I have been very blue lately. I got a letter from the IRS demanding money for a tax year that I thought was closed. I know that I ought to be pleased to pay my little bit to forward the Progressive World of Next Tuesday, but a mosquito couldn't get blood out of me now.

Recently I did something which people were less than impressed with. Now I think that they're wrong--after all, I'm a made progressive and by definition what I do is right. Being a Made Prog takes precedence over everything, even natural law, and if natural law contradicts me, I merely use my influence to get a bigger hammer. Our Many Titted Empress taught me this trick, and I saw it perfected when His O'liness learned to walk on water when everyone knows that he can't talk or write or think for shit. We're just watching Rahm "Eat your children" Emanuel's hand acting as an anal puppeteer. But I love His O'liness. I really do. He makes me feel big and secure. In contrast.

But someone disrespected me and so I called Jodin Morey for a tête-à-tête. "What," I asked Jodin, "would you do if someone didn't drop on his knees and bow and scrape before your every utterance? I really need to know. I've thrown away all my cell phones and lain on the ground quivering until the cops told me to move it or I'd be in the drunk tank."

"Theocritus," Jodin said, barely moaning, showing he was up for the job, "You have to believe in yourself. So what if natural laws contradict you?"

"Master Joda, I try and I try but natural laws don't seem to care about me."

"Theocritus," Jodin sternly said, "Pardon me while I take off my Gitmo gear. There's a Japanese tourist with a camera who might take a picture of me which might be posted on a Japanese website and I don't want the cops to think that I'm a terrorist."

I waited patiently while Jodin pulled off his Gitmo gear, and the rest of his clothes, and while entirely naked turned in a circle three times, yelling in a little-girl voice, "I am not armed! I am not armed! I come in peace!" To prove it his manhood disappeared entirely and the ground behind him was covered by a strange brown liquid.

"Jodin, Master Joda, do not worry. They cannot see you here."

"I'm sure you're right, Theocritus," he said as his eyes darted to the sound of a cricket, and he crouched in a fetal position mewling, "I come in peace! I am not armed!"

I went to Jodin and put on some latex gloves. Jodin's peaceful protests had left him covered with a strange brown substance.

"Master Joda, tell me what to do when the world disagrees with me. My self-esteem is like so tanking right now and I just can't get up the courage to go out in the world without everyone telling me I'm fabulous."

After enough stroking of his rather wet and sticky hair, requiring two more changes of gloves, Jodin pulled himself together and said, "Theocritus, here is the secret. I'll show you."

With that he went into his house and pulled out a huge balloon snifter, capable of holding a jeroboam. He smiled at me with that winsome smile, and hiked one leg, put the snifter between his legs, and grinned. And he farted into the snifter.

Instantly he brought the snifter up to his nose and passed it under his nose and sighed and smiled. "Jodin Morey. 2009. Vintage." And he huffed the rest of his fart.

Thank Lenin for the guidance of Jodin Morey. Whenever reality disagrees with me, I'll merely huff my own farts.

Thank you, Master Joda. Thank you.

That there Jodin is one fart smeller!

Gees Comrade Theocritus,

What is one to say after an obra maestra like that? What is a hirsute prog woman like me supposed to say? We prefer the smell of patchouli oil to that!

Although, sometimes, here is something similar, that I have been known to do. One time, when I was in a free class at the free university here in Houston, it was a computer class, and my feet hurt so much, even in my Birkenstocks, that I just had to take them off.

Now, I know, I hadn't bathed in at least three days--doing my part to save water for the planet (don't you know?)--and I knew my feet would smell if I took my Birkenstocks off, but I just had too. I had to release my feet from their traps, so I did, right there in the middle of the free computer class at the free university.

There was this soft spoken suburban white toast man sitting next to me, and within minutes, he got up and left. Well, I just don't care. My feet hurt, and I had to take my shoes off. That was that.

Oh, that reminds me. It's been three days since I bathed, but I'm tired. I'm going to let it go until tomorrow.

Good for you comrade Leninka, you showed those white kapitalist pigs! Like dear leader Che' who was known to never bath and smelled of the high winds of pig farms. Like Che, we should praise the unwashed stench of the dirt poor who can not afford a bath, nor should they!

Bathing is so yesterdays modern, in the post-modern world of Next Tuesday, all baths will be used for raising red meal worms for composting and eating the karl the krony kapitalist pig waste.

We haven't bathed for years, we love our dirty dreadlocks, and we don't give a rats snout what you kapitalist pigs want.

What's that Shel? Oh, Sarah Cynthia Stout? No, she still will not take the garbage out!

Lenin praise Sarah Cynthia Stout!

Oh, I love dreadlocks, on women that is. They really are quite easy to take care of.

Hey, at least I don't have steak breath, even when I run out of my Tom's Toothpaste, and haven't made it over to Whole Foods for my Medjool Dates. Oh, and my organic corn chips. I live on nachos. It's about all I have energy to cook when I come home from teaching kids all day, especially now, since TAAS tests force me to teach to the test. All I have time to teach now are skills. It really is quite maddening.

What about the agenda comrade!?! Are you forgetting to indoctrinate teach the agenda? What will comrade Ayers do when he finds out that you are not indoctrinating teaching about: "Why Can't a Girl With A Penus Wear A Skirt?"

Comrade Leninka, are you a failing hermaphrodite?

If so, good! We look kindly upon failure.

Success on the other hand... makes us...

Very suspicious, very suspicious.

Oh. My. God. "Why can't a girl with a penis wear a skirt?" When Bruno saw that he went into hysterics. "Theocritus," he whined like Jodin, "I've been wearing a skirt all these years and well, I have one, don't I?"

"Bruno, that's between you and your underwear. I never ask."

"Do you suppose Master Joda will have an answer for me?"

"I'm sure that he will as soon as he unrolls from his fetal position. Last night a mosquito buzzed around his head. That's usually good for a week."

Red Rooster wrote:What about the agenda comrade!?! Are you forgetting to indoctrinate teach the agenda? What will comrade Ayers do when he finds out that you are not indoctrinating teaching about: "Why Can't a Girl With A Penus Wear A Skirt?"

Comrade Leninka, are you a failing hermaphrodite?

If so, good! We look kindly upon failure.

Success on the other hand... makes us...

Very suspicious, very suspicious.

Red Rooster,

My garage is loaded with all kinds of material For the Children^TM, and it just sits there, now unused. It really is terrible. It was BushHitler who did it to me. He did it to all of us. He ruined education here in Texas.

However, once in a while, I do sneak in some valuable truths to the children, and we do have a life size paper cut out in the classroom of our Dear Leader always reminding them who their savior is. And, of course, evidence of my getting through to them was the drawing I put up on a post a few days ago. I thought Sally's drawing was so inspirational. She knows our Dear Leader will have everything fixed in two years. That's what he said, and Sally and I both believe him.

As for your failure comment, I know, I know it's true, and Reverend Carol at the Episcopalian church down the street knows too. She put up a sign in the church marquee that said: "Failure is an Option." I should have taken a picture of it for you.

Sorry to disappoint you. I am not a hermaphrodite, just hairy. I think waxing and plucking are sexist. It's a practice that turns women into female eunuchs, that's all. That's what Germaine Greer said a long time ago, and I believed her. Her book was my bible.

Excellent Comrade Leninka! You are failing perfectly, er I mean, your work is being noted by The Party™, and you sent me on a search which deserves it's own thread, but here's a couple...

Red Rooster, I have printed out, enlarged, your Many Titted Empress objet d'art and showed it to Bruno, and it impelled him to get back to work on his Thighmaster. Thak you.

Leninka, if failure is an option it means that we have failed. That is, if people believe that. Because the Progressive World of Next Tuesday has equalized all results and outcomes so that there is no failure. And there is no success. We become more equal progs by being certain never to stick our heads up out of the crowd, except of course when we're denouncing someone for sticking his/her/its head up out of the crowd.

Indeed reason may be the biggest enemy that faith has. I'm sure that Jodin thinks so, if he does think.

"Use the socialist force, Theocritus, use the socialist force!"

Comrade Red Rooster,

That was a brilliant analysis of Comrade Theocritus' explanation.

I live the farce, breath the farce and rely on the farce as my guiding light.



I do wonder who Minister Carol was trying to reach? I know her membership is low, mostly old ladies--of course this is good for the church when one of them drops dead, because they often leave part of their estate to the church.

Embrace failure. Embrace resentment. Embrace entitlement.

Do not revere the accomplishments. Do not respect the character.

{propositionsofakapitalist}
Much of what is happening in the world today really is up to women, I only hope that it is the good one's who win out.

We need Dominique's for the Toohey's, Dagney's for James', and salmon laced with rat poison for Rearden wives and mother-laws....

Commissar Theocritus wrote:Thank Lenin for the guidance of Jodin Morey. Whenever reality disagrees with me, I'll merely huff my own farts.

Comrades,

I do believe there was a Teutonic animator who created a series of cartoons with pulsating figures that garnered him some fame. One skit seemed to be two politicians or businessmen mauling each other, such as Mr. Left chainsawing the head of Mr. Right; it would grow back and Mr. Right would calmly take revenge. I think this same animator created a cartoon of the then West German PM huffing his own farts.

This is my humble contribution to the progressive enlightenment and diversity of humanity.

There is a <i>South Park</i> episode called "Smug," in which everyone in South Park starts channeling the Goracle and buys a Prius. And the Marshes move to San Francisco, where the people welcome them with a party. Where they don't drink wine, but sniff their own farts.

The cloud of Smug from South Park meets the could of smug from Hollywood and George Clooney boasting that they "had the courage to make <i>Brokeback Mountain</i>..." And the damage is considerable when the two clouds of smug meet.

That's good, very good.

I seek a big CO₂-belching beast to help farms, because I recall when that was progressive. Recall FarmAid?

A belching beast? That would describe Rosie O'Donnell, standing, nude and sweating, on her balcony when she had filled her bed with Kelly with sweat.

Sorry. I'll forget that image. Someday.

This image, while clearly progressive, is one I have not had the fortune to see. But as we all know, sometimes it is better to sacrifice one's own needs for the Greater Good, as I shall in this case.