The imminent collapse of the internet has put Pastor Swank in a reflective mood, and he waxes nostalgic about candy, postcards, and seizures.
There are studies “out there” that project that in a year Internet will crash. Nemertes Research Corp is one of those prowlers. Conclusion: Internet traffic will make cyberspace travel “unable to keep up with the demand.” Bandwidth will call QUITS.
I will call Bullshit.
Reason would conclude then that with emails going zip via Internet crash, stamp costs should plummet, rejoicing over the upswing in letter and card flow like when we actually used a pen to write on paper.
I’m not quite sure why the pastor is rejoicing over the upswing in card flow; it’s one thing to click on his Townhall blog, but I can’t really see myself sending him a self-addressed stamped envelope for this stuff. He’s entertaining, but he’s no Pueblo, Colorado.
I heard this morning on a TV commercial the accent of frugality returning to our lifestyles. It’s because of the tight squeeze on the wallet.
Remember when your little body leaned against the candy glass case to pick out your several cents’ worth of bubble gum and Mary Janes?
The other day in the 5 & 10 in North Conway, NH, those eensy yellow-wrapped Mary Janes sold for 10 cents apiece. I about dropped through the case, flopping into an uncontrollable fit.
Ask your doctor if Mary Janes are right for you. Side effects include tooth decay, epilepsy, and frottage with display cases.
With worldwide present-tense angst, I actually am looking forward to the future.
It may not be a pluperfect future, but it’ll be good.
I know that swine flu beckons and the Iranian thug head threatens to return his messiah via global smoke streams.
Unfortunately, he forgot to keep the receipt. Stupid thug head.
PS: I just heard on TV that Catholics will not be exchanging the peace via hand shakes in Mass due to swine flu. Also, communion wafers are nix.
I just don’t understand your kooky teen lingo.
Thank you, Jesus, for living in my heart. That will have to suffice—as always.
No, thank you, Pastor Passive-Aggressive.
Again, looking up, I anticipate cheaper stamps and candy sales like unto Miss Daisy’s Candy Store on North Market Street, Frederick, MD—where I twisted those Mary Jane taffies round my taste buds.
And apparently triggered an acid flashback. Meanwhile, the pastor is still mad about The Boy:
B. H. Obama is proclaimed as the New Messiah who will be crowned king of the One World Order. Well, devotees, here is your time.
You’ve set yourself up in a pinnacle of the temple, survived a deadly wound, slain Elijah and Enoch, and generally been an abomination that causes desolations. Now comes Miller Time.
If there was ever an entry into Jerusalem for the Anointed One, it is when the globe drops prostrate before the pig flu.
Raise the palm branches. Let the shawls fling heavenward. The warblers are singing.
Obama, the mystic weaver, the mob hysteria creator, the Marxist Muslim claiming to be Pied Piper of the proletariat, come forth!
The Community Organizer can now go to it. The wordsmith to fool may position center stage. Time to spring forth as the Global Village Networker par excellence.
This is your brain. This is your brain on Swank.
Revelation 13:1-10 specifically lays out the symbolic detail. What is intriguing is to figure out the literalism behind the symbolism.
Yes. That should make things more surreal.
But for biblical believers, none of that is fanciful for it is the Christ vision afforded the Apostle John on the Isle of Patmos circa AD 95.
John was actually booked for seven days, six nights on the Isle of Lesbos but his travel agent screwed up the reservation, so he spent most of his time drunk in a beach cabana.
In the meantime, biblical enthusiasts lay the Scriptures down alongside newsfeeds, praying for God’s gift of discernment.
Otherwise known as “Google Reader.”
But now in present-tense it, seems as if, even apart from the discernment gift, one with half a brain tied behind his carbuncles, The Boy is ripe for filling the shoes of the One World Governor—pig flu oinking loudly.
Well. What can you add to that?
As you probably guessed, it appears that Shermp, the Loneliest Stooge, has been busy in her backyard all day, shooting at low-flying U.N. helicopters and screaming “Wolverines!” — in between fielding complaints from her neighbor who seems to think a six-year old’s birthday party is more important that battling Obama’s efforts to “seize and retain — at all costs to humans living within the USA — power over We-the-People.”