The festival of f**kery is never-ending. A phalanx of the unwashed clutch pearls and tug at their masks of shame and oxygen depravation, breathing in
Dry Fantasies – the months of their scamdemic
Pain and agony are the accepted everyday in the house of sadness. The gods of shitf**kery have already experienced so many holiday celebrations this
The Fog of Shyte – The months of their scamdemic
On this holiday weekend here in the States, a lot of normal activity ceases. No mail delivered, no trash pick-up, allowing piles of bat guano,
Sunday Baroque
“Here’s to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They’re
A Slow Holiday Weekend…filled with shitf**kery
On a slow holiday weekend here in the States, the choicest of Beelzebub’s droppings are excreted into the swamp of shame via the corporate media,
Saturday Jazz
“Don’t think money does everything or you are going to end up doing everything for money.” ― Voltaire *** The Hot Sardines – “French Fries &
Dispatches from the Asylum 