Oh, Great Lord Yackerboom, who art wanted in many wonderful jurisdictions, hollow be thy name.

Today's lesson comes from Mortal Sins And How To Commit Them And Get Away With It, Chapter 14.

After the meanwhilst, Lord Yackerboom, piss be upon him, didst go from that place unto another place quite nearby, and didst say "Only a very silly person would listen to my diatribe, therefore, I shall dedicate myself to the protection of silly persons, and the sons of silly persons, even if they be girls.  So I decreeth the formation of the Silly Persons Support Alliance, to protecteth them, and maybe maketh a little money on the side".  And he lefteth that place, just before the police arrived.

And it came to pass that Lord Yackerboom, after considering the lillies, tarried a while with the Holy Harlots of Antioch in a grove of larch and pines where he didst practice his horizontal folk dancing.  And the peasants and plebs didst leave their sheep in their fields, never a good thing when Lord Yackerboom, piss be upon him, is on the prowl.  And worried he the sheep.

And lo, he didst espy a meadow, and he cried "Here shall beist my temple for The Silly Ones, that they may worship me and giveth money unto the collection plate.  Five shalt be the number of the sides, and the counting of the sides shalt be five, just like my favourite triangle.  In it shall dwell the silliest of all my silly followers.  And they shalt wear uniforms of the desert, though they shalt live in air-conditioned comfort far from the fields of battle.  There they shalt maketh great wars that shalt snuff out those who suffer other gods before me.  For it is written that my silly followers must live to pay their tithes.  If it is not written, then I shalt bloody well write it.  To those who reach beyond silliness to the reaches of sheer stupidity, I shalt grant the gift of many stars for their shoulders, and grant them press conferences so that they also may receive worship, and right-wing pundits who shalt keep their boots clean orally, and elected representatives to cower and shake before them.  I shalt call them my Genocide Generals, and they shalt climb to my right hand over the remains of the cannon fodder.  I shalt let them run everything everywhere.  I couldn't do anything sillier if I tried.  As I have spoken, so shalt it be."

And so Lord Yackerboom, piss be upon him, spake unto Baal, Mephisto, and Diablo, who were at a loose end with the release of Diablo III having been pushed back another 17 years, and called upon them to build his temple, to be even bigger than the U.S. embassy in Eye-rack, awarding unto them a no bid contract.  And, lo, they built the five sided triangle and filled it with laptops and fast food outlets and many wonderful press conference rooms.

On the third day they rested, for they were members of a very powerful union.

And the tame journalists cried for joy, as they could now be embedded in air-conditioned comfort.

And there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth by the sensible people of the world, as they realised that their silly brethren were in charge, and organised.  Unto the heavens they cried "Save us from these silly bastards".  And the Lord Yackerboom didst say unto them "Too late plebs, I and my disciples are running the planet now.  Line on the right, one rifle each.  SUVs runneth, and SUVs needeth plenty of gas.  Blessed be the name SUV".

And the Lord Yackerboom, piss be upon him, may his chickens always lay, gathered unto himself a multitude of civilian contractors, and sayeth unto them "Thou art above all laws, smiten thou all who thou wilst, for the greater glory of the stock market and my oil shares.  Spare nobody who weareth rags upon their heads, for they taketh no notice of our superiority.  For it is written that I am the shitting city on the hill, whom all will obey or feel the wrath of my killer drones and their collateral damage.  Go then, do my will, for I soon shalt have need of your services in Africa."

And Lord Yackerboom, piss be upon him, may his elephants never be arrested for trunk and disorderly, went from that place unto another place across a nearby river, and did espy a house of white.  And he sayeth "Here shalt be the throne and seat of power of my evil son.  Here the misbegotten shalt be begat.  Here shalt I enthrone a Dear Leader, surround him with divers lickspittles and sycophants, and teach unto him the ways of the press conference. And so shalt they shower him with prizes of peace, whilst he kills more people than Ghengis the Khan or, for that matter, Mott the Hoople. And he shall anoint himself Dear Leader Of The Free World, without actually asking anyone, whilst his minions grope, caress, touch up, cop a feel, and grab a handful, whilst getting paid for so doing.

And it came to pass that Lord Yackerboom, piss be upon him, may his income tax returns never be audited, left that place and went to another place, and thereupon placed himself within a place at that place, a place he couldn't place at first, before placing it as the place where people place their chronically corrupt, otherwise known as elected representatives, having no other place to place them. And he saw what great minions these quasi-intelligent beings would make, and he rejoiced until he saw that they were servants of Lord Aipac, all fully bought and paid for. Even our Lord couldn't wait to get out of THAT place.

After that meanwhilst, Lord Yackerboom, piss be upon him, may his short and curlies always be free of crabs, didst meet with the Unholy Televangelists on the feast day of Saint Hinn, and asked of them to leave the employ of Lucifer and work instead for him.  When hearing the cost of 30 pieces of silver in today's dollars, he decided instead to hire the staff of the Fux Spews Chunder - they distort, you deride - who were happy to work at the minimum wage for anyone who would keep them away from the front lines.

And so it was that Lord Yackerboom, piss be upon him, may his SUV never carry more than one person, came to another place where the shepherds and sheep didst play leap frog, except that the shepherds never leapt high enough.  And frolic with them did he, until he gathered enough wool to knit an Airbus.  And rested he for seven days and nights, until he could manage a slow limp, then he left that place.  And knitted he the Airbus, and then tried to fly it did he, for the greater glory of the Discovery Channel.

After yet another meanwhilst, Lord Yackerboom, piss be upon him, may his chickens never turn into emus and kick his fowlhouse down, went unto an airport nearby to sojourn there.  Our Lord never flies anywhere, he just goes there for the fondling and groping.  He finds giving the name Mr. MacMahommad guarantees that extra fondle or two.  He never bothers to converse with his fondlers, finding their intelligence on a par with Alaskan ex-governors. And then he wept for sinners, because he couldn't find enough of them.  For a meanwhilst, he and Morloch, his padawan, did lunch, speaking upon the progress of human sacrifice, which had been in recession for a time but now was back in full swing, and they together saw that this was good for business, and good for The Association Of False Gods, Zionists, And Prophets, who had fallen on hard times, but, stuffed with membership from the religious right, were again on the march.  The biggest problem faced is in the selection of the new Antichrist - so many eligible candidates who meet the required qualifications.  They thought that it might be better to form an Antichrist Committee, based on standard government procedure, thereby stuffing up humanity quicker that any one individual possibly could.  They decided they don't want Satan involved - Our Lord sayeth "Old cloven hooves is sooo last year".

Yea, verily, and forsooth, Old Cloven Hooves just can't match it with the Neocons.  for it is written that, at the very end, even he will be saved, but nobody in their right mind would save a Neocon.  Especially not another Neocon.

And cast ye not pearls before swine, unless thou wisheth to sleep with them.  And, lo, all ladies of the night shalt be cast down for an eternity of penile servitude, all but the Holy Harlots Of Antioch, who shalt be cast down upon my bed: discount rates shalt apply.

Kahless, I see Kahless.  Yeah, right!

Here endeth the lesson.

The Pope said that being an Electric Prunes fan was insufficient grounds for joining the preisthood!  I mean, come on, man!

Let us prey. We will now take up a collection.


Morloch - Lord Yackerboom's Prime Padawan. That lipstick is a bit of a giveaway, Morloch baby.

"First MOLOCH, horrid King besmear'd with blood
Of human sacrifice, and parents tears,
Though, for the noyse of Drums and Timbrels loud,
Their children's cries unheard that passed through fire
To his grim Idol. Him the AMMONITE
Worshipt in RABBA and her watry Plain,
In ARGOB and in BASAN, to the stream
Of utmost ARNON. Nor content with such
Audacious neighbourhood, the wisest heart
Of SOLOMON he led by fraud to build
His Temple right against the Temple of God
On that opprobrious Hill, and made his Grove
The pleasant Vally of HINNOM, TOPHET thence
And black GEHENNA call'd, the Type of Hell."

Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unobtainable dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boys sobbing in armies! Old men weeping in the parks!

Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy judger of men!

Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the crossbone soulless jailhouse and Congress of sorrows! Moloch whose buildings are judgment! Moloch the vast stone of war! Moloch the stunned governments!

Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose blood is running money! Moloch whose fingers are ten armies! Moloch whose breast is a cannibal dynamo! Moloch whose ear is a smoking tomb!

Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows! Moloch whose skyscrapers stand in the long streets like endless Jehovahs! Moloch whose factories dream and croak in the fog! Moloch whose smoke-stacks and antennae crown the cities!

Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen! Moloch whose name is the Mind!

© Brian Brett 2011