CCCC 5/31/04

Dear recipients of the bimonthly newsletter for the CCCC:

Hello comradian subtituentiaries. Haven't I a Gondorian bundle of goodwill to heap on your helpless heads! Fwa ha ha! But without a moment to spare for ramblingness, we should seize the day and attach nuclear warheads to one side of this planet to alter its rotation and indeed prolong the length of one day. With an added plus--ellimination of the Chinese! However, this would indeed prove too large a task for the CCCC to undergo in our present administration, so I will throw this idea in the time vault for later generations to pursue. Shall we address more pressing issues? Yes?

Well well well. It seems that our list of allies grows thin. Earlier this previous week, I was forced to assassinate two of our top substituents, codenames bigdaddy and dendall. It seems they wished to topple the totalitarian power of this one ruler regime, that is, myself. I took it upon myself to save our administration from such power-hungry fools. Others will think twice in later time periods before they attempt to overthrow my rule. Fwa ha! Heh! He... Ahem!

There are also forces in the outside world at work against us. Hast thou heard of U.S. plans to withdraw complete political control from Iraq? Dost thou believe the underlying motive to be the liberation of the Iraqi people? No! You fool! How could one be so blinded by the wiles of our enemies? This is precisely what they want you to believe. Sharpen your mind. Think with me... if the U.S. is withdrawing power from that region, they are leaving the door open for someone else to take over. Sure, they say that it is an interim Iraqi government until the next Iraqi election. Notwithstanding I daresay that the U.S. is planting a coalition that will seek to weed out and destroy our administration. Think! Although U.S. intelligence hast indeed attempted to track our organization for some time now on the homeland, they have been childishly unsuccessful, due to our sneaky sneakiness sir and our witty expertise in business and covert operations. We befriend no one, not even our lifetime canine companions. Never lose focus.

So you see, we must do something to stop this madness in Iraq before this planted seek-and-destroy sentinel finds its way to our doorstep disguised as our Iraqi contacts and uproot us from the face of the earth. For, as you surely are well aware, we have friendly contacts in nations across the globe, and these contacts are indeed in less of our control than those on home soil. Now, let us not lose our calm complexions. We must not entrap ourselves in the game. Funding terrorist organizations to topple the interim government is out of the question. For one, brigades of guerrilla bandits have no chance against trained U.S. military personal, which still plan to remain in Iraq even after political power is handed to the Iraqi people. We must plant a mole in the interim government, and let things decay from the inside out. Yes, yes, this is the plan. I will send the particulars of this assignment in red heron track 3. Be sure to meet the contact at your respective post at precisely 0900 hours atomic time tomorrow, June 1. I am counting on you.

Remember, although huge boulders of burdens rest themselves on your weary shoulders, our work will pay off in the end. We will live to see the day when the world is in our power, and the human race pays tribute to our kind. And, always remember: the secret to taming the brain is to make friends with your enemies and lead them to the dark pit of despair. Practice extra caution these next two weeks, my substituents, for our enemies seem more and more alert each passing day. They can feel the pending doom on their shoulders, and are afraid, reeling with trepidation. Keep your head up high. Walk with dignity, fellow crop circle fabricators. The fields are ripe with harvest. Reap away!

In never ceasing craftiness and deception, I remain

Dr. Townsmite
Founder and CEO of the CCCC, in establishment since 1948

****Warning: this publication contains sensitive information and should be handled with care****

Grappling hooks from various perspectives

5.29.04 Grappling Hooks.

That is, Fate, or a Sovereign Will. But we look from a different perspective. Argue your futile cause, futilisimist.

>Hello fine sirs. And mistresses. Although I myself don't have any mistresses personally, for if I did I would have the respective feet of Dendall and Trent in either of my ears. Except, instead of having their feet suspended in static equilibrium pressed against my ears, they would in fact be in the act of kicking my ears at substantial velocities from both directions. Glancing at the action in a still frame, it would appear that both feet are motionless, but that is not the case. I am in fact in great pain.

But hey, Beethoven was deaf, wasn't he? Well, maybe I could also play the deaf musician. Thus, such an event would have few consequences for my musical ambitions. But... tuning forks have never had a great hold on my life. Wait... I see the light at the end of the tunnel...

Whoosh-Bam-Squish.

A mosquito on the wall just received vengeance. But wait, wasn't I supposed to leave that one to the BigDaddy? "Vengeance is Mine..."? Take it away, Newo. But I shall undisguise your identity and call you Owen from now on. Because it is not grammatically incorrect to end a sentence with a preposition. Owen, as we all are shakingly very well aware, is indeed bigdaddy. Not the one true BigDaddy, but bigdaddy.

It's like the difference between a lord and the LORD. But we all knew that, didn't we. Just call me the master of the obvious.

I am indeed now a musician. I am working on the professional aspect of it. But this aspect is soon to be alleviated and levitated and spun around as shrieking noises fill your respective computer room. However, I haven't invited any spirits to dine with me. I see: I've many impressive musical opportunities availible to me. Well, let us brainstorm and see what I could strive to do:

1) I NEED PIANO LESSONS. You may think this as mere folly for a person of my musical stature, but nothing can replace the discipline and music theory that I need so chuggingly much.

2) Once I get my skills tweeked, I can start playing for money at various places - restaurants, clubs, concerts, weddings, and the list continues.

3) I could get involved with a band. Jazz seems the most challenging. Rock would be awesome. Praise music is a sure possibility but lacks the challenging quality.

4) Finally, Brethren, I could try and work for some kind of studio which involves itself with sound engineering. Good stuff.

Now education is staring my eye in the eye. I've gotta figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life, like become a porta-jon cleaner or a lamp installation dude for trailer parks. Whoosh-Bam-Squish... Hey! Just kidding, BigDaddy!

Or, if things go really well, I can become a Purpose Driven Musician, and along with my CD's I could sell devotionals, journals, small handheld books, pens, etc... Whoosh...

Duck... Heh heh! The Mosquito avoids the vengeance!!!

BAM-SQUISH...

Creeping shikes! Now that my body has been rendered two-dimensional, I feel that my time has come. I'm afraid I shall no longer grace you with my presence until pending glory. Wimper. Now my vision resembles a tunnel of light. Oh. My thought pattern drifts off into nothingness... but no... what a beautiful, beautiful place! Beaut... So...so...

So bang the bong, sing sad songs, travel faster than the speed of light. For then the infinite expanse separating you from time idiocity is nullified. However, such a transgression would surely place cataclysmic pension on our accounts. But I'm not talking about the destruction of the space-time continuum. I'm referring to the eternal damnation that results in being strapped down to a table and tickled for the rest of eternity. Indeed, a scapegoat never escapes and runs free in the open wild. On the contrary:

Brick and blade may crush and spay but swords will never spurt me.

If you ever buy insurance, first make sure it covers random objects falling from the sky. Like huge boulders. Or a bundle of llamas.

Just be sure to tie a red heron to the hinges of your doorpost, to avoid the nightly vapors that kill the firstborn.

and also to seek after the one true frog.

I am afraid I speak sacrilegiously. If indeed I spelled that word correctly.

Oh well. Pantheism is grabbing America by the horns and giving it a wild ride.

Shower me with flakes of dihydrogen monoxide and sodium tallowate. Only Newo, the one (true chemist), would know that one. Good kindredances.

Bite flee.

Grippling snake venomosity. And cat fur up the wazoo.

As well as the tiny scales of a frog plopped in a stew.

And, of course, tailored meat sculptures.

Tonight has finally found a fitting end.
Fair wag.

-Don the Mon

p.s. I intend to keep the time extension regularly forthwith, which heretofore hast not been accomplished.

p.p.s. Say hello to distant futilisimists for me.

The Inescapable Siezure of Contentment

5.24.04 Close your eyes

Dream
See the breeze
Notice the substance
Flowing through life's seas
Wisping across your skin
Gathering tears from your eyes
Bringing a smile to your face
A kiss to the lips of your soul
A fragrance to senses unfelt
At least by body breathed

I want to wish every one of you a satisfied life. Not just vain happiness. I wish to you satisfaction, to live your life and know that at the end you have accomplished something, that in your mid-forties you don't have a mid-life-crisis, that you can look back and smile as memories of pleasant events come to mind.

But where would the good things in life be without the bad? Would life still be as sweet if all we had were good things happening to us? It's similar to sickness. When one is well, he rarely thinks about being well. In fact, he takes wellness for granted. But as soon as one starts to experience physical pain, he realizes just how good he had it made. Then, after the sickness is gone, the true happiness and joy of not being sick really shows.

As randomaity is all but elliminated, I wish you fulfilled happiness and berrily satisfaction.

Ahh, life. Who can capture the essence of life better than the artist? I do not attempt to speak pridefully. The artist sees and absorbs the beauty, the struggles, the living of life around her and conveys these through different media. Sometimes it is hard to tell what a certain work will be like before it comes forth. Everything depends on emotion. I myself have experienced a dramatic increase in musical expression when dealing with intense emotions, or having experienced one of many of life's extremities. Beautiful. Simply Beautiful, this thing called life.

I got struck down today, in several ways. First of all, my idea about God's Will including every action of our life, including sin, was flawed. Although I still think that God can even use our sin in the process of sanctification, it may not be part of His supreme will, which in fact is that we will become glorified. When we stray from God's Will, it is this same will which brings us back to Him. The true regenerate will realize the folly of straying away and will run back to the source of life. I myself have been in this situation many times. The second way I got struck down today was by my parents. I can not yet buy a keyboard, even though I have the funds to buy it. Reason: I would have to draw funds from savings which contain money given to me by my grandmother specifically for the purpose of education. However, my reasoning insisted that I would obtain the proper funds to refill my account after working for the summer. They pointed out that I haven't a reliable full time schedule yet, and that I would have to start working more hours before this proposition becomes a reality.

I was thoroughly disappointed. Such is the effect of many good things in life. Such as getting behind a slow driver that perhaps saves you from a possible wreck. Or getting due punishment for wrongdoing, which indeed shapes us to be better people. Many good things in life are weathering agents as I enjoy saying, and the process of grinding away the impurities isn't always enjoyable. I now have to wait at least two weeks before the prospect of buying a keyboard enters my mind again. But that will teach me patience, now won't it? Why yes, good sir, I believe it will.

Patience, discipline, love, edification, purity, all things the mind must learn in the process of sanctification. The mind--so fascinating in many respects. In other respects very frightening, such as how murder or some other atrocity could somehow be logically justified and rationalized. Such is sin. The rationalization of something bad as something good. Setting our standard higher than God's, which is indeed the Universal Moral Law. But indeed the mind is capable of many good things as well, such as thinking of ways to help others and be of service, or simply commiting random acts of love and kindness to others, or spending hours of hard work to provide for a family. I can't help but see the fallacy of believing in an evolved hierarchy of organisms ranging from primitive to complex. There are just too many complexities in the mind and even in many routine organ functions to go that route. Darwin himself stated how the complexity of an eye seemed opposed to his theories. And today science has revealed so much more about the intricate processes in the eye, from maintenance to the transferring of information from the cornea to the processing center in the brain. Looking also at nature, the heavens declare the glory of God, the earth reveals his handiwork. But then again, one who is opposed to the idea of a God seeking glory for himself would be blinded to these evidences.

I do not speak in derogatory terms. I only wish to speak the truth. I wish only the best for my audience, each respective individual. I want my words to carry significance, meaning, and be useful for the purpose of edification. Indeed more than anything else, this work is needed in churches today. Personal interaction, not just theological debates or sermons on random topics. Personal sharing and the building up of others is pivotal. How can one grow unless he is watered? Yes, God does the watering, but many times God's very hand is an individual.

May God grant all of you purity. I know in my case the very utterance of that word makes my stomach cringe. I know that I have not lived up to this standard. However, I intend to get past this. I must change. I know it will be hard work, but sowing to righteousness will show its fruit in due time. And for all the others who struggle in this same area, put your foot in the door, make it clear that you want to change, and pray to God for guidance and help. It is His will that you change, but you must carry out the work yourself.

As I close, I want my friends to know that I care for each of you. I have gained wisdom, laughed, wasted money, wasted time, eaten things that shouldn't be eaten, spoke things that shouldn't be spoken, and whacked people that shouldn't be whacked with ice scrapers. Indeed these experiences are fun and cool. Life: Good stuff.

And now, the time to extend a gesture of leavation, I shall leave the fellowship, lose my salvation, and return to the fellowship and regain my salvation as Time sees fit. Because, after all, I must look inside myself for the inner light. And then, I'll reach a higher state of enlightenment, in which I learn that the state of enlightenment I am experiencing is a defense mechanism built into my brain and is just an evolutionary advancement. Because, after all, I and the bacteria infecting my swollen conscience share a common ancestor. (The previous paragraph is an untruth).

Because the person who speaks too much is bound to speak an untruth or two. Tell me of my follies. Speak words of crapism into my lungs. For somewhere therein lies a partical of Smoker's Delight inhaled from Dendall's pipe. But no seeds of vengeance lay in my bossom so I will venture no further.

I'm thirsty. I think I'll leave now. Farekitties.

-The artist.

p.s.- I shall always love the absence of leeches.

p.s.s.- As you can very well see, the accumulated resources of meaningfulness have been depleted, as randomaity has made an appearance into the room, which is in fact this email, which in fact you are reading, which in fact means nothing now so you should stop, which in fact means that you're a purpose driven crapface for not stooping. Ahh the smell of old wood, car exhaust, blazing hot sauce, and smoker's delight.

Recount of life through peril

5.21.04 Ca-Scrich.

Today a perilous event occurred. My bike that earlier today was in prime condition has befallen multiple effects of friction. It now has been rendered non-mobile.

I will recount the events leading up to the atrocity by asphalt:

Today was great in the waking. I felt afreshed, as if waves of joy were hitting my face instead of sunlight through my bedroom window. I stared in confoundment at the ever-sloping crests and rummaging ridges of the Blue Ridge Mountains. The atmosphere was inviting, as a slight haze soothed the mountains as they lay in a dormant fix.

The time for adventure now drew nigh. I felt adrenaline rushing to the very centroid of my cranium. I activated the garage door opener, popped my helmet on, snapped my Nalgene hydration pack on my back, checked the tire pressure in my tires, checked the brakes, and began the trek to pending disaster. Little did I know that this old reliable would find its mobility threatened in light of day.

I started off, feeling a bit shaky. I hadn't had lunch yet. I decided to face the challenge anyway. Ingesting a mouthful of dihydrogen monoxide, I clamped down on the pedals and put mind to metal. Everything seemed fine, just like a normal bike ride.

I reached Glade Creek Road, a back road that branches off of the main road of my subdivision and passes under the Blue Ridge Parkway. I climbed up the hill, motivating myself to keep going and facing my pain like a man. After tunneling under the Parkway, I started to ascend a road aptly named Hill Road. Da da da!

I heaved and gasped, nearly collapsing from the lack of oxygen and energy. I washed away the intoxicating void with another respective crunch of melted ice. Still weaving from the intense physical conditions, I trekked on, determined not to let my pain overcome my will. I succeeded. The grade leveled off, indeed descending now. I punched the bike into a higher gear and sped up to the cul-de-sac.

I reached the summit! I accomplished half of the journey. It was all downhill from here. I turned the bike around and began the exhilarating journey down the mountain.

Perhaps if you have heard anything about gravity and rolling friction, you should be very aware that a Clydesdale such as myself indeed travels very quickly downhill. I suspect I was traveling thirty-five miles per hour at certain points, maintaining a good speed of twenty or higher. I descended this particular portion of the Tour de Bonsack faster than I had ever done in the past. I pierced through the wind like a rocket in the sky. I crouched down into a more efficient aerodynamic position, with my chest nearly parallel to the ground. I wisped under the Parkway, and the railroad tracks entered my field of vision.

Now, I had been over these same tracks on a bike more that twenty times I suspect. But never, never this fast. The way the tracks are designed, the road forms a sharp hill where it raises to the tracks, and then takes a sharp left turn immediately after the tracks. I suspect I was traveling nearly twenty-five miles per hour when I hit the quick mound of asphalt.

Right then I realized my mistake. Too much speed. Too fast a turn. Too much momentum. Too little control. Knowing my mistake and fearing for the worst, I clamped down on the front and back brakes. My bike tires instantly locked up and began to dance across the ten feet of asphalt separating me from a large oak tree. The backside fishtailed and slipped as I maintained my goliath grip on the brakes. I fell to one side, and swerved to avoid falling, as I started falling the other direction. This pattern repeated about five times, and finally my bike came to a halt about a foot from the oak.

I stood motionless for about ten seconds. My life had flashed before my very eyes. I looked back and noticed the wild black handwriting on the road directly behind me. I let out a silent "hallelujah," as I had experienced a humbling wreck a little more than a week before. I then continued my adventure and started home.

Except I didn't go but a few inches when I realized my back tire was so warped that it couldn't rotate without rubbing the rear brake. I dismounted and disassembled the back brake. "Everything will be fine," I thought.

Not the case. My back tire was warped far more drastically than I had realized. The tire was locked-up against the very frame of the bike! I couldn't pedal the bike without cringing from the sound of friction and the thought of money for repairs. So I dismounted for the last time and began to carry my old reliable home.

I was not within a comfortable distance of bike heaving home. I trudged up the hill connecting Glade Creek road to Bonsack road. After climbing the short hill, I began the long dark walk up Bonsack road.
The route was easier biked than heaved. I began to sweat profusely and feel my muscles ache as I carried the bike o'er my back. The bike seat continued to knock against my helmet as fellow car drivers pointed and snickered as they passed me by.

I decided to walk up the hill to my house from Bonsack road, a staggering 25-degree slope. I changed carrying arms time and time again. I sipped cool dihydrogen monoxide from my hydration pack. I felt the nerves in my arms reeling with electric activity. I trudged up the fallacious slope. My feet held steady as I carried my love in my arms. I felt a little like Forrest Gump while I carried my friend to safety.

I reached my house. I let out a huge denial of prolific figurines. I wondered if the crescent wheel could be reshaped and fixed, or if indeed my bike would require a new wheel. "No time to think" I thought, as I was late for meeting my mom for lunch. I lay the beloved friend down to rest. "At least for today" I thought. I knew that healing would come with time. I decided not to let circumstances ruin my day.

I let out a big sigh and gazed at the mountains, still coated with a thin film of fog, and realized that, even in this situation, I was kept safe. As my bike tumbled out of control, I was somehow kept from crashing to the ground. Strangely enough, I had been thinking even before embarking on the journey about possibly crashing if I did ride my bike, but I quickly remembered that my life is in God's hands and that my time to die, or suffer pain, will come only when it coincides with God's will. And that, my friend, is an encouraging thought. In fact, I daresay that all of life, every breath, every movement, every motion within every muscle of every body, is in God's hand and control.

This will someday pass into the annals of Donalbainia as an adventure for grandkids to enjoy. If indeed I live to be that old. Hopefully I will, but whatever God's will is, that is what I will have to accept.

Well, it is 23:24 and I have to be at work at 0700 hours. Thus, I must let both my mind and my bike rest and slip off into sweet dreams. Chase after the one true God. Seek after Him with all your might, and you will not be denied truth.

Retiring for the evening, I am and shall always remain

Don Townsend, the artist.

Concerning Morality

5.21.04 Open Your Eyes

Just think with me for a moment. What is life? What is this frail, complicated world we live in? Is it indeed a concoction of random events occuring one after another?

If so, you have no basis for morality.

What about friendships... are they just futile attempts to make ourselves feel better and be able to survive longer? Are friends just a collection of symbiotic benificiaries?

If so, you might as well take as much advantage of your friends as you can.

What about God? Is he just a benign, laid back god who allows things to go on outside of his will?

If so, the world would collapse into debauchery and uttermost evil.

What about love? Is is just an emotion, a balance of chemicals in the head that make us feel attracted to a certain individual?

If so, there would be no basis for morality, marriage, even friendship.

What about family? Has its purpose in America become obsolete?

If so, we have no basis for morality.

Open your eyes. What drives us to be better people? What makes the seemingly harmless things we do bad? Morality. From where does this inner sense of right and wrong derive itself? Humans? If that were the case, my morality could tell me that genocide was good. Hitler would be justified in his actions. Morality, otherwise known as the Universal Moral Law, derives itself from an eternal God, one being, one entity. Otherwise there would be discord in the Universal Moral Law, as multiple entities with infinite power would clash in will.

Thus, our morality proves the existence of God.

You might say that morality indeed doesn't exist, that it is a fabricated notion composed by humans in order to make themselves better. But I challenge: with what would humans compare in order to think of something as good or better? In other words, without morality, humans would have no clear intellect at all I daresay.

But you say I have walked into a trap. Our ultimate goal as animals is to survive. And survival would indeed be better than nonsurvival. Thus, limiting your own survival or someone else's survival would be bad.

But I ask: Hitler's actions definitely limited the survival of millions of people, in the name of self-preservation and the futherance of the Arryan race. Thus, for his own survival, which was good.

If morality was based on survival, there would be no harmony in it.

And indeed we see a harmony in the Universal Moral Law looking at the different nations. The beliefs include honoring father and mother, helping the needy, fighting for your people (as opposed to being a traitor), and the list goes on and on.

But you point out that many people and nations do not live up to this standard, they in fact live in spite of it.
Listing the practices such as genocide, cannibalism, forcing religion on others as bad blatantly speaks that you believe in the Universal Moral Law.

But I am not the most eloquent in this area, and I recommend Mere Christianity by C. S. Lewis.

Tell me your thoughts. Tell me if I have spoken any untruths. Please do not hesitate.

In uttermost bombasticity, I shall always remain

Don Townsend

Ventalogical Instillment

5.18.04 When things turn upsadowsy

Well fellow peeps. May I ask what you are peeping at? May I warn you not to peep at the wrong things or you'll have to cut your eye sockets out? Well I hast spoken. Take heed. Take heed for the pending dooooom on your respecitive voluptuous tube. That is, a badly used television.

I would like to make an apology for the "Purpose Driven Crapface." It seems that in fact I am a purpose driven crapface because a fellow substituent responded in a very professional manner telling me how, although Rick Warren and others like him have some beliefs that need questioning, I should attempt to build up the church as a whole and edify others instead of demean them. Therefore, I will attempt to make this action occur, as if I have any control of interdimensional space.

"The rage" has seepingly entered back into my collection of various emotions. The Rage is back. Although I don't think it's here to stay. But if I don't let him wear out his welcome and in fact show him the boot, then I had better replace his presence with something better, perhaps love. And indeed love is a very good thing to have. But then again love takes hard work, as my fellow Immortal hast spoken awhilst back in the first publication of the CCCC. But I think I will try to develop that aspect of my life, and try to think about others more than I do myself.

I must recount a perrilous event which occurred not long ago:

Having summoned up the RAGE carrying chemicals in my brain, I was driven to strike Dendall in the ear with the blunt end of an ice scraper residing in the back of LPatkin's pick-up-truck.

Ice scrapers indeed inflict pain on the ears of the unwary, that is if the proper nerve endings connect the ear to the section of brain cells that process the information generated by a deadly blow. So what caused the ice scraper to make an appearance in my hand and guide itself very delicately to smite the epidermis of Dendall's right ear? Rage I tell you. And I left the scene before any further wounds were inflicted and before police could send me to the penetentiary.

Painfully swiping the claw in green apparrel
Makes deaf the ear and numb the fear of a parasol
For what fear lied here in the wake of the known
Now seeps through a hole dealt from the inner bone
The fetal position becomes my one defense
I shiver and turn with great suspense
As my shadow finds its way through the locks
I'm left just to stare at the clocks
Ticking, telling me what life holds for me
If I can't leave the cell in time

For what life has given me, those are also in the past along with the pain. I find it hard to believe what the human heart can be capable of doing. I myself suffer from this sickness. Help me to break free from such a place.

There's more to life than rage.

Like being able to tickle your way out of a wrestling match.

Or planting devious complex starchy compounds in the backside of Dendall's green taurus and seeing it backfire and go through his aunt's window and smash her figurine collection of 'The Beattles'. Because once the glass falls to the floor, I can activate pburton's time machine and simply go back to the past. Dream of the dreadful Oklahoma! and what would have happened had I not been given help. From friends and the higher power. But rage still flows through my vains. I must get it out! Get it out! As if termites were invading my bloodstream.

Cryogenres. Piggilos.

And of course, fried dog's breath.

As I instill the rage to the rest of the known universe, that will one day explode like Dendall's innerds.

Goods.

p.s. There is no p.s.

The Purpose Driven Crapface

5.13.04 Tidings of goofdom to all my substituents in the rat hole, namely life.

Hello hello there good fellows and fellicishas. I bring you a new spawned entity of craziness: purpose driven craziness! Paradoxical, yes I know it seems. But the way things seem and the way things truly are exist as two separate but equal establishments. In fact, the two go hand in hand. For example, most evangelicals, when working up their righteous sounding emotional bellows, pull a hidden side from their personality. On one side of the manerisms lies craziness, but on the other side lies purpose; they're trying to change your life (which in fact only God can do). Therefore, they have purpose-driven-craziness.

But some evangelical easy-believist armenian pastors do enjoy hosing down the congregation with shredded dairy products. And in light of this atrocity, some would call them crapface. But in fact they are trying to get the congregation to sanctify themselves and to live righteous lives on their own accord, so some would go as far to say that this is a purpose driven crapface (hence the email title).

In fact, I think Rick Warren, when faced with the dillema of naming his book, should have chosen the second brainstormed title instead and called his book the Purpose Driven Crapface. Well, I don't think it would have risen to be a bestseller in New York City, but then again, we shouldn't focus on numbers or monetary gain, now should we? I didn't think so. Therefore, to avoid becoming a purpose driven crapface, one must move on.

In height of these blatantly vehement remarks which you just previously endured, I will give you the opportunity to respond to me personally and accuse me of being a purpose driven crapface. But, if indeed you have things you want to debunk me on and indeed don't say anything, then you, my good sir (or lady), are the purpose driven crapface. But indeed if you otherwise accept everything I say and have your own basis for it, then you are indeed a spineless mass of naivety. Something I say must be wrong, otherwise I am not human. So let's rid ourselves of the subject of the Purpose Driven Crapface

Or should I say, purpose driven cripeface? A double euphamism! Yay!

But indeed monkeys don't grow on trees. Wait a minute, they do! Ha!

Is car exhaust the equivalent to a mechanical flatulent?

Are house trusses designed to hold a mammoth sized pile of purpose driven crapface?

Ugghh, I must flee the scene of enmity before I get stoned to death. Yes, I must push the send button. Got... g...uh!...cr....

{message sent}

sigh. I do believe that this is the most controversial post I have ever written. Tell me your thoughts.

p.s. This email in no way tends to discriminate against Rick Warren or easy believist evangelicals. Just their beliefs.

shla-bob!

freeeeaakkk! 5.14.04 at precisely 05:16. That is correct; in the AM, and loving it now, of course I'll be hating myself in about three hours when I get a hangover from sleep drunkeness.

Cranky Stank.

With a bottle of crippin on the top. That's right, the bold flaming sensation of the backside of the Dawn, not me, the morning. Because the sun in fact consists of nuclear reactions and flatulents. But let's not send our sense of humor into the commode area. Not even a portable. Unless Tidyclean® is in service in the same campsite. Then and only then I would be both crazed and enthused.

Ever felt Dendall's love handles? Or seen his forest of a stomach?

What happens to a Kendall food deprived?
Does it shrivel up and die?
Does it fly into the sky?
Does it poke itself in the eye?
Does it slip into the night?
Does it cripe on many johns
While singing solemn songs?
Does it void itself in wrong
with many a smelly gong?

or does it EXPLODE!

or implode?

But in fact pink elephants may someday fly, if indeed you are able to hack into the matrix.

So go ingest some spicy cajun pringles and digest the creeps and then regress to your old voilent unregenerate lifestyle, cursing the new.

Actually, disregard the previous sentence.

This is a terrible thought, so brace yourself. If someone is suicidal, I would suggest giving them a new mountain bike and drop them off in the middle of some extreme bike trails, so they'll either kill themselves on the trails or enjoy it so much they won't be suicidal anymore.

Unless of course, multiple starchy compounds are compressed in the backside of your motorized vehicle (unless of course potatoes are stuffed in all of your tail pipes)

one CRRAAAAZZZYY night.
Have a good one, or a morning, whichever comes first after the act of reading this piece of antipurpose idle noncrap.

Good ----------- (fill in the blank)

The Big.

p.s. I've been up since 06:00 hours, sir

p.p.s. And I intend to not let my contacts dry out. So ha.

CCCC 5/11/04

Dear recipients of the bimonthly newsletter for the CCCC:

Hello, fellow crop circle creators. It seems our attempts for the past two weeks have had a good deal of success. Many naive individuals have bought into our hoax. I must pay my thanks and personal respect for the individuals to make this possible. To the worker known as bigdaddy, your work for the past two weeks has shown most exhilarating. To the one known as bdrudolph, I throw foul carcasses in your direction, as you wish to undermine our corporation. And, my personal favorite, I must pay my respect to pburton, whose efforts ended last Tuesday with the event of his unfortunate and unanticipated death. Each individual in the CCCC is a vital part, as you well know from our mission statement. I just wanted to encourage each of you and tell you to keep up the good work. Except, of course, for pburton, who is no longer with us, but is in fact nonexistent.

The latest piece of news comes from a movie that has gained expressive popularity among the world's public hoax believers. As you know, Mel Gibson used a good portion of his own money to produce a film called “The Passion of The Christ”. Now, I personally don't support this film, as it sprouts anticropcircleism and is biased against the notion of the blind leading the blind. In fact, I had read the book and didn't like it very much, so I decided to protest with picket and gaping banner reading "The CCCC is boycotting The Passion; SO SHOULD YOU!" And it had a very dramatic effect on people as I saw them leaving the theatre in tears of regret after rebelling against my words of wisdom.
Now, the reason I brought this entire flank of news up is that people, having liked the Passion (despite my protest), are buying copies of Mel Gibson's earlier movie, “Signs”. And, as you know, it has very much to do with crop circles. It has also been colossally supportive of our efforts to blind the eyes of the witless public and convince them that crop circles are actually real and delicately created from alien craft. This is exactly what are efforts are about: deceiving the unwary-eyed public. However, I do think Mel Gibson has undergone a serious change of heart in the span of one year, having converted his beliefs of favoring crop circles to anticropcircleism. I spit at his intellect which is higher than the average unsuspecter.

News of a new and ecstatic project: We have recently come across a downed experimental craft from the government and salvaged it, after applying anti-tracking devices on it, and therefore have access to a hovering craft resembling a UFO. We plan to hire retired workers at secret military facilities and have them work on the craft to make it operable, as long as they retain mobility. We also plan to fly it above numerous populous cities of the world, including New York City of the US, Baghdad, Iraq; Moscow, Russia; Beijing, China; Paulua, Kenya; Colinisia, Antarctica, and enumerated more.

But even though this exciting new chance to bind the public's information processors heightens our imagination and excitement, I remind you not to forsake the eloquent art of crop circle fabrication, which still remains our highest priority. Continue to wear the stealthing suits, or the new alien costumes if you wish (available at http://www.antiabortionsigns.com/). Also, do treat the corn pressers with care, as if they were your offspring. They are expensive and difficult to replace without drawing too much attention to our cause.

Well, fellow unindignifaries, this latest report must come to an end, as must our cause some day in the long, far off future, but perhaps not until human colonization of other worlds. Continue to sow your seeds of lies and deceit, and never forsake your first love: the cause of blinding the eyes of the unsuspecting. While others rest we put their intellect up for grabs, as their mind falls prey to our pillaged plight. Our ultimate goal is to dominate the world, but remember to concentrate on the little things and your individual missions. As for myself, I will continue to provide the support and ultimate care that each of yourselves need. Don't get caught, but if you do get caught, my specialized team of hoax cover-ups will be there to support you. Well, goodbye and good luck with your respective missions.


All across the world sprouting easy-believism and self-willed sanctification,

Dr. Townsmite
Founder and CEO of the CCCC, in establishment since 1948

****Warning: this publication contains sensitive information and should be handled with care****

The anatomy of the American Dream: prelude

5.7.04 The end of ends is come and gone, a few seconds ago, in the instance of déjà vu.

A very heartfelt jolly belly bumbling welcome and hello to all you wonderful and amazing individual fabrics of intertwined body and soul. I wish to greet you in the best possible way—by a warm, well-deserved compliment. I don’t what I’d do without my close friends, people I can rely on for mostly anything, although circumstances in my life haven’t nearly reached anything desperate, such as the common circumstances in lesser fortunate countries. In some ways I’d like to know what it would be like to have to work in order to survive, living from day to day not knowing where the next meal would come. But I still thank God of the life I have here in the United States, of all places to have been born. And as Martin Luther King Jr. once said, I also would say that I would rather live here in this time period than be in any other place in any other time period, because God has given me a truly blessed life here.

Tonight at Sheetz I ran into a distant acquaintance, one who had gone to my church when I was younger. It reminded me of other acquaintances, closer ones, who I should reach out to (Err I’ve got to stop ending sentences with prepositions).

I see truly the shattered American dream portrayed in people’s lives at Sheetz. As you all know, a big part of Sheetz revenue lies in Alcohol and tobacco products. Not that they are inherently evil, but you can sometimes tell that the motives behind the use of these products are bad. I see people walk in on Friday, just getting off work, and I usually start off the transaction by asking them how they are doing. The usual response is “good”, spoken through a downcast countenance and a defeated tone of voice. Sometimes I’ll get an honest customer who says “terrible” or “just another week” or something similar. Then they hand over the beer for me to scan. I feel terrible. These people are living it up, surviving through the weekdays and living for the weekends, which leave them feeling so empty, or so I suppose. I suppose this because of their actions on Sunday and Monday, when the work week is staring them in the face.

Therefore, alcohol and tobacco products are used to relieve stress and create a falsified representation of reality, and mend the pains of the tiring workweek and the rest of life.

But there are others in the same category who don’t seem to carry these symptoms, who seem so confident and secure and happy all the time. Eat drink and be merry. For tomorrow they find themselves in their thirties, without good solid friends, without a healthy, nurtured relationship with a woman, and entering into the “real world”, a world where the brutality of modern occupations, fast track living, and rest is a farfetched fancy.

On an ending note, I’ll point out one simple truth of life that is truly apparent in American culture if we would just open our eyes and see the example of those who have walked before us.

Meaningless does not come from too little pleasure; on the contrary, it comes from growing weary of too much pleasure.

If one seeks a pleasure and does not seek the root or source of the pleasure, the pleasure burns up and ceases to satisfy over time. For example, seeking sexual relations outside of marriage, the pleasure of sex will burn up and cease to satisfy. Truly satisfy. I daresay.

I pray that you would seek to know who the one true God is. I daresay that a person’s relationship with God is the most important thing on the face of the planet.

Signing off for the evening,

Don Town.

p.s. Tell me your objections.

Examining the nook

5.6.04 As the end sweeps by and fades into the past, I still linger on, and focus on new dreams.

Nooks an' Crannies anyone? Aw come on. They're satisfactory. In other words, they'll satisfy you, at least for a few seconds. But the best thing is the delivered punch. A real cranium buster for sure. And, of course, medics will be standing by, anxiously waiting for your accident account number.

A new aire of ringing tones has entered into the lair of craziness (New thoughts are coming to my mind). Indeed the fortunes of late can and very well so carry significance with us here in the latter times (these thoughts, being from back in the day, still matter).

I will now proceed to talk normally for the rest of the email.

My views on Tobacco™ and Alcohol™ products: First of all, I have the utmost respect for those who carry beliefs different from mine own. I grant you the benefit of the poodle (I think poodles are freaks of nature, therefore, I grant them the benefit of their freaky beliefs). As for those who not only carry the same beliefs as I, but also indeed shape their every action in life after my fashion, I grant you the hinges that hold my front door (I in fact don't like this action and would show these guests the front door, never again to pay me visit). I believe that neither tobacco nor alcohol carry any inherent evil. The same is true with many other things. Furthermore, like many other things, these two substances can be abused.

Dendall got a pipe today. I'm proud of him. Yes indeed. I would say that a good pipe every once in a while is like a good zebra cake. Too much pipe--oral cancer. Too much zebra cake--clogged arteries. Both lead gradually to death.

But I also shove tidings of bewareness of the doom that should befall him should this new hobby become a hobbit.

Now it's time to talk theology and philosophy. Now today I experienced a humbling truth: that I am a rambling idiot. I know practically nothing when compared with some of my good friends. Today at the bookstore, a friend of mine went from shelf to shelf pointing out good authors and books he had read. I felt belittled.

Here I pose a striking slap in the stomach with a very important truth: although many of the books he had read were good, quality material, they don't come even close to the quality, the truth, and immense gold found in the Bible. It seems almost to come alive as I read it. I want to point out that there are many points in the Old and New Testament where it seems contradictory and flat out wrong. But I'm here to attest to the fact that preconceptions and misinterpretation play a key role in these doubts.

Don't get me wrong. I don't believe the Bible despite evidence or contradictions. It seems every time I find a verse or two that seem out of place or against what I believe in, my mind eventual reconciles the matter logically, either by a slight shift in my beliefs or a greater understanding of the matter itself.

Again you may point out that I'm naively just adjusting my beliefs to the Bible so that I'll feel right and feel good about myself. No sir. Even the seeming contradictions I find occur more on moral terms than factual terms. For example, I used to get scared and frustrated when I discovered that God could order the Israelites to utterly destroy the people in the Promised Land to be. But I read on. These people, utterly sinful and perverted in their ways, were worshipping false gods. Thus the reason for this apparent atrocity was that the one true God used his chosen people to dispossess these nations of their land and reveal his true glory and might and judgment to the entire world.

Strange. I never heard this take before.

Christianity is not a feel-good religion. On the contrary, it is not a set of rules that I have to strive to follow. Christianity is simply based on truth--the word of God, the Bible.
And although some may not believe it to be true, that does not make it any less true, and it does not make Christians cringe, except for the fact that we have concern for our friends. The centre of Christianity is indeed the Cross—the greatest expression of love any being ever had for another. For, as all the brothers know, God is love.

I was thinking the other day about animals and how they interact with each other and how their actions somewhat resemble humans. It should not frighten the Christian to see that the emotions of animals closely resemble human emotion. In some ways perhaps the animals were created with their respective emotions for the purpose of resembling and maybe characterizing some human emotions. For example, the dog is very emotional and typically can range in emotion from sad, depressed, lonely, to fierce, territorial, loving, energetic, goofy, and happy. Cats, on the other hand seem more “laid back”, self-centered, curious, but sometimes seem annoyed, defensive, and uncomfortable. I personally believe that as animals embody some of the characteristics of humans, humans embody some of the characteristics of God. Just as we rule over the animal kingdom, God rules over the human kingdom, although sometimes he allows us to stray.

What? God allows us to stray? You might as well say he wills us to stray. Yes. Perhaps. God willed that the Israelites stray in the wilderness for 40 years. Many of the Old Testament prophets strayed across the land without secure resting places. But wait, you’re using a different sense of the word stray. Very well then. Abraham strayed from God when he slept with his handmaid and she gave birth to Ishmael. Jonah strayed when he didn’t go to Nineveh. We stray in our personal lives so that we will learn to depend more on God. I stick to that believe.

Not that we sin more that grace may abound (Romans CH. 6). Quite the opposite is true. Because of grace, we are free from the law and the bounds of sin to serve God. But does that mean we never sin again? No. That is why sanctification is needed.

Enough theology. Why do I continue to cram my beliefs down your throat? Well first of all I am not forcing any belief on anyone. I am exercising my right to freedom of speech. I don’t mean to offend anyone, but if the material herein offends anyone it is not my fault. The offense is not with me; it is with God and the Bible. If I have spoken any untruths, I truly hope that you would tell me. Tell me of my logical, biblical, factual errors. Respond to these blatant aggressive remarks I have spoken. I truly want to hear back from you.

On that note, the Clydesdale shall resign for the evening, as tomorrow holds quite a variety of occurrences.

Shikes. All of you.

Don

p.s. To those who were joined to the forum today, this is only the beginning.

p.s.s. Redundancy is the key to persuasiveness, at least according to most Southern Baptist pastors.

p.s.s.s. Tell me your thoughts on easy believism and self-willed sanctification.

succulent successfullism

5.2.04 The end is come. And gone.

Well, tis over. Done. Finished. Complete. What was once dreadful anticipation has passed by considerably painlessly, in fact quite the opposite, and is now a fond memory.

To those of you who haven't figured out to what I refer by now, tis the play Oklahoma!, just put on for the past three days. Twas indeed a blast and a half.

And my legs didn't sprout dandelions, the fact of which I am thankful.

People simply loved the performance. The music seemed to improve with each show. I guess that's the effect of less nervousness and more calmness while on stage. I just thought, "no matter what happens, just go with it and everything will be all right."

And it was alright. For the mistakes I made, I compensated. For the unsure portions of the music, I boldly played the better portions of the music and sounded secure. Not that I was putting on an act.

But the act in fact was an act of God. Let me explain.

First of all, I never asked anyone if I could play music for William Byrd's play. A friend of mine (whom I project sharp wedges towards) called me up and asked me if I wanted to play the piano for Oklahoma! the musical. I thought for a second. Then it hit me: this is an answer to prayer. You see, even towards the end of last year when high school was nearing its end, I felt the emptiness of not using my talent to its full capacity. And I had been praying on and off for almost a year, "God, please use me in this area, as you have blessed me tremendously in it." And this was the answer to that prayer. I also realized that a ton of work would be necessary. Thus began the some of the most stressful months of my life.

Second, as I didn't get the real music book until a month before the play. Crunch time for dinosaurs. Stress and carcinogens spewing vomit. So I work and work and work and practice for nobody knows how long, and nothing seems to be accomplished. I feel like a total loser. I want to call somebody up and ask them to help me, such as a piano teacher who had played the musical before, but I realize it's too late, and it's all up to me to make it all work. So I work some more, and then this buddy of mine named Newo comes over to my house and shows me how to "fake" songs and go by the chords. A lifesaving decision. And the coincidences leading up to my friendship with Newo are simply too amazing to be coincidence. But writing down all acts of God here or anywhere else would take eternity, so I'll stop there.

Third, after the "faking" method is established, I roll through the songs and am doing fairly good. This is about a week before showtime. Saturday--all day practicing music. Feeling pretty confident. Sunday rolls around--confidence crushed. I am an empty bladder. Rainy monday--crapface (Sorry Barb). But TUESDAY--glorious reincarnation! The songs start putting themselves together. I am improving exponentially by the day. 'Tseems that God is working in this situation.

Performance time--a few mistakes, but overall, phenomenal goodness. Much of the play was just a simple fake method I learned from Newo. I am fruitifully thankful.

"...and there was much rejoicing."

Oh the feeling of rapture and joy when you see the crowds cheering and clapping for you, when you stand in front of an audience whom you had captivated for the past hour, and they give it all back to you. When you know you accomplished something, that somebody that left there left with more than with what they came in. Because I refuse to end a sentence in a preposition. But the most meaningful to me, above all the crowds, above all the compliments from strangers, the real joy was seeing my friends and those whom I love, and seeing their eyes light up with joy that I was using my talent. I used my talent for God. He's the one who gave it to me in the first place, he's the one who owns it. Thank you Lord.

To all my friends: You have helped make this moment in my life a most memorable one.

In utmost sincerity,

Don Townsend