User talk:Mistress juli

hello and welcome! i would like to take this opportunity to express what a pleasure it is that you have found yourself amongst our philosophical ramblings. We here at the Church of Fornication wish to extend ourselves as an offering of good tidings. We are tasty little beings, full of such rich flavors such as lust and desire. We have been seasoned by life and have simmered in boiling pots of all shapes and sizes only to find ourselves perfectly done, toasty and warm and gathered together here at the Church.

Who am i? i am the mistress, the diva, the goddess, juli. i am a diciple in line to one day take over the world... oh wait...that was the other forum.... i am still all that i have described, it is the Church that shall be one day passed on to me...not world domination (at least not in this forum).

With that i turn to our fearless leader for a few words....

The Creed of the Church of Fornication

If it moves, thou shalt fondle it. If it doesn't move, thou shalt consider it most carefully Never, never say no Fornication is a way of life It will save you money on theater tickets and dinners It is the cheapest form of entertainment It can be done alone, in pairs or groups Fornication is a path to enlightenment Go forth and be enlightened

Pastor Will The Church of Fornication 2008

With humor, nothing is sacred, nor should it be. IF you ain't laughing, you are probably dying or stuck in a box with a rut, just outside the door. The purpose of The Church of Fornication is to make fun of everything. To help people out of the box and out of the rut. Is any humor, really sick? I honestly don't think so. I am sure I have offended some, made others think, and still others, curious. Do I believe in the things I write about? I'll never tell! It is not now, nor ever has been, my intent to harm anyones sensibilities. I will continue to question those very sensibilities as everyone is obligated to do, in order to form a firm position on any important issue. The question will always remain,What is truly important?

Excerpt from Pastor Will's Book of Wisdom

We here at the Church encourage all things creative, whether it be about love, life or the pursuit of happiness and fornication. i have contributed some of my creative efforts yet at times find myself lacking ...the following is a tidbit with regards to a highly creative project i had, this project utilized colors and pictures and articles... demanding a level of artistry that i was currently out of, this is a reflection of all things that are promoted here at the Church.

i went back to the store for another bottle of artistry, but it was out of stock. i attempted for the creative shampoo and conditioner but that has been discontinued. i searched the shelves for something, anything that would help... the shelf containing the cans of vision and cartons of stimulation were empty. the aisles holding productive innovations were replaced by valentines shit. The flats of aesthetic inventions were broken and picked over. i found a label for picturesque, but the label was all that was located. i tried to purchase the floor model of stylish sublime but they wouldn't sell it, something about needing to hold a place for future shipments. i even went over to the cosmetics and tried to purchase a new bottle of inspiration perfume, to no avail. The imagination department was closed due to a writer's block and the arts and crafts department is currently on strike. What little flair i had left i used up the other night playing RockBand...who knew that there was such the   shortage, that we were in such a time of drought.

i am at a loss, and terribly disappointed by the unavailable sources to draw from. i sit here searching the internet aimlessly and all pell-mell. i seek out new life or new civilizations, i strive for world domination and surviving. i will dabble, i will doodle, i will dribble, i will diddle, i will dilly dally, i will lollygag around and perhaps i will even drool abit too.

The Church promotes all things creative or enlighting. Stirring the mind into wondering "what about" and the possibilities of taking a look from outside the cereal box of life. We here at the Church revel in the fact that we can find humor in all things, that we can see things from askew angles and bounce ramblings off of one another enlightning as we go.

We here have wonderful members, members that are filled with light, some of us have the inner light that shines ... shines so brightly it fills a room just upon entering. There are those among us that have a dwindling of said inner light, they have gathered here at the Church to rekindle the light from within, to bask in the light of the other members and use it as inspiration and a reminder of just how it is to love life, love where you may find yourself, love yourself first and foremost and by doing so others shall be unable to do anything but follow along and love you as well. It IS all about ME... as it should be all about YOU. By me making it about me... and you making it about you promotes self awareness, self love and self happiness. It can be all about me...as it can be all about you - you cannot expect anyone to love you, to make you truly happy and complete until you accept, love and complete yourself first.

with that i bring this inaugural submission to a close, we here welcome all submissions as they are the basis of our standings... gotta stand somewhere, might as well be on the base... we enjoy the soap box at times...or perhaps even a pedestal.

Snippets of Submission
This little gathering of snippets is for sharing, learning and laughing. There is no intent other than that.

We are gathered here today to pay respectful homage to our departed soul containing all things negative and weak.These things no longer wield power over us. In lives past, they beguiled and manipulated. On this day we remove their power and place them deep within the earth, to trouble us no longer. No flower, no candle, no incense, no monument, only earth, to decompose and destroy this soul.

For strength comes with Honor,Respect, Truth and Love.And thus we become strength and these values are us as we are these values.

On this day, we gather to honor each other, to recognize each other as the wonderful human beings that each of is.

We shall ride the horse of Justice.Knowing that good and evil do indeed exist within us all. As we release the mantle of evil and don the white cape of good we also don the responsibility of example, for this is how we lead. As we are, so shall others become. As the child learns only from example, we shall be that example.

Humor is our sword.

Truth is our crown.

Love is our armor.

We shall preach the good of life. The respect of each moment. We shall laugh and teach others to laugh.

We shall not judge or persecute those who see no light. Who see only darkness. Who do not understand that darkness is it's own light. Night travels into day. We shall, by example, show the way to the the personal awakening dawn.

Though we see others around us who refuse to see, we shall not judge them. We shall embrace them in our light.

When we are criticized, we shall offer thanks to those who criticize. We shall tell them how wonderful they truly are and how much more they can become.

We shall use their imbalance against the evil in their souls, to right the wrong and to bring the light.

For we are the light and the light is us.

We shall love them all, and we shall laugh.

So it is written. So it shall be.

Excerpt from the Little Book Of Wisdom 2008 The Church Of Fornication Pastor Will

A song of Spam. Spam past and Spam future...

I like it cause it's pink I like it cause it's greasy I like cuse it slips and slides and goes down real easy Got Spam on my mind

I sat once, in the shower, fully clothed, water steaming over me, tears running down my face, looking at my squishy shoes. No sound really, no sobs, just the tears and a terrible resolve. It didn't kill me. It didn't make me stronger. It made me sad. The greatest loss wasn't mine at all, no, the loss was hers and I knew it even then, sitting in my shower of grief. What woman with heart, spirit, and eyes could fail to see what I bring with me? How rare and precious I am.They do fail though. They are blinded by their agenda and their failure to live.So grateful I am that I love myself. That I need not settle. A soul mate? Boorish words that can in no way fulfill the deep seated need and hope. The dream of me reversed. The female me. I can see her so clearly. She will come.We will play and life will end on that very playful note. I will die of happiness and fulfillment. Contented, serene and giggling on the way out. At this point in my existence people see the war map of experiences etched deeply in my face, hear the pop of bones when I stand. So shallow. When I look in the mirror I see these things too. When I look in the mirror, I truly look. I see hazel eyes that twinkle with the humor of life. I see the child that lives within. Lines of laughter etched among those of pains past. I see honor, integrity,insight and humor. I see a wonderful human being. The price of that being, becoming self, etched in the face. I see all the things I love the most. I have yet to even remotely see any of these things in women of my age. Every woman I have ever been with was at least ten years younger than I. Why is that? I wonder.Child attracts child? Like to like? Though lonely IS part of my life right now, I'm not really worried. I see me in my mirror and I love what I see. Perhaps she will see it too. Whoever, wherever and whenever. I sat once, in the shower, fully clothed, water steaming over me, tears running down my face, looking at my squishy shoes. The greatest loss, wasn't mine at all.

Pixies? The wee ones? Six of them once in my bed. I still carry the scars of their little foot prints. I have never been walked all over quite like that. Was it fun? Was it good? You'll have to ask them! They brought no sugar plums. I guess when you are vertically challenged other things become more important. I do so love the little pointy ears and the tiny hands and feet.They could be oriental. I'm not sure. Not Mexican though.It was only the one night and the memory is blurred in the fog of uncertainty and alcohol past. I am sure that Nixon wasn't with them. It was his nose that caused all the trouble. If only he hadn't had such a large one. How history might have been different. Jesus would never have been drafted and gone to Vietnam. He had issues of his own. He was third on the draft. He had a hard time with that. He did say that the jungle fatigues were cool and looked good on him. I think Vietnam is where he met Hendrix. He liked to claim he had an influence on the music but Hendrix never confirmed any of it. The stories one hears. I never heard a thing through the grapevine. Have you? I once put my ear to the ground. THAT was hard. I could hear carrots screaming all over California. There were lots of vegetarians in those days. Not long after I put my nose to the grindstone. Now that was Stupid. Whose idea is that anyway. My nose used to be cuter if you can believe that. I still have scars from putting my back to the wheel. I was so gullible when I was younger.I guess everyone has to go through this stuff. Life is so unfair sometimes. I checked out the rulebook and discovered the word fair is not in it at all. One of those little mysteries. I am off to dream land. I think it is a suburb of LA. Jesus lives there. On the corner by the park. He shaved his beard and cut his hair. Looks a bit faggy in the polyester three piece suit. Wouldn't be bad, but the tie? Why would Jesus wear a tie? I suggested pin stripes but he laughed! Can you imagine that? He laughed! idiot. No taste at all. I thought armani and perhaps alagator skin, but no, he laughed. He deserves his fate! I can see him now, naked on some cross or another, nothing but a rag and a crown of thorns!! I tried. I really did. Some people just don't get it. He KNEW it was all about him. "Forgive them for they know not what they do"? What the fuck? They knew EXACTLY what they did. Good line though. He always had a good line. should have sold garlic on the corner. He could have got RICH. Rich? Rich Little? what did he know? Impersonator? So what. He wasn't Jesus! Jesus wasn't Jesus? He was the SON of GOD!! God had a Son? No daughter? Only one kid? what could he possibly know about parenting. Did Jesus get a cell phone? It would be a great help in the sales business. Did he have a computer or a TV? Did God pamper him? Was his bedroom a cowboy theme? did he have Roy Rodgers sheets? Did he ever finish school? What NO degree? What could he possibly know? I KNOW he would have done well with the garlic. The elixir of life!But I digress....

I have high hopes for stem cell tech. All I really want is a new liver and a new back. I don't want to live forever. I would probably die of boredom. I mean what happens when you have read all the books, seen all the films, been everywhere and done everything. The slow death of boredom in a body that refuses to die? A quick mind with no stimulation? God had a good idea with the limited heartbeat thing, why fuck with it? You could drag it out a little longer with less pain so that one does get to experience everyone and everything one wishes but let's not push the envelope. Who knows? I am not about to miss the cookies on the dark side!

A perfect example of the flaws still inherent in computers. Half and Half will not transport. With all them little wee people taking notes inside, you would think they could just pass it hand to hand, but no! It must be the Wee union. Fuck em. Pretty soon they will be obsolete too and will be replaced with cell matter that will be primal and oozy. Silicon can get so uppity. I have seen it in breast implants also. One moment they are pert little things and the next they are showing off, egotistical, expectant. It becomes all about them. Silicon can be SO self centered.

AHhhhhhh.......Grasshumper.......Treat the virgins gently and teach them well for they are the future of the church and they shall pass on the wisdom and the knowledge to those generations who shall follow. A quote from Wills: "There are a finite number of heartbeats issued at birth. Do not waste them on exercise rather use them wisely for the lifting of the glass and for sex". These words are for the initiated and should be taken with grave and serious resolve for the light they shine on our reality is the light of wisdom. Know then that wisdom shall always be free and that knowledge will be paid for.

The Little Book Of Wisdom

The Church Of Fornication 2008

Shadows are not separate.That pretty well sums it up. Even on a cloudy day that connection exists and remains one of the most obvious examples of the oneness of all things. It is even one with the earth or the wall or whatever it exposes itself to or projects itself on. If you look closely you are still connected at the feet.I think alot too. I have to. I have to think to be focused on the moment that I am in and to not miss each one.

I do so love me! Narcasis was such an amateur. Pandora never knew what she really did.I know what box she opened. I know what was inside.Medusa with her lovely hair and the look that kills; passed that one along didn't she? Athena, that aloof bitch, cheated a bit did she? Passed that one on too.What about Hera? what kind of name is that. All the good names already taken? I thought of calling myself God getting the name changed, but no.......the name is already taken. Some guy got a copyright for eternity. whats with that?There can be but one? A couple of guys changed it a bit, Allah, Jehovah. They didn't do to bad, but the names suck and it still ain't God. Hercules is pretty masculine, to much for me, dumb shit squished himself after the broad sucked him into cutting his hair. Zeus just doesn't roll off the tongue. sounds like you are trying to be Greek or spit or something. Well I guess I am just gonna stick with Will. Pretty good name really...Shoot at Will, fire at Will, free Will,Will she or won't she, Will it and it shall be so, fairly popular and just as good of following as some of the others. I am a bit pissed about God though. How the fuck did he ever get the copyright? He even got the movie rights. good trick.Good thing I love me!

AH.....Grasshumper. You have seen, felt, and experienced beyond your years. To hump is to live, and thus passes the creative energy through you. It is not of you nor you of it yet the oneness is indeed there. There are few who know this experience to it's full potential. there other dimensions to consider...the humpathon, hump-o-rama and of course the hump fest. Grasshumper, perhaps these are ready for you and you for them, the depth of your meditation shall reveal the truth. As you focus on the rippling brook or the blue pearl allow these experiences to blossom and flow. As the flower blooms and creates beauty regardless if there is anyone to observe, so shall you. It is the flowers nature Grasshumper as it is yours. Perhaps the hump of life can be achieved. Only you can say! From the Church of Fornication....As it is written, so shall it be. The acorn becomes the mighty oak and the oak becomes the acorn. This is the circle of life. Which is the stronger? Does each contain the knowledge of who they are and where they are located within themselves? Is this knowledge limited to only man? Does not the carrot scream as it is ripped from the bosom of mother earth? Does the carrot live only for this experience? Is this pain beyond the point of death, experienced only once? Does it matter if the earthworm is 3 meters long? Is it only the angle the earthworm enters the earth that matters? Does life experience itself? Does man experience life? Is this the purpose of life, only the experience? How then does God experience life? How then does God experience God? Is it through the earthworm, the carrot or man? Where is the VALUE of the experience? Is not Hitler the SAME as Jesus in the experience of God? Does God place a value on the experience? How then, shall man BECOME? From the Little Book of Wisdom The Church of Fornication

I thought I might invite you for dinner. We could dine on hummingbird tongue. You hold them by one little wing and use those little scissors that come with the nail file and the clippers. Then you just snip that little tongue right off. Snip, snip,snip. They are always sticking their tongues out anyway. I think it is rude myself. even after you snip off the tongue, they still fly pretty good. Only a little lopsided. I guess it changes the aerodynamics a little. I am told that tongue snipping slows their little hearts down and they live longer. I think they are grateful for the snipping. Personally I wouldn't be grateful for the loss of a body part.They all have little pc's at home and spend a lot of time typing online to each other anyway. Tongues don't really matter if you have a keyboard. Limited conversationalists anyway. Such short little lives. What could they really know? Once I gather enough tongues, I like to sautee them in butter and blue cheese.It takes quite a few and thus a lot of snipping. Snip, snip, snip. Little scissors flashing in the sun, little hummingbirds wobbling away, back to their pc's. Just the lightest touch of garlic. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE garlic. I get it directly from Jesus. With hummingbird tongue though, since the taste is so delicate, a little goes a long way. In fact I have a hard time not overdoing the garlic and have ruined a batch or two of the hummingbird tongues. No big deal really, just dumped them in the rubbish and started over. Snip, snip, snip.Jesus was pretty grateful that I turned him onto \growing garlic and is doing quite well with it. Refuses to charge me. Keeps me well stocked. In fact I would have to say I have an abundance of garlic.It is no wonder that occasionally I overdo it with the hummingbird tongue. Snip, snip, snip. Anyway, sometimes I serve them over egg noodles. You have to use the wide ones or you cant see them among the noodles. The skinny noodles have a similar appearance. Those tongues are so colorful, I like to show them off, so I use the wide noodles.They go great with garlic bread. I have an abundance of garlic so that is never a problem. I used to serve them only as an appetizer but they got so popular I have turned it into a main course. Snip, snip, snip. I don't usually care for white wines but with this dish it is imperative that white wine be served. Wine from a bottle, not a box. Usually I serve a Resiling. Doesn't come in a box anyway so it is pretty hard to make a mistake. The white wine really clears the palate, so it is easy to savor the delicate taste of the hummingbird tongue. They do look quite good on a bed of white short grain rice and often I will prepare them this way. I like the basmati rice. For some reason it requires significantly more hummingbird tongues when served over rice. Snip, snip, snip. I think it is the density of the rice so it naturally takes more sauce. A light salad goes well. Ceasear dressing is perfect, but the creamy dressing not the one with all the vinegar. Sometimes I will do an eyeball soup. I like the eyeball of the chickadee. They float well and have a very distinctive look. It case you weren't aware, that is why so many chickadees run into plate glass windows and sliding glass doors. I only remove one eyeball from each chickadee so their depth perception is affected a bit. They do make good cat food though. It is a bit hard plucking out the eyes though. Slimy little things. Have to grab them with tweezers, careful to use only the correct pressure (you don't want to squish the eyeball) pluck quickly then snip the optic nerve with the same little scissors used for the hummingbird tongue. Snip, snip, snip. It is an art really, chickadee eyeball plucking. They are so small and it takes quite a bit of practice to get the technique down. I know it took me many attempts to really get good at it. I can show you what I know but there is nothing that I can teach that a lot of practice wont teach better. Snip, snip, snip. A very light pastry for dessert. I am not to picky about this and often will send out for pastry as I don't do much baking anymore. Takes way to much time. Of course a good brandy must follow. This is primarily a dish I serve in winter before a nice fire. It used to be a trick of mine to serve it intimately, just for two, and I did get laid a lot with this one, however the demand has just gotten to great. The kids all love it and of course so do all their friends and their friends. Snip, snip, snip. I could serve dolphin, stuffed with baby seal. A great seafood dish. I will share the recipe sometime. It is another favorite of mine.

Chickadees are little bitty birds that are inherently stupid. Considering the size of the whole bird, the brain can't be as large as a pin head, thus the constant crashing into windows and sliding glass doors. Missing one eye MAY have something to do with it but I ain't betting on it. I personally like fly paper to catch them with. It helps them stand still when removing the eye. The little feet are firmly secured and a loop of twine over the wings is all it takes! Every once in awhile (if I am in a hurry) a little foot will come off if I pull the chickadee too quickly off the fly paper but I have not seen any problems in the aerodynamics.The little feet are quite tasty when roasted. I am working on a recipe for mole. Moles are prolific in the garden as are gophers. Now gopher is not quite as tasty as mole as gopher is tougher. I never figured out why. I really don't care. Mole reminds me of milk cow fetus which are called veal. It is kind of like that with gopher and mole. Mole is tastier and more tender. It is all from the dark side and that has it's own appeal. Cookies go well with mole though again I don't know why. It is something cosmic I am sure.

Singing like a canary is quite hard on the vocal chords. They are quite high pitched and only a select few humans can attain the proper tones. Though they appear to be singing, they are really complaining. They complain about anything and everything. they are born to complain. They don't make good eyeball soup. They even complain about that and are quite envious of the chickadees. They make reasonable food for predatory birds though even they spit out the feathers. They complain about that too. They come in a variety of colors. They are not one race at all. No solidarity at all. Another reason to complain. I saw two of them making kissy beaks and two more were watching them and bitching about it. It's all they do is bitch. The world would be better off without them. Rather keep the mosquito than the canary. Mosquito s don't bitch at all. Even when you squish them. They expect it. They are only after the blood. Quite honest really, the mosquito. There are enough of them that their truth is known. They have a good pr team working for them. they are prone to succumbing to sprays, repellents and mesh but it is part of the mosquito's life and they accept it. They move on. They adapt. They overcome. They breed like mosquitoes, unlike rabbits who are really amatures compared to mosquitoes. They don't enjoy sex at all. To quick, too small, too utilitarian. It is only about procreation, much like catholics.Fortunately, catholics breed at a much slower rate. They don't adapt and overcome. They are stuck in a mire of tradition which will be the death of them. Much like other religious persuasions. there is after all only one true religion. The church of fornication. It has the longest traditions of them all. It has always been able to adapt and overcome. It is a need, a want, far beyond a desire. It is a requirement. Not even the mosquito can compete and most are converts anyway. The canary's though, even bitch about fornicating. Yes, we could do without canary's. The world would be a better place.

Are we really looking at the stars or they looking at us? Personally I want them to see the best in me.

One last thing: I think therefore I am? What about I am therefore I think? Food for thought.

The Hump

And when I hump again tomorrow

Oh what joy there is to see

There is life without the sorrow

With what is and what will be

Chorus:

Steal away, save the day, always play

Don’t look back, stay on track, in the sack

Hump along, sing this song, all day long

And when I hump again tomorrow

I’ll remember you and I

And how I left you in your sorrow

A fair trade for bluer sky

Chorus

And when I hump again tomorrow

Oh what humping there will be

A life filled with love and laughter

And the promise of a we

Chorus

And when I hump again tomorrow

Not a thought of you I’ll see

You failed to see the promise

Of what is and what could be

Chorus

In the humping there is wonder

In the humping lives no fear

In the humping lives the thunder

Of all that I hold dear

Chorus

Excerpt from “Songs from the Church of fornication” Volume I

Always subject to edit with permission granted without reservation by the author, who as always, remains anonymous.

The Memory

Yes I left you torn and bleeding

You were crying in your beer

All the things that you were needing

Weren’t the things that I hold dear

When we met my light was shining

You forgot to ask my name

When I left you, you were whining

Like the moth that touches flame

The moments shared and loving

Are the moments I recall

Not your lacks and not your needs

I don’t remember them at all

I have traveled to my future

You have stayed so far behind

With so many other lovers

You so rarely come to mind

In the distance that is nearing

Is the one who sees my light

You are just a single memory

A swift passing in the night

Excerpt from “Songs from The Church Of Fornication” Volume I

Subject to edit with the unreserved permission of the author, who as always, remains anonymous.

I sincerely hope this little gathering of snippets brought smiles and thought. As always, the Church is grateful for each of you and your participation. The value of life is the humor. Never take yourself seriously. Please be careful where you might choose to forward these snippets as it is true that there are those who could be offended and it is not my intent for that to happen. I seek only to share laughter and wisdom. Feedback is always welcome as are articles and snippets of your own. Those of us within the church do not copyright, as we know that we own no part of the creative energy that passes through us, rather it is a gift granted by a power greater than us. We also know that we are that power. Anything submitted to me will be shared freely with the congregation.

Love. Light. Laughter.

The Creed of the Church of Fornication

If it moves, thou shalt fondle it. If it doesn't move, thou shalt consider it most carefully Never, never say no Fornication is a way of life It will save you money on theater tickets and dinners It is the cheapest form of entertainment It can be done alone, in pairs or groups Fornication is a path to enlightenment Go forth and be enlightened

Pastor Will The Church of Fornication 2008

This all started at about 2AM. I have had a great deal of fun with this poor New Zealand girl. With humor, nothing is sacred, nor should it be. IF you ain't laughing, you are probably dying or stuck in a box with a rut, just outside the door. The purpose of The Church of Fornication is to make fun of everything. To help people out of the box and out of the rut. Is any humor, really sick? I honestly don't think so. I am sure I have offended some, made others think, and still others, curious. Do I believe in the things I write about? I'll never tell! It is not now, nor ever has been, my intent to harm anyones sensibilities. I will continue to question those very sensibilities as everyone is obligated to do, in order to form a firm position on any important issue. The question will always remain,What is truly important?

fleur hamill wrote: Pastor Will,

It is with great regreat that having just thoroughly re-read the code of honour I may have to hand in my resignation ....

A polymistic, 18th Century garbed, misogynist cult I can handle. But the bad rap chickadees receive by the Church of Fornication doth offend even the most sensitive of spirits.

Chickadees have been persecuted by all faiths and all nations since time memorial.

Chickadees surround my spirit and bless these blessed hands when holding forth m&m's for these delightful creations of God to feast upon. The chickadees have only ever asked for 'm&m - mother of mercy'.

Should the Church of Fornication be willing to reconsider it's stance on the blessed Chickadee then I will reconsider my resignation.

What about tuna safe Dolphin stuffed with baby seal? Lets hurry down south and assist in destroying the rain Forrest. We could go to all the fast food restaurants and steal their filtration systems! Break a few oil pipelines! Dump some radioactive waste in the fresh water! Remove the mufflers from all cars! Increase production of everything plastic! Build energy deficient houses on every square inch of protected surface on earth! Sink two dozen super tankers here and there! Advocate oppression of the populace. Force them to eat gruel cooked on a wood fire! Hunt all wild critters to extinction! Particularly whales! They take up way too much room in the ocean anyway and make a lot of noise.Lets create more wars and religious dissent. Leave the bloated bodies to rot in the sun. We could manufacture perfume from the bodies!We could spend a lot in Africa, supporting aids and fornication. Genocide! Yes! Kill them all! Sell Ice in the middle east! we could import icebergs! Massive solar power generators at the poles. We need the heat! Who needs ice anyway? Oh yes the martinis need ice? Well mine don't. If only we could break off a chunk of the arctic! We could flood the coastlines! Create new beach resorts. A LOT more perfume! If we timed it right we could make the planet tilt and fuck with the magnetics! A pole shift! Perhaps even reverse the direction of Earth's rotation! We could bring back single cell organisms as the primary life on Earth! Wow! They are so much easier to deal with. No agendas. Fornication is their only function! Reproduction their primary instinct. No more politics, religions or wars. utopia realized!

Disclaimer: The Church of Fornication neither agrees nor denies any position on any issues or positions, that may be deemed appropriate or inappropriate, political or non political, religious or non religious, conservative or liberal. The church does however make every effort to take a position in the middle ground, presenting the absolute absurdity and humor in the actions of governments, religions, philosophies and points of view prevalent on planet Earth. Those who are sensitive should perhaps consider parental permission to attend church functions or read literature, film and other media published by the Church.This church has not been rated as the rating has not been created.

Dear Fluer,

Though it saddens me to point this out I am obligated to do so for the good of the church. As a self proclaimed disciple who presented acceptable credentials you have violated the single most important issue of proper church behavior. You have taken something seriously. Particularly, you have taken yourself, your feelings and your point of view seriously without regard to how this may impact those around you. A violation of this magnitude normally would require torture by tickling. Perhaps death by laughter. We have however given a great deal of thought to your indiscretion and have decided that perhaps meditation on the blue pearl and or the rippling brook may bring you back into the fold. There are so many people that you affect it is shameful that your humor is dwindling and we at the church are in great hopes that appropriate meditation may help you on your road to recovery. Humor comes in many forms and we at the church must be able to accept and laugh at each of these forms.I can only reiterate: take nothing seriously, most particularly yourself as this is a self destructive path. Remember the impact you have on those around you and be sure that impact is positive, presented with humor and love. Thus the world may change for the better.

Pastor Will

PS: You might reconsider feeding Chickadees M & M 's. Their little systems have a hard time with all the sugar.It causes them to fly erratically, often into windows and sliding glass doors.Many are diabetic you know and diabetic coma is severe and often terminal. I have been wondering what was happening to them. I see lots of them laying on their backs, little feet sticking up in the air, twitching uncontrollably. I saved a few with rescue breaths and CPR, got them in the ambulance, just in time and off to the Chickadee hospital for proper drug intervention to get that blood sugar back within tolerable limits. Can't save them all, though I do try.

Dear Fleur, We at the Church of Fornication would like to express our most sincere appreciation for the opportunity that you have provided for us to create a new ceremony! We have never before had any member resign or even suggest resignation.

We have ordered a specially constructed coffin manufactured from recycled (think green!) plastic milk cartons. We considered recycled water bottles but thought the opaque look more suitable. We shall fill the coffin with notes and cards, engraved or embossed with the simple word "bye", done in gold leaf on hooker red paper. We thought that wasting some gold a good idea as it is highly over rated and is also used in the manufacture of certain red dyes.

Picture this: Hundreds of congregation members marching in a twin line up the embankment of the local rubbish dump, all dressed in tear away black clothing, with black top hats and black socks.Each carrying an unlit candle that has been slightly misshapen by the sun. Hooker red shoes and ties, the front element carrying the coffin, followed by the honor guard (a guy with a single shot 22 rifle), followed by the cross (cross member slightly askew) covered with used roses from a rose bowl parade float. We will of course require several urination stops along the path.It is such a long way up the slope.If you don't believe me, ask George Pickett of Gettysburg fame. Now there was a slope to remember. Those boys just kept right on, urinating all the way.No zippers that day! We will gather in a semi circle at the top. The headstone will be placed before me as a pulpit, facing the crowd. The headstone will read,"Here Lies Fleur Hamill, She never got over herself. Died of seriousness. R.I.P." those with the coffin, borne on their shoulders will stand next to me as I read the eulogy which has been carefully prepared. I shall remove my top hat, holding it to my breast, call for a moment of silence with bowed heads and then I shall utter the immortal word, "bye". The coffin will be tossed on the rubbish below,the honor guard will fire the 22 short (not as loud as a firecracker), the head stone will follow the coffin and then the cross will be tossed over the side. I will send my top hat sailing through the air over all these symbols, then tear away all the black. Everyone in the congregation will do the same. Hundreds of top hats, black suits, socks of black, red ties and red shoes flying over the edge to lie on the coffin. a great cheer of jubilation will rise on the air (sort of like what the Yankees did when Pickett didn't quite get there). We shall dance back down the slope, much like the Sufi, wild, unruled, laughing and singing "we have overcome ourselves, yes we have overcome". Since the odor at the rubbish dump is a bit overpowering, we will set out a great feast at our newly acquired prairie dog burrow, of all foods forbidden (hummingbird tongue, Chickadee eyeball soup, Whale, dolphin, panda, elephant, gorilla and many more) and drink copious amounts of wine, imported beer, bottled water,beverages served in plastic, Styrofoam plates and plastic utensils.We will burn all the rubbish as a symbolic gesture to global warming. One final toast to the memory of you and your lost humor. Plastic cups thrown on the rubbish bonfire.Then the party will really begin!

Of course you might consider, re-considering your resignation. we would all be terribly disappointed if you do decide to do so. A great deal of planning has gone into this event.We do however firmly believe and advocate CHOICE.

Apparently you don't get it.

fleur hamill wrote: > I will submit to my burial so long as I can wear my C.O.F floral 18th century outfit. > And be buried with my beloved chickadee. > > You can write on my PINK coffin....(how insulting to a member of the congregation that I should have to rot without pink) > > Here lies Fluer ......... the woman who never got over herself or the fact that people couldn't spell her name right. > > R.I.P > > (throw in some m&m's too - we don't like the brown ones). > >   Does she know that many worms are various shades of pink, so she'll have her color....

I am sure having fun with this girl. hope you don't mind. I thought she might just get pisssed off and quit. I still think she will. I am trying to see just how much she will take before she sees it is all in fun. Perhaps she never will which is what i am inclined to go with. While attempting to make corrections on the spelling of your name, as it appears there has been an error, in spelling, I discovered that it does not come up in spell check at all. I tried Fleur,Flure and Fleure, none of which came up with a proper suggestion for spelling. Flour worked Floor worked and flower worked. still just to be sure that the system works ok, I tried Will. That worked also. Perhaps you might make a suggestion as to what one might do to avoid such situations in the future. One's name certainly must be spelled correctly regardless of any particular or peculiar situation that may be responsible for the event.

Are we having fun yet? Pastor Will

The Little Chickadee

The little Chickadee, flying erratically, heading towards a residential development, sliding glass doors looming in the near distance, focused his remaining eye (the other having been destined for eyeball soup) and veered sharply away, narrowly missing a glass door by the skin of his teeth.

He spotted a wormhole and swept in (minus any facsimile of a broom) for a one-point landing. A little leg was missing having been cooked crunchy as an appetizer, so the landing went poorly and he flopped about a bit before he was able to stand on the one leg.

By removing his remaining eye, he was able to put his eye on the prize, still attached by the optic nerve, and saw his prey, just below the surface. Replacing the eye in the socket he was now faced with the dilemma of the skin on his teeth. What to do? How to proceed?

He had tried putting his nose to the grindstone, loosing only a fraction of his beak before realizing he had no nose. He knew his back to the wheel could not possibly help. He was not a fly by night Chickadee, (daytime only for him) no, he was the real McCoy or so he had been told all his life. He had never understood this, as his name was not McCoy, rather it was simply Chickadee, with a number attached. His number was number nine and even he did not know why. His mother had never explained it to him. He had never met another Chickadee number nine so he just accepted his fate and went with the flow. He did not know what that meant either, but he went with it anyway, thinking it might have something to do with air currents.

His mother had spent a great deal (he was sure this was a poker hand for many years) of time, explaining the birds and the bees to him. He had trouble with the whole concept. Bees did not taste good. Not as good as worms. It was a texture thing. Bees were crunchy. Worms were not. Bees were somewhat dry, hard to swallow (not to be confused with the swallow), and worms went down so much easier.

So there he stood, on his one little leg, slowly flapping one wing for balance, thinking about the skin of his teeth and again removed his eye and put it on the prize, the soon to be tasty worm.

This was the moment that God intervened. A revelation occurred. Enlightenment struck him a serious blow and instantly he knew how to proceed. He had realized that he had no teeth and therefore no skin on his teeth. No he had been blessed with a beak! Nothing left to worry about for Chickadee number nine! What a blessed day.

He replaced his eye in the empty socket and gamely plucked the worm from the ground. It slid and slithered down his throat, spiced with leaf mold, wet and slimy. He was consumed by rapture. It was all he could do to maintain his balance. Somehow he managed and he was fulfilled. He rose from the ground and attained erratic flight once again, resembling a helicopter much more that the graceful flight normally associated with a bird.

He noticed a park directly below and a woman seated on a bench. In her open palm he saw his ultimate, favorite food. He saw a palm full of M& M’s. He had eaten all his dinner as his mother had always insisted so having a sumptuous desert was certainly acceptable. Again he managed a one point landing, directly in front of the woman on the bench.

She had a look of benevolence (much like the Virgin Mary), and dropped several M&M’s on the ground before him. Noticing that there was not one brown M&M in the bunch (he had always loved the brown ones) he nimbly hopped on his one leg, one wing slowly flapping for balance and plucked his second favorite (the red one) from the ground. There was no doubt in his little Chickadee brain that he had arrived in heaven. He ate the entire M&M.

It was simply too much for his little Chickadee system. His blood glucose went through the roof (even though there was no roof present) and he toppled over on his back, his one leg sticking straight up, and his entire body trembling and twitching much like an epileptic seizure. His little Chickadee head lolled over to the side and he became quite still.

A concerned citizen, wearing a cowboy hat and sunglasses, who just happened by, quickly came to his aid. He recognized the symptoms immediately. Chickadee number nine was in a diabetic coma. He quickly dialed 911, an ambulance was dispatched, paramedics arrived on the scene, quickly secured Chickadee number nine to a Chickadee sized backboard, secured the backboard to the Chickadee sized gurney and rushed him to the ambulance. The concerned citizen, with the cowboy hat and sunglasses, barely made it into the ambulance as the doors slammed shut and the ambulance, lights and sirens, screaming, through the park and traffic, rushed to the hospital.

Chickadee number nine was in the emergency room surrounded by nurses and doctors who gamely (there really was no gamey smell at all) fought for his very life. His body chemistry was all wrong, as was revealed by the first blood work. They were loosing him. There was little doubt. The monitor showed a flat line and the paddles came out. Drugs were administered through several IV lines. Oxygen was supplied with a Chickadee sized bag-valve-mask. The doctors fought on. The paddles were applied and joules of electricity coursed through his heart. Three times the paddles were applied. Three times they failed to produce results.

The citizen with the cowboy hat and sunglasses paced the floor just outside of the glass-enclosed room, impotent (not to be confused with sexual impotence or importance) and helpless to intervene. Tears were streaming down his cheeks from under the sunglasses. He was unaware of the tears. A kindly nurse put her arm around him and steered (he had no steering wheel so this was a bit of a problem and was also neither a wrangler nor a rambler), him to a waiting room and sat with him, providing what little comfort she could offer. A priest came into the waiting room muttering something under his breath (for some reason he could not get it over his breath) and asked if the man in the cowboy hat was related to the Chickadee. “No” said the citizen; “I was just the unfortunate one who came upon him in his hour of need”. “What hour was that”, asked the nurse. ”It was at precisely 13:04,” replied the cowboy looking citizen, “I had just checked the time, when I noticed the little chickadee in distress.” The priest, not having been initiated to military time was completely lost but managed to maintain his composure despite his complete lack of understanding. He had a lot of practice, maintaining, so it really wasn’t that difficult.

On the forth attempt with the paddles, his little chickadee body arched above the surface of the bed, the monitor began to show a regular heartbeat had been attained and those medical professionals gathered around Chickadee number nine breathed a collective sigh of relief. The room was littered with medical supplies, torn wrappers, used vials of medicines, gloves, gauze and many other things. Hands were shaken (though not shaking) all around and congratulatory smiles appeared on the collective (not attached to each other) faces. Chickadee number nine was out of the woods. Understandably as it had been quite awhile since he had been in the woods anyway. After all, he was a flat land Chickadee, a Yankee, and his whole neighborhood had only the one tree that he couldn’t roost in anyway since he had only one leg. He slept on the ground on his side.

A huge Police officer had come into the special waiting room. He was armed with a pistol, a tazzer, a bludgeon, a nightstick, (with a handle mounted at 90 degrees for twirling) a variety of sprays, (including deodorant) and a sap (not from a tree, in fact filled with buckshot which had not yet shot a buck), and a bulge under his body amour, which vaguely resembled a grenade. “I’ll need a report”, he said in a very high pitched voice (perhaps caused by the very constrictive apparatus surrounding his body) “for the record”, (though there was no equipment for making either 45’s or 33 and 1/3ds) “about exactly what you witnessed”.

“No Problem”, said the man in the cowboy hat (the hat was on his head, he was really not “in” the hat at all) and sunglasses. He related (no relative intended) the story, as he knew it, including the peculiar observation, of the distinct lack of brown M&MS.

“No Brown M&Ms?” asked a very confused police officer. “I’ll have to look into this. Can you describe the woman on the bench? It is apparent that there is a plot involved here, perhaps a terrorist cult after the Chickadee population.”

A doctor entered the room with a huge smile on his face (he never had a smile on his face before, only egg, and the yoke was still on him) and informed the gathering that the family had arrived. Chickadees one through six (seven had succumbed to the bird flu the previous year) number eight and both parents were on their way, along with Chickadee number nine to the intensive care unit and were requesting the priest for moral (not to be confused with morale) support (not to be confused with a jock strap) and would he please go to their aid (not to be confused with aids which in fact is a communicable disease, transmitted sexually, and after, all since he was a priest, one could presume celibacy). The priest complied (no complaint at all, surprisingly, since he was still stuck on the time problem) and left the room.

The huge, over armed (he was not a pitcher), police officer replaced his notepad and pencil (he hated ink as corrections were so much harder to accomplish, and his report might need corrections or alterations) into his breast pocket, shook hands (none were really shaking at this point) and left the room to hurry after the culprit, the woman on the bench.

The citizen with the cowboy hat and sunglasses slipped (not loosing his balance) unnoticed out of the room, the hospital and the city, catching a flight to Arizona where he lived in a little town, called, (a name, not an action) Cornville. There is no Corn in Cornville, thus, the name?

Chickadee number nine recovered (he hadn’t really lost anything) fully, was released, (he was never captive and could have left whenever he chose) from the hospital several days later, Married a cute little southern Chickadee with an accent (not a garnish) and one eye. Conveniently it was the opposite eye so they could fly together in very balanced flight. She was also missing the opposite leg so landings went smoothly and roosting again became possible. In no time Chickadees 10 through seventeen were produced and the proud parents spent their time telling stories to the youngsters about birds and bees, diabetes and M&MS and many other fascinating subjects.

The huge well armed policeman still searches for the Chickadee terrorist with the bag of M&M’s missing all the brown ones. His only clue, but when asked on national television, vowed to “continue to persevere”, whatever that really means. Wanted posters are posted nationwide, FBI, CIA and Interpol all have the description of the woman on the bench. There is really very little chance that she will ultimately slip through the net, (depending on the size of the openings in the net) and will eventually be brought to justice. —Preceding unsigned comment added by 69.92.36.186 (talk) 11:05, 24 February 2008 (UTC)