But Wait! It Is Always Darkest Before Th' Dawn!!

Huh huh ha ha ha.

Ha ha ha. Hyuck.

Hee hee. Ha ha ha. Snort. Ha ha ha.

Heh heh ha ha ha. HA HA HA HA HA!!!



HA HA HA !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Oh, I'm feelin' lighter'n air. Lighter'n motherfucker air. Yesirree. There is a tomorrow.

Sort of.

So, am I manic-depressive?

Nah- I'm just an American. In 2005.


Two Months To Christmas. Oh Boy.

Jesus, this shit does not shimmer and shine e'er once it did. Oh, Christmas ain't much fun for the terminally depressive adult. No, sir. Oh, there is an element of sadness deeper than the motherfucking ocean to it. Yup. Yes, dearie, yes; another year pissed away in the sublimation of desires attainable and un-so. 40 down, 30-odd to go. I never knew adulthood was supposed to be about acting like you don't want anything for yourself. No, I don't mean a fucking SUV.

Let me tell you what I want this year so you'll have the time to find the appropriate fucking website.

1) Dick Cheney's still-beating heart. That'd get me cracking a smile that wasn't for th' benefit of someone else. Yup.

2) A high-powered rifle and a water tower above a Promise Keepers rally. Scurry, scurry, scurry.

3) Lennon back for a couple days. I'll give you six Rumsfelds and a couple Delays. And I'll throw in my fucking soul.

4) Five minutes alone with Karl Rove. You can tie my hands. I'd mostly use my fucking teeth anyway. Mmm. Sweetmeats. That's Christmas-y.

5) Um, yeah I'd like to be 10 again for a week. Dec. 20-27 would work. And I want to talk to my dad. Haven't seen him since '90. It's almost worse when they're still out there, you know? Out there but they may as well be on Pluto.

Fuck it. I know I wouldn't have the songs without The Ache, but she digs in good sometimes. Real good. A relentless taskmistress indeed. Makes a li'l housey in your fucking head. They don't tell you about this when you sign at the fucking crossroads, dog. Sometimes you get a day that is like spider eggs hatching in your heart. I think there's a finite amount of those you can have. I read it. Gotta ride it out. Ride it out. Walk it off.

Rain, rain, go away.


THE HARRIDANS: Yeah, we got your laser show right here.

Woahh!! The Harridans rock show!!! Let me tell you what it is and isn't!!!

It isn't this.

Jesus. Look at that idiot with the glasses. Somebody shoot me. I mean, I'm not sayin' I look all James Deanish but this fuckin' guy. You would not want this guy coverin' you with a M-1 Garand at dingbusted Anzio. Unless you think fresh urine's going to scare off th' Hun.

That's funny. I'm so hetero I can only judge a man's attractiveness by what kinda fire I could picture him laying down with a Thompson while I tried to reach that depillade for a clear shot. Ha ha. Who knows? That's probably as valid a criterion as any. I'd never rate a woman for how fast she could swap out a 20 round banana clip. You'd wind up w/ Coulter. Or that Sonya. From th' Simbionese Liberation Squid.

And The Harridans isn't this. Nope. And nothing against Michael Penn's brilliant wife. I'm glad she surfed this band to fame. Plus, you gotta love a girl group when it's done right.

Did I say that!!!

This? Hardly Harridanesque. This right here is the anti-Harridans. I would almost call these guys the Hairlessdens. These guys do have a laser show I'm SURE OF ITTTT. Look at the idiot on the left. That fucking guy is like 1,000,000 times richer than me. Whatta cocko. Right place, right time, huh? Wow, I hadn't realized how stupid these guys really look. I feel really handsome right now. I'm going to give myself...a....little...goose. Wooo-HOOOOOO. I KNEW it would be a well-muscled li'l pot roast. I KNEW it.

No, you'd have to think more in terms of THIS. That'd be more in the ball park. Or something alongside these lines. A Harridan at rest. Not that THAT happens often.

Here's something The Harridans are. And comin' from this side of it.

Tight? Tight? The Harridans are so tight they PISS MIST. Guys crap FISHING LINE, MAN. Takes HOURS. This band's so tight the crack of dawn isn't safe. This band is so tight until they're hatched. THIS BAND IS SO TIGHT SAVES NINE!!!

Did I say that!!!

So: a reminder. This place. This time. This band. Man. Took a while to type THAT url.

Bpbby Lightfoot's Greatest Hits #6: Hello, Ladies. I'm Karl Rove And I Want You To Picture Me Fucking You.

That's right, angel cakes. Just you and me and some late-period Journey. "Don't stop believin'..."
Oh, I'd be good for you, prissie missie. I got some fat, bald, hairy flappy-assed love for you, li'l saddlepal. That's right, saddlelpal. Check it-

I'm hovering over you in the candlelight, my fat gross paunch nestled against your stomach. I've got that white gunk at the corners of my mouth and my glasses are on cockeyed. I'm all red with exertion and I keep saying, "yeah, babe-uh, yeah, babe-uh..." just like that. Not "baby": "Bay-buh."

I feel like a stale Twizzler inside you, ain't it good, bay-buh? You like that white lic'rish, don't ya, punkin? You like what Little Carl is teaching you. Don't act like you don't. I know you're my little girl, punkin. I know that fwumping 230 pounds against you sort of overshadows any motion in th' ocean if you know what ah'm sayin', but I can tell you love, love, love it. Been a while since you had a REAL man, ain'tent it?

My tits are bigger than yours and a lot sweatier. Don't the piercings make 'em sexy? Tug 'em with your teeth. Oh, yeah, you hussy. Yeah, that's it bay-buh. Kiss me. Kiss me Kate. Have some of that white mouth-corner gunk. Uncle Karl's gonna tell you aaaall his secrets tonite, sugar cookie. Fwap fwap fwap. It's all you, bay-buh. It's aaall about you tonight.

Boy, I bet you feel a lot more well disposed towards your husband right now.

A Public Service from Bobby Lightfoot registered trademark.


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