THE INFORMATION #1042
He who does not love his own language is worse than an animal and smelly fish. –Jose Rizal
WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIREBOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER TWELVE: PART FIFTY-NINE: THE EASTERN GATE OF PARADISE
“There is,” said William Batchelder Tallent to Glen Phillips, “one quality in which the South far exceeds the north–and that is in oratory. And if you don’t want to take my word for it, just listen to this speech that my father sent me in the mail.”
CHANGE THE NAME OF ARKANSAW? HELL, NO!
Mister Speaker! Mister Speaker! Mister SPEAKER-R-R-R!! God-damn your God-damned ornery soul to hell and God-damn your ornery wife’s soul to hell, and God-damn your innocent children, too, if you got any; I will not damn their infantine souls to hell, afore they may yet grow up to be good citizens of the Republic and members of this honorable body who will have the common courtesy and manly decency to RECOGNIZE AN HONORABLE MEMBER OF THIS GOD-DAMNED HOUSE–the Honorable Cassius M. Johnson—I am referring to myself– when he is trying to call a God-damned point of order. And by the way…Good God damn you Mr. Speaker! God-damn you, and–and God-damn your eyes!
I’m out of order? NO, Sir! This HOUSE is out of order! God favors the brave, and, with the help of our Savior, who stands just over yonder, it SHALL be put right—though many may perish! For you do not know who you are dealing with! You are dealing with a Born again, Bible believing, Blood bought child of the Living God through faith in Jesus Christ and a committed follower our Lord and Savior! I am Cassius M. Johnson from Johnson County, Arkansas, and even after forty days of fasting and farting in the wilderness, I still shit bigger than your head!
Never let it be said that the Honorable Cassius M. Johnson—again, I am referring to myself—never let it be said that he is a man who refuses to act on principle, nor one who overlooks the main chance when he sees it. Now, I have heard a whole heap of showy and loudmouth talk, and an awful lot of fuss and feathers displayed here in this honorable House, which is, as any man can see, from any vantage point, chock-full of God-damneded scoundrels of all stripes, the venerable members of which are inclusive of but not limited to the following: brawling apes; odious pimple-faced simpletons who would steal the cracklin’s from their own Mammy’s fat gourd; murderous bullies, brawlers, and hooligans who carry pig-stickers as long as a highbinder’s arm; purblind eye-gougers; gaudy master-minds; bought men; kept men; sold men; young men addicted to odious vices; old men steeped in villainy. Why, I would not give a red cent for the whole damn lot of you, for you are simpering, whimpering flibbertigibbets fit only to dance a sky jig on the gallis pole!
This is indeed a House divided; divided between young and old. Your young are, to a lad, loathsome and underhanded fancy-men, who procure and peddle unchastity from teeming leprous fleshpots exclusively populated by diseased courtesans. And your old, whose fires of time-worn lust have been banked but not extinguished, are by and large mere time-servers, senescent dotards shackled in bloody chains of gold to the special interests of this land, who dast to rob the blind and the infirm, and call their infamous skulduggery by the honeyed name of “party unity”.
Of all you so-called men, none are so low and vicious as the pusillanimous pipsqueak who has dared to rise up in these hallowed halls to declare that we ought to change the name of Arkansaw. Worse, some of you grave solons are allegedly inclined to take his measure seriously! To pay heed to the preposterous puling and mewling of a putrid punk, whose freakish fabricated remains had better ought be exhibited in Barnum’s Museum in an enormous glass jar, alongside of the Cardiff Giant and the pickled mermaid!
I’m out of order? You mistake yourself, Sir! This whole world wide is out of order! And me, and God, and a bunch of the boys who are currently otherwise employed in whooping it up, are bounden to put it right—though the heavens fall!
Change the sacred name of Arkansaw? AW, HELL NO! NEVER, so long as I can still draw breath to defend her! Honored colleagues, you can reverse the course of the mighty Mississippi; you can fill the River Platte with newfangled dynamite and blow it all to hell; you can make Presque Isle into a playground populated exclusively by ruminating donkeys; you can fill the Erie Canal with whiskey and set it on fire; you can burn Atlanta to the ground and invite carpetbaggers and scalawags to toast soft, fluffy marshmallows over its smoldering ruins—but when you propose to change the Holy Name of Arkansaw—that is when I put on my fightin’ uniform! Compare the iron jaw of Andy Jackson to a rusty claw-hammer; compare the steely eyes of George Washington, grown dim in his service to our country, to a pair of rotten turnips; compare the magnificent pate of General Winfield Scott to a stinking, hollow robin’s egg; strangle Betsy Ross in her own flag; knock a sick baby off’n the pisspot; tear apart the constitution and use it for ass-wipe—but will you change the name of Arkansaw!? I say—NEVER!
Hear what I have to say! The man who would CHANGE THE NAME OF ARKANSAS is a low-down, squirming, crawly, cringing, stingy, mingy, mealy-mouthed half-brother to the slimy, sneering, scorbutic snake who first tempted our common Mother Eve! Born in a rainstorm; reared in a flood, taken in by a leper, taught the rule of three by a Gorgon, tempered by a Succubus, and married to Medusa after he jumped over the broomstick of Minerva! He eats musket-fire for breakfast, and for supper he bleeds! He got drunk, boarded Noah’s fabled Ark, threw all the animals into the briny and brought the fish on board! Look well upon this so-called Gentleman! He wasn’t born, but rather was formed of red clay mixed with the straw-filled droppings of Lucifer’s off ox! He looks at the world through eyes of mud, and sees only desolation where we, with human eyes, see a lush and verdant paradise! He is the original visionary Blind Joe Death and a certified Fool-killer, who had rather ought to turn his science upon eradicating blind chaos! Change the name of Arkansas? The hell you say! He is the most unwholesome unmitigated traitor who would even so much as challenge that cherished name! His bloodline, say I, is so contaminated by wickedness that he must surely be a direct descendant of Judas—nay, Biblical Cain! Look well for his mark; seek ye, and mark it well, for ye shall surely find it, saith I, branded on his forehead–by the Lord God Jehovah Himself!
This man, if man he truly be, and not the boon companion to Devil Satan-n-n, has ravaged the earth for four-thousand-and-four years, seeking to commit a crime so dastardly that its infamy will ring forever down the ages in the hallowed precincts of infinity! And he has found it! Change the name of Arkansas? Hell, no! Better you should suck the snot from Buddha’s nose until his head collapses! Better you should elect Frederick Douglass as President of the United States, with dear little Dolly Madison as his kept mistress! Better you should turn over the port of New York to Tecumseh and his band of doughty red savages! Better you should smother Lord Amherst in poxy army blankets and distribute muskets and horses to Chief Pontiac!
Change the name of Arkansas? Hell, NO! The man who would do that is a man would wipe his ass with a fidgeting bear cub, and spit in the Grizzly mama’s eye! He would pick his teeth with a thunderbolt, and spit hell-fire! He would eat shit out of a hairbrush, and proclaim the toothsome flavor most delightful through a dusty rusty tinhorn! He would play no-limit five-card stud and always draw to an inside straight! The man who would do that is the awfullest son of a hellgrammite who ever lived!
I’m out of order? You’re Goddamned right I’m out of order! The whole God-damned UNIVERSE is out of order! God will count to seven times seventy, and it will be restored—but at great cost to all those who are not true believers like myself, for there will be fields of fire and the sky will rain blood—if thou shalt dast to even THINK that ye might change the Almighty and Eternal name of ARKANSAW!
JESUS WAS BORN ON SEPTEMBER 11TH
MEN: NO SOCKS IN BED
ITALIAN EASTER SPECIALTIES
PIZZA DOLCE VITA
5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
RACIST JOKES IN THE WHITE HOUSE
6* DAILY UTILITY
27 Songs From The Beatles That Weren’t Hits, But Should Have Been
WHAT RUINED HANNA-BARBERA?
9* RUMOR PATROL
SINISTER FORCES, OCCULT HISTORY, AND THE NINE
THE LEFT BANKESHADOWS BREAKING OVER MY HEAD
JULES AND THE POLAR BEARS
11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
Marvin Gaye wasted an awful lot of time scheming about ways to get some loving. I prefer his more political songs:
DINNER CITY FOODS (MAKE ME WANNA SWALLER)
You’re slight…ly batty
Because you are a…stupid fatty
Candy bars…you bought ’em
Double chins…you got ’em
Oh, make you wanna swaller
The way you hold your knife…
Oh, make you wanna swaller
The way you live your life…
12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
ENCOURAGING YOUNG WRITERS
What young writers usually need encouragement with is to live life and observe, and not get all their wisdom at second hand.
And to sit down and actually do the writing instead of simply talking about it.
And to hold themselves to standards of universal quality instead of taking the easy way out and segregating themselves into a category.
And to read and explore the mechanics of every style of writing, including, though not limited to, play writing, poetry, prose non-fiction, criticism, and aphorism.
And to cultivate an interest in other art forms including, but not limited to, painting, sculpture, music, and architecture.
And to realize that the writing life is a lifetime commitment: to writing as well as one can.
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