Should I be humble?
Nope, not at all means I have achieved so much, I am frever tempted to hide my shining greatness behind a screenname and a pair of reflective sunglasses. The question is, do I just post -- or do I start explaining what it is a gem like me is looking to bring to the blogosphere?
So, you know what, I am just going to do a mixture of both and let you, gentle reader, to wade through the morass. Hey, I had to -- if only of my own conflicted emotions. I mean, Charlton Heston, guys? He might not be everyone's cup of tea, but he is a favored drink of just enough millions out there that I am going to go out on the limb and designate him an American icon.
So, what do you think I see on one sleepless night not too long ago, but the poor ghoul, starring in an infomercial. Why ghoul, you would ask? What has he ever done to me? Fair, I'll answer. He's begotten a son.
No, folks, I haven't gone "ape". I mean, just what would you call this?
As you were just privileged to witness, for one who has been in the market for a Bible geared toward our zombie minority populace, like manna from above, it came, heralded by a voice equally befitting a burning bush and a Geico insurance commercial.
Newsflash, for those outside The Passion of Christ focus groups, diagnosed with Alzheimer's back in 2002, I repeat, Charlton Heston has long passed away, and yet, lives on -- a curious double life: presumably, in Heaven of his beloved Book, and certainly in Hell that is his son's grotesque attempt to capitalize on the passing of a man who has done so much to raise the standing of our cinematography in the eyes of the world.
I have to ask, did the great thesp employ such spectacularly atrocious money management team that all that was left is a legacy of tortured expressions by a tired old man denied a deserved rest for the sumptuous deserts of the Middle East by a moderately talented filming crew and an immoderately avaricious offspring? "My late father" belabors the fruit of these rather celebrated loins, yet seems unable let them rest and sell on its own merits the work so sweeping with a subject so universally reknown, it shouldn't have a need of such celebrity-focused treatment.
Bible preaches charity and I am willing to do my part. But does denying Junior a portion of what would be ill-gotten gains count against my karma?
Which I need. I am a mom, a wife, a daughter, a caretaker, a slave of a persnickety cat, a published poet trying to get her prose out the door after some cautiously positive initial response from the industry, a beginning blogger, a recipient of an imminently useful associate's degree in foreign languages on top of her health-related major, a politics freak who had just had seen her two-year dream realized on national TV. So, hey, maybe, I should buy the Recording. Maybe, Fraser Heston can send some my way, what do you think?
So, you know what, I am just going to do a mixture of both and let you, gentle reader, to wade through the morass. Hey, I had to -- if only of my own conflicted emotions. I mean, Charlton Heston, guys? He might not be everyone's cup of tea, but he is a favored drink of just enough millions out there that I am going to go out on the limb and designate him an American icon.
So, what do you think I see on one sleepless night not too long ago, but the poor ghoul, starring in an infomercial. Why ghoul, you would ask? What has he ever done to me? Fair, I'll answer. He's begotten a son.
No, folks, I haven't gone "ape". I mean, just what would you call this?
As you were just privileged to witness, for one who has been in the market for a Bible geared toward our zombie minority populace, like manna from above, it came, heralded by a voice equally befitting a burning bush and a Geico insurance commercial.
Newsflash, for those outside The Passion of Christ focus groups, diagnosed with Alzheimer's back in 2002, I repeat, Charlton Heston has long passed away, and yet, lives on -- a curious double life: presumably, in Heaven of his beloved Book, and certainly in Hell that is his son's grotesque attempt to capitalize on the passing of a man who has done so much to raise the standing of our cinematography in the eyes of the world.
I have to ask, did the great thesp employ such spectacularly atrocious money management team that all that was left is a legacy of tortured expressions by a tired old man denied a deserved rest for the sumptuous deserts of the Middle East by a moderately talented filming crew and an immoderately avaricious offspring? "My late father" belabors the fruit of these rather celebrated loins, yet seems unable let them rest and sell on its own merits the work so sweeping with a subject so universally reknown, it shouldn't have a need of such celebrity-focused treatment.
Bible preaches charity and I am willing to do my part. But does denying Junior a portion of what would be ill-gotten gains count against my karma?
Which I need. I am a mom, a wife, a daughter, a caretaker, a slave of a persnickety cat, a published poet trying to get her prose out the door after some cautiously positive initial response from the industry, a beginning blogger, a recipient of an imminently useful associate's degree in foreign languages on top of her health-related major, a politics freak who had just had seen her two-year dream realized on national TV. So, hey, maybe, I should buy the Recording. Maybe, Fraser Heston can send some my way, what do you think?
Labels: ape, Bible, Charlton Heston, greed
posted by Lisa | 9:42 PM
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