Since I’m legally forbidden from stepping foot on the property of the church where my parents worship God, I spent Easter morning watching Jesus fight demon-snakes in the movie The Carpenter’s Son. The title of this post is taken from a line of dialogue, spoken by Satan to Jesus, foretelling how the Jews would be dealing with his divinity. “You will die for miserable people,” Satan says.
Was Satan right?
This coming week I’ll be posting part II of my Old Money vs. New Money series, so get ready to learn even more about how money steers local development in Missoula, while naysayers like me get targeted and persecuted for speaking up. Thankfully, for those who cater to the powerbrokers in this town, like the Risho family, they have good Christian volunteers like my own mother, and the First Presbyterian Church, to help them as Mommy Risho struggles with her health.
For me, I guess I’ll just have to work harder at forgiving them for what I had to endure as their cocaine-abusing kitchen manager got investigated as a person of interest for potentially killing our co-worker, Leah Hartley, a part-time Silk Road kitchen employee who the Risho family didn’t even acknowledge after she died.
One method I’ve relied on over the years for making my inner rage more presentable is to make it rhyme, so enjoy the words of this poem-song I recorded yesterday with Pirate Booty (Instagram reel coming soon). I’m calling it “Brunch with Juice Box”. Hopefully, if good Christians can’t access their deep wells of forgiveness, they will at least appreciate that no act of obscenity with mere words comes close to the obscenities of what’s currently transpiring in the name of God.
BRUNCH WITH JUICE BOX
spice my loosh with Cortisol
sweet Jesus, let us walk
meat is not the final curtain
let's take a seat and talk
which lamb should we blam, blam, blam
and which one gets the milk?
I'm tired of my sackcloth, Jesus
at night I dream of silk
pussies drink milk from the floor
while bitches stand and cry
you, my son, are on the run
from eating the whole damn pie
me, I cry for ice cream
melting slowly in a bowl
or listening to shitty music
coming for your soul
that's nice advice, wise Jesus
but the gun is in my hand
and the script is so exciting
so let's stick to the plan
maybe you're trying stalling
so here, I'll kill them all
and if you do not like it
you know who to call
there's no rhyme or reason
like a breeze to cool the heat
it's his little season now
they claim on groundless feet
some will lose by winning
some losers will be just fine
and some refuse to play the game
until refusing becomes a crime
If you’re wondering where I cultivated such impressive rhyming skills, I give lots of credit to the University of Montana, an institution considering letting this guy take the helm:
Tomorrow, to start off the first full week of April (the cruelest month), I’ll be helping Dr. Fore-Shinn unpack his Boise baggage in the manner only I can, since my familiarity with another Boise transplant–Ellie Boldman, formerly Hill–gave me the immediate political lens through which to view this incoming skin-bag.
The link above is to an article archived at Western Montana News, and it’s the best one regarding Ellie’s time in Boise. For even more context, this link takes you to the post of mine that has links to 12 others documenting Ellie’s shenanigans over the years, like how she maximized her taking of emergency Covid money in what I think is an act of fraud she should have been prosecuted for.
I guess when you help make the laws in Helena, it’s less likely you’ll have to adhere to the laws in Zoom Town.
Thanks for reading!