Maybe that’s a Good Thing

 

The Reverend Wilbur 

When an event comes along, I will usually let it simmer for a while. The News Services will try to one up themselves getting the scoop, but be wary, it is virtually impossible to accurately address a situation five minutes after said event.

 

As the president’s motorcade entered Dealy Plaza, three shots rang out. 

 

And for the next sixty years that was the most accurate rendering of the eight seconds in Dallas Texas on November 22, 1963. All the expensive senate subcommittees, and the two-inch-thick books by people that you never heard of before that day, nothing, and I do mean nothing tops those crackling words that day in history.

 

Poor little Jon Benét. All those cops trained to direct traffic in a tourist trap somehow forgot to secure the body when it was found. Now, years later DNA here, DNA there, DNA DNA everywhere and not a case to make! Intruder? A nine-year-old kid. A mother recovering from chemo. They had male DNA in her panties. Do you know how many grandfathers we’ve offed in Texas based on a few dew drops on an organ? Here’s some interesting suppositions for you. House was reasonably secure when the family got home from a Christmas party. Little boy stumbled to his room. In later years he said he was enamored by some toy he was getting for Christmas. Next day the mother finds a kidnapping note on her ornate stairwell outlining about they had the little girl and will unalive her should the family miss but one of the stipulations outlined in the highly defined definition of Rich Man Poor Man found on the stairs that day! So, drop the nonsense and boil it down. I always call this my What We Do Know line of reasoning. Daddy took little girl upstairs. Last person to see her. Kidnapping? Mr. Ramsey, would you mind rechecking the house, just in case someone who never produced a fingerprint forgot to take a body? Why certainly officer. First, I’ll check the plain sight floor in the basement and Son of a Bitch! Little Jo Jo all sprawled out like a party favor on Epstein Island. DNA in her panties? Forget about it! Either some Chinaman left it there or Little Jo put it other herself. Do the shrimp boil. Kid asleep, daddy took her to bed, no one ever saw her alive again. How many grown-ass men do we know were in the house that night. Now whose fingers do you really think got into that finger pie? Hurts, don’t it? I mean, not as bad as sitting on a bicycle without a seat, but at least a number eight on the hemorrhoid scale, wouldn’t you think?

Nondescript, college rally on a campus full of Mormon kids just quivering for their own planet. Just so happens that Charlie Kirk, the new John F. Kennedy, and Prophet at large is in town doing his show. Before I go on, I want to ask something: Before the shot heard around Mara Lago, how many of you had ever heard of Charlie Kirk or even knew of him outside of that occasional video popping up on YouTube and then, just like that, it became common knowledge that Charlie handed Trump 2020 in a hand-basket. Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition. The High School Kid That Could!

Enter the Queen of 🐂 💩 and voila! All churches began reporting the lingering odor of St Charlie’s after shave. And I think we all know who that Queen is. Why? Because Candace Owens you nothing. Now Charlie’s appearing in the high  Priestess’s dreams, continuing to lead Turning Point to The Promised Land. I know I’m putting my usual irreverent slant on this, but where do you think dogma comes from? I would venture that if Charlie can see all this his eyes are popping out of his head.

And last but not least, The Rabbi of Brentwood! Now I’d like to point out that none of these victims of mayhem did anything to forward any effect upon the human race. President Kennedy: Stared Khrushchev down and we still have a planet populated with people. Ok ok. He had girlfriends. I’d hit it. Jon Benét; Little girl who liked to perform. Mommy’s mini me. Woman was showing her the ropes before cancer claimed her. Charlie. Oh Charlie, we hardly knew thee!

And while we of the shaved ape society constructed icons these exceptional people all had a message. But instead of listening, we stuffed Mega Churches ignoring the Mega Man who started it all. Forget Him! We have this. We have AI and new prophets from Popes to Pimps and we have it all figured out, and maybe that’s a good thing.