Dear Jesus, the most gentle of men, what profits us if we win the war on terror, conquer the world, and lose our immortal souls? Through your prevenient grace soften our hard hearts, teach our leaders to encourage us, and to awaken in us the spirit of love and sacrifice that have made our country a great nation under God. I too feel fear, daily, not of terrorists, but of my terriffied fellow citizens who have become so hard, so cruel, so bent on destruction. Wealth Bondage is all they know of life, the world of the flesh, of lust, cupidity, of worldly hiearchy. False preachers teach the Gospel of Fear and Hate. And even our own Pope speaks, to my fallen ears, most like a man lost in the dark wood of prejudice. War never ending is the war against evil, for we are fallen creatures, who see the mote in the other's eye, while missing the beam in our own eye. Jesus, you knew us and know us so well. I see but little. Your purposes surpass my understanding. Dear Jesus, Prince of Peace, calm our troubled world and our troubled souls. I speak in humility of heart as one of small importance, the least of your children, but if it pleases you, make of me a more perfect instrument of thy will though it mean my suffering and death in imitation of thee. In thy holy name I pray.
WB announces a torture academy. Learn a profitable trade. Meet rising demand. Go far in goverment service. Advance as a private contractor. Make the most of your God-given gifts. Have fun. Go on to become a real Doctor like Dr. Mengele. The opportunity is unlimited. No fear of being prosecuted for war crimes. The US Congress and our President fully endorse what Candidia teaches. Without us, they would be out of a job. Wealth Bondage by all means necessary. Freedom - you want Freedom? We will leave you alone in the cell with the prisoner. Then you will know the freedom of the gods. Nothing can resist Wealth Bondage. Join us and get yours now. We are also interviewing for Chaplains of all faiths.
Flat Daddies. Either way you get your Dad back from Iraq. We care about you the Citizens of Wealth Bondage who lay down your lives for our way of life. Freedom is knowing that you can get your Dad out of the closet anytime you need him. There is no charge for this service. Wealth Bondage cares. Thank you for making the ultimate sacrifice. Your family can keep the cut out.
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The pathetic Morals Tutor to America's Wealthiest Families showed up here at Wealth Bondage, on a referral from Dick Minim and Jay Hughes. He asked me as between taxes, charity, and heirs how I would like my vast fortune divided upon my death. Since I have no rug rats of my own, and no nieces or nephews, and since I owe nothing to this great country of ours, having made my money all by myself through my own efforts unaided, my only interest is charity. My fortune will go to Rooster Foundation: Crowing in the New American Century, to protect the Freedom of American Corporations and Dynastic Families to do as we please throughout the world dominated by military might of Wealth Bondage. As for the Cruikshanks genetic line, well, trust me, with the milking machines and the test tubes, there are billions of little Candidia's in the hopper. We will preserve the Cruikshanks brand, and family line, for all eternity. No need to worry about regression to the mean; each Candidia will be a genius exactly like me. Our greatest family asset is our people - millions and millions of little Candidia's. C'mere, little boy, Momma wants you to run her an errand. Carry the sperm bucket over to the lab. You are such a loyal boy. If you keep up the good work, Momma will have you milked to perpetuate the race of fawning minions. There will always be a place for little boys like you. Yes, on your knees. Now, tell me about my morals, you ninny. Pretty fucking good, right?
I really do not mean to complicate the lives of those contributing to Albert's Festschrift in honor of the Happy Tutor on the occasion of his retirement from active blogging, but I must say that I have detected a degree of what we call dialogism and even a little heteroglossia in recent Carnivalesque posts on the subject of wealth and power by The (alleged) Author Function pro tem at Gifthub. To arrive at the true hidden meaning of Wealth Bondage, it may be necessary to take into account Authorial Intention. This will not be an easy task, after the Author's death, years ago, and the intrusion of the upstart Deputy Editor, claiming to be the Author Function's designee and true heir. I do not expect the Festschrift to resolve these aporia, or festering semiotic sores, but I should certainly expect that these Wealth Bondage Fundamentals be addressed by any responsible interpreter. I do hope those who attempt a scholarly reading of Wealth Bondage first study Foucault's Discipline and Punish as a prerequisite, along with Aristotle's Ethics, the Gospels, The Beggar's Opera, Tristram Shandy, Lives of the Christian Martyrs, and Little Bo Peep, to name but a few of the seminal texts. What I will not condone as custodian of Wealth Bondage is a cavalier attitude towards our Primary Text, of which this post, perforce is an integral part. While Tutor writes with what Horace calls "artful negligence," using art to conceal art, every word, every misspelling, every unclosed html tag, every apparent non sequiter, every drunken tangent, is pregnant with concealed meanings that will torn from the living body of the Work only by the genius of all disciplines who may someday rise up among us. In the meantime, we lesser creatures can only wrestle at risk of our own sanity with this Strong Text. Even in his dotage, Tutor is a man to be reckoned with. Woe unto those who reveal his hidden meanings. (Why did he hide them, for heaven's sake? You think Wealth Bondage is a mere game of academic hunt the button? I am not free to say more. Mum is the word. If you guess the hidden meaning, look at me closely. If I blink my right eye thrice and very fast, you are getting warmer, ok? If I open my left eye very wide, you are probably full of shit, if you will permit me to speak in the pungent vernacular of the demos.)
I wonder what my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, would have to say about the Book of Revelations. In any case, I have known men and women here in the Bible Belt, who were so Christian that they would crucify Christ all over again for being a Traitor to Christian virtues like hatred, resentment, spiritual pride, greed, willful ignorance and blind obedience. "Faith, hope and charity" are for liberal sissies, as these Christians see it, as is the Constitution. The face full of conviction, the faces bent to their cruel task, where have I seen them? Not He on the cross, but those who drove the nails. "Forgive them they not what they do." Ignorance is bliss, and ignorant indignation is ecstasy, but so dangerous to all around them. It is time these Christians mildly gave their hands to the nails for their faith, or shut their yapping mouths. I pray daily that I will have the strength when my time comes, but for now pass the twelve penny nails, please, the ones like railroad spikes, and the baby sledge. I am born again and ready to kill for Christ, swinging the hammer and singing Gospel, like John Henry, a steel drivin' man.
An author is proud of his or her fiction-making, when it finds an audience, yes? The Carnival and the Formal Gala are anti-types, with the same figures; reveling and drinking and copulating at Carnival; and in ranks and serried rows, in official regalia and propria persona at the State Gala, where even the Dumpster types are welcome to come, hat in hand, ready to toss it in the air when the King and Queen ride by in the gilded carriage with their most trusted and loyal retainer, the Fool. Why, then, am I ashamed of what I am, and so cirumspect about the 'real me'? (Booted from the gilded carriage for his impertinence, the Fool has his answer: "You call yourself funny? Fit in for fuck off.")