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A special thanks... and goodbye
Wed, 08/22/2012 - 10:30
Lol! Too much!
"Hokey religions and ancient weapons are no match for a good blaster at your side, kid."
Wed, 08/22/2012 - 20:23
"Our lager, which art in barrels,
Hallowed be thy drink.
Thy will be drunk, (I will be drunk),
At home as it is in the tavern.
Give us this day our foamy head,
And forgive us our spillage,
As we forgive those who spill against us.
And lead us not to incarceration,
But deliver us from hangovers.
For thine is the beer, the bitter, and the lager."
Wed, 08/22/2012 - 21:35
as other religious sects use the term 'flirty fishing'
or 'sacred prostitution'
Wed, 08/22/2012 - 22:10
Wed, 08/22/2012 - 22:16
It is indicative of the AA faithful trying to rationalize the truth in the cult of Alcoholics Anonymous. Will you be joining Danny and cribbisque at the Jerry Springer and Steve Wilkos show festival filled with prospects recruited from jails and prisons?
"Tradition 10 - Alcoholics Anonymous has no opinion on outside issues; hence the AA name ought never be drawn into public controversy." Please follow orders from the Interchurch Center if you are an AA member and don't comment.
Wed, 08/22/2012 - 22:24
JR Harris whines: "Will you be joining Danny and cribbisque at the Jerry Springer and Steve Wilkos show festival filled with haters recruited from jails and prisons?" Will you be there, too?
Wed, 08/22/2012 - 22:29
Hate is a relative term, at least we don't try to condone bad behavior by claiming that 13th Stepping is a natural, god given right to the poor souls who have been ensnared by the cults that the adulterous Bill Wilson built. Try a little bit of humility and rigorous honesty in your posts instead of the usual childish "your rubber, I'm glue" tactics of the defenders of the AA faith.
Wed, 08/22/2012 - 22:53
JR Harris spews hate again: "Hate is the correct term, at least we don't lie about bad behavior and claim false accusations ...." 13th Stepping is a natural, god given right .... Bwahahahahahahaha!
Wed, 08/22/2012 - 23:03
But actually an insane asylum would be better. Is that where you were spawned from and learned the cult speak of Alcoholics Anonymous and your baby talk?
Thu, 08/23/2012 - 06:07
JR Harris continually whines: "But actually "jails, institutions, or death" would be better. Is that where you were spawned from and learned the hate speak of Orange Papers Forum and your "trivial, insincere, untruthful talk or writing, nonsense"?
Thu, 08/23/2012 - 06:24
That would be frigging awesome... Get me ticket for front row seat
Thu, 08/23/2012 - 06:09
"The hands of the clock were reaching high
In an old midtown hotel;
I name no name, but its sordid fame
Is table talk in hell.
I name no name, but hell's own flame
Illumes the lobby garish,
A gilded snare just off Times Square
For the maidens of the parish.
The revolving door swept the grimy floor
Like a crinoline grotesque,
And a lowly bum from an ancient slum
Crept furtively past the desk.
His footsteps sift into the lift
As a knife in the sheath is slipped,
Stealthy and swift into the lift
As a vampire into a crypt.
Old Maxie, the elevator boy,
Was reading an ode by Shelley,
But he dropped the ode as it were a toad
When the gun jammed into his belly.
There came a whisper as soft as mud
In the bed of an old canal:
"Take me up to the suite of Pinball Pete,
The rat who betrayed my gal."
The lift doth rise with groans and sighs
Like a duchess for the waltz,
Then in middle shaft, like a duchess daft,
It changes its mind and halts.
The bum bites lip as the landlocked ship
Doth neither fall nor rise,
But Maxie the elevator boy
Regards him with burning eyes.
"First, to explore the thirteenth floor,"
Says Maxie, "would be wise."
Quoth the bum, "There is moss on your double cross,
I have been this way before,
I have cased the joint at every point,
And there is no thirteenth floor.
The architect he skipped direct
From twelve unto fourteen,
There is twelve below and fourteen above,
And nothing in between,
For the vermin who dwell in this hotel
Could never abide thirteen."
Said Max, "Thirteen, that floor obscene,
Is hidden from human sight;
But once a year it doth appear,
On this Walpurgis Night.
Ere you peril your soul in murderer's role,
Heed those who sinned of yore;
The path they trod led away from God,
And onto the thirteenth floor,
Where those they slew, a grisly crew,
Reproach them forevermore.
"We are higher than twelve and below fourteen,"
Said Maxie to the bum,
"And the sickening draft that taints the shaft
Is a whiff of kingdom come.
The sickening draft that taints the shaft
Blows through the devil's door!"
And he squashed the latch like a fungus patch,
And revealed the thirteenth floor.
It was cheap cigars like lurid scars
That glowed in the rancid gloom,
The murk was a-boil with fusel oil
And the reek of stale perfume.
And round and round there dragged and wound
A loathsome conga chain,
The square and the hep in slow lock step,
The slayer and the slain.
(For the souls of the victims ascend on high,
But their bodies below remain.)
The clean souls fly to their home in the sky,
But their bodies remain below
To pursue the Cain who each has slain
And harry him to and fro.
When life is extinct each corpse is linked
To its gibbering murderer,
As a chicken is bound with wire around
The neck of a killer cur.
Handcuffed to Hate come Doctor Waite
(He tastes the poison now),
And Ruth and Judd and a head of blood
With horns upon its brow.
Up sashays Nan with her feathery fan
From Floradora bright;
She never hung for Caesar Young
But she's dancing with him tonight.
Here's the bulging hip and the foam-flecked lip
Of the mad dog, Vincent Coll,
And over there that ill-met pair,
Becker and Rosenthal,
Here's Legs and Dutch and a dozen such
Of braggart bullies and brutes,
And each one bends 'neath the weight of friends
Who are wearing concrete suits.
Now the damned make way for the double-damned
Who emerge with shuffling pace
From the nightmare zone of persons unknown,
With neither name nor face.
And poor Dot King to one doth cling,
Joined in a ghastly jig,
While Elwell doth jape at a goblin shape
And tickle it with his wig.
See Rothstein pass like breath on a glass,
The original Black Sox kid;
He riffles the pack, riding piggyback
On the killer whose name he hid.
And smeared like brine on a slavering swine,
Starr Faithful, once so fair,
Drawn from the sea to her debauchee,
With the salt sand in her hair.
And still they come, and from the bum
The icy sweat doth spray;
His white lips scream as in a dream,
"For God's sake, let's away!
If ever I meet with Pinball Pete
I will not seek his gore,
Lest a treadmill grim I must trudge with him
On the hideous thirteenth floor."
"For you I rejoice," said Maxie's voice,
"And I bid you go in peace,
But I am late for a dancing date
That nevermore will cease.
So remember, friend, as your way you wend,
That it would have happened to you,
But I turned the heat on Pinball Pete;
You see - I had a daughter, too!"
The bum reached out and he tried to shout,
But the door in his face was slammed,
And silent as stone he rode down alone
From the floor of the double-damned."
Thu, 08/23/2012 - 07:01
AA General Service Area 13 is Washington, DC and aptly named due to the Clancy I inspired Midtown Group of Mike Q following in the footsteps of the Sponsorship Groups of the Pacific Group in California. In the Midtown Group of Mike Q, opposite sex sponsors were encouraged where the Step 5 ritual of confession of all your sins to another person often ended up in the bedrooms of older men with younger females following in the footsteps of the adulterous Bill Wilson.
As the story unfolded in the Washington Post articles of Marc Fisher, author of the Raw Fisher -