Breaking news! President Bush is a member of the Illuminutty!

ABOVE: President(s) Bush, both junior and senior are "getting jiggy with it" at a Torquemada University alumni meet and greet. In the background you can see some mid-level minion, or gopher being sacraficed on the altar of political expediency. New World Order maniacal mayhem Dark Lords need to party too!


Breaking News:


wordwaymike"Battle-field commissioned promotion" Reporter/janitor


U.S. News & World Retort.


"Where the news isn't "always" wrong! It just seems like it is!


Reporting from: Shhhh!


Damning evidence!


In the form of deciphered, White House e-mails.


That had been "double-dipped, and pussy-whipped encrypted."


Secret White House e-mails that were so completely, and utterly encrypted, that no one, ever, in a million friggin years would be able to break the code, were decoded this week.


Revealing that President Bush, and his closest aides, are members of an ancient, "crazier than a shit-house rat" secret society called; "The Illuminutty."


Laugh if you want! This reporter/janitor did.


Until I remembered that this was the name of an ancient, dark force cabal of maniacal power crazed cheesy weasels. And nutty or not, these boys are rolling world-wide, like west-side Crips, in their 18 carat, gold plated, drop-top Cadillac.


Out for a night of; "Drive bying, and Bitch slapping."But they're driving by the Constitution. And shooting it full of holes!


And that ain't no bitch these boys are slapping. That's Lady Liberty!
*******************
WHO ARE THE ILLUMINUTTY?
*******************
Until this week, very little was known about the Illuminutty. The origins of which were shrouded in the mists of time. And the murkiness of long ago. And the depths of the deepest oceans.


Where those with knowledge of this secret society, with big mouths, were given a concrete shoe party.


As time went by, less and less was known. Until nothing at all was known.Until now that is!
*****************
HOW THE STORY "CAME TO LIGHT.
"****************
The White House's private inter-departmental e-mails have been protected since shortly after President Bush stole the electio... I mean, won the election.


Protected by a six-hundred and sixty-six number, "level nine freaky shit" encrypted algorithm. It was originally called; "The Best." But was nicknamed "The Beast" due to a "typo" that added an "a" after the "e" in Best.


And also because it sounded way cooler, and had that whole; "-666-The Beast-Armegeddon-and-Devil went down to Georgia." shit going for it.


It had long been considered to be un-decodable. Even if you could harness the combined computing power of every super computer existant upon the planet.


This undisputable truth, that was in fact false, had been confirmed by every self proclaimed authority on vague, and obtuse subjects, that didn't know jack.


That is until Elmer Shizzit, a computer geek idiot/savant, intuitively incorporated the "core values" of the algorithm into his cheater codes extrapolations for PlayStation 3.


The actual encrypted "Illuminutty e-mails" were supplied by disgruntled White House, "Jr. executive, minions and gophers." Who were unhappy at the ever decreasing opportunities to ramp up the hate, discontent and misery here in the US and around the world.


Due to the fact that everyone, everywhere was already ramped up to 100 percent.
********************************
HOW DID THE ENCRYPTED; WHITE HOUSE GENERATED; ILLUMINUTTY E-MAILS, AND MR. SHIZZITS P.S.-3 CHEATER CODES COME TOGETHER?
*******************************
After a drunken, pity party last month, two Jr. executive White House minions, and one mid-level gopher took a detour that sent a Dipsy-Dumpster filled with Illuminutty encrypted e-mails through the ground floor, plate glass window of; "U.S News and World Retorts."


A Dippsy Dumptster that was bound for a jet-fuel soaked, wienie roast type ending, at some undisclosed location.


But instead, this Dippsy Dumpster, and the logging chain that was attached to it, and the Ford F-150 pick-up truck bumper that was attached to the other end of the chain, but had detached itself from the truck, when the kinetic energy build-up upon the sparsely bolted bumper, (caused by taking a right turn too fast) resulted in;


A FREAKIN' DIPPSY DUMPSTER OF DEATH BULLDOZING ITS WAY THROUGH THE PLATE GLASS WINDOW OF MY WORK PLACE!


And squishing the life out of the only two reporters with seniority over me.(There is a God. And apparently he didn't care much for these two News Nazis either!)


Then a week ago, one of the reporter/janitors at U.S.N.&W.R.'s took some of the encrypted e-mails home by accident. (I was tired!) His/(my) 12 year old son, Cronk, (short for Cronkite) a week earlier, had payed $20.00's for Elmer Shizzit's PlayStation 3 cheater codes.


Then after burning onto a CD several of the strange numbered texts, he popped this CD into his Play Station 3. Then he ran Mr. Shizzit's cheater codes. Looking on in wonder as the numbers were transmuted into undeniable proof of that old maxim;


Shit does run down hill.


But my son learned another terrible truth that day. And that was;


The shit was picking up speed!
*************************
WHAT THIS REPORTER HAS LEARNED SO FAR;
(Plus; A whole bunch of crap that I'm just guessin' at.)
*************************
That George W. Bush the second, is believed by the Head-Honchos of the Illuminutty, to be the reincarnated spirit of King George the 3rd. Seeing as how this would be the "second coming" of the 3rd King George. This would make President Bush, by this reporter's mathematical Kentucky wind-age guesstimate; And I'll have you know that I studied "numbers" at the Jethro Bodine correspondence school of ciphers and aughts; to be; "Mad King George squared!"


It gets worse. I have learned that George W. (squared) and all of the executive level minions that serve him, (including that hot looking ebony skinned Dragon Lady, who to this day is referred to by her fellow Illuminuttys as;


"Rice cake", "The Illumi-hottie!" and "Conda-easy") are all graduates of the Illuminutty's secret society educational system.


Receiving their graduate and post-graduate training in the fields of;"New World Order-Maniacal Mayhem."At the; "It would have been Infamous, if we would have known anything at all about it." secret society's school for the diabolicaly gifted;"Torquemada University."


Every damn one of them majored inhumanities. (Not a typo!)


As their minor, they all took "Plausible deniability."
*********************************
Named after the first "Grand Inquisitor" of the Spanish Inquisition."Tomás de Torquemada" (1420 - September 16, 1498)
*********************************
Torque U. As the alumni affectionately call it.


Where; "Men are men."And sheep are; "Dirty rotten lying little tramps.


"Illuminutty e-mails that originated from White House computers, revealed comments e-mailed between two high ranking White House officials that for the first time shed light on the daily activities of their shared studies at Torque U.


So far, the small portion of this huge dumpster trove of encrypted White Housee-mails that have been deciphered, reveals these two former alumni reminiscing with each other about their college days.


Mostly recalling fondly the times that each had spent with fellow alumni Condoleeza Rice.


Who in a series of back and forth e-mails, that have a palpable air of bawdy frat-brat braggidocio insinuation attached to each, is referred to by the use of many affectionately suggestive nick names by each.


Such as;
Illumi-Hottie!-
Illumi-Naughty!-
Rice cake-
Rice puddin'-
Condo-Easy!-
Condo-Sleazy!-
Condo-Squeeze-Me!
Condo-Please-Me!-
Butter-Milked-Biscuit!-
Spun-Getta!-
and-Countess-Chocula!


There were many other descriptive terms of affection, desire,sexual prowess/appetites, and (I'll just stop right here) that were used between these two former school mates of Ms. Rice.


Revealing to this reporter just how unbelievably powerful, to this day, was the grip that this woman had on these men!


And if these high ranking White House appointees are to be believed, this same almost super natural grip of Ms. Rice's also had a lock on every other high ranking Illuminutty's "Heart, Soul, Pole, and Hidey-Hole" as well!


But I digress. And will do so again. As soon as my son deciphers more explicit details of Ms. Rice's "extra-curricular activities" at Torque U. (And I can either convince him to hand them over. Or figure out where that little horn dog has rat-holed them!)


Until then: Back to the "strange doings" at Torque U. when President Bush was enrolled there.
***************
I gathered from these men's e-mails that they both very strongly felt that the straining melody of the schools fighting anthem; "Recant! Recant! Or we will destroy you!" Was in their own words; "A Black Arts; "tonal incantation."


That each time that it was sung loudly, and in unison with every other person's voice who was in attendence, a portal was opened between this world, and...


Let's just say that there is no basement deep enough;


Or, elevator with a cable long enough;


Or, "Old Faithful gag a maggot sulphur stench spewing pit anywhere that you can "google" a look at;


That could raise to the surface of Torque U.'s main auditorium floor the stench infused things that these here "lost souls" and former eyewitness alumni did there best to describe, but never quite could.


But both men aknowledged that each time that they rose to their feet, to add their voices to those in the school's choir, their blood became as cold as the ice water it would be impossible for either one of them to obtain in the "here-after."


Going on to reveal that the A Capella choir was made up of children that didn't so much; "fall through the cracks" of President Bush's; "No child left behind" program, as much as they were "pushed" through them.


The ones with fine natural singing voices were then neutered, and have no trouble hitting the high notes found in Recant! Recant! Which was originally written to be sung in "castrato."


Even the Pope has said that the church hasn't had a choir like that since the 1920's.


The slither and hiss of this many headed beast is enough to give this reporter "Hydra-phoby."(sorry)
**********************
This reporter/janitor needs a break from the 'darkness, dimmness, murkiness, bleakness, freakness, and what not, of such things for a few moments.I just "hammered back" two double shots of Holy Water. Freshly blessed by a priest.


Because I don't want to find out that the Holy Water I'm drinking has passed the shelf life of the Holy Blessings while reporting on such things.


They should kick in here anytime now. But just to be sure;"Hey Padre! Set me up with the same again!


No. Wait. Just give me the damn bottle!


Gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp. Ahhhhh... UuuurrrpppPP!"


OK. That's better.
******************
Before I dive head first back into the deep end of this olympic sized swimming pool of the damned. Which this story, for me, most certainly is becoming. Let me relate some of the "entertainment tonight" type aspects of this here cosmic cluster fuck, that I have some how managed to promote myself right into the middle of.


File this under, that's within the city limits of interesting in a mind candy, this won't help me at all sort of way...


This reporter learned that this cabalistic crew was the inspiration for the rock band that became known as; "The Beastie Boys" Until now, this was a little known fact. That can't be disproved. No matter how hard you try!
*************************************
WHAT IS THE GOAL OF THE MEMBERS OF THE ILLUMINUTTY?
**************************************
Now we are getting into even "littler known facts" as concerns these walking, talking, hissing, viper venom hawking, leaders of the Free World. Who, I discovered, had an over arching, under handed "final solution" for all of those that are unwilling to; "Get Jiggy with it."


"It" being the world wide bondage of all free men. According to the debatable worth of the data I have so far deciphered, they are 119 people, world-wide, away from their completion of that goal.


Once that phase of the Illuminutty's diabolically demented plan has been realized, they are apparently intent on leading us all in chains, right on out of the Free World. Determined to take us back to the old time religion/world, a la Spanish Inquisition.


By way of an outlandishly long and tortuous Bataan style "march or die!" death walk.


This will also double as "orientation month" for us newbies. Which is defined in their e-mails as being anyone who is still a babe in the; "you my slave" woods, that we are all soon to be lost in.


I have also learned that once they get us back to their secret hell-hole/hide out/home away from home, chill out crib, we will be taught the basics of our new tasks.In a highly intensive crash course orientation referred to as; "You are now, and forever more, our slave!"


Usually referred to by the inner sanctum types of this "crazier than a shit house rat" cabal as; "Slave-101"


This crash course in subjugation and despair is where all of those things, that all who wear chains are going to be taught. And only those that master these lessons quickly will not be hamstrung, or re-classified as; "Gator-bait."


First and for most of all the "Slave protocols" that all will be expected to master quickly is; "Keep the pain racked moaning down to a dull roar after ten o'clock weekdays. And after eleven on the week ends."


Unless of course, your chains are the 18 carat gold, Mr. T sized, down payment on a Maserati style chains.


For this would mean you are one of the "slavers" and not one of the "slavees."


Unless of course, you happen to fall within that sub-set category of slave, that is defined as; "You my Love slave." Where the power heir achy gets extremely murky. And at times, downright opaque.


But pay attention people! If you find yourself in this all too real situation, uhhh, or so I have heard, it could very well necessitate that your actual owner, be chained down to something.


Usually the more demeaning the position that the "chainee/slaver" is forced to adopt by the "chainer/slave" (that's you) prior to the whole chaining thing, the larger your portion of imitation gruel will be, that is added to your dog bowl/slop bucket.


But this information is only to be used as the the operative cues for how to make good your escape from spending the rest of your life as a slave.


Or if escape appears to be too risky, how to make the whole "slave thing" somewhat tolerable.


Remember! Don't try this unless the he, or she, who has bought you at auction (now that would be a Kodak moment!) becomes "enslaved" by their desire for that sexy wretched thing that you have become. After being enslaved.


Once you have them "chained" and submitting to your demands. No matter how bizarre, or ridiculous they might be, you gotta work it like a job!


The freedom of millions could be riding on how convincingly you can shout out;"Who's your Daddy!"


That's all I can say about that, (At this particular moment.) The legion of the damned, or a reasonable facsimile there of, have located my approximate position.


They are attempting to get a vector on me Victor! I have to go.


We stand in the breach of the wall of Liberty! Defending her with the broken bourbon bottles of our restless nature.


So to speak.


This is wordwaymike. Reporting for U.S. News and World Retort.


Next Week; Part two of my Expose' of young college girls, doing "God knows what for a few dolla...


Sorry.I meant; Part two of my searing and "possibly" true interpretation of a bunch of random numbers.


Which none the less, I am declaring to be the "Mother of all smoking guns.


"Read my report next week; "Condoleeza Rice; "The Illumi-naughty! Of the Illuminutty!"


I decode the feverish, frenzied, and fantasticly intuitive tour de force that was/is Condaleeza Rice's dissertation for her PHD in world domination achieved;


That was titled:


"With just my one set of slender, firm, female hips,
I could have 10,000 ships,
launched,
and raunched.
All the way to "World Domination.
Queen Bee style!"


The first and last word on a woman's willingness to break all the sexual barriers, boundaries, and taboos. (Not to mention the; Center for Disease Control; "Level four bio-hazard population zone protections and protocols."


Which in Condoleeza's dissertation, went out the window on page three.


And they are doing other crazier than a shit house rat kind of things too.


That I will have my son decode.And then take from him. And report to you. Mr. and Mrs. America. And all the ships at sea!


As soon as I find out where that little shit is stashing this stuff.


This is wordwaymike,


signing off!

Fuzzy Bunny Slippers!

One day, several months ago, I was "cyber-surfing" the blog sites of the universe by way of the multiple click of the blogger.com next button.


This results in a ricochet rabbit type bank shot off of one unknown blog to the next, to the next, to the next. Eventually, this has you far afield in the cyber-stream of discourse that 55 million people add their torrent of textual and visual imagary to daily. In their desire to share with the world at large just exactly what it is that has awakened them at 3:05 am with the burning need to post.


O.K. the burning desire needy thing was in almost every instance a bladder control problem. But none the less! Sleep is no longer an option until something, anything is hammered out and flung like a heavy metal folding chair at the still mostly asleep consciousness of the world.


Yes! so far afield in the raging river of cyber-repartee that no amount of electronic cookie crumbs existant could ever lead you home.


Fortunately, Blogger.com makes available a user name icon to do that!


Below, you you find one of my textual missives. Written when I was lost, and alone in the magical, mystical dark forest of both the blogger universe and the one located somewhere in the synaptic "no fly zone" of my mind.


Remember; If it gets too scary, quickly click your user name icon to escape.


If that fails, pull the plug connecting computer to electrical source.


Also;Try and restrict your fluid intake after 8 pm if you have a bad experience during your "twilight sleep trance like" posting and surfing.


Below; Case in point.I was doing the random cyber surf thing when I was cowabunga'd by a huge rouge wave/post from a woman with a highly erotic user name.Here is my response.
***********************



Hello fuzzybunnyslipperz!!!!!!!!!!.........!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!......!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!..........!!!!!!!!!!!!-!!!!!


I'm glad that you enjoyed my manic mental meanderings that skitter hither and yon like a waterbug on meth.Held up by the surface tension of the last thing that caught my attention.Whether or not it should have is for you to decide.


But I have to tell you that your user name combines three of the things that raise my heartbeat, temprature, and..., I don't know you well enough to get even remotely descriptive about the explosive exponential three dimensional growth of that third aspect of my person.


I mean, "Sweet Jesus with a woody!" I can't believe that you were not aware that by combining; Fuh Fuh Fuzzzzy! wi wi with, Buh Buh Bunnnny!And th, th, then adding ...uhh,....uhhh ssslsssllippperrrzzz...!!!!!!!!!!!........!!!!!!!!!!!. .......!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!.......... !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!.................. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!....!!!!!-!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!............!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!.........!!!!!!!!.......!!!!!!......!!!...!!..!....???!!!!!!!!!...??
.....????


Where am I? Oh yes. Sorry.


Didn't you know that by hotwiring this particular cobination of words into one "manage a trois word" that 87 percent of all living males, and 19 percent of all deceased males will have a "system overload" that results in...


Well never you mind exactly what this results in. Let's just say that Both wonderful and embarrassment end up dancing cheek to cheek. So to speak.


So, if it is all right with you, and please tell me it is, from this moment on I will refer to you as fbslpz.


I know what you're thinking. That I just "made up" this whole scenario because I'm too lazy to type out fuh...,fuh..,


Oh hell! here I go again!


I'll talk at ya later fuh, fuh, fuhzzzy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!....... .!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!.... ...!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!..............!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Repairs to my groove. - AND - I was a groovenile delinquent!

Recently, someone e-mailed me, with an offer to; "evaluate the state of my spiritual groove." Going on to say that they would then do a complete over-haul of the areas of my groovy-ness that were determined to be deficient.


All of this very difficult, but necessary work performed for three easy payments of $69.99. Plus shipping and handling for any groove parts needed for the repairs that were not in stock, and had to be special ordered.


Before they could "get started" they needed me to write down and send to them my own personal assessment as to the general state of my "groove" at this time.


Below you will find my initial response.
*******************************************


To groove, or not to groove? What was the question?


Hello,I'm wordwaymike. I live in Oxnard, California.


My groove has one foot in the grave. And the other foot my groove gave to science.


The rest of my groove was divided in to three "allegedly" equal portions. That were then transported to the four corners of the ear..?


Wait... O.k. I remember now! Three portions were sent to the three corners of the earth.


It sounds weird I know, but hey! You're not looking at the same map that I am.


I know that for I fact cause I just drew it (after running into the three portions, four corners conundrum.)


Anyway. I'm digressing from the amazing three simultaneous trips that most of my my groove was taking. While the remnants off my groove's totality, which if you remember were not part of the whole equal portion thing, were doing what they do best. Which is?


Hell I don't know, Ask them.


I'm tired of digressing. And I'm tired of typing out this groovifesto, as it were. Or will be, if I ever get them three equal portions reunited with both of my legs.


I mean, I was drunker than; "A barrel full of drunkies who were seeing flying monkeys." when I signed that "donate a leg to science" form that I found on the inside of a match book!


I mean sweet Jesus on a Honda! That won't hold up in court will it? I mean I was really attached to that there leg. Until I wasn't.


What's worse, I heard that one of those portions was due to be rendered down to make a tasty groove-stock, that you can make a really groovy gravy out of.


But why would they want to do that?


How am I supposed to reconnect some groovy gravy thing to the other aspects of my groovyness?


I can't even get anybody to pick up the phone at either of the other "two out of three" corners of the world.


To be honest, I can't seem to find them again on my map.


It seems that when I was drawing the dang thing there was a crease in the paper.


A REALLY BIG FRIGGIN CREASE! O.K. Several really big creases.


Apparently my "map" is more akin to a grade school rendition of the folding of time and space.


What does that mean?


Are one, two, or all three of my "three corners" crappy map delusion to be found only by visiting the delta quadrant? Or by going back in time to when giant groove eating reptiles ruled the world?


How am I supposed to do that? I don't own a warp drive spaceship, or a time machine.


I can't be taking that much time off from work! Going off on some time traveling, inter-dimensional, "I'm two thousand light years from home" gallivant. Groove or no Groove.


But Sweet Jesus at a jute joint! Please don't let em make a gravy out of my groove.


But, if they do...


I want some!
*****************************************
I WAS A GROVENILE DELINQUENT!


I had been contacted by a spiritual resources company (Groovin’ on up! ®) and they offered to make any and all necessary repairs to my less than Nirvanic "state of grooviness" at present. For the introductory offer of three easy payment of $69.99. (plus the cost of parts, plus shipping and handling for any groovy parts that weren't in stock and had to be special ordered.)


Before they could get started, they required an honest assessment by me, as to how my "groove" had deteriorated into such a grooveless state.


It appears that my first attempt to quantify the current state of my grooviness was in some aspects..... O.K., many aspects lacking.


They couldn't get a vector on my "groove" because I hadn't been entirely forthcoming. Making it impossible for them to total the number of "skidmarks" on my spiritual underwear. They had to know just how many there were that needed to be sandblasted and steam-cleaned into submission.


I was hoping that with this additional "confession" the repairs to my Groove could commence.
****************************************
To: "Groovin' on up!" Coordinator
At: Groovin on up! Inc.
Subject: The additional information you requested.
************
I apologize for the wild tangents that the initial biographic cross-section of my bonafides took off on, in my first response to your request for "present status of "Groove" that you needed before repairs to my Groove could begin.


I now know that these are areas of my persona best left unexplored.


I will try harder to supply a simple sample of the man I am. As befits the parameters of the whole thumbnail sketch-hang-nail sketch-synopsis of my Groove concept.


I'm aware that my first narrative offering was more akin to a "police artist sketch"My bad.


To start with; I wasn't always a guy that was moving in the groove of life. Oh no! As ashamed as I am to tell you this, I must. (As it is a matter of public record, and you will find out eventually.)


There was a time in my life when I was a; "Groovinile Delinquent!"


Please! Hear me out! Then cast me out. If you must.


But my sad, and for the most part, near enough to true tale of Grooval loss, forgiveness, (all right parole), and redemption, is a cautionary tale. (On so many different levels) that might help some poor, unfortunate groove less creature, such as I was, to change their ways.


And by so doing, get "lucky".


Not just once, but periodically!


To see someone make that miraculous leap of desperation, excuse me, faith! Across that chasm of anti-groove! (as I will call it for lack of a better word that springs to mind) That elevates this searcher and seeker of Groove from a person that is scorned, up to the next level where he is merely pitied.


Much like a train wreck, this is a sight that you just can't quite tear your eyes away from.


And from there, it is just a few years in "pity's purgatory" (it builds character!) before they crawl their way up to where those that have a recognizable "smidgen" of groove to call their very own reside.


Yes! "The realm of minions and gophers!"


Becoming one of those that are finally, somewhat, tolerated!


And from there?


Hey! Your guess is as good as mine.


For as we all know, "The Groove Giveth." But not nearly as often as the; "Groove has the repo-man come and taketh away."


But we also know that the path upward from there has been climbed before. And will be climbed again.


But I wouldn't suggest a frontal assault on the Throne of Groove!


I mean that place is heavily fortified! And those dudes and dudettes up there might be "in the Groove," but they have a real strong "take no prisoners" and "no solicitors" kind of attitude!


I mean, from right there at the wrought iron gate that blocks the drive way, "it is on!"


And on up from there to the main house. We're talking sniper teams, landmines and Groove knows what! That's a lot of open ground. They'd chew us up and spit us out!


And have you seen the canine patrol! "Sweet Jesus with a pork chop tied around his neck!!"


I'm talking Irish Wolfhounds! That speak with an Irish Brogue!


German Shepard's! That speak German! Fluently!


No, I think that were gonna have to lay siege to the joint. Starve em out. Smoke em out, or something.


Err...


Pardon me for digressin' once again.


The above was an example of how my groove-less mind would have tempted me with all the bright shiny things to be found at or near the Throne of Groove.


Things that mean nothing, or a little less at least, than being a living breathing repository of groove.


Sadly, this is the craven creature that was me.


In my formative years, when I was not yet fully formed, fully informed, routinely framed, and rarely conformed to the ever changing eclectic standards of one who dwells within the city limits of groove.


These are the kind of thoughts that would have my groove-less soul salivating like some half starved hound in a Pavlovian bell ringing experiment!


Conditioned response? I kept my response in top condition! At all times!


I could see the neon like glow that was thrown off by those that were imbued with the groove.


But I had to be content with the mere scraps of groove that were tossed my way a few times in life. If I was willing to fetch, or roll over.


But not nearly as often as someone in the Groove, while inebriated and distracted by the groovy hottie he was with accidentally dropped a wad of cash imbued with groovy vibes still attached, to the ground unnoticed.


Unnoticed by someone who had pockets full of groovy cash. But not unnoticed by me!


So as you can see, it was in this way that I developed a lust for all things groovy.


I must have them!


I will not be denied!
I...


Uhh...?


I'll try and nail this sketchy thing I have to submit later.


After I have had some rest.


My bad.

My short lived conversation with Lusty Duck!

Here is a photo of Lusty Duck making his move on the wrong sex, as well as species.

Hey Karl,

Below is a story that I posted on a friends writing blog.

("Vic Monchego's sudden fiction.")

It's called; "My cyber-query of; "The lusty duck."

If you get the time, check it out. Some of the writers are pretty good. 

Especially my bro, Vic Monchego.

He's the head word rustler riding the "that was a hoot" owl trails of the Bad Lands of New Textico.

As you will see, after reading this, I have too much free time.

Mikey

************

Hey Vic,

Always good to hear from you.  I'm always amazed at the many faceted,  synaptic connections that you manage to necklace together into a whole. That is imbued with a bright shiny humor,  or a stark crystalline reality.  

Your word craft unfolds in such a way that it keeps a person's attention front and center, on where ever the hell it is that you are intent on taking a reader. Not a bad thing at all Vic.

I hope that I continue to have the pleasure of a Vic Monchego, "sudden fiction" read for some time. 

Tilt your literary lance at the windmills of the mind, and the dragons of the real world.

Both are fair game when they cross your path without proper respect for your joust, or jest.

This is something that I have been playing around with for a few months.  Let me know what you think.

gmw

***************************************************************************************

My  cyber-query  of;  "The  Lusty  Duck."

I was recently cyber-gabbing with some folks on a variety of mundane subjects.  When I received a response to one of my asides.  I can't even remember what my comment was, or what it related to.  Which is a sure sign that neither one was of any particular import. 

None the less,  It registered enough on someones; "word-o-meter" scale to cause the person to generate a bland,  short text-ed; "thumbs up" to some turn of phrase,  or twist of meaning that I employed. 

Whether the twisting,  turning,  meaning or phrase was intentional,  accidental, or even actual,  I couldn't tell you.

But this guy had a user name that he signed off with that started to work on my thought process.  Not in pleasant ways either.

His user name was; "lusty duck" 

Below is my response to his comment,  on my comment,  on somebody else's comment,  about something or other.

*******************************************

Howdy, and hello Lusty Duck!


I have never; conversed with a duck before.  Lusty, or other wise.  But hey!  When in Rome,  loot and pillage like the Vandals,  Visigoths,  and the other Germanic and Teutonic hoards are a doing,  is what I say!


By my way of thinking,  a lusty duck,  would be a lucky duck. That is,  if there are other lusty,  or horny ducks near by.


Perversely.  Excuse me.  Conversely,  said lusty duck,  would be an unlucky duck,  if he was stuck at this hormonal apex of a mounting,  building,  "where the f**k is there a duck that I can f**k!"  With no duck,  lusty or otherwise  within duck shot.


It would seem to me,  that you'd be needing a duck that shared the mutual urge of ducks that are lusty.


Or at the very least,  a heavy drinking duck.  That you could ply with high proof alcohols,  combined with some sweet and fruity mixer.  One of them; "Stealth Bomb" cocktails.


You know,  one of those liquid; "persuasion enhancers" that will have the soon to be; "lucky duck" drunk, and plucking her feathers  and yours at the same time. 

Until you are two completely shucked ducks.


Are you getting all this?

Are we even on the same page here?

Or do I need to slow down?

Back up?

Or maybe it would be best if I just stopped right here,  and waited till I knew you a little better?


But I gotta tell ya,  this whole duck lust thing is gnawing at my brain stem.

I had never thought about ducks; "doing it" till now.  And; "Sweet Jesus with a 12 gauge,  in a duck blind!"

It's like a badger is racing around in my brain pan.  Gnawing away at my inner child or something!


Sooner or later,  I'm gonna have to get some answers.  I mean,  I need closure on this whole; "f**k a duck" thing!


That's all I got to say for now.


Sorry I said this much.

Mikey

*********************

I never pick up beer!

A friend of mine has invited me over to his house this Saturday around noon. He is going to be in his full on "Bar-b-Que" mode and he wanted me to be there specifically.


Because he has been aware for years that I have never met a grilled steak, slab, shank, flank, hunk, chunk, slice, cut, leg, roast, rib, breast, or thigh that could be found on any kind of critter that didn't set my gastrointestinal juices to rumbling like the Bloods and the Crips over a crack deal.


I told him that he could count on me to "hold my own" when it got down to grabbing growling, chomping and chewing on the wide variety of meats, and tasty meat by-products that he was threatening to unleash. On the mostly unsuspecting digestive tracts of his blood relations and low rent buddies.


I'm not bragging, but I have been diagnosed as being an incurable "meat-a-holic."


And I love beer! What's even better is; "Beer loves me."

The fact is; "Beer loves me so much, that I never pick up beer. Beer picks me up. (It's the liquor picker upper!)


I can be moseying, or meandering my way down the highway, road, or goat path of life and all of a sudden, my forward progress is blocked by some vivaciously friendly Saint Paulie Girl.


She's holding one of those Oktoberfest 256 ounce pitchers, full of the kind of beer than goes down as smooth as honeydew vine water. And if you chug the whole pitcher at once, (and who the hell wouldn't?) it comes back up as sweet and as smooth as it went down.


Now that's beer!


I never refuse. I mean Sweet Jesus in a nudie bar! How could I?


You've seen her, I'm sure. Leaning over to pour you a taste. Filling up some "Stien-o-saurus Rex" container all the way to the top.


As you watch this wonderful sight, an even more wonderful sight over rides the "keep your eyes on the beer" part of the brain. Replacing it with commands from the "Sweet Jesus with a tittie fetish" part of the brain.


What exactly, you ask, could possibly over ride such a completely hardwired into the psyche brain command such as the "keep eye on beer" one is?


I'll tell you what! Two of the most milky white, ample to the tenth power, flawless breasts that have now poured themselves all the way to the top of her overwhelmed, and undersized blouse.


A blouse that is so low cut to begin with, that the only portion of these mouth watering perfectly fashioned ear protectors that isn't visible, is the tiny mole underneath the firm fold of her mammalian magnificence.


Not visible that is, until even the high grade steel cable straps of her custom made bra simultaneously suffer "catastrophic structural failure."


Each one of these portable suspension bridges was designed and built by some of the world's best structural engineers. Dedicated men that did their post graduate work in the field of "mega-boob dynamics" at the highly respected University of T&A. At the main campus in "Boulder" Colorado.


Alas! There are some forces of nature that man will never completely overcome.


But why oh why does this have to be one of them?


There is some good news that results from this tragic, and yet strangely wonderful upheaval.


Which is this;


It takes months, for a crack team of some the best boob men to be found anywhere, working around the clock, to build another harness, that for a little while, if she doesn't lean over, will be able to harness what is essentially unharness able.


Which is fine by me 'cause once you've seen them beauties, the first thought that runs through your head is that every one on the planet that is intent on restraining what neither God, Man, or even the "cloven hoofed one" ever dreamed of making captive, should at the exact same moment, have a fatal "accident".


And if we all stick together on the "fatal accident" story, there's no tittie hating jury on earth that's gonna be able to prove a thing!


Sure they'll suspect, but they'll be pounding sand if we just stick to the; "It was a series of simultaneous fatal accidents. It's a real shame" Game plan.


So as you see.


I've had beer. Beer has had me.


But I never pick up the beer.

President Bush is a member of the Illuminutty! (Part two)

This is wordwaymike
Reprorter/Janitor U.S. News and World Retorts

Breaking news!

This is part two of my searing, and quite possibly true interpretation of a bunch of random numbered encrypted White House e-mails. E-mails that this reporter/janitor obtained in the bizzare fashion that I outlined in my first post; "President Bush is a member of a secret cabal. The Illuminutty."

Over the last two weeks this reporter/janitor has been working feverishly to ascertain just exactly where my son Cronk (short for Cronkite) has stashed the latest batch of these deciphered e-mails.

Which were the back and forth, almost daily correspondence of senior White House personnel. Who along with a much younger Bush, had also recieved their graduate and post graduate training in the field of; New World Order-Maniacal Mayhem, at Torquemada University.

Where" Men are men. And sheep are dirty rotten lying little tramps. And therefore have no rights to counsel, or access to the courts under Habeus Corpus protections.

Initially, I was hoping that my son had deciphered more of the encrypted e-mails, that would have shed light on the fascinating doings of one particular Illuminutty member, Condoleeza Rice.

But now I fear greatly that this is exactly what has wrought this strange transformation in my son's behavior.

Condoleeza Rice. The U.S. Secratary of State, for the Bush Administration. Known by fellow Illuminutty members as the; Illumi-Hottie!; Illumi-Naughty! Butter-Milked-Biscuit. Spungetta. And; Countess-Chocula. Just to name a few.

But, if my son has run accross these specific e-mails as of this date, and has already managed to glean from them more information about the one member of this "crazier than a shit house rat" cabal that seems to be the; "Power behind the Bone," I mean; "Throne" of the Illuminutty.

He has grown as diabollicly crafty at keeping things hidden that he doesn't want to share with his dear old Dad, I mean, share with the world, as the black-hearted individuals who have sold their souls, or at the very least, have leased their souls to Demons from the seventh Hub of Hell, for 99 eons. (With an option to re-lease for 99 more.)

I am almost positive that he has uncovered more information on Ms. Rice as it has become almost impossible to get that little horn-dog out of the bathroom!

I fear that he has fully decoded Countess Chocula's, I mean, Condoleeza Rice's dissertation on; "World Domination Achieved." Which, if you remember was titled;

"With just my one set of firm, female hips,I could have 10,000 ships,launched, and raunched. All the way to World Domination!Queen Bee style!"

What has brought me to the belief that this is so is that every moment that Cronk isn't; "Busy as a Bee" in the bathroom, he is locked in his room, with both his PlayStation 3 running, and his computer downloading information from the internet.

During his last "sabbatical" to the bathroom, I was able to "jimmy" the lock on my sons bedroom door, and I noticed that all of his internet informational print-outs dealt with the "Hive structure" intricacies of the Africanized/Americanized "Natural Born Killer Bees."

I fear that the allure of getting some "strange" that is so far beyond the pale of what that school-boy, soldier, sailor, candal-stick maker, euphemism use to imply, coupled with the raging hormonal imbalances that all boys that age are subject to, has created, fantasies, and appetites that no National Geographic photo spread of young nubile indigenous ladies will ever be able to compete with!

But I digress!

While in my son's room, I did run accross several deciphered White House e-mails that would suggest that President Bush, mentally speaking, is one of the dimmer bulbs in his father's; "Thousand points of light."

It appears that several e-mails, from Nigerian Internet scammers have made their way pass the presidential security measures that one would assume, and hoped, would have been in place.

Stranger still, it would seem that President Bush BELIEVES that these blatantly unambiguous fantasy offers of "abandoned account" riches are not the work of illiterate, larcenous, Nigerian hooligans.

It is evident from reading the excited e-mail that Bush sent to Vice-President, Dick "let's go hunting" Cheney, soon after recieving these scam e-mails, that President Bush is convinced that these "offers" are rock solid, true.

Below, is the Bush/Cheney e-mail that can leave no one, after reading it, with any other conclusion other than President Bush is indeed; "crazier than a shit-house rat."

wordwaymike
********************************
FROM: The Decider in Chief
TO: The Vice-Decider

Hey there you old Dick!

I couldn't wait till I see you this weekend at the "Chili Willie Texas Cook-off/Shoot-out" that Laura and myself are throwing at the ranch in Crawford. The soirree will be MC'd by that old reprobate friend of mine Shabby Hayes.

As you know, he is the illegitimate son of Gabby Hayes. Don't you believe those spurious rumors that he is really the illicit offspring of Box-Car Willie, and a catamount. That there catamount was Gabby's private little slice of "wild tail." As anyone who follows the geneology of such things would be able to ascertain just by noting the similarities in Gabby's, Shabby's, and Mama Cat's chin whiskers.

I know that I can count on you to be there. I bet that both your your chili, and your six guns will be blazing hot! You old son of a who...

But I almost forgot why I am doing the old "hunt and peck" at ya in the first place!

In the last two weeks I have recieved five internet offers. Each one was from an individual that desired to make me the recipient of a bodaciously huge sum of cash. Three of these offers were from various Nigerian bank employees. Men with larceny in their hearts. Who were looking for the same among folks in the good old USA.

Them fellas sure enough found the right tree to go barking up.

Starting with; Dr. Ramadan Abdu. Who is, or was until recently, (I'll get to that part in a minute) the; "bill and exchange manager" of the; "African Development Bank."

Dr. Ramadan Abdu is; "Trusting to hear from you. (me) immediately." As he has "found" a 30 million dollar account that was abandoned! All of which is in good old American, greenback, legal tender denominations!

Dick, it gets better! This truck-load of cash was just laying around somewhere in, or near the bank's; "bill and exchange" department. A pile of dead presidents that was just begging to be given to some stranger. For a mere 40 percent of the "out of coutry" take. (He sounded pretty damn desperate, so I'm thinking that I can wear him down until he agrees to 25 percent.)

I was still chewing the fat off of this here tasty offer when I get another e-mail offer from the Nigerian B of A!

No, it wasn't the "Bank of America," which was what I thought it was at first, but the; "Bank of Africa!" Which to my way of thinking, (and I'll do my best someday to try and explain to you exactly how that process works) is a lot better than just "The Bank of Nigeria."

I mean, for Chrise sakes Dick, this is the Bank for the whole damn African continent!

Mr. George Williams, the; "bill and exchange manager" of; "B of A" had located another COMPLETELY DIFFERENT ACCOUNT! containing the; "abandoned sum of 30 million U.S. dollars" that he wants to hook me up with!

Now my mind is chewing on two huge meaty, fatty, tasty, greasy, gobs of some kind of; "African roadkill surprise." And two of such is a feast for any man's mind to masticate his way through.

When; KA-BOOM! The Hat Trick; "Mother of all internet offers of outrageous finacial fortunes, that are yours for the taking," arrives in my inbox. A Mr. Ellis Lee, who also works at the African Development Bank. And is also the; "bill and exchange manager" there, had an; "offer" for me.

Which made me wonder if Dr. Ramadan Abdu was caught doing the "Nigerian two step" with the 30 million dollar account that he was going to send my way. Leaving an opening in the; "bill and exchange department," that Mr. Lee had the good fortune to be assigned to.

I use the term; "good fortune" because Mr.Lee no sooner has the job, title, and access to the banks; "letters of account" and WHAMO! He roots out another 11 million dollar abandoned account!

Like one of those truffle sniffing porkers from France that ferrets out those tasty fungi!

Obviously, Mr. Lee was plugged into the same mysterious; "mumbo jumbo, chili gumbo, whodoo, voodoo, hey you, who gnu?" energies that seem to be highly concentrated in, or around the; "bill and exchange" departments of Nigerian banking institutions.

The cosmic synergies that are a mystery, wrapped in an enigma, and covered with a spicy chipolte sauce, once again conjured up my name as the person that all these millions sitting in abandoned Nigerian bank accounts should be sent to.

Can it any longer be denied, (with a straight face) that; "God has my back?"

I must be sucking all the luck out of the known universe for two complete strangers, that are both from Nigeria, who have both; "located; run accross; discovered; and or; became aware of" two entirely different abandoned accounts that had 30 million in US buckaroos in them.

And then have another Nigerian in the know, toss towards my mind's already full hands and mouth, another 11 million dollar gob of meaty, chewy, greasy, fatty, rib of roadkill. Right off the grill.

That's 71 million Dick!

The Trifecta of internet offers of robber baron type wealth! I can finally get that 21 foot long, fiberglass bass boat! (And an extra set of oars!)

What are the odds! Never mind. I don't want to cheapen the magic of this moment with sound mathmatics, or basic applications of logic and reason!

Even more amazing, all three of these fine upstanding, hardworking bank employees with larceny coursing through their veins, have picked me to be the recipient of their grossly mispelled offer!

Choosing me, I am sure in some cosmic coniption fit connection, a la; "bury the chicken bone, kismet, whodoo, juju, coo coo ca choo Mrs. Robinson" mannner that us; "Westerners" will never understand.

It's one of those beautiful, inscrutable, immuteable, lootable, not suitable for children, or anyone else who isn't suffering from the last stages of alzheimers type offers.

One of those cosmic mysteries that occassionaly work there way up under the skin of a person's reality.

Usually to lay their innumerable in number eggs. That in a few short weeks will hatch into a hellish legion of voraciously hungry something or others. That will then perform upon your body the insectile equivalant of Shermans; "scorch and burn" march on Atlanta. Which if you remember, was during the; "Civil," but none the less, quite deadly; "War."

But not this time! No way Jose!

I figure that at least one, and possibly two of these offers have the potential of an exponential to the tenth power payout. But as you can see, with both of my mental hands, as well as my mind's mouth, full to the choking point with; "Fresh from the grill, Nigerian Roadkill Riches" I'm in need of a little help.

I could use your finely honed, and razor sharp analytical bonafides as concerns this matter. To help me navigate the byzantine intricacies of counter-scamming a Nigerian internet scammer.

Not that I think that this is a real possibility, in these three particular instances. But I didn't fall off of a turnip truck. Let alone last night.

It was a rutabaga truck. And that was years ago.

Get back to me on this one Dick. I think we've finally latched onto a real live opiated pipe dream!

I will tell you later about the two; "notifications" that I recieved from the; "Irish Sweepstakes" - Claims Department.

You won't believe how much I have won!

George "double dog dare u" Bush
Oval Orfice
1600 Pennsylvania Ave.
***************************************
Next week:

Part three of my expose of White House/Illuminutty shennannigans.

President Bush's late night, highly erotic e-mail to a mystery person with the user name of; "Fuzzy Bunny Slippers!"

Which I have code-named; "Excitable Boy."

As always, this report was filed from the synaptic "No fly zone" of wordwaymike.

This is wordwaymike. Signing off!

Trixie the inflatable doll moves uptown!

Trixie has recovered from her addiction to "fix a flat" and has moved uptown.


I see by the photo that "Trixie" has moved uptown.


At least that was her name when she used to be the go to regular, "hospitality hostess" at the annual International gathering of the Computer Dweebs Convention.


I've uhhm, never been to the "gathering" myself.


Alright, I've read about it. And there were lots of pictures, graphs and scary warnings from some guy in Atlanta, with a weird username? C.D.C?


I mean, at first I was afraid that it was like some; "Charlie Daniels Cult" or "Crazy Demonic Choirboys" gathering. Because I had enough problems at that time in my life without having to learn all the words to "The Devil went down to Georgia". (see how I hog-tied that Atlanta clue to the CDC thing.)


And their wasn't no way in Hell I was gonna be singing "Bohemian Rhapsody" A Capella in Castrato! Hell No!


But upon reading further, I realized that it was just a bunch of computer wonks that made good on their sacred oath, as "Brother Dweebs" to remove themselves from the pasty glare of their computer screens, for at least one weekend each year.


And Dweebs or not, from what the videos of last years convocation of the faithful, that were posted on youtube revealed was that these boys, to the last pimply faced man/child amongst them, all "knew" Trixie. In what you would call the biblical sense, except that I don't remember reading about no blow up dolls in the Good Book.


And believe you me, them boys brought several cases of "fix-a flat" for Trixie last year. And that girl was flat out (no pun intended) strung out on that stuff! I mean she was main lining it! Sweet Jesus in rehab! That's gotta be bad for the poor thing! She was going through one tube after another by the second night. It kept her going for a little while, then she would just collapse.


I mean it was like someone just let all the air out of a tire or something.


On the last day of the convention, some of the Dweebs tried to get an "intervention" going. Then somebody found a half of a case of fix-a-flat stuffed under the bed. Right then and there, the whole intervention thing went out the window. Followed less than a minute later by Trixie! She couldn't take it anymore!


I mean Sweet Jesus on the nicotine patch! It happened so fast! It was almost as if she "flew" out the window.


Evidently, two sick bastards, the Lionel twins, had stashed the tubes, some glue and rubbers (patches) there. They had been acting all big shotty recently. Because they had just inherited their daddy's toy train empire. (Running trains is all these boys enjoy doing ) and from the looks of things they was gonna have themselves a little private soiree, (that's french for get some)


That was the last that anyone had seen of Trixie. Until you posted her photo on your blog.


I'm glad that she has gotten her self cleaned up. And it would appear from the photo that you posted that she is finally in the company of some one who cares for the blow up doll that she is. And not just the air filled fantasy
floozy of their dreams.