Thursday, June 12, 2003

Guide us oh faltering candle through that darkness which you alone can penetrate with your neo-human insight.

Balm those wounds we do not know we have with the awesome power of your ultra-progressive hyperthoughts.

Turn our gaze from the false promethean light and warmth and return us to the rightful adoration of the immortal words that spring forth uncalled from the divine lips of your apollonian aspect.

Help us to cease our prosimian violence and throw that bone into the air which you will transform into a space station oh learned obelisk of mystery, oh bringer of farming and metalurgy, oh Quetzacoatyl himself returned to us!

Scourge us of mere reason so that we may be rightfully collared and domesticated by Reason(TM) and not run wild in the streets and get into Mrs. Anderson's flowerbed.

Give us the long prophesied worker's paradise of fat free ramen noodles, sprout sandwiches, overcrowded buses and ten year old bicycles everyday until we die...
Whether we want it or not.

An anti-NPR satire at Absolutely bloody hilarious.