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Armageddon and the Subtle Bend |
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Old Mert, the current king of Zion, is a very austere fellow with a slightly undeveloped sense of humor. He suggested taking Are-m’-Jeans…to the cleaners and tossing him in the washer and bolting the lid. Hold the little plastic soap cup for a moment there’s more. Ozzie Moo Bar-rack, an obscure former member of Black Sabbath, wound up via a quirk of destiny and a few well-timed murders as the king of Egypt. He has just moved five thousand troops to the Palestine-Israeli border. Maybe all the flights to Majorca were booked that week. We like Ozzie Moo’ because he is a friend of America’s but mostly we like him because he has seriously scary eyes. Hanging his picture in the kid’s bedroom saves us renting horror flicks from Blockbuster for them. Old Mert said in a retaliatory speech that Are-m’-Jeans-so-Bad is the first person of a major country that has suggested rubbing out Israel as a solution to the interpersonal hang-ups that are prevalent down in that neck of the woods. I am not sure if Old Mert is right on that one as I think Hitler might have tried it. Maybe it is a copyright, trademark thing, between various nutters all claiming to have thought of the idea first. Ozzie Moo’ isn’t phased, he said privately to one of his “yes” men that if anyone f..ks with Egypt he’ll stare at them and turn them to stone. Pass the soap cup please. Old Mert has been jolly rotten to the Palestinians and he murdered a thousand people in Lebanon, so people have filed a few harassment complaints against him in the karma file. But ordinary Jewish folk are innocent and they ought to be allowed to live down that way in peace without anyone dropping a nuclear bomb on their heads. But Old Mert does have a good argument in his antagonism to Iran and as he had a big punch up with the Hate-Bollah (they turned out to be very crafty and very brave) that Old Mert lost, he needs to do something to cheer his local folk up a bit and get his military ego bent back into shape. The problem is that as destiny would have it, most of the world’s true-blue mass-murders are all on the hippie bus headed that way. Bush was busy so he sent 160,000 people to represent him at the Black Sabbath gig. They replaced the Hell’s Angels as security round the stage. A man knocked on my literary agent’s door yesterday to say he wanted to meet me as he was the antichrist, and he wanted to make sure I knew he had arrived on earth, so to speak, and four of my friends all went ballistically mad spewing venom, all on the same day, without any real reason, weird subtle bends. Some of my friends are possessed without knowing it, I try to tell them politely but the devilish entities in their chests go mad at the suggestion and all hell breaks lose. Then I leave them to rot for a bit and then they come back and I try again. I do love them dearly but it’s the Magic Roundabout over and over. Many years ago, I put in for the role of the antichrist, I thought it might be a bit of a lark chasing after Benny the Rat and his ten thousand pedophile priests, but I was turned down for the job because I had had rheumatic fever as a child so my heart is a bit knackered, and also because I like dogs and I help flies get out of the kitchen window. That counted against me. So I have decided to sell the job on e-Bay just in case the bloke that showed up at the door ain’t the real McCoy, or even the anti-McCoy. The global shadow is coming out and as it does so it bends around humans and traps them. They go slightly mad, blinded by the dark if one can use that term. So if one of your relllies suddenly starts to pour porridge oats down his pajamas and he foams at the mouth and hurl insults just because the ketchup is empty, realize he is in the subtle bend. In the etheric it looks like brackets around words in a sentence. It is a form of alien abduction really, very tricky. We’ll have to have a little World War to sort it out and make people that aren’t dead, feel better. It ought to be in various locations, like how the World Cup is played in many different stadiums to maximize interest and ticket sales. If you are a regular reader of Stuie Wilde’s brand of irreverent, galloping madness, you might remember a piece in one of my books* on Romper Stomper and La Dance Macabre. Well this is the dance at the Black Sabbath that was promised to you so many years ago. Free admission; please leave your soul at the door. The brackets and the Black Sabbath have a mind of their own, they are running the show. It’s a sacrament offered at the black mass for those that came late and missed the white mass. Who leads us is irrelevant: Bush, Mrs. Hilly-Billy Clinton, little boy Blair, or his sidekick Jabba the Hutt (G. Brown),
none of it matters as the global shadow is in power and all the major psychopaths are inducted into the gig. Sputin’ Putin ordered the raped and slaughtered of the Chechnyans for four years so he’s got a front row seat, as has King John’s III. He got very chubby on flying lobsters to North Korea amid a country-wide famine. Everyone thought that very quirky. He’s donating the VIP catering tent. Nice. In case it all sounds rather ghastly take courage; the Black Sabbath is all to do with saving the animals; there’s a rather sweet little bat missing its head that needs a transplant. Once the psychopaths wipe each other out and the oil goes, global warming will be fixed overnight. D’ ya see how clever the program is? It’s the Black Sabbath on one side of the hit CD but the flip side is Green Peace. How do you like that? Brill’ I’d say. You have got to hand it to Are-m’-Jeans-so-Bad and Old Mert, between the two of them they will fix everything, we’ll hear sparrows in the garden once more. And if you hear a nuclear bomb go off please don’t worry it’s all to do with ecology and saving the dolphins. If you have a mo’ please read “The Day the Fat Go Hungry” here at the stuartwilde.com site it’s all in there, chapter and curse, sorry verse. Tenderness is the only safe place for you and your frail soul and mine. Pray for love even if it doesn’t work. I’m off to the drycleaners to get m’ idiot cousin’s jim-jams cleaned.
© Stuart Wilde 2006
* Whispering Winds of Change by sw, published by Hay House.
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