The imminent collapse of the internet has put Pastor Swank in a reflective mood, and he waxes nostalgic about candy, postcards, and seizures.
There are studies “out there” that project that in a year Internet will crash. Nemertes Research Corp is one of those prowlers. Conclusion: Internet traffic will make cyberspace travel “unable to keep up with the demand.” Bandwidth will call QUITS.
I will call Bullshit.
Reason would conclude then that with emails going zip via Internet crash, stamp costs should plummet, rejoicing over the upswing in letter and card flow like when we actually used a pen to write on paper.
I’m not quite sure why the pastor is rejoicing over the upswing in card flow; it’s one thing to click on his Townhall blog, but I can’t really see myself sending him a self-addressed stamped envelope for this stuff. He’s entertaining, but he’s no Pueblo, Colorado.
I heard this morning on a TV commercial the accent of frugality returning to our lifestyles. It’s because of the tight squeeze on the wallet.Remember when your little body leaned against the candy glass case to pick out your several cents’ worth of bubble gum and Mary Janes?The other day in the 5 & 10 in North Conway, NH, those eensy yellow-wrapped Mary Janes sold for 10 cents apiece. I about dropped through the case, flopping into an uncontrollable fit.
Ask your doctor if Mary Janes are right for you. Side effects include tooth decay, epilepsy, and frottage with display cases.
With worldwide present-tense angst, I actually am looking forward to the future.
It may not be a pluperfect future, but it’ll be good.
I know that swine flu beckons and the Iranian thug head threatens to return his messiah via global smoke streams.
Unfortunately, he forgot to keep the receipt. Stupid thug head.
PS: I just heard on TV that Catholics will not be exchanging the peace via hand shakes in Mass due to swine flu. Also, communion wafers are nix.
I just don’t understand your kooky teen lingo.
Thank you, Jesus, for living in my heart. That will have to suffice—as always.
No, thank you, Pastor Passive-Aggressive.
Again, looking up, I anticipate cheaper stamps and candy sales like unto Miss Daisy’s Candy Store on North Market Street, Frederick, MD—where I twisted those Mary Jane taffies round my taste buds.
And apparently triggered an acid flashback. Meanwhile, the pastor is still mad about The Boy:
B. H. Obama is proclaimed as the New Messiah who will be crowned king of the One World Order. Well, devotees, here is your time.
You’ve set yourself up in a pinnacle of the temple, survived a deadly wound, slain Elijah and Enoch, and generally been an abomination that causes desolations. Now comes Miller Time.
If there was ever an entry into Jerusalem for the Anointed One, it is when the globe drops prostrate before the pig flu.
Raise the palm branches. Let the shawls fling heavenward. The warblers are singing.
Obama, the mystic weaver, the mob hysteria creator, the Marxist Muslim claiming to be Pied Piper of the proletariat, come forth!The Community Organizer can now go to it. The wordsmith to fool may position center stage. Time to spring forth as the Global Village Networker par excellence.
This is your brain. This is your brain on Swank.
Revelation 13:1-10 specifically lays out the symbolic detail. What is intriguing is to figure out the literalism behind the symbolism.
Yes. That should make things more surreal.
But for biblical believers, none of that is fanciful for it is the Christ vision afforded the Apostle John on the Isle of Patmos circa AD 95.
John was actually booked for seven days, six nights on the Isle of Lesbos but his travel agent screwed up the reservation, so he spent most of his time drunk in a beach cabana.
In the meantime, biblical enthusiasts lay the Scriptures down alongside newsfeeds, praying for God’s gift of discernment.
Otherwise known as “Google Reader.”
But now in present-tense it, seems as if, even apart from the discernment gift, one with half a brain tied behind his carbuncles, The Boy is ripe for filling the shoes of the One World Governor—pig flu oinking loudly.
Well. What can you add to that?
Posted by scott on Saturday, May 2nd, 2009 at 11:02 pm.
35 Responses to “Remembrance of Thug Heads Past”
I anticipate cheaper stamps and candy sales like unto Miss Daisy’s Candy Store on North Market Street, Frederick, MD
Product placement is completely out of hand these days.
Product placement is completely out of hand these days.
…one with half a brain tied behind his carbuncles…
James Joyce, eat your heart out!
James Joyce, eat your heart out!
I read every Schwank quote above, and even backwards (because that’s how the devil really communicates, you know. shhh. don’t tell anyone), but can’t make heads or tails of it.
That’s ok. Your comedy in between his lines was priceless, as usual. I loved the Pueblo Colorado line so much, I had to blog about you, and Pueblo, and Paschtor Schwanker.
That’s ok. Your comedy in between his lines was priceless, as usual. I loved the Pueblo Colorado line so much, I had to blog about you, and Pueblo, and Paschtor Schwanker.
Has the Swanksta suffered a stroke recently?
If he did, would we be able to tell?
If he did, would we be able to tell?
That last paragraph from Swank goes beyond mixed metaphor. It’s a whipped, meringued, and moussed metaphor.
the Iranian thug head threatens to return his messiah via global smoke streams.
Now that’s the old stuff!
And that last graph could be the basis of its own post. It kind of reads like REM lyrics.
Now that’s the old stuff!
And that last graph could be the basis of its own post. It kind of reads like REM lyrics.
That is the Swank I know and love, and then some! I can’t remember when I’ve laughed so much. My ribs hurt.
But now in present-tense it, seems as if, even apart from the discernment gift, one with half a brain tied behind his carbuncles, The Boy is ripe for filling the shoes of the One World Governor—pig flu oinking loudly.
Holy shit.
But now in present-tense it, seems as if, even apart from the discernment gift, one with half a brain tied behind his carbuncles, The Boy is ripe for filling the shoes of the One World Governor—pig flu oinking loudly.
Holy shit.
Ok, this is not fair. There are too many awesomely Swankish lines in that piece. It’s impossible to choose just one!
although the carbuncle one is pretty damn amazing. What IS a carbuncle anyway, and how do you tie half your brain behind them?
although the carbuncle one is pretty damn amazing. What IS a carbuncle anyway, and how do you tie half your brain behind them?
Despite the crystal clarity of Pastor Swank’s perfect prose, I’m still confused. Did he say that he stole penny candy from Mary Jane? Or that his mother sent him to the candy store wearing Mary Janes?
One of us had better stop smoking so much Mary Jane.
One of us had better stop smoking so much Mary Jane.
“Swank: ten times more addictive than marijuana…”
Needs moar smoke streams.
The Pastor is back in the Zone, & the English language begs for mercy in vain.
P-Swank: He’s Carbuncoriffic!
The Pastor is back in the Zone, & the English language begs for mercy in vain.
P-Swank: He’s Carbuncoriffic!
I think the disembodied head of Joseph Grant Swank, Jr. is being kept alive in that contraption from The Brain That Wouldn’t Die,and his words taken down phonetically by a non-English speaking secretary, transmitted offshore via telegraph, reassembled by a nine-year-old native English speaker who, unfortunately, lacks even a rudimentary sense of Morse Code, translated round trip into Dutch, then back into English, with Babel Fish, after which it’s copy ready for RenewAmerica, MichNews, Magic-City-News, AmericanDaily, NewsByUs, The Conservative Crusader, PostChronicle, TheConservativeVoice, Republican and Proud, FaithFreedom.org, Conservative Posts, ArriveNet MosqueWatch.blogspot.com, EzineArticles.com, Chalcedon Report, and others.
That’s about the only way it makes sense, though I admit I still haven’t been able to figure out how he remains the pastor of an imaginary church.
That’s about the only way it makes sense, though I admit I still haven’t been able to figure out how he remains the pastor of an imaginary church.
The Fuck???
Do you suppose this guy actually talks like this in whatever passes for his real life?
And if so, why hasn’t he been locked up long ago?
Do you suppose this guy actually talks like this in whatever passes for his real life?
And if so, why hasn’t he been locked up long ago?
“If there was ever an entry into Jerusalem for the Anointed One, it is when the globe drops prostrate before the pig flu.”
But I don’t even have my passport yet! Dammit, Swank, agenda changes like this HAVE TO GO THROUGH PERSONNEL, you fucknut! I am NOT changing my travel or ascension plans to suit YOUR little passive-aggressive bitch fits.
“This is your brain. This is your brain on Swank.”
Flawless.
But I gotta tellya, that whole “The Boy” thing is pissing me off. Not just for the racist context (duh), but because it seems that Swankster has been cribbing from my old rant notes in re: The Guy Who Was The Longest Two Years Of My Life, aka, “THE BOY.”
As ironic or surreal a concept it may seem, I may have to sue Swankster for theft of INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY. I know, I know, the cops will never catch him HOLDING said contraband, but imagine all of the orifices in which Swankster would ENJOY hiding the stash.
And Gabriel, Teh Swankstomatic Insanity Vending Machine has not, as yet (as far as we’ve been able to ken/discern through surveillance) been institutionalized ’cause unlike the crazy homeless guys in sandwich boards who preach at every urban intersection, he “preaches” to “the masses,” assuming that he actually HAS an audience, which I doubt more and more every day. In other words, below-average-intelligence white guy in the ‘burbs, perfectly “safe” from the big butterfly nets. Poor guys with substance/dain bramage/whatever their motivation for “speaking the word”? “Drain on society,” as they’re OBVIOUSLY being “well-served” by the skeletal remains of the public health systems. Yup. Make Mudbone look affluent, but if you ask teh republicunts, they are RAKING IN THE DOUGH, brother!
If Newt Gingrich had his way, ALL street people would be exterminated or incarcerated, but the TRULY dangerous old coots out in the suburbs, the ones MOST LIKELY TO OWN UNREGISTERED HANDGUNS, oh, they are the SALT OF THE EARTH, they are the xian GUARDIANS OF THE FAITH! Seriously. And as long as your tax money is being siphoned-off to those bullshit Second Spanish Inquisition “faith-based initiative” assholes, idiots like THIS will still believe that THEY ACTUALLY DO SOMETHING to “better the world,” by mere dint of their KEYBOARD-EROTICA TRANSCENDENTAL MASTURBATION.
In short, Swankster is the canker sore, the syphilitic madness, the jumping-bean crabs — a SYMPTOM of what’s wrong with the cults’ stranglehold upon our governments. He’s just the tip of the bigoted bibul-banging fucktard iceberg, my friend, as scary a tip as he is.
But I don’t even have my passport yet! Dammit, Swank, agenda changes like this HAVE TO GO THROUGH PERSONNEL, you fucknut! I am NOT changing my travel or ascension plans to suit YOUR little passive-aggressive bitch fits.
“This is your brain. This is your brain on Swank.”
Flawless.
But I gotta tellya, that whole “The Boy” thing is pissing me off. Not just for the racist context (duh), but because it seems that Swankster has been cribbing from my old rant notes in re: The Guy Who Was The Longest Two Years Of My Life, aka, “THE BOY.”
As ironic or surreal a concept it may seem, I may have to sue Swankster for theft of INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY. I know, I know, the cops will never catch him HOLDING said contraband, but imagine all of the orifices in which Swankster would ENJOY hiding the stash.
And Gabriel, Teh Swankstomatic Insanity Vending Machine has not, as yet (as far as we’ve been able to ken/discern through surveillance) been institutionalized ’cause unlike the crazy homeless guys in sandwich boards who preach at every urban intersection, he “preaches” to “the masses,” assuming that he actually HAS an audience, which I doubt more and more every day. In other words, below-average-intelligence white guy in the ‘burbs, perfectly “safe” from the big butterfly nets. Poor guys with substance/dain bramage/whatever their motivation for “speaking the word”? “Drain on society,” as they’re OBVIOUSLY being “well-served” by the skeletal remains of the public health systems. Yup. Make Mudbone look affluent, but if you ask teh republicunts, they are RAKING IN THE DOUGH, brother!
If Newt Gingrich had his way, ALL street people would be exterminated or incarcerated, but the TRULY dangerous old coots out in the suburbs, the ones MOST LIKELY TO OWN UNREGISTERED HANDGUNS, oh, they are the SALT OF THE EARTH, they are the xian GUARDIANS OF THE FAITH! Seriously. And as long as your tax money is being siphoned-off to those bullshit Second Spanish Inquisition “faith-based initiative” assholes, idiots like THIS will still believe that THEY ACTUALLY DO SOMETHING to “better the world,” by mere dint of their KEYBOARD-EROTICA TRANSCENDENTAL MASTURBATION.
In short, Swankster is the canker sore, the syphilitic madness, the jumping-bean crabs — a SYMPTOM of what’s wrong with the cults’ stranglehold upon our governments. He’s just the tip of the bigoted bibul-banging fucktard iceberg, my friend, as scary a tip as he is.
I don’t know where this poor fella imagines his “church” is, but I’m betting he’s writing these Townhall screeds from a padded room somewhere. With Crayolas.
It’s performance art, I tells ya. People pay good money in NYC for this.
“But now, in the present-tense it, seems as if…”
I don’t know about the rest of you, but I personally could use all the present-tense it I can get my itts on.
The Swank is Back! I fling my shawl skyward!
Someone wondered if the Pastor has any real life outside his own skull-to-keyboard matrix, and if he talks like this in it. Remember his post Scott interpreted for us a couple months ago about taking his wife to the hospital while he himself was suffering the effects of his latest fad diet/high colonic? So we know he has a wife. Which is in itself amazing. But my guess is the poor woman probably runs interference for him socially: they’re in some public venue, like a supermarket checkout line, Swank opens his mouth to address the checker, and Mrs. S. swiftly interposes her head and exclaims, “Plastic, please!” before he can get out so much as an “Isle of Patmos” or a “twist my taste buds”! Then he comes home all swoll up like a toad with frustrated creativity, and takes it out on his laptop. Probably makes her listen to it, too.
Poor woman. No wonder she wound up in the hospital.
I don’t know about the rest of you, but I personally could use all the present-tense it I can get my itts on.
The Swank is Back! I fling my shawl skyward!
Someone wondered if the Pastor has any real life outside his own skull-to-keyboard matrix, and if he talks like this in it. Remember his post Scott interpreted for us a couple months ago about taking his wife to the hospital while he himself was suffering the effects of his latest fad diet/high colonic? So we know he has a wife. Which is in itself amazing. But my guess is the poor woman probably runs interference for him socially: they’re in some public venue, like a supermarket checkout line, Swank opens his mouth to address the checker, and Mrs. S. swiftly interposes her head and exclaims, “Plastic, please!” before he can get out so much as an “Isle of Patmos” or a “twist my taste buds”! Then he comes home all swoll up like a toad with frustrated creativity, and takes it out on his laptop. Probably makes her listen to it, too.
Poor woman. No wonder she wound up in the hospital.
BTW, “carbuncle” means either a cabuchon-cut red gemstone.. OR an ulcerous skin sore oozing pus from more than one opening.
I wonder what he thought he was talking about? There are several Biblical references to the first “carbuncle”, including one that says it was one of the jewels on the breastplate of the High Priest in Jerusalem.
Does this give us a clue?
Could he have thought it was a word for “eyes”? Where would he have gotten THAT idea???
The man is an endless candy machine of mystery. A giant smoke stream of nonplussedness.
I wonder what he thought he was talking about? There are several Biblical references to the first “carbuncle”, including one that says it was one of the jewels on the breastplate of the High Priest in Jerusalem.
Does this give us a clue?
Could he have thought it was a word for “eyes”? Where would he have gotten THAT idea???
The man is an endless candy machine of mystery. A giant smoke stream of nonplussedness.
I am coming to the reluctant conclusion that the Swankster is, indeed, a performance artist of amazing virtuosity. I picture him writing his screeds, laughing uproariously with each new turn of phrase and pausing frequently to wipe his streaming eyes, occasionally asking his wife, “I wonder what Scott at World o’Crap will make of this one? Ha ha!”
Also, there are many tax advantages to declaring yourself a church. He’s probably not paying any property tax on his house. The Swankster is laughing all the way to the bank.
Or maybe not. But no matter; genius, madman, or both, I’m delighted that we have the mad pastor to kick around. Reading Swank makes my brain feel funny, kind of like I just took a hit of mild acid.
Also, there are many tax advantages to declaring yourself a church. He’s probably not paying any property tax on his house. The Swankster is laughing all the way to the bank.
Or maybe not. But no matter; genius, madman, or both, I’m delighted that we have the mad pastor to kick around. Reading Swank makes my brain feel funny, kind of like I just took a hit of mild acid.
Remember when your little body leaned against the candy glass case to pick out your several cents’ worth of bubble gum and Mary Janes?
Ew. But then Pastor Swank probably gets off on the idea of giving candy to little girls and boys…
Again, looking up, I anticipate cheaper stamps and candy sales like unto Miss Daisy’s Candy Store on North Market Street, Frederick, MD—where I twisted those Mary Jane taffies round my taste buds.
Two things:
First, ew. Again.
Second, why does he think stamps will go down in price when the USPS hasn’t turned a decent profit since the rise of Fedex made catalog mailings their main source of revenue?
If there was ever an entry into Jerusalem for the Anointed One, it is when the globe drops prostrate before the pig flu.
Considering that pig flu in many respects validates Muslim (and Jewish) doctrine…
But for biblical believers, none of that is fanciful for it is the Christ vision afforded the Apostle John on the Isle of Patmos circa AD295.
Fixed for historical accuracy. No wonder he flunked out of divinity school.
In the meantime, biblical enthusiasts lay the Scriptures down alongside newsfeeds, praying for God’s gift of discernment.
It also makes an excellent lining for your parakeet cage and great litter for your hamsters.
Ew. But then Pastor Swank probably gets off on the idea of giving candy to little girls and boys…
Again, looking up, I anticipate cheaper stamps and candy sales like unto Miss Daisy’s Candy Store on North Market Street, Frederick, MD—where I twisted those Mary Jane taffies round my taste buds.
Two things:
First, ew. Again.
Second, why does he think stamps will go down in price when the USPS hasn’t turned a decent profit since the rise of Fedex made catalog mailings their main source of revenue?
If there was ever an entry into Jerusalem for the Anointed One, it is when the globe drops prostrate before the pig flu.
Considering that pig flu in many respects validates Muslim (and Jewish) doctrine…
But for biblical believers, none of that is fanciful for it is the Christ vision afforded the Apostle John on the Isle of Patmos circa AD295.
Fixed for historical accuracy. No wonder he flunked out of divinity school.
In the meantime, biblical enthusiasts lay the Scriptures down alongside newsfeeds, praying for God’s gift of discernment.
It also makes an excellent lining for your parakeet cage and great litter for your hamsters.
It’s performance art, I tells ya. People pay good money in NYC for this.
The hell we do! This is one of the tourist shows.
The hell we do! This is one of the tourist shows.
You’re going to hell, Scott. It’s a sin to make fun of the mentally ill.
Keep up the good work.
Keep up the good work.
Ah-Ha! I get it. The Swine Flu epidemic combined with a Moslem President will cause the world to return to Days of Yore via smoke screens, a place where everyone will write with a pen and eat penny candy. All in black & white of course, with a musical soundtrack.
Another definition of Carbuncle is a type of shell. Shell, jewel or oozing sore, take your choice!
Another definition of Carbuncle is a type of shell. Shell, jewel or oozing sore, take your choice!
Reason would conclude then that with emails going zip via Internet crash, stamp costs should plummet, rejoicing over the upswing in letter and card flow like when we actually used a pen to write on paper.
No, an idiot like Pastor Swank would conclude that. Those in the “reality-based community” understand supply and demand, which means that prices go UP in tandem with demand (assuming no change in supply).
Then again, this is just the converse of the same old bullshit they’ve been feeding the public for years: that reducing tax rates will increase tax collections (that’s not called the Laffer Curve for nothing, you know).
They really do live on Bizarro World, don’t they?
No, an idiot like Pastor Swank would conclude that. Those in the “reality-based community” understand supply and demand, which means that prices go UP in tandem with demand (assuming no change in supply).
Then again, this is just the converse of the same old bullshit they’ve been feeding the public for years: that reducing tax rates will increase tax collections (that’s not called the Laffer Curve for nothing, you know).
They really do live on Bizarro World, don’t they?
“If there was ever an entry into Jerusalem for the Anointed One, it is when the globe drops prostrate before the pig flu.”
Wait a minute. Does that mean he thinks the entry to Jerusalem is the butthole of the earth?
Wait a minute. Does that mean he thinks the entry to Jerusalem is the butthole of the earth?
“carbuncle” means either a cabuchon-cut red gemstone.
Except in the world of Sherlock Holmes, where it’s possible to have a blue carbuncle.
Marx was afflicted with carbuncles. I never heard of him applying half a brain, but it might be some kind of poultice.
Except in the world of Sherlock Holmes, where it’s possible to have a blue carbuncle.
Marx was afflicted with carbuncles. I never heard of him applying half a brain, but it might be some kind of poultice.
Had William S. Burroughs been an insane right-wing Christian fundamentalist with some kind of exotic brain damage, he still couldn’t have produced anything half as awesome as that final “sentence.” I can’t keep my eyes off of it, which makes me suspect there’s some kind of evil Lovecraftian shenanigans involved. I’m going to yell for my roommates to turn off my laptop without looking at the screen. Just as soon as I read those words a few more times. They ALMOST make sense… just a few more times…
“pig flu oinking loudly”
Is that anything like ‘one hand clapping’?
Is that anything like ‘one hand clapping’?
I think you missed the point here. Did you read Revelation 13?
“And I stood upon the sand of the sea, and saw a beast rise up out of the sea, having seven heads and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns, and upon his heads the name of blasphemy.”
Sounds like Barack to me.
“And I stood upon the sand of the sea, and saw a beast rise up out of the sea, having seven heads and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns, and upon his heads the name of blasphemy.”
Sounds like Barack to me.
Doesn’t candy glass shatter quite easily? I imagine that a young person who had pressed his body against it and experienced that shock would probably be marred for life.
“And I stood upon the sand of the sea, and saw a beast rise up out of the sea, having seven heads and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns, and upon his heads the name of blasphemy.”
Sounds like Barack to me.
In his board shorts.
Sounds like Barack to me.
In his board shorts.
Pasta Swanksta writes great beat poetry; he just does not hit the carriage-return key at the right places. Watch:
“I know that swine flu beckons
and the Iranian thug head threatens
to return his messiah via
global smoke streams.”
True Beauty, surpassed only by:
“But now in present-tense it, seems as if, even apart from the discernment gift, one with half a brain tied behind his carbuncles, The Boy is ripe for filling the shoes of the One World Governor—pig flu oinking loudly.”
Scott is, as always, correct: we just can’t improve upon this.
“I know that swine flu beckons
and the Iranian thug head threatens
to return his messiah via
global smoke streams.”
True Beauty, surpassed only by:
“But now in present-tense it, seems as if, even apart from the discernment gift, one with half a brain tied behind his carbuncles, The Boy is ripe for filling the shoes of the One World Governor—pig flu oinking loudly.”
Scott is, as always, correct: we just can’t improve upon this.
Really, I just don’t know why you people scorn to the good Pastor, who is verily a plusively perfect writer with the oinking of teh creative upon him. Philistines.
It occurs to me that “Mary Jane” is a dated slang term for marajuana. Could that be the “Mary Jane” he partakes of, and not the candy?
‘Cause that’d explain a lot.
‘Cause that’d explain a lot.
Yeah, but how about that Nemertes consulting group? That sounded to me like a joke name — see below — but it really exists. The web site does not seem to explain the name, but The Shadow knows, and it shows a sense of humor, and a biologist on the staff.
Nemertes is a thoroughly obscure Nereid, and the name seems to have no particular point. But their naming expert knew what the Nemertea are: a phylum of marine worms with a tendency to grow to great lengths, and a rudimentary nervous system. Basically the front half doesn’t know what the back half is doing.
What a splendid name for experts on the Internet!
Nemertes is a thoroughly obscure Nereid, and the name seems to have no particular point. But their naming expert knew what the Nemertea are: a phylum of marine worms with a tendency to grow to great lengths, and a rudimentary nervous system. Basically the front half doesn’t know what the back half is doing.
What a splendid name for experts on the Internet!
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