Friday, April 09, 2004
In the Light of the Silvery Naked Moon!
John Gorenfeld has the Rev. Syung Myung Moon's latest post "cornonation" caper which features a recent photo of the majestic Rev. Moon hisself dressed up like some guy from one of those old Emperial margarine commercials. Also includes a link to a fundraiser dinner where the True Parental unit heaps chicken-ala-king onto that Jesus shoutin' hillbilly Roscoe Bartlett's banquet plate. Harold Ford Jr. too. (yeeks - what's with that guy?)
Plus, there's some nudity stuff and sex stuff too.
Cool. Just like sophmore year in college. At least back in the mid-seventies. Before there were homosexauls. Well, maybe there were one or two hairy-backed fruits chasing Andrew Sullivan around the Boatslip in P-Town, but that was about it. Otherwise, no, but lots of cheap Ludes! And 40 cent Buckhorns! Cheap Ludes and 40 cent Buckhorns and skinny-dip swimmin' with bow-legged women! Where do you think two thirds of the current suburban population of Columbus, Ohio came from anyway. Huh?
Well, that was back when you could feel confident about sleeping naked with just about anything over the age of 16 wearing a halter top or a Foghat T-shirt. Sadly, those halcyon days are gone, by and by, and I myself no longer sleep naked with anyone at all anymore - ever. Including Mrs. Farmer who was carted off by the UPS "man" (who I had always warned was a night feeding homosexual) several years ago during a freakish ice storm. Ever since that cold barbaric nordic evening I have slept in a pair of Kangaroo Upland Bird Boots and a warm pair of neoprene socks, one on each foot, so that I can easily flee in the dead of night, in the event homosexual teenage girls come for me too, and try to charm me with cheap quaaludes or force me listen to Grace Jones records!
"In the night everthing will be unified into one."
Beware the tuxedo Moonie. Flee in the night. Flee in comfort. Flee in Neoprene!
*
Plus, there's some nudity stuff and sex stuff too.
By all couples sleeping naked together will get rid of all homosexuality. In the night everything will be unified into one.
Cool. Just like sophmore year in college. At least back in the mid-seventies. Before there were homosexauls. Well, maybe there were one or two hairy-backed fruits chasing Andrew Sullivan around the Boatslip in P-Town, but that was about it. Otherwise, no, but lots of cheap Ludes! And 40 cent Buckhorns! Cheap Ludes and 40 cent Buckhorns and skinny-dip swimmin' with bow-legged women! Where do you think two thirds of the current suburban population of Columbus, Ohio came from anyway. Huh?
Well, that was back when you could feel confident about sleeping naked with just about anything over the age of 16 wearing a halter top or a Foghat T-shirt. Sadly, those halcyon days are gone, by and by, and I myself no longer sleep naked with anyone at all anymore - ever. Including Mrs. Farmer who was carted off by the UPS "man" (who I had always warned was a night feeding homosexual) several years ago during a freakish ice storm. Ever since that cold barbaric nordic evening I have slept in a pair of Kangaroo Upland Bird Boots and a warm pair of neoprene socks, one on each foot, so that I can easily flee in the dead of night, in the event homosexual teenage girls come for me too, and try to charm me with cheap quaaludes or force me listen to Grace Jones records!
"In the night everthing will be unified into one."
Beware the tuxedo Moonie. Flee in the night. Flee in comfort. Flee in Neoprene!
*
