“If I were God, I would yank Petronius, Thrumpanus, Erdganus, and the pus-brained Tucker Carlson, string them out by their balls ...” ―Don Okolo
For the world would know no peace some people must die. If you agree with that premise, please raise your hand or mumble an amen. The world is hated by people she is sheltering, despised by those she feeds daily, and threatened by men she has granted everything. And yet, she is adamant to a fault, and would not throw ten-thousand-feet-deep quicksand of molten rocks, rotten flesh, and the entire cachepot of crapola from all southern districts, in the path of these garrulous swinging dickers, and the talkative bitches of Belzabub Boulevard to have them swallowed whole. I have a prayer. But, is God listening? Now, I know: There is a reason He is God.
This is the one time I will suggest this; leave The Creator out of this. In the rooms of the Earth are plentiful denizens of high moral repute; those of us who pay rent, say grace before we take a bite, wipe after we dump, and do not carry fecal specks around like the Death Merchants of the thirties and forties Germany, the Stalingrad groupies, the Belgian Leopoldville troupe who started the fashion even neanderthal man abhorred. Even in the supposedly pristine habitat that gave rise to the nomenclature ‘New York State of Mind’, a mindful, bloated, bloviated magus lives to brag about, heap praises on the Northlands Siberian dweller for being ingenuously evil in his present foray into the land of champions.
Hell no, I am not naming names. Yeah, Dorothy, I am scared. But I could call out Bobbet, or is it Bobbert? Majorie, the Georgian harlot of misplaced ideas and words, and not fear them because they do not carry around pocket-sized nukes. But I am mindful of the pee-bopper, two-shot-is-all-you-get, virgin blue steels in their bras. All I have to do to avoid getting smoked is to stay the covid distance hell away from them.
So, the Siberian Tiger goes from an incursion to opening up the pod, the silos, where these Beasts are in obligatory silence and dormancy because the world barked back. In a no-holds-barred fight between a lion and a pussycat, the tiny, two-pound feline that feeds on canned morsels is asked not to use its left paw in the fight to save its life. The pussycat is faced with myriad arrays of weaponry and now would have to throw all its two-pound massive weight against the five-hundred-pound native. That is where the Earth…her green belts, savannah stretches, and desert parcels are perched. Belarus is barking along with the Bear of Belzadore…as if the Bear and Tiger galactic team would need assistance crushing the benevolent cat who wouldn’t run away.
It is a weird world we live in. Why would Zelensky’s men join Team Russia at the table in Belarus? You break into my freaking house, grab my flat-screen, and then demand that I pay you ransom to put it back down. You bastard! You street-side-give-it-all-who-want-my-wet-lands cur! You, the thief, and I would go to the land of kidnappers of prose and poetry, to negotiate your theft? I don’t get it. Do you?
Why is America not rounding these traitors up? Well, because democracy wouldn’t allow it. The world is being raped by at least two dozen men. The women among them are doing their best in the twenty-four-partner rape act to shred and dismember Mother Earth. This could well succeed…and Mother Earth could be barren if that possessed man in Moscow lets Satan 2 fly off the wheat fields of Siberia. At seventy years of age, he could take the world with him. Turkey has a strongman who sees it that way. Saudi Arabia’s bearded monster, if he had the capability, would screw Mother Earth. No, no, I didn’t forget the worst of them all: The thief of Baghdad: The grabber extraordinaire: And the Liar-in-Chief. But I contend that he is a ‘Paper Tiger’ and that his enablers are the quintessential cowards who thrive and come alive on platforms of weakened harmonies.
What is God waiting for? If I were God, I would bury these men and broads in the muck of absolute disdain. If I were God, I would yank Petronius, Thrumpanus, Erdganus, and the pus-brained Tucker Carlson, string them out by their balls and…and…If I were God…
♦ Don Okolo, Professor and filmmaker, is on the Editorial Board of the West African Pilot News. He is the author of many books.
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