My earliest memories of my father, a supreme court jester, was his story about pleading his case before Diana Ross and the Supreme Court, throwing himself upon the mercy of the nine most ignint motherfuckers in the nation of miserable fucks all of whom lacked the gene required for compassion, which is an idea neocondi rice and beaner conservatives have latched onto like leeches and lampreys to convince ordinary idiot — roughly 95% of the registered voters in the NOMF, that compassionate and conservative as used in contemporary poopadoodle discourse are not linguistic leaps of mass destruction, but where the fuck am I and did I once stand on a rise to meet to greet Lewis and Clark while singing: "We're the Fukawi"?

Redux. The previous paragraph is purely pataphysical and means much more than it says but less than it seems to say. Some of you know that.

My father was a bad man, much as I am. He tried to make me into a good man, although I fought against him, every step of the way. I even fought his final wishes to terminate his annihilistically arrogant ass, but he's dead now, like he needed to be, like all of us eventually need to be, some of us sooner than others.

Excuse me, while I kiss this guy.

Oh yeah. What my father said in his defense, according to his own recollection during those nights when he talked me to sleep, was that No noose is good news.

Anybody know what that means?

BTW, I have no idea where this post is going to show up on this site. I just recently discovered that the comments are working. Much better than I am apparently.