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I.G.Y.

I.G.Y. (International Geographical Year) 1957-1958:

A few years ago, on my podcast, I discussed this song – a song that haunted me from my youth. It was released in 1982, when I was 12 years old. When you’re young you don’t always see the subtlety of satire and yet, in retrospect, I consider this song satire. At the time, it seemed like a hopeful song, now I think it mocks us.

I.G.Y. by Donald Fagen

Standing tough under stars and stripes, we can tell
This dream's in sight
You've got to admit it
At this point in time that it's clear
The future looks bright

On that train, all graphite and glitter
Undersea by rail
Ninety minutes from New York to Paris
Well, by '76 we'll be A-OK

What a beautiful world this will be
What a glorious time to be free
What a beautiful world this will be
What a glorious time to be free

Get your ticket to that wheel in space while there's time
The fix is in
You'll be a witness to that game of chance in the sky
You know we've got to win

Here at home we'll play in the city
Powered by the sun
Perfect weather for a streamlined world
There'll be spandex jackets, one for everyone

What a beautiful world this will be
What a glorious time to be free
What a beautiful world this will be
What a glorious time to be free

On that train, all graphite and glitter
Undersea by rail
Ninety minutes from New York to Paris
(More leisure for artists everywhere)

A just machine to make big decisions
Programmed by fellas with compassion and vision
We'll be clean when their work is done
We'll be eternally free, yes, and eternally young

What a beautiful world this will be
What a glorious time to be free
What a beautiful world this will be
What a glorious time to be free

What a beautiful world this will be
What a glorious time to be free
What a beautiful world this will be
What a glorious time to be free

Now, unlike Donald Fagen, this is actual sideways gaslighting unironic bullshit:

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1 SAM 8

So the libtards know what “no kings” means.

A service to our lord (August 2020):

This is a rehearsal for an outdoor service we did, in the park, during the “covid”. The “fear” was that we would be arrested, because we weren’t wearing the “mask”. On the other hand: CHOP/CHAZ protests on 12th AVE had cut every major route to just about every emergency room in Seattle during the “worst pandemic ever”. And Seattle bike cops, dressed like Antifa, enabled this.

Click here for purchasing instructions.

VER 1: BLACK

VER 2: HEATHER RASPBERRY

VER 3: HEATHER FOREST

VER 4: TEAM PURPLE

VER 5: KELLY

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MR. SCRIBBLES

T-SHIRT: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=29393

Mr. Scribbles
comes in the night

Mr. Scribbles
is ready for a fight

Mr. Scribbles
walks real slow

Mr. Scribbles
knows where you go

Mr. Scribbles
with eyes of green
mean from the streets
eating the meats
that grow by the way
it's okay
he'll be visiting
you one day

Mr. Scribbles
lives near the sea
along the shore
hard to the core
bittersweet memories
of every victim's plea

Mr. Scribbles
is 10 feet tall
he'll give you a call
on the phone
when you're alone
and no one knows
the firelight glows
long after
you are gone
the song dies
the flame lies
you will be late
for the charity ball

Mr. Scribbles
he's always nearby
with a sigh
and a curse
he grabs your purse
he steals your phone
and then he's there
sitting on your throne

Mr. Scribbles
he has a strange laugh
it's a gaff
a prank
you think it's okay
but then
the sun goes down
on your last day

Mr. Scribbles
he likes to use knives
taken many lives
brought them
to the dump
like a lump
buried in the fill
and still
he cries
as the world dies
and the flies
and the blood
and with a thud
the hole is damp
he puts out the lamp
and it's "ADIOS CHAMP"

Mr. Scribbles
is tired and sad
he wanders the world
flag unfurled
mind broken
just a token
of regret
you haven't met
yet
yet
yet

Mr. Scribbles
is away by dawn
all gone
forever walk
he never talks
he sits
he stalks
and he waits
another week
another month
another year
rivers of tears
flow by
he never dies
he never lives
he only gives
one last kiss
and an outline
made from chalk

Mr. Scribbles
came from HELL
ringing that bell
that Beelzebub bling
"ding, ding, ding"
goes the doorbell
he smiles real nice
he gives great advice
he wants to come in
he'll punish
your sins

Mr. Scribbles
is here for pain
he's slain
more than a few
left them
in the swamp
slowly turning
churning
to goo
a slew
of freaks
with cheeks red
nowhere to tread
just missed
presumed deceased
broke the lease
on the house
"what a louse"
the landlord said

don't look behind
don't look ahead
don't look for help
hear what I said

he's not afraid
he has no loss
he's the boss
of the end
he's a friend
to the bat
and the rat
and the spade

so say a prayer
to some lame god
same goodbye
to all you trod
pack your bags
you're leaving soon

don't stop running
he's coming now
he's just
a little late

now he's at
the front gate

he's inside
YOUR ROOM
settling gloom
your last date

Mr. Scribbles
Mr. Scribbles
Mr. Scribbles
brings
your
doom