Confessions of a Fuck-Up Artist!

A damp basement with boarded up windows allowing only gray slats of dust speckled light to slice through the surrounding gloom. A wall covered in nothing but stacked up second hand television sets, each one is on but the reception is for shit down here. A cascade of sing-song voiced commercials, just-past-their-expiration-date sitcoms, ostentatious soap operas, news anchormen click-clacking facts in monotone - melting and reforming through the toothpaste green static miasma, mesmerizing, aradioactive lava-lamp. The room is flooded with the fizzing noise of the airwaves drowning out the tin can laughtracks and the brooding piano solos that accompany dramatic close-ups. There is a battered boxing bag, hanging under the lone flickering bulb, painted crudely with a slap-dash art-brut Jesus that seems to have been executed with the simple broad strokes of children, the mentally handicapped and 'geniuses'. If you strain your eyes, you'll be able to make out the rusted spades, chipped hammers, the vise grips resembling the heads of Geiger aliens, dull screwdrivers and drywall mud splattered spatulas hanging off metal hooks from a perforated wooden board.

There's the smell of bug spray, mold and wet cat food.

In the center there is a large chair made out of carefully stacked Campbells Soup cans and tins of Spam. This throne is flanked by a thoroughly dented washer and dryer on each side, they have crudely drawn monster faces drawn across their fronts in black magic marker. An AK-47 rests along one of the the right hand arm while a splayed issue of PENTHOUSE rests spine up on the left. A man sits there, looking somewhere between ponderous and bored, staring out indifferently across the void between the scene and the page. He is exactly the kind of man you see in your head when I say a word like "Slum Lord": Not so much white as pale, barrel gut held in the sling of a beer stained wife beater, tartan boxers with crotch worn out, black socks, a mane of black fur across his shoulders and the sweat on his head holding down the strands of his combover across his dome.

"Alright now lissen up! I'm not gonna say this twice! I am the last man standing! That's right... me!" he reaches over and unclips a cold one off a six pack resting by the leg of the chair. He pops the lid and gives himself a toast. "You hear that? Me. Not you! Not your wife, not your damn kids, not even your boss or his boss or her boss! ME! Got it! Not some cop or solider or scientist or any of that shit you see in the doomsday movies... ME! Not Charleton Heston! Not Vincent Fucking Price! Not whassisface...ME mother fucker ME!"
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Well as i've mentioned in a previous blog the state of Georgia is currently undergoing a serious drought. Word is that we're going to be tapped out around December. Not to worry though. Our Governor has a plan.

He's going to pray for rain!

No, really...

Georgia's governor prays for rain on Capitol steps

ATLANTA, Georgia (AP) -- As Georgia descends deeper into drought, Gov. Sonny Perdue has ordered water restrictions, launched a legal battle and asked President Bush for help. On Tuesday, the governor called on a higher power. He joined lawmakers and ministers on the steps of the state Capitol to pray for rain.

Yes, that's right Big Chief Perdue (of the Confederate Nascarian Tribes of Um'merica) has called for his finest Jesus-Shamen to come gather on the front steps of the Gold Dome to join him in asking his savage and vengeful God, Jehovah Bodean, to intervene in this time of crisis!

The tribe has attempted to appease this deity in the past with attempts to ban Harry Potter 'grimories' from local libraries, labeling Science text books with cautionary stickers about the dangers of Evolution, outlawing same sex marriage while there was already a law outlawing same sex marriage and of course ensuring that members of the tribe do not elicit the wrath of their deity by being able to purchase alcohol on a Sunday.

God so far has declined to respond to requests for an interview at this time.

Well since I live in the 21st century South and the Seperation of Church and State is considered just another hippy-liberal idea by those radical leftists known as the Founding Fathers... I think its time for every God, Goddess, deity, savior, god, abstract construct and those volcano dwelling aliens the Scientologists believe in to get off their hypothetical asses and do their part!

So I hope you'll all join me in a collective prayer at midnight tonight to the combined powers of the Great God Cthulhu, Bob Dobbs, the Goddess Eris, Valentine Michael Smith, Jonathan Livington Seagull, Mother Earth, Our Father of Perpetual Ass-Whuppin' Chuck Norris, the Force, Galactus the Devourer of Worlds (as well as the entire Kirby Panthenon), Great Caesars Ghost, the Secret Chiefs, Baby Horus and of course... SATAN*!!!

Please, if ever there was a crisis that necessitated a mass of people to band together and start wishing (and I mean wishing really hard) for Fictional or Faith Based beings to come down and help us... then this is it, true believers!

Meanwhile just one last thought. Back in August the state of Georgia held its very own conference on global warming titled "Climate Change: Fact or Fiction?”

Which states Climate scientists and environmental activists like former Vice President Al Gore are alarmists. They use flawed statistical models to predict a catastrophic future of thawed glaciers, super-charged hurricanes, swamped coastlines and scorched crops.

Now i'm not saying that every claim by the proponets of global warming are right. I'm not even going to deny that some of them aren't alarmists. I will say however that if we're going to turn to the bible for answers (which i've noticed have some "alarmist" predictions of their own about a 'catastrophic future') then maybe, just maybe... we should extend science the same courtesy.

You know science, our special little friend that allows us to watch "Dancing with the Stars" and eat microwave burritos and gives us the ability to bomb other countries "back into the Stone Age". Yeah, thats a pretty good track record huh?

But hey when in Rome right? So, i'll pray for rain with the other savages. Just not to their God thank you very much!

*-Feel free to throw in anyone I might've left out... except ZOG, he knows why!