POETRY TIME WITH UNCLE WART BOYS AND GRLS>>>>>

[Warthogg]

You guys need some cultures and here they are !!


Wart



Lewinsky and Kaczynski...


The Washington Post runs a weekly contest in its Style section called the
'Style Invitational'.

The requirements this week were to use the two words 'Lewinsky' (the Intern)
and 'Kaczynski' (the Unabomber) in the same limerick.

Now, remember, the following winning entries were actually printed verbatim
in the newspaper, no bleeps or xxxs:


Third place:

There once was a girl named Lewinsky
Who played on a flute like Stravinsky
Twas 'Hail to the Chief'
On this flute made of beef
That stole the front page from Kaczynski.

Second place:

Said Clinton to young Ms. Lewinsky,
We don't want to leave clues like Kaczynski,
Since you made such a mess,
Use the hem of your dress
And please wipe that stuff off your chinsky.

And the winning entry:

Lewinsky and Clinton have shown
What Kaczynski must surely have known,
That an intern is better
Than a bomb in a letter
When deciding how best to be blown.

[LAGC]

I was surfing some Montana real estate listings just for fun and came across the listing for the property that the Unabomber was living on where he made all his bombs. I guess they hauled off his dinky little cabin and turned it into a museum exhibit, but just the land was for sale there in Lincoln, MT. Wasn't too expensive either, from what I recall... but was way out in the sticks.

You have to give the man his due: he didn't just believe in his neo-Luddite philosophy -- that mother-fucker lived it. No electricity, no running water, none of the creature features we "softies" take for granted. He lived on the land, he respected the land, and he hated civilization encroaching all around him.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ted_Kaczynski#Life_in_Montana

Can't say I agree with his methods, but I can kind of understand why he felt the way he did. His manifesto was brilliant.

[old Grump]

Can't say I agree with his methods, but I can kind of understand why he felt the way he did. His manifesto was brilliant.Brilliant my aching tush, he was a man in desperate need of medical care and a structured environment, preferably with padded walls.

Sample:

Thus there is a religious vaccuum in our society that could perhaps be filled by a religion focused on nature in opposition to technology. But it would be a mistake to try to concoct artificially a religion to fill this role. Such an invented religion would probably be a failure. Take the "Gaia" religion for example. Do its adherents REALLY believe in it or are they just play-acting? If they are just play-acting their religion will be a flop in the end.
I read better from high school sophomores. He was a one trick pony and he was a sick son of a bitch who deserved to be shot on sight like the mad dog he was.

[Warthogg]

Kaczynski.......that thin line between genius and lunacy. Clearly Kaczynski was well over.

How sum ever, we would do well to remember Kaczynski might well still be out there except for his brother ratting him out for the reward money.


Wart

[old Grump]

The Reluctant Gunfighter
by Alan Wayne Burch (http://www.authorsden.com/visit/author.asp?AuthorID=8537)
Sunday, September 28, 2003
Never judge a book by it's cover, or a man by his apparel or outward demeanor
John Slade was a gunman
and proud of his trade.
Many had faced him,
but mistakes had been made.

The notches on his gunbutts
numbered two score and four.
Most would be satisfied,
but John wanted more.

He walked the streets by day,
with an eagle eye.
Hoping that a new stranger,
might just happen to pass by.

One morning it happened,
A farmer came to town.
John quickly stepped forward,
and looked him up and down.

"New in town, ain'tcha?"
he asked with a smirk.
But the farmer said nothing,
Just continued with his work.

John stepped up closer,
and it was plain to see.
That John had an ego,
and wouldn't let things be.

The farmer stepped to the boardwalk,
To pick up a sack,
John pushed him hard,
and the man fell on his back.

"I'm sorry," said the farmer,
"That I got in your way.
Let me buy you a drink,
and let's be friends today."

"Yer yellow!" yelled John,
At the top of his lungs.
"Hey! Sumbody bring
This heyar farmer a gun."

"I don't want to fight you,"
The farmer said very plain.
"Why don't you take my offer,
and let's call it a day?"

"I cain't make ya mad,"
said John, "it's clear to me,
that your woman needs a real man,
To tend to her needs"

The farmer's face went white,
and then turned red,
and he reached for the gunbelt,
that was tossed to the wagon's bed.

Suddenly John noticed
for the very first time,
a peculiar small light,
in the farmer's grey eyes.

Now he also noticed,
but it was too late to quit,
that the holster fit snugly
against the farmer's right hip.

A warning fear hit him then,
and he stepped down and swore.
He suddenly realized, that
the farmer had used guns before.

The farmer said naught else,
just stepped into the street,
for it was unavoidable now,
that he and John meet.

John was sweating and trembling,
as he clawed for his gun.
He'd end this quickly
in the light of the sun.

The weapon cleared leather,
and he felt he was charmed,
but suddenly he had trouble
lifting his arm.

He'd heard the shot,
saw the smoke drift high.
It just never occurred to him,
that he might possibly die.

He stood there a moment,
feeling pain in his chest,
and there was a stain of red,
By the hole in his vest.

The farmer looked sad
and tossed the gun aside.
He'd weakened a moment.
and another man had died.

"I'm sorry, Honey,"
he said to his wife.
"I know I told you before,
no more guns in my life."

With tears in their eyes,
they drove out of town.
John was buried that day,
just before sundown.