Army of 8

Give thanks to the turkeys

armyof8 — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 17:18:34 +0000

This little turkey named Studs Turkel thanks you for not eating him. And why should you? When there’s tofurkey and even a nice slice of hummus waiting for you in Afghanistan. All praise Allah! Let’s stop the war people! Why should Obummer win a Nobel Peace Prize now that he’s escalating his own brand of terrorism on Afghanistan? How do you win a prize for peace by waging war? Isn’t that oxymoronic, accent on MORON? This year, I’m giving thanks to all turkeys: the ones quietly in repose in OohMahNee Sanctuary in Pennsylvannia, the jive-talkin’ ones we need to forgive, and the ones who wage wars in the name of peace and have blackened the White House by their switch-and-bait style of politics. On the other hand, we also give thanks to those who have loved us, seen us grow, to the Native American Indians who are disenfranchised all over the country while the Pilgrims who landed on Plymouth Rock continue to bless the America they stole from the real American Indians. Give thanks to the Great Spirit!

Wear British, Speak Yiddish

armyof8 — Wed, 03 Dec 2008 05:46:41 +0000

Once upon a midnight grim, there lived upon a hillside the Cousins Grimm who upon meeting the Yehudim exclaimed: “Gerry, Gerry, Gerry!” And so sprang the Gerry Springer Show.

On Thanksgiving Day, Gerry (not short for Geriatric, for indeed he was Springier than most spaniels in their prime), the Auteur took Cindee Jacobs and her muse, Mamita Mussolini [for being what Gerry Springier termed a 'cynic' for going on and on about Nader on the eve of the Obama inaugural] to La Madeleine, a veddy French bistro in the heart of Bethesda, amidst very Parisian environs to sup and later, in the words of Liwayway komix, make tsup tsup [Cindee and Herr Maestro Springier that is].

Love Among the Ruins or a Fireside Rendezvous with Cathy and Heathcliff

Such delights awaited us!: tomato basil soupe–so m’m m’m goood, Mamita had to take a buy 2 take one free home to feed the wolves, yes, the ones that raised her as a child.

It was like a scene from Young Frankenstein:

Froederick Frankenstone: “Werewolf?”

Igor: “There wolf!”

Froederick Frankenstone: “Why are you talking like that?”

Igor: “Ah dunno. I thought you wanted me to. “

The secret library of his great-great-great-grandfather the Baron von Frankenstein, where the secrets of reanimating dead tissue were revealed in a book called “How I Did It,” to Frau Blucker [cue neighing sounds from startled horses] leaving a trail of a smoking cigars, while fiddling with a fiddle to reveal the true nature of her ‘relationship’ with the dead Baron: he was my BOYFRIEND! Yes, this is where we lay our scene and the siege on delish Caesar’s Salad, Strawberries Ratatouille [it had some rats in them], two omelettes [Cindee says I'm an Emotional Eater so I ate an omelette filled with the usual ingredients: guilt, neurosis, and more guilt with a side order of obsessive compulsiveness] , Raspberry limonade, and two French hens. And that was just breakfast.

Sly and the Family Frankenstone

But our dear host, who whined with us, dined us and nearly 69′d me (as Cindee directed us during Principal Photography: Go down on her Gerry, go down on her!) was so dapper! In Gerry’s own words:

“Wear British, Speak Yiddish.”

A modern adage if there ever was one. But on your Burberry. Look as dapper as Gerry.

Phooey. Eat like food is going out of style that’s what I say. Eat like you mean it. Eat like it was your last meal. Eat before your jaws grow pale and wan like the moon.

And so Dear Readers, I leave you with this message. On Thanksgiving Day, don’t let the turkeys get you down.

Turkey is not just a country near Iraq

armyof8 — Wed, 03 Dec 2008 04:25:22 +0000

Once upon a year in America, something afoul happens to fowl who gobble in the name of pilgrims everywhere. But in the words of Malcolm X,

“We didn’t land on Plymouth Rock.

Plymouth Rock landed on us!”

Know what am sayin’?

Me Redskin. Me smoke `em peace pipe. Me no want `em wokum hokum Gozum loco-motion in the ocean. They come and shoo us red folk away and then smoke up dem jive turkeys to celebrate a land that ain’t theirs. But I digress. My name is Jive. Jive Turkey.

Brother Malcolm was right. The only turkeys we folks can deal with are jive turkeys. That’s what’s up!

A Cat Named Nora Who Plays the Piano

armyof8 — Sun, 23 Nov 2008 06:54:28 +0000

kitten on the keys

Panda

armyof8 — Sun, 23 Nov 2008 02:33:34 +0000

Click on me!

I am a Fanda Vur!

The Miseducation of the Filipination

armyof8 — Mon, 10 Nov 2008 05:50:06 +0000

vampira |vam•pira|pejorative subjunctive| : | long rows of grim, dark allusions to money or the lack thereof.• (of humor) : PHRASES: Meron ka vampira? DERIVATIVES do you have any money?| to wring blood from a stone

madapa ka |madapa•ka|assertive authorative| : | given to caustic assertions in urban traffic settings• (from the middle crass) : PHRASES: Madapa ka rin! DERIVATIVES Muddah Fuckkah!| Why don’t you trip and fall?

poontang |ˈpoōnˌta ng | (also poon)noun vulgar slangsexual activity.• a woman or women regarded solely in terms of potential sexual gratification.ORIGIN 1920s: perhaps from Limba (a West African language of Sierra Leone) perhaps alteration of French putain‘prostitute.’ Also pram di Pilipins; we say to you, “Poontangina mo!”| Your mother is a whore!

Truth in Politics

armyof8 — Mon, 20 Oct 2008 03:59:10 +0000

My Hero

armyof8 — Sun, 12 Oct 2008 18:57:41 +0000

I don’t know about you guys, but when the election’s over, this guy will still be My Hero:

Ralph Nader: we need you!

He predicted the present Wall Street debacle, pressing Congress against deregulation 8 years ago. And did they follow? noooooooo. That’s why taxpayers will have to bailout Uncle Sam to the tune of $750M, which translates to $2,300 each. Ralph….aka, Roger Ramjet…help!!!! Rescue us from Wall Street and corporate-run America and ourselves!

Teves Hippy Style: circa 1968 or 2008?

armyof8 — Fri, 10 Oct 2008 18:06:12 +0000

The Teveses were always ahead of their time. When Jerry Garcia was still not the Ben & Jerry’s bestseller it is today, they were Deadheads. Now their kids are Radiohead heads. When long, flowing locks ala Jesus was hip, they grew their hair down to their hips. That’s how they got to be hippies. Now, that look is back, and although they may need the help of Kanekalon wigs to achieve that look they so beautifully espoused back in `68 with `Nam and the Mai Souixante-huitards in the Paris May uprisings, their ‘hair apparents’ like Devendr♥ are carrying that torch for them again:

Doesn’t it just make you want to break out and sing a Hare Krishna song with a tambourine and wear your saffron robes?

You’re Nobunny until Somebunny loves you…

armyof8 — Fri, 10 Oct 2008 14:43:16 +0000

…birds do it…bees do it…even educated fleas do it…let’s do it…let’s fall in love! C:

love is for the birds

i wallow in gall♥