Defies gravity
Can spit really far
Almost touch my toes
Can cut a fly's legs off with a beer cap from 20 paces
Know how to say useless stuff and prattle on in a dozen languages
Don't know when to shut up
Favorite Quotes
To be for or against the Plague, it's much the same thing.
Fiddledee, how a body shure do get around - just 2 weeks ago I was in Mississippi and now I'm all the way to Tennessee...
Eat or Be Eaten
Better to be pissed off than pissed on.
Biography
Born in swaddling clothes (designer, of course) at the confluence of big waters, my first recorded words were "Dad, can I have the keys to the car?" Raised a Southern Pedestrian, my musical talents were recognized at an early age, leading to my being exiled to the shed out back with a stack of books that became my eddykayshun - advanced readin', writin' & ritmytick, creating a major quandary of "what will I do, oh what will I do?" (Gunslinger)
As an old black man advised in song, "You Gotta Move", so move I did, traveling the byways sideways even a lot of driveways, picking up sticks and psychological tics, even movin' to Beverlee through a quaint misunderstanding of the seriousness of TV series, until finally I blew up so big the carry nation incarnation tarnation couldn't hold me no more, so I fixed my sights on yonder sitar, and like Queequeg and Paul Bowles and one of those abducted kids by the Pied Piper of Hamelin, I ventured forth to the larger world, pickin' and grinnin', doin' me some reckonin' and naughts from naughts, occasionally rightin', building me some buildings and wiring and just trying to understand the babble comin' out of people's mouths and heads, I finally ended up in what Rummy quaintly calls "New Europe", which ain't so new from what I sees, but that pit in my stomach from lack-of-moving-sickness finally disappeared, and instead I sit behind a whopping big desk stacked with missives from all the chiefs with big whampum around the world telling me "what's going on". Which seems like a load of boolshit to me, but I guess that's what keeps me busy and entertained now, separatin' the weeds from the chapstick.
So my name is Perry Keys, or Peracles to you, and since my mammy always said, "say please and thank you", I added the please, but I'm holdin' back on that thankee until I feel you've earned it. But do welcome, and I hope we's a gonna have a real good time. It all starts with, "I wuz born a poor young white chile livin' in the South..." and we cycle through again, like Nietzsche and his infernal regurgence. So enjoy, and let's spin a spell...
THE MOST IMPORTANT WORDS Comey has said in the past year are the ones no one's talking about: ProPublica was right, McCabe *did* tell Comey there were Clinton emails on Weiner's PC *36 days before the election*. And Comey *ignored him* because "how could that be possible." (WTF?) pic.twitter.com/NdcCzBa99q
There was a moment in the counter-culture protests when protesters started to infiltrate boardrooms, to become part of the solution at a high level. You might say they got co-opted, but others would say they also got a hand or a few fingers on the levers of power.
Here we have Starbucks - a rather liberal-friendly outlet overall, who quickly admits their manager's actions were wrong, who issue immediate apologies, who stop by to talk to protesters.
Trump is a master at sowing confusion, but he's a sucker for a personal attack, areas that hurt his vanity.
Sadly for him, gladly for us, that's most of what's left.
Those supposed red lines are being crossed left and right, and in ways that pick apart his privilege.
Trump Tower is no longer a safe house (the fire was a wonderful metaphor, his presidency as well as the traps & come-uppance of deregulation). Mar-a-Lago is no refuge.
Cohen & Manafort's storage houses are no longer safe storage.
He only has his golfing, a few holes at a time.