In this task did fail all the Christians in first circle of hell, and all the Commies in seventh heaven.
They brought in a crane for his crainyectomy and wee willy bendix for his pendix. A shitload of junk bond traders flocked to the remains. Them and their army. When the situation became dire those that had the means retired to their lead-lined bunkers and the lower class wailed to the skies. DNA analysis revealed a mongrel influence.
I think I speak for all of us when I say that I think I speak for all of us.
[Deduct two points for double irony and violation of the incompleteness theorem.]
Many have been born who no longer live, as we know ourselves.Those few of us still alive, survivors of the big bang and all that followed, credits to our community and debits to our band, happy in our cups, with two bits in the bank and an overdue book. We crawled up the decision tree until our heads were spinning and all hands were gathering wool.
Those not yet born will speak of us like the germs that we are, all plasm and double the protons. Don’t say too much about us or we get the big head.
Those that were almost born, that still was a life beginning as all we’ve made.
From Bantry Bay up to Derry Quay and
From Galway to Dublin town,
No maid I’ve seen like the brown colleen
That I met in the County Down.
Deck the hand with balls of palsey
Fettle your fish with fine fishery.
Three cheers for Christ’s own capitalist
— in the person of the father and of the son and of the holy ghost, amen —
and a festoon of fairy tales for the half-wit graduates of sunday school.
These as we know are the three great fallacies:
that god is dead
that there is a christian capitalist
that there are no holy murderers.
For if god is dead, who will bury the innocent?
And if there is a christian capitalist, is it one hump or two?
And if there were no holy murderers, would not god be as dead as the doorknob?
Maybe as they say god was killed by boredom and disgust.
Maybe the christian capitalist goes to church every sunday.
Maybe the holy murderer employs a cast of millions
to create enough euphemisms to get him through the eye.
When a lassie meets a laddie.
Needle in a haystack, two bits.