Blood, death, war. New! More! Free! Now with extra SEX! They laughed when I sat down to rule the world, but when I started to play, more smiles in every mile! It’s a long road to Tipperary: how many roads must a man walk down, before he walks a mile in your shoes? Smart bombs, smart cookies: looking for a few good men, and Eva Braun. A man can smile, and smile, and still be a villain. But those teeth stay white, cup after cup. Tastes as fresh as if you ground the beans yourself. French Roast? And why not, but Freedom Roast for now, gang, until it’s over, over there. Be fair: the war on terror can never end. There will always be terror. And we’ll always have Paris. Here’s looking at me, kid, with the NEW instamatic for the twenty-first century. Takes no film. Tape at 11. Why will we always have Paris? Thanks to Aphrodite, goddess, wit, all-around Greek. Poor old Menelaus, he was the better man but he didn’t have a divine chum. So we chum the divine deserts with our son’s blood, and up! Jumps the quick white shark. What a surprise. Were you surprised? I was surprised. Read the back issues, it’s all in there. They make circles in the corn fields at night. Even smarter bombs, for that matter. Smart as a whip. Wide as an ocean. Get your lapel flags here, gang, the bossman is coming into town. He wears a tall hat and hand-tooled boots, his eyes are mere slits but he’s no Chinaman, no sir, this here Texas hold-em is 100% pure grade A USDA expectorated Connecticut beefcake, son of the pioneers, noble scion of a patrician whatnot and a weather balloon named Babs. Coke adds life. Ten to life if you’re black and they catch you. Grind the beans yourself to release the full flavor. Your nostrils will spangle with delight! Sleep on eiderdown in the desert of the divine. Don’t ask what your country can do for you. Nothing. Brother, can you paradigm? Friends, romance, countrymen, lend my your rears. Take that. Dead for a ducat! Feel that motor hum, that’s a hundred and fifty ponies under the hood, and the hood is just there to protect his privacy. The wires on the genitals are there to protect his privates. Use the magic of electricity to rid yourself of pesky fleas, ticks, chiggers, and cassowaries, the ship of the desert. O Time in thy flight! Sorry about the cover story, now the Global War Against Terror is all your fault. New! For Ramadan, the waterproof Quran. Get rid of your old Koran, try NEW! Quran with the letter Q which is now the signifier of evil. Evil men like the Q letter better. It is the scarlet letter, and frankly, letter, I don’t give a scarlet damn. Terrorist in New Jersey, film at 11, courtesy of the New Improved Better Sex, add inches to your girth and lose that flab forever in a single flash of cordite because Jack, that body armor can stop anything but time in thy flight. Today is the three-and-twentieth day, but nobody told the Burning Bush. The battle rages on, unabated, employee rebate for everyone, why work there when you could work at home? Who needs it? Kids everywhere! Four out of five dentists agree, and the fifth one is a crank. He drinks, you know. Not much of a president but he’d be a great guy to hang around in a bar with. Hello, sailor, buy me a refreshing Coke? 420, man. Drugs are the new alcohol, and alcohol is the new fur, and fur is back, back I say! I created you, I can destroy you! Do my bidding! Luckily, there’s hope, thanks to the NEW secret ingredient xylophone, now with chloryphyll and extra pizzazz. Can I get an amen? Five on Dainty Dipper, then, third race. I’d walk a mile for a camel, my other car is a broom. Sweep the city, cleanse its ethnics, we’ll lick them yet, you wait and see. We have nothing to fear but Old Sourpuss. It’s my bicycle, officer.

With that the chief the tender victims slew,
And in the dust their bleeding bodies threw;
The vital spirit issued at the wound,
And left the members quivering on the ground.

Home run for Homer, kids, and don’t forget there’s a prize in every box. Free flag with every bereavement.

BEN TRIPP is an independent filmmaker and all-around swine. His book, Square In The Nuts, may be purchased here, with other outlets to follow: . Swag is available as always from http://www.cafeshops/tarantulabros . And Mr. Tripp may be reached at


















Ben Tripp is America’s leading pseudo-intellectual. His most recent book is The Fifth House of the Heart.