Are all races equal? These days it's no longer a question that is to be debated rather it is gospel and anyone who would dare speak the truth on this issue no matter who cohearent or no matter how sincere are denied a place at the table. We are all forced to bow down to that belief that all people reguardless of racial differences are equal and that we are only different in speech and skin color. But there is more below the skin to be found.
The Ritual Blessin' o' the Troll
Gather round Stout-Hearted Men
for the ritual Blessing of the Troll.
Form a circle. Tighten it up so you have
good position for the spittin' part.
[Like saying grace before a bad meal,
the Ritual Blessin' o' the Troll is necessary
because of who we are - not because of
any merit in the Troll himself. Yes, it
is distasteful, and some would say disgusting.
And they'd be right...
yes it's a heavy duty that falls upon us
as manly men before he goes
to his just reward.]
I will start...
We are gathered around this poor pathetic
soul yvh7 today for the
Ritual Blessing of the Troll.
He is a woeful creature, to be sure.
It pains us to look upon him as we gather round him.
Th' best tha' could be said for him is that he's
a hairy fellar. Skinny to be sure and pale of complexion.
We see his brain has been warped. It is twisted.
He has become but a shell of what a thinkin' human should be.
No worse thing probably could we say
than he has become a liberal.
[yes, this is the time to spit upon him - feel free]
Yet, as we know,
all progress starts with telling the truth.
So truth it'll be for this hairy one.
We should well remember that this troll
used to be human
(at least we suspect)
as Gollum hi'self was at one time.
That was quite some time before.
He can no longer think clearly enough to
escape from soundbites and
DU talking points.
They drip from his lips and
fingers like vomit. (An' if you're standin'
close enough to the Circle of Stout-Hearted Men,
I'm not sayin' anythin' you don't know already.)
He can't spell.
He can't think.
And sadly, he hasn't the wisdom to know
these things are true.
So we ask a blessing on his brain. Aye, it's a tall order, we know.
Allow him to go forth after this
RIGHTEOUS ZOT!
with a brain that functions once again.
May the
LIGHTENING BOLTS
of the Zot! reawaken that long dormant
brain that is hangs like legs on a paralytic man.
The brain isn't the worst part ...
His soul is in worse shape than his brain -
if you can imagine such dire straits.
And of course, this is assumin' he has a soul.
Admittedly, it seems doubtful today,
but we can hope.
Whereas he was born in sin,
yet could have made something of his life,
here he has ended up.
And it falls upon us in the Blessin' of the Troll
to hold this to the light -
He is twisted in soul.
He is stunted in moral development.
An' we should rightly say, he is pathetic
- and this even for a troll.
He can no longer tell right from wrong.
He has no moral compass to guide his poor troll rantings.
Perhaps it was the use of the weed.
Perhaps something stronger.
We'll never know,
for he's in no state to tell us,
let alone repent from the depths of his depravity.
Or perhaps he's been over imbibing the hard drink.
If so, it should be noted that he can't handle his liquor.
As such, he is certainly no longer a man.
He has become just an empty shell.
But a human shell who's only purpose is
to provide space for a Kerry bumper sticker,
which explains the ugly tattoo.
Whatever started him down this path,
may he be blessed to turn after the
VIKING KITTIES OF DEATH
come with their claws blazin'
... and they will, for sure.
May the pain and terror of these
noble beasts chase him back
to the straight and narrow way -
from which a man should never stray.
May he have such a fear in his soul that
he will look back on today as a blessing, for sure!
There is little more that can be said about this sad,
pathetic creature who is before us today.
There is little enough left of human form,
nothing that is good,
or noble,
or worthy,
or excellent.
We wish that it were so,
fer it pains us to look upon him.
He has become little more than a pile of
what could have been human and yet now is stillborn
as it sits within our circle of stout-hearted men.
What is left here after the
RIGHTEOUS ZOT
(which he deserves)
shall be scraped up and returned to
the last known address. And if one of you
good gentleman is willing to spare a zip-lock
baggie, I believe that will do it.
Now, unless another of our best has
any other blessin's, we commend this hairy
wayward troll to the
ZOT!
