Merry Christmas asshole. Merry Christmas homophobic, capitalist loving, over privileged, welfare dissing, self centered, dog shit stained station wagon roof driving, silk tie wearing, segregating, honky. Merry Christmas: Fox news watching, fake smiling, rich, real man, oil worshiping, porn addicted, gun humping, market watching, Christian racist, hypocrite. Merry Christmas friend shooting, family neglecting, cat hitting, Chick Filet eating, Duck Dynasty TEVOing, fake breasted bleach-blond prostitute fucking, tax break receiving, business venerating, war loving, government hating, neighbor watching, Denis Miller, Bill O’Riley, Glen Beck, Vladimir Putin, foursome fantasizing, flag waving, fascist. Merry Christmas asshole. You’ve had quite a year. And you’ve been such a good boy little boy, I got you some real special Christmas presents. First off , for Santa, I’ve left a tall frosty glass of Edward Snowden with a big fat Obamacare cookie for you to munch on. If you take a look under the tree you’ll find some other special presents. I got you a shiny red gay marriage bicycle with some Occupy toy soldiers and an endless supply of Pussy Riot dolls. If you look further you’ll see a yummy Noam Chomsky candy cane and a big fat legalized Marijuana football. Also a beautiful and delicious Rachel Maddow, Elizabeth Warren, Kim Gordon fruitcake. And if you’re really really good you just might get that Official Red Rider, 200 shot, range model pump action Miley Cyrus air riffle. So Happy Holidays asshole. Enjoy it while it lasts We’ll still be here in **** to fill your year with real fairies of real love and real dance and plenty of noise to wake you from your deep lost sleep.

Welcome to the front line Choose your scapegoat Choose your crime God blames the Devil Missouri blames Kansas The coasts blame the Midwest Europe blames America America blames China. The earth blames the sun. The sun blames the galaxy The galaxy blames the universe But we all know where the real evil lies It’s all because of Kansas Barbecue and blues It’s all because of Kansas More bad news It’s all because of Kansas The Creationism trick It’s all because of Kansas And Fred Phelps’s little dick It’s the stupid fucking farmers and the rich republicans. It’s the Johnson County house wives and and their tricked out mini vans It’s the old white racist farts that could really give shit While their holed up in their safe rooms sucking ol’ Rush Limbaugh’s tit It’s all because of Kansas And their professors’ evil tweets It’s all because of Kansas And all that gluten filled wheat It’s all because if Kansas Fucking you and fucking me It’s all because of Kansas Land of the fucking free It’s because of Kansas House bill 2453 It’s all because if Kansas Ad astra per aspera and bigotry

Let’s bring back the mystery. Let’s turn off the history and turn on the her story. Let’s paint ourselves a new window. Let’s remove the cameras from our assholes….take a break from filming our own penises and poc marks and pimples. Let’s enter sleep mode. Let’s stop reporting the bombs and the burning flags for just a minute. Let’s power down. Let’s Mystery up! “This just in: People are confused and seek the truth. In other news a million blades of grass are poking through sidewalk cracks around the world.” Let’s bring back the story and spare us the lip. And skip all the gory details. Just bring more gore! Let’s dim the lights and chill the ham. Let’s drop the kids off and spend the afternoon under cover of darkness. Let’s not correct the color. Let’s not bleed the reds or crush the blacks. Let’s not heighten the drama with forced exposure and fast editing. Let’s dance, and prance and piss in our pants! And pick our noses well, alone, with no one watching. Let’s not go for the glory. Let’s not face the facts. Let’s not tell it like it is. Because it never really is what it is. It’s not the soda it’s the fiz. And it never just about biz. Nobody beats the Wiz. It’s about the Ms and tree. And what’s under it. Put it back. It’s not Christmas time yet. Bring that beat back and put it under the tree. The Mystery. Let's Bring Back The Mystery.

Mama’s got a squeeze box And Papa’s got a brand new bag And You were right when you said I might have to, some day, Fight For my right to party The party cops are a real thing The anti party “Party” is in full effect They will make us all pay for their lack of skills on the dance floor But “No” my friends We are not judges We are teachers Our class room is the dance floor Our chalk boards are our wiggly asses It’s not about skill It’s not about obeying rules There are no rules in ass class There is no test There is no grade There is only research There is only motion and emotion There is no wrong way for an ass to move It’s not about how much you charge for admission to the live show It’s about everybody putting a little somethin’ in the tip jar And when I say tip jar I mean dance floor And when I say dance floor I mean: Mountains & Forests & Lakes & Rivers All that creeps and crawls And climbs aboard this crazy boat ride It’s about the birds and their beaks And the special way they feed their babies I want you to feed me on the dance floor like a baby bird. Feed me Like a hungry baby bird on fire

The sky opens up like a giant biscuit Flaky and warm Waiting to be crippled in the hand of God and smeared in impossible amounts of butter and gravy I’ve just spent the better part of 4 days with a 3 year old and the biggest lesson I’ve learned is to allow life to stick to the roof of your mouth The second biggest thing I’ve learned is to sweat the small stuff and then to not sweat the small stuff The third thing I learned is that from tears grow the flowers of happiness A single teardrop is worth a million bombs when it comes to a swift ending to conflict The sound of a child’s ass hitting the floor after falling from a chair resonates like a cannon fired across the bow of a ship. We must all learn to let go of our tears. We must all appreciate the awareness required to complain in paradise. We must learn every thing that goes into a Real Good Friday. We have to learn the game within the game. The subtext of our script. The script behind the scripture. Let’s all raise a leg to another Good Friday. SMS confess our sins LOL TGIGF TGIGF thank god it’s Good Friday thank god it’s Good Friday. The sin is about to begin

Only Zombies are forever young. Just because I share the first name with the King of Mexican food doesn’t mean that I am bullet proof. Or that my insides are steel and endless. My life is not a personal insult to anyone. We all pay the price for sitting on the fence of the bull ride. The clowns are the saddest to me. They are the Rodeo’s secret service. At any given moment prepared to take a steers horn to the chest or snow cone to the face… the ultimate sacrifice so the cowboy may ride another day. You are not my daughter. How long will you wait for water? The water round here has mysterious properties. Healing powers. And powers that know the Achilles heel. You are not my daughter, But I can love you just the same Says the water. It’s in the rocks. And the dirt. It’s in the air. The trees. It’s even in the pizza. Hot and ready to serve. Ready to spring like a baby grasshopper entering the woods. There is a place for us here. Hot and springy. A place to drink and bathe. And sing. A place where all are welcome.

So this is the end. Wow. It’s over. I really can’t believe it. It really is through. Remember when we were just starting And knew just what to do? We didn’t have to think. We just got in line and did the next thing. Said the next words. The words you are supposed to say right after you decide to start talking. It was so easy then. It all made sense. At least at the beginning. But now it’s over. Well I guess it’s time to have a beer. That’s what you do when it’s over right? Have a seat. (?) Relax. (?) Watch some TV. (?) Take some time off. (?) Until it’s time to start again. Unless we’re gonna start something by drinking beer and relaxing? We could do that couldn’t we? Is it actually possible to start something by stopping? You know what? I think it is. Let’s stop starting and start stopping. Let’s try. And wherever this goes. There’s gonna be love there right? Don’t forget the love. There must be love People

Feeding frenzy feeding frenzy eat, eat, eat. Feeding frenzy feeding frenzy beat your meat. More coffee, more bacon, more cinnamon rolls. More chocolate chip cookie dough to fill up these holes. Shower me with Mountain Dew. Bathe me in a donut stew. Purify my sad old soul with another buttered dinner roll. Eat me home tonight. Wipe out thoughts with a whipped cream Swiffer. Kill the hunger with engineered precision. A diamond filled chocolate chip bullet.

Keep your devils on a short, short leash. Wake up every morning and stroke their soft fine hair. Stare into their beady red eyes and love, love love them. Keep your devils on a short, short leash. Make them eggs and toast. Brew their coffee strong and hot. Make a smiley face with the bacon and cover it all with the best maple syrup you can find. Don’t skimp with that corn syrup Aunt Jamima bull shit. Feed them the purest, most sweetest, Canadian tree blood you can find because you want your devils happy. You want your devils strong. You want your devils close. So, when you step foot out of your mansion to begin another day of pounding crosses into the ground for all the little unborn children. Take a second and think about all of the ones that are alive and who’s innocent little heads are being pounded by the angry fists of sad and self loathing parents. Think of all the years, all of the childhoods wasted, for being the human receptacles fear and resentment and hate. Put down your hammer. Put down your cross. Reign in your devils. Bend down and listen to their cries. They will tell you that life is for the living. They will tell you that our arms and legs are for hugging and dancing and loving…and building bridges, not crosses.