Comrades, I have noticed that some of our members persist in using the phrase, "The glorious world of Next Tuesday."

Please note that as of 12:00 Moscow Standard Time, or Cambridge, MA time, which are the same, that is now an un-phrase.

It has come to my attention that there has been much damage done to the Revolution by those rumors of some collateral human damage wrought while effecting perfect social justice. There are even rumors that a few people have involuntarily been sent to room temperature. I can hardly credit it, but some Reich-wing RethugliKKKans have stated that the Mother Country and our Sister Countries have murdered over 100,000,000 people. This is obviously false; there is no way that a story like that could have gotten out. What? Didn't they shoot the guards who did the executions? Of course they did. So the stories are false.

(And I am now investigating how those rumors got started. Loose lips sink ships. Live lips get the wind up the proles.)

The phrase which you are now to use is The Progressive World of Next Tuesday™. Progressive implies that cute little woman with the bug eyes selling insurance. It also implies George Soros. If you think for a bit, which I try never to do for it hurts my head, it also implies George Soros destroying the Wealth of Nations.

And I like that. Let's spread the misery equally. That is, except, for the bits that we made progs can claw out of others' hands.

So, henceforth, any use of the phurase The Glorious World of Next Tuesday will require a meditative stay at Jiffy-Lobo.

FPT wrote:I can hardly credit it, but some Reich-wing RethugliKKKans have stated that the Mother Country and our Sister Countries have murdered over 100,000,000 people.

No big deal. Got to break eggs to make an omelette. All the masses of humanity that I see are eggs just waiting to be broken and made into an omelette. If they resent that and think that's a cynical way of viewing humanity, so much the better. They need to be broken.

To the Progressive World of Next Tuesday! A delicious omelette. Half the fun is in the making.

Otis, sometimes I forget how hard an old-line prog is. And you might even outrank me, in the party membership. Until I do some confabulation with 7.62 over the nature of time.

For you Father Prog, anything goes. Seniority changed. -7.62

Yes, breaking eggs is half the fun.

Have you ever charged a family double for the bullets when you permanently re-educate an irrefragable prole? I find it delicious to add taxes.

"Jefferson's Birthday Tax"

"Colt 45 Tax"

"Mad Dog Tax"

Or because we pay a fraction of a cent in royalty for every blank music CD we buy, to give to socialists artists who cannot sell records by themselves, it is only fair that we tax every car for the Carbon Exchange taxes which were lost when, uh, the Carbon Exchange died.

A bad idea should never be allowed to wither and die because it's a bad idea.

Only because it's a good one. Which gets us back to breaking them and breaking the eggs.

I suggest a "James Ferguson Tax" because American proles have no idea how HARD the Former Soviet Union proles have it. Then I suggest such taxes collected sould be sent to Vilnius to build ...*ahem*....golf courses.

Comrades,

The air intake tax, carbon dioxide release tax, rainfall tax, body mass tax, thumb tax, hair tax, non hair tax, and last, but not least, tax tax, the amount owed based on the amount of tax paid for the last 10 years.

That was very Proglorious Theo.

FPT wrote:Otis, sometimes I forget how hard an old-line prog is.

Quite alright, dear comrade FPT. That's why I'm here.

Father Prog Theocritus wrote: The phrase which you are now to use is The Progressive World of Next Tuesday™.

Sooo Father Frog, would that be the progressively warming or progressively cooling world of next Tuesday?

Itchy Scratchy, and I hope that you do not take that amiss for they have brought much cheer to this old prog's rheumy eyes, it doesn't make rat's ass difference if the citrus is Florida is freezing; if Cancun is freezing; if the seas are melting.

The tocsin is do something. What is take money. And here is a hard-and-fast progressive rule: since government screws up everything, it follows that it needn't be right about what's happening. Because it by definition can't handle it, right?

So the thing to do is come down on the size of the biggest confiscatory tax, and ride that son of a bitch down to Ground Zero.

Father Prog Theocritus wrote:Itchy Scratchy, and I hope that you do not take that amiss for they have brought much cheer to this old prog's rheumy eyes, it doesn't make rat's ass difference if the citrus is Florida is freezing; if Cancun is freezing; if the seas are melting.

The tocsin is do something. What is take money. And here is a hard-and-fast progressive rule: since government screws up everything, it follows that it needn't be right about what's happening. Because it by definition can't handle it, right?

So the thing to do is come down on the size of the biggest confiscatory tax, and ride that son of a bitch down to Ground Zero.

I thought it was pretty creative to figure out a way to tax the very air, but last I heard about the Carbon Credit Exchange, that all sort of blew to hell.

I hope Soros had several billion tied up in it.

Father Prog Theocritus wrote:So the thing to do is come down on the size of the biggest confiscatory tax, and ride that son of a bitch down to Ground Zero.

Yahooo!!! Saddle up that bomb and ride it down, cowboy!

Reminds me of Slim Pickens. Doctor Strangelove. Whole lots of irony going on here. The Right is playing the role of the USSR. In the movie the USSR had a doomsday device in case of atomic war. What in the world is the doomsday device that the Right has, though? I suppose it would be a doomsday device in the eyes of you damn commies - it'll destroy your world - but that's like squashing a bugs nest so, really, who cares.

Yahooo!!! Saddle up that bomb and ride it down, cowboy! ... and wait for the doomsday device to rock your little bugs nest.

Father Prog,
?
They are so on to us when it comes to taxes. Here in Houston, the progs know this well, and instead, tack on fees. They even convinced the voters to tack on new "drainage fees" depending on the square footage of one's home, not one's land, mind you, just one's homes. But some of these Tea Bagger types have caught on to the substitution, and are taking them to court.

How about a "fee" for the number of inches a high heel has? We could call it the Bruno heel fee. Then the higher the heel, the great the status symbol.

The Glorious Progressive World of Next Tuesday, or GPWNT for text messages. I like it.

A high-heel fee? I love it. We could also tack on a fee for ostrich feathers. The only fee that we could not tack on would be an attitude fee, for progs are the source of attitude and ought not be taxed for it.

What about a sensibility fee? If someone say goes to the city council and asks, "WTF is this?" and then makes valid points questioning the reason and efficacy.

If the points are sensible, they ought to be taxed.

I like this. A sensibility tax. If you have the wrong sensibilities, you're taxed. Within an inch of your life.

A high-heel tax? A sensibility tax? Yes, very good recommendations Comrades, but the fix is already in. Of course with our new plan we can include whatever our hearts desire. Now.........no, no I not on another binge, that's tomorrow night........what I'm talking about is the greatest tax gimmick ever! That being the Value Added Tax or VAT for short. Why, just the very name itself:"Value Added" is enough to warm even the coldest communist heart. As a tax it is near invisible. It is applied to all manufactured/farmed goods at the producer's level. The Proles never see it coming and Dear Leader keeps his promise of not raising taxes on the Middle Class. It's a win-win for everyone!

If you'll excuse me Comrades, I must return to auditioning talent for tomorrow night's New Years Bash....................................

Splendid indeed, though I suggest a few poles and less clothing...

Father Prog Theocritus wrote:Comrades, I have noticed that some of our members persist in using the phrase, "The glorious world of Next Tuesday."

Please note that as of 12:00 Moscow Standard Time, or Cambridge, MA time, which are the same, that is now an un-phrase.

The phrase which you are now to use is The Progressive World of Next Tuesday™.

I concur Commissar Father Prog, this one little change of wording will send Hope™ across internet to all the little prog diggers searching to find our progressive collective.

Here's to progressive progress....

All Hail The Progressive World of Next Tuesday™!

We are all of one accord. The fix is in. And it's the Progressive World of Next Tuesday™.

I just hope that dear Rahm Emanuel can be elected as mayor of Chicago. We may need him to steal some more elections and he needs to be back there shoring up his base of ward heelers, crooks, thieves, and cheats. I predict that Rahm will be instrumental.

I certainly hope I'm riding on the same Merry-Go-Round as Rahm and the rest of a ward residents. I do so want to be able to play an instrument.

Bonnie Fwank can play the skin flute.

Comrade father prog,

May I suggest the Immenant Progressive World of Next Tuesday™.

That provides the spiritually irrepressible nature of this apparition of economics.

Father Prog Theocritus,

I had no idea one could make a flute out of skin.

And I don't remember writing my last post, or that I was actually posting on the Cube at 3 minutes after midnight. But, then again, I don't remember much of anything about last night.

I saw gnirednow tahw uoy erehw gniod tsal thgin, aknineL.

liaH amabO!

RR. Was that you?

tI saw em. I saw gnirednow tahw uoy erehw gniod tsal thgin, aknineL.

liaH amabO!

Tooorisky--and I survived the carpal-tunnel syndrome of the fatigue of your excess os--I do quite like your idea of the Immanent Progressive World of Next Tuesday.

You've tapped into the Hopey-Changey shit, sorry, mantra, sorry, sales pitch, sorry, Lenin's Own Truth of the Manifest Destiny of Progressive Economics.

Hail Tooorisky! Father of the Manifest Destiny of Progressive Economics.

Here's where you get into bed with 7.62, the Commissar of Time, and figure out how the proles will react when you tell them that it is their manifest destiny to sacrifice, sacrifice, and your manifest destiny to receive, receive, receive.

For bear in mind, for a true Prog, it is more blessed, thank Marx, to receive than to give.

(This is in camera, of course; by all means tell the stupid proles that it is their privilege to sacrifice for the Immanent Progressive World of Next Tuesday. That their sacrifices will be rewarded with a hamburger, cooked by Wimpy, made of marinated Old Prole meat on a bun made of potato and beet starch.)

Leninka, playing the skin flute is a sore spot between the Georgetown Madam Bonnie Fwank. This from some evil person intending to besmirch the egregious, er, excellent Georgetown Madam.

Barney Frank Congressman (D-MA), Lived with convicted felon Steve Gobie who ran a gay prostitution operation from Frank's apartment without his knowledge. [Steve was promised his mother's life to say that.] Frank was Admonished by Congress for using his congressional privilege to eliminate 33 parking tickets attributed to Gobie.

Now. I ask you. Is Bonnie Fwank a real Super Prog? I don't think so, and Father Prog will tell you why.

This was DECADES after Teddy killed a woman. Decades. And Teddy got by with it. He let her suffocate in an air bubble in his Cutlass. "This is not your father's Oldsmobile." No, Teddy, it's not. My father's Olds provided transportation and was not a lethal chamber for some woman foolish progressive enough to get into the car of a drunken, lecherous, adulterous, cheating thief, and the Star of Massachusetts, the Lion of the Senate, the Finest Effloration of the Kennedy Tribe of scofflaw rum-runners, Teddy, I was sleeping off a drunk while a woman was dying, Kennedy.

And after Bonnie Fwank used his considerable clout to remove parking tickets, he went on, with Chris Dodd, to ruin the economy of the world.

Oh. I see I'm wrong. I love Bonnie and Teddy both.

They're utterly self-absorbed, self-righteous progressives who care not a goddam for the life or money of other people, who get a little stiffie thinking about telling people what to do, and in the end managed to ruin endless lives and waste endless money, rewarding evil behavior.

Ah. Sorry. I am so happy now. Just look at the ruin and the hatred of consequences that these two lions have shown us.

I'm going to meditate now, to consider how I myself, as Father Prog, can manage to make people as miserable as these people have.

It's a Prog's Duty.

Oh Immanent Progressive Progfather.

May I suggest you change your name to Emanuprog. (Prog with us)

Or maybe we should reserve that for your Dear Leader: Emanubama.

(Although that sounds a bit like flower arrangements made by little old ladies with slanty eyes)

Obamugabe, have you been using your Progressive Ouija Board? How did you divine my next career move?

I have been working all my life to become as vile as Rahm Emanuel. In fact I thought that I'd met the utter king of gut-wrenching, shivering awfulness with Harold Ickes, but I was wrong. It's Rahm Emanuel.

How could I not love someone who screeches the name of someone who disagrees with him, stabs the table with a knife, and yells, "Dead!" This gives me a little chubby, you know--it's so, well, Leninist.

But those plans are on hold. Today while backing out of my dacha, I saw some results of Pupovich's Talent-Shitting Pigeons on my garage door.

Personally I'll take care of that. I'm going to slip the decapitated head of a prole into Pupovoch's bed, and that will stop the talent-shitting pigeons.

Comrade Father Prog,

Did you know that Bawney also plays a mouth organ?

Your bestowing that heavyweight title is an honor I will try to live up to.

And Nansky Peskolosi plays Pinoccio's nose as if it were her own.

https://nation.foxnews.com/nancy-pelosi ... es-whopper

Leninka, do you think it presumptuous of Nanski do the Pinnochio thing? After all, our first black president gave us Clinocchio.

And didn't he look fine walking arm in trotter with our Many Titted Empress?

Tooorisky, a slight correction. Bonnie Fwank plays the skin flute. He has a mouth organ.

It's a small thing but being the sort of Father Prog Commissar I am, I insist on accuracy.

Except in how much I'm stealing, how much it will hurt, how many people will die, and in fact I insist on accuracy in anything which no importance in the slightest and I insist on total obfuscation and smoke-and-mirrors in anything which matters.

That's another Father Prog dictum for you.

Comrade Father Prog,


I stand corrected! I was confused by the fact he likes to have someone elses organ in his mouth.


Bless me father, for I have sinned. I have created my own word Immanent ,
which deviates from the word Immanence that has all the mystical and spiritual implications.
You are already aware of this, it is for the benefit of other proles that I write.

Comrade Father Prog Theocritus,

I think it has to do with Nanski's hands. She can't seem to keep them off of anyone else's business, including Pinoccio's.

Leninka, Nanski is making way for newer, fresher, blood. This is the fourth generation from Alien.

I heard Nanski talking today. She said that the Democrat party's biggest concern was the budget deficit.

Lenin, how I love that woman. This is simply fucking nuts.

Tooorisky, I see no reason that an accomplished prog such as yourself could not be both eminent and also being immanent, in the sense of kicking down doors at midnight and being charge of the sacred plasma cutter. Which is Red Star's usual bailiwick but I have a feeling that he's been out running around with Punchenko and once Meow gets hold of you, there's little left.

But now here's the question. Are you up to being an éminence grise of the prog world? You'll have to spend your time telling people what to do, laughing at their legitimate aspirations, encourage insane ones, and all the time foment class warfare.

It's hard, T, I know. But I think you have it in you.

Now. Can you step up to the plate?

Comrade Father Prog,

Yes I am capable of covert and effective operations that may be handed to me.. Learning to talk out of two sides of my mouth while saying different things to different groups will be a challenge. But I am up for it!

I like to get the job done, credit for it is not my concern.

Father Prog Theocritus,
I too caught Saint Nanski's performance today in the People's House. It was one worthy of at least an Oscar, but her body language betrayed her. I lost count of the many times her claws bunched in to a fist. At a few times she was actually shaking and I'm sure those were not shakes of nervousness. She was shaking with rage.

Rasputin, I am sorrowful to hear that Saint Nanski was shaking with rage; a true prog learns to hide his feelings, or in this case its feelings (their feelings? Is there a legion of Marxist devils possessing her?)

You can't let them see you sweat because it makes them afraid. Dear O'Leader. "Do I look like the kind of man who sweats?"

No, he doesn't and butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

Tooorisky, if you are as concerned as I am with Rasputin's news gathering about Nanski's labile volatility, then I recommend that you immediately set forth to rescue her. She needs a good few sessions at Jiffy-Lobo. Now is not the time to spare the expense.

Take off the top of that cranium and scoop out all the decayed brain matter. Use a blow torch to polish off the inside of her cranium.

Her legislative performance will remain unchanged, and she won't get mad any more.

Soon she'll have a skin as thick as Kurt Waldheim's, who didn't need a backbone to stand erect.

Comrade Father Prog,

I will depart immediately, the only medical issue is that removing only her decayed brain matter will not leave any for anatomical function, even at the basic level. PS: I have been able to tap a source of anti matter from Northern California. This coupled with the use of a temporary worm hole generator makes it possible to do quickly. The Holes are only available for short times and disappear without warning, using them is very risky.

Tooorisky, the anti-matter is just wonderful. The Speakerette is anti-sense and anti-intelligence and anti-American so why not Anti-matter?

My worry though is that if by some chance it's not done right, she might generate in her head a black hole, denser even than a neutron star, which would suck in all the intelligence, honor, money and sense in the world into complete and utter destruction.

Did I say I worry that that might happen?

I fret that it might NOT happen. I cannot stand the cold disinfecting light of day. Just like any other prog.

Father Prog,
Mission accomplished! The operation was closer to dumping a trash can than I thought possible. The blow torch was the first light of day that place has ever seen. There was a empty space left but not the black hole of your imaginations. Side effects appear to be eyes fixed open and unintelligible remarks on random subjects. Pre op and post op photos are identical.

Awaiting my next assignment...

Very Tooorisky.

Now we have to effect some behavioral changes in dear Harry Reid. I'm thinking that we ought to staple his eyes closed. All that vacant staring. And that mouth of his. It's always flapping, isn't it?

What do you think about turning him into an alternative energy source? So many of the hills in West Texas already have wind turbines. We could put up a farm of wind turbines outside the House. The screeching, howling, and the blizzard of lovely lies would mean that we would be entirely free from foreign oil.

That is until we outlaw the internal-combustion engine, which is as the dear Goracle said, the biggest threat to mankind.

This was before he started schtupping Laurie Davie, who used to shower with Sheryl Crowe. To save water.

Now Al, Laurie and Sheryl all wipe with one piece of toilet paper each, and I find that the biggest threat to mankind.

Good News! John Boner, the house speaker for the Rethugs, says that he believes Dear Leader was born in a manger in Hawaii. Hawaiian law does not require farm yards to issue birth certificates.

As I mentioned all this old document reading is an exercise in political theater!

We are right back in status Quo city!

Father Prog Theocritus wrote:
Now we have to effect some behavioral changes in dear Harry Reid. I'm thinking that we ought to staple his eyes closed. All that vacant staring. And that mouth of his. It's always flapping, isn't it?

What do you think about turning him into an alternative energy source? So many of the hills in West Texas already have wind turbines. We could put up a farm of wind turbines outside the House. The screeching, howling, and the blizzard of lovely lies would mean that we would be entirely free from foreign oil.

That is until we outlaw the internal-combustion engine, which is as the dear Goracle said, the biggest threat to mankind.

This was before he started schtupping Laurie Davie, who used to shower with Sheryl Crowe. To save water.

Now Al, Laurie and Sheryl all wipe with one piece of toilet paper each, and I find that the biggest threat to mankind.

Hail Father Prog,

You mean to tell me that Dingy's eyes weren't already stapled closed? And here I thought...

Dingy does love "alternative" energy sources—probably just as much as that other subhuman, Bawney Fwank, loves all things "alternative", but I digress.

I think a perfect role for Dingy would be to stretch out his skin on a pole and place him out in a corn field in BFE somewhere. That way he would be doing a great service to securing our renewable "alternative" fuel—you know the one. It used to be considered "food" until scientific geniuses discovered its real purpose—from the ravages of starving crows.

Speaking of "starving crows", such a coincidence you bring up Sheryl Crow. She should seriously consider the renewability of the glorious corn cob and its many uses (Bawney Fwank knows more than anyone about "uses"). How many trees have to die to provide her with her singular piece of toilet paper when she can recycle a used cob by running it up her... rectum!

PBUH, you have given me a glorious idea. I may expand on it as and adjunct to Jiffy-Lobo™.

I am a great believer as you know in the superheterodyne, phased-antenna-array tin-foil hat, which receives the Current Truth, accurate to the nanosecond, and like Rahm Emanuel we can pirouette on a dime, but it is cold. It is lacking.

We need the corn-cob method of transmission. Stick a corn cob up Bonnie Fwank's ass, get his DNA. Stick that same corn cob up Sheryl Crow's ass. She gets Bonnie's DNA. And I'll bet that that's the only DNA he gave to a woman.

Ah. Bonnie. Once I asked Bruno, in a ruminative mood. "Would you do Bonnie Fwank if he could afford paste jewels good enough that you couldn't spot them?"

Bruno looked at me with scorn I hadn't seen since Cher put out her video, "If I Could Turn Back Time."

"Theocritus," he snorted, "I wouldn't do him with Our Many Titted Empress' dick."After a slow three-count, he added. "And I know how that's done."

Tooorisky, wherever Dear O'Leader was born, it was Olympus. Never forget that.

Now for your next assignment.

I'll give you half of my worldly goods if you'll take out Bruno. I swear, he's the perfect understudy for progdom. Our MTE comes in and starts gnashing her tusks, and he thinks that he's owed. Nanski comes in and scratches up the flooring. Guess who picked up her sense of entitlement?

Now I'm a prog through and through, but just like Ralph Nader who locked out his employees on a consumer magazine when they unionized, all that liberal shit doesn't apply to me.

Because I'm special. I'm a made prog. I'm Father Prog.So off the silly queen. I'm the most caringest, most kindestest, most wonderfulest, prog in the history of progdom.Which means don't fuck with me, and take out Bruno.

Father Prog,

That mission can be accomplished in several ways, a piano wire neck tie is nice but bloody.
Two close range shots from a .45 apc willl also do the trick. If you really want to get your point across, I will use the .44 Mag. This weapon has the energy to kill a five ton elephant with one shot at 25 yards. What it does to humans is not pretty, but effective.

An assortment of poisons, falls from heights, electrocutions, auto accidents, etc.

Tell me when you are ready to proceed, death will occur within 20 hours.

Tooorisky, you have made my heart, that which remains after my cardioectomy as a Made Prog, go pit-a-pat. The thought of being shed of Bruno. I have abandoned him in Montana; he comes home. I sent him to Virginia to meet Chairman Punchenko; he came home. Sister Massively Opiated wouldn't have him, and when I had him shipped to New York, he came home in a huff.

"All that damned Red Square did was laugh at me. Theocritus, I ask you. Is there anything silly about me?"

Piano wire, I think.

Yes, piano wire.

Father Prog,

We will instruct Bruno on how to play the piano, one wire at a time. Do you wish me to bring you the severed head for the mantle above your fireplace?

If you wish, I have the connections to get it shrunken for a key chain or mobile display. That will require about 30 days more. The body will just vanish into thin air.

Please advise!

Father Prog Theocritus,

Just send Bruno here. It's been rather quiet here in the NC Kollective since Saint Nanski went back to DC and the MTE has been in South America. We can lure him here with a pair of the MTE's shoes she left behind:

Rasputin, are you sure those are our Many Titted Empress's boots, or are they Rosie, The Flying Pig™, O'Donnell's? It's so hard to remember. Which one of them has cloven hooves? I've had the MTE over to the Rancho many times and I have had to replace my terrazzo floors three times from the divots, but I have repressed whether the divots were from cloven hooves or not.

And there's the difficulty of sorting the divots out. Some are from the barb on her tail, and never forget those tusks. Normally the tusks take out the dry wall, but when our MTE is drunk on the blood of rich, white, rethugliKKKan virgins, she can put a divot with her tusks into a nuclear-waste containment chamber.

Which, come to think of it, is just what she said she did for a hobby. Imaging our MTE, her head down, tiny red eyes glowing, pawing at the turf with her hooves, and charging a nuclear power plant.

In fact I know that American nuclear plants are the safest on earth because the standard is being able to withstand three charges by our MTE.

That's even sturdier than having The Flying Pig™ zoom over and grace it with her ordure. Rosie Shit™ has destroyed more things than Bomber Harris over Dresden.