity of the dog that they had found for the bench. The men that are in power might have conceded to some verbose women and let an uppity bitch have her say but they weren't going to let that stop them from doing this thing. It is time now for them to persist.

They are exercising the power that is at there command to silence any opposition as it appears. This caddy is locked and it is loaded. These nugget dumpsters are going to a hammering contest, their good balls are tied back behind their ears and they are ready to throw down. They are taking this country back. Tomorrow the poor will be miserable and the sick will be homeless. The gas station, the fire station and the police station are all going to be theirs. There will be no appeal and there can not be enough shots fired. The cats and the bunnies and all of the dumb cows aren't going to make this morbid pachyderm move over, veer left or shut the fuck up.

The Apple Dumpling Gang is following Cap'n Mitch out of this burning barn and they're running down every sad sack union fucker, hottentot, knickerbocker, and party liberal pornstar that has ever had the nerve to complain about their lot. This is not a train for stopping. Fuck hollywood and the technocrats and all of their fucking mathy mouths. Free speech is for bullies and they're, by god going to stand up to this one. This is the agrarian party, the blue pill party, the party of pants pissers and slack johnsons and it's gonna start making it look like Caligula up in this joint. This is all about uncleanliness and atonement. This is Leviticus and it's coming back around, BABY!!!