The bullet pushed through the Geek's skull and came out back of his head, coated in blood, brain and specks of yellow gruesome and sped along it's tragic trajectory to Grimshot, the arch villain, who was about to pull the lever to the Complete Annihilation Device, which would have made the Earth a gooy, chewy morass of snarling scarred whippet moans, when the afore mentioned bullet caught him straight in the forehead, likewise making Grimshot as Deceased as the formerly bothersome Geek. The bullet in turned embedded itself in the baseball, a slimy brick assemblage.
"So that's why they call you Gunner" said Batman, " you just fucking shoot the bad guys instead of bringing them to justice."
The Gunner put is snub nosed Finisher back in his leotard holster. "That's right, Batman. Cut to the quick. Gun 'em down and then eat a hearty snack of Chillie Curly Fries and Groan Soda (c)."
Superman was not pleased. "Worst Justice League audition I have ever seen. No style."
The Gunner wacked Superman in the funny parts with a Kryptonite claw hammer.
"I also have a blog where I write about stand up comedians who haven't yet been given enough credit for the movies they have made.Like the Bob Hope masterpiece Boy Did I Get a Wrong Number?"
"THAT HAD ME IN TEARS " said Superman, otherwise moaning and foaming at the mouth. The doorbell rang.
"Who ordered a Knuckle Sandwich?" yelled Batman. Great green cootie slugs had crawled under his cowl, sliming a trail to the eyeballs.
Bob Hope pulled up to the exclusive entrance to his plush studio headquarters in a 20-foot long Cadillac limo made of solid laminated meat. His nose gleamed with oozing human wax enriched by a rare combination of longevity-prolonging vitamins and mackerel oil supplements. Hope wore a white sports coat, squid-sleek pants and had a bleeding venus fly trap in his buttonhole. His grin was at once maniacal and insincere, flecked by scented spittle and rimmed by glistening pink gums.
ReplyDelete“Where’s that writer I told you to fly out here?” He barked. Two flunkies built like off-white CIA file cabinets dragged a skinny beard old man across the parking lot. He hung limp like a pile of abandoned wet-wash; his eyes were a pair of damaged plug-in sockets.
“This is Ezra Pound,” said one of Hope’s men, dumping the aged fascist to the ground.
“They say you are funny,” said Bob. “So how ‘bout some jokes?”
Pound was lifted to his feet. He opened his mouth as his eyes widened, their pupils receding into microscopic black dots:
“The state has credit.
Distribution is effected by little pieces of paper.
If you don’t WATCH these, you will be slaves. If you don’t know how
they are made, who makes them, who controls them, you will be diddled
out of your livings, as millions of dead men have been diddled, and as
millions of live ones are being. The sword can “protect the
furrow”…….etc……. against foreign invasion, but not against the usurer’s
cunning. Against usury it has availed never at all.
Usury and sodomy, the Church condemned as a pair, to one hell, the same
for one reason, namely that they are both against natural increase.
Dante knew this and said it. It is registered in the Merchant of
Venice, where Shylock wants no more shinbone or elbow, but wants to end
Antonio’s natural increase. You can find it in Lombard Chronicles, the
laws against making eunuchs.
Van Buren’s memoirs, the records of the American bank war, the death
struggle between the bank and the people, were written in 1861, and
never got printed till 1920.
The knowledge of true coining, the principles of honest issue of money
have been known, over and over again, and forgotten. It is our
generation’s job so to hammer a few simple truths into the human
consciousness that no Meyer Anselm can efface them.
Certain facts must stand in the common tongue. These root facts must
go to the PEOPLE, they must go into the one everlasting repository, the
MIND of the people. They must go into the folk-lore, into men’s
proverbs…”
“That’s good,” said Hope, a reptilian grin sliding across his face. “I wish I’d had lines like that in Eight On the Lam. Let me call up Harry Von Zell. I’d like to see how he sounds saying this stuff. Or maybe Crosby…man, this is some snappy shit…”
Pound swayed and buckled but remained erect. He was a bony, ragged human radio pouring out economic insanity:
“Coffee in France, gone to hell; coffee offered free by Brazil – too
expensive for the poor in Vienna. Wallace ploughing grain under;
Perkins too bull-witted to know that work is not a commodity.
Work is not a commodity.
Money is not a commodity.
The people of two populous countries tolerate rulers too whey-headed to
understand or say this…”
“Swell,” said Hope, producing his most horrifying grin of the afternoon. “It’s fresh, it’s snazzy…all we need is Elke Sommer for a little vavavoom and we are off to the races, Daddy…”