nice. perhaps there's envy of easy discourse with another human being that you two shared. don't underestimate how lacking such things are in Americans' lives.
but his own frickin' mother can't speak for herself? he's the man, the sunbeam, who caught mom in adultery with love discovering sin. your restraint is admirable. some might have been tempted to wind him up by imitating Darth Father and saying, "Sean, Carmen never told you the truth...I am your father." or mutter something vaguely about how even DNA tests get mixed up, esp by commie saboteurs, who just might have some Jew or Haitian in them from the unpassed past. but then you might not be watching his head explode. "No place, indeed, should murder sanctuarize". The question, "who's your/my daddy," is asked looking down the barrel of a gun. what is he in control of if he can't control his dead mom's libido? We can't know if we were born, or at any rate, bred in a handbag if we don't know who the owner of the seed is. Fatherhood = ownership of sperm. if not, we might be a replicant, born in an alchemical retort. we might not be the true heir but rather a dumpster baby. like Moses.
and thanks for making me look up glabrous. maybe calvous was too obvious for Calvinists? anyway, here's to gunplay leading to a full head of hair! eternal damnation may be predestined, inherited from old Adam and all that, but baldness? part of the unbearable curse of the mother. what do we do when stuff starts to fall out? what will we ever do? there's a reason mercy is an unclenched butthole (r-h-m) that lets things go, not strained, movement not constipation, if the anus in the cerebrus ever grasps that fact. it sounds like Sean's wife gets to let things go for the both of them.
and there is no better place to out the accused adulteress (or ancient fornicator) than a church if the goal is a stoning. in this, sean is in touch with the spirit of the age. and how many armed, off-duty, IDF-bred Houston cops does Joel Osteen, Inc. keep on the payroll? Sean may have a bright future ahead of him, keeping the temples of mammon secure, where the word "father" gets bandied around a lot and Mexicans branded as illegal.
And now Aeneas saw a secluded grove
in a receding valley, with rustling woodland thickets,
and the river of Lethe gliding past those peaceful places.
Innumerable tribes and peoples hovered round it:
just as, in the meadows, on a cloudless summer’s day,
the bees settle on the multifarious flowers, and stream
round the bright lilies, and all the fields hum with their buzzing. (Aeneid 6, Rome's future :)
Thanks. This is somewhat fictionalized (I give myself better lines than I really could come up with, for example). I'm pretty sure I'm not Sean's father, however! The underlying narrative of his concern with our early life is true, though, and always rather baffled me.
'L'homme armé, il faut douter!' I was waiting for you to say something to Sean in French, but it's probably best you didn't.
It would have ended in disaster.
Why im part Quebecois
Id give him some
fronglais shit man.
Lumber jack frogs my metier
Again i should a been there
Indeed! He would have shot you rather than me.
Gladly yake a pill fer you compadre
Long as i got
My pig sticker
n him too
nice. perhaps there's envy of easy discourse with another human being that you two shared. don't underestimate how lacking such things are in Americans' lives.
but his own frickin' mother can't speak for herself? he's the man, the sunbeam, who caught mom in adultery with love discovering sin. your restraint is admirable. some might have been tempted to wind him up by imitating Darth Father and saying, "Sean, Carmen never told you the truth...I am your father." or mutter something vaguely about how even DNA tests get mixed up, esp by commie saboteurs, who just might have some Jew or Haitian in them from the unpassed past. but then you might not be watching his head explode. "No place, indeed, should murder sanctuarize". The question, "who's your/my daddy," is asked looking down the barrel of a gun. what is he in control of if he can't control his dead mom's libido? We can't know if we were born, or at any rate, bred in a handbag if we don't know who the owner of the seed is. Fatherhood = ownership of sperm. if not, we might be a replicant, born in an alchemical retort. we might not be the true heir but rather a dumpster baby. like Moses.
and thanks for making me look up glabrous. maybe calvous was too obvious for Calvinists? anyway, here's to gunplay leading to a full head of hair! eternal damnation may be predestined, inherited from old Adam and all that, but baldness? part of the unbearable curse of the mother. what do we do when stuff starts to fall out? what will we ever do? there's a reason mercy is an unclenched butthole (r-h-m) that lets things go, not strained, movement not constipation, if the anus in the cerebrus ever grasps that fact. it sounds like Sean's wife gets to let things go for the both of them.
and there is no better place to out the accused adulteress (or ancient fornicator) than a church if the goal is a stoning. in this, sean is in touch with the spirit of the age. and how many armed, off-duty, IDF-bred Houston cops does Joel Osteen, Inc. keep on the payroll? Sean may have a bright future ahead of him, keeping the temples of mammon secure, where the word "father" gets bandied around a lot and Mexicans branded as illegal.
And now Aeneas saw a secluded grove
in a receding valley, with rustling woodland thickets,
and the river of Lethe gliding past those peaceful places.
Innumerable tribes and peoples hovered round it:
just as, in the meadows, on a cloudless summer’s day,
the bees settle on the multifarious flowers, and stream
round the bright lilies, and all the fields hum with their buzzing. (Aeneid 6, Rome's future :)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BkYBJId7WZs
here's to you trying to keep this dickhead's mother's memory fresh and green, for his sake.
Thanks. This is somewhat fictionalized (I give myself better lines than I really could come up with, for example). I'm pretty sure I'm not Sean's father, however! The underlying narrative of his concern with our early life is true, though, and always rather baffled me.
I should a been there
Got blasted nets males him to death.
Till he went soft in the knuckles
Then after some stage business
Like i just saw vultures on a bunny
Jabbed Seans ribs and
with clandestine aplumb
"Hand me your hog neck sean
theres a few Arminian loose among us "