OK, Homos
Last night's Scarer covey (or coven?) was a failure. Frankly, I'm ashamed by all of us and pissed at Father Christmas to boot. For the first time, The Pussy Book Club Scarers gimped its way into the exhausted loonshit of mediocrity.
So! Redemption is the word used by civilians the world over to mean an atonement greater than that found through the cutting of Sunday-morning coupons for both a medium Steak Fanatic pizza and the competitor’s that pays Dan Marino to hawk his famous "Go Deep" Papa's Perfect Pan. Redemption! Homos! To redeem oneself is to find one's soul in comfortable balance when staring into the unbelievably sad face of God; The Pussy Book Club Scarers direly needs to do this. Stare at God, ye sad homos, with your souls! (and talk about what you saw on Tuesday, January 3.)
TUESDAY January 3, 8:00: Every sad homo Scarer is compelled for the good of her soul to come to the India House down the I-55 frontage road from the Sam's Lounge Love Tub to sample the colorful maize of our native peoples and, with MC, occasionally to be referenced between bites of sweet potato, dutifully and snuggly tucked between elbow and sternum, engage in boisterous discussion. We are a crapulous cooperative now representative of an irresponsible and half-assed indignity; we're not proud of that. For our own sake, let our indignities be wholly-assed! We are proud because we are annihilationists without inhibition, so let's start acting the fuck like it! So finish the Goddamn book!
Winners will get to enjoy the company of both The Diplomat and George Dickel in the frothy warmth of Sam's Lounge Love Tub. Winners are to be decided solely at the discretion of The Diplomat. Enter as often as you wish.
So! Redemption is the word used by civilians the world over to mean an atonement greater than that found through the cutting of Sunday-morning coupons for both a medium Steak Fanatic pizza and the competitor’s that pays Dan Marino to hawk his famous "Go Deep" Papa's Perfect Pan. Redemption! Homos! To redeem oneself is to find one's soul in comfortable balance when staring into the unbelievably sad face of God; The Pussy Book Club Scarers direly needs to do this. Stare at God, ye sad homos, with your souls! (and talk about what you saw on Tuesday, January 3.)
TUESDAY January 3, 8:00: Every sad homo Scarer is compelled for the good of her soul to come to the India House down the I-55 frontage road from the Sam's Lounge Love Tub to sample the colorful maize of our native peoples and, with MC, occasionally to be referenced between bites of sweet potato, dutifully and snuggly tucked between elbow and sternum, engage in boisterous discussion. We are a crapulous cooperative now representative of an irresponsible and half-assed indignity; we're not proud of that. For our own sake, let our indignities be wholly-assed! We are proud because we are annihilationists without inhibition, so let's start acting the fuck like it! So finish the Goddamn book!
Winners will get to enjoy the company of both The Diplomat and George Dickel in the frothy warmth of Sam's Lounge Love Tub. Winners are to be decided solely at the discretion of The Diplomat. Enter as often as you wish.
posted by The Diplomat | 2:04 PM
2 Comments:
Sorry, Christmas materialism got the best of me and I didn't know we were meeting until I saw Anne. I know that is no excuse but it is all I have. I look forward to January 3.
All true. Humbled I am in the face of scarers everywhere. But now, the future. The future holds a bright candle to my ass. OW! Man that shit hurts. Believe me you, I will conquer nations to be at the next meeting.
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