RE-ELECT KING ULMAN!

his goal, never one, to alleviate,

personal destruction he's caused by choice,

but to maintain his elitist lifestyle,

by silencing the evidentiary voice.

he's thirsty for this bloggers blood,

you can be sure these are not just pet peeve's,

but watch very closely for his deadly punch,

that he's hiding inside his sleeve!

the jesters tear - a fantasy poem

the jesters tear 
- a fantasy poem 
part I



like so many colors in my jesters suit,
there are many ways and that's my right,
if you don't fancy all this morbid talk,
better switch to walt disney's site.


howard county maryland, 
one of the wealthiest in the nation,
and now we see her democrats rule,
by fear and intimidation.

the indecencies of our crooked  king,
nothing else can ever top it,
the smutty ways he punishes me,
to conceal his slumlord profits.

his majesty, a tyrant wannabe, 

has control across the board,

he's ordered medicine taken from me,

and he wields it like a sword.

(and that, law students, even in fantasy, is your textbook case for maliciously driven reckless endangerment and gross abuse of power.
you'll go to the head of your class with that one. and take note voters, this is only one of dozens of reasons why, even in fantasy, our petty king, with his shallow and easily bruised ego, is unfit for elected office. he's playing chicago style politics, with private citizens - break their legs and then ask questions, or don't.)

there's no riddle, reason, or rhyme to it,
the crown knows not right from wrong,
had i'd thought his crimes were even possible,
i'd have kept my stash and bong.

it's power and control they're hungry for,
the doctors and nurses who run afoul,
but i'm finished forever begging from them,
i'm going au' naturel.

the prescription pad and medicines,
they dangle like carrot and stick,
then direct you to jump through hoops of fire,
it's enough to make you sick. 

in certain medical specialties,

the line is very blurred,

who's the professional, who's the patient,

and which one needs to be cured.

professionals with no professionalism,

your medicine, howard, a bitter shame,

they've degrees to fill their empty hearts,

and to play their mein kampf game.

"the buck stops here," better kings would say,

as it emits from there tower of power,

but i can't wait for bluicide day,

when they spatter my brains all over george howard.

it's been 2 1/2 years, and a little more,
since he closed the door on me,
a steady voter with legitimate concerns,
i guess he was wanting a fee.

so, he breaks my life, he's a warrior now,

the czar proclaims his victory,
but when one has none and one has all,

it's hardly much of a mystery.

no need to call 911,
they're already on the case,
the king has ordered they shut me down,
and make sure i get shot in the face.

so, what do kings do anyway?

i've no ideas 'bout that anymore,

my only purpose to make you smile,

how 'bout these gaps that the razor tore.

banned from all his hospitals,

barred from his doctors too, 

the king has put an end to me,

just like he said he'd do.

some things are wrong, so terribly wrong,
but it's entertainment for the powers that be,
even i, sometimes, find it difficult to fathom,
i might bring this evil world to it's knees.

the jesters tear 
- a fantasy poem 
part II

no matter if they address me in blue uniform,

or more casual and comfy street clothes,

because, i have a very good sense of these guys,

and they're not just your average joe's. 

but, when they're knights for a king,
the temptation is great to think they're being led, 
with no regard for what may be
the demons in his head.



it's the man with a gun who looks past me,
unaware he might make me a martyr,
chances are, it's also the man with a gun,
who condescendingly calls me "pardner."

i accept my fate as the jesters tear,

no need for recompense,

they're just doing what everyone else would do,

having a cheap laugh at my expense.

i'll never deny the good things they've done,
but, it's time now, to go it alone,
unfortunately for me, i clearly now see,
they're beholden to the man on the throne.

i'm battered and bloodied by the powers that be,

raw meat way down to my core,

i'd don the fatigues and military gear,

but there's nothing worth fighting for.

don't blame the police, it's not their choice,
they're invited along for the ride,
they're pawns in my deadly game of life,
that's why it's called suicide.

the jesters tear 
- a fantasy poem
part III

this is how spineless men behave,

as headlines come with the new days sun,

they look at all the carnage about

saying, "lord, what have we done?"

it's much to late to walk away,

from their role as villains willing,

their fates forever sealed in hate,

for starting all this killing.

the jester has talents to make you laugh, 
or personalities as some might say,
but this sadness that you scarred him with,
will revisit you another day.

he'll not always spend his days,

doing parlor tricks for you,

because standing beside,

is the jesters dark side,

to turn your red hearts blue.

harris, klebold, cho, et al,

legends before their time,

i honor them for their brave and dark courage,

dark courage i never could find.

it didn't have to be this way,

the jesters heart no longer melts,

he's not playing the cards that he chose,

he's playing the hand you've dealt.

while before a jester, the man inside,

had passion for your pain,

the realization of what you are,

made him drown you in red rain.

it's a poem! it's a frickin' poem!

a fantasy poem! 

so, don't come knocking upon my door,

no hostile visits from the boys in blue,
you spend so much time trailing me,
your wives are wondering, "what about you?"

no need for bogus "welfare calls,"
just looking for what can be found,
if you want to put an end to misery,
then put this jester down.

don't need the press publicity,
this can be a private act,
you could say, "he pulled a gun on me,"
you might say, "he was acting very wacked."
  

the jesters tear 

- a fantasy poem
part IV



with this impending storm one's thoughts get murky,
it's hard distinguishing friend from foe,
it's the tallahatchi bridge where another man jumped,
the mcallister called billie joe.

to die like this is for the few,

as rooted in film and song,

what decent men will put themselves through,

to shine a light on the wrongest of wrongs.

seemingly a fiery comet,t
blazing down from out of the sky,
but, it's just a jesters mortal remains,
crashing into the route 95.

howling sirens, like wolves at night,

reds and blues that pierce your eyes,

they're mourning the death of a jester unknown,

this is how the angels cry.

the jesters tear
- a fantasy poem
part V 



if you find these images a little unsettling,
have some whiskey with a valium or two,
don't worry who it is who's driving this hearse,
but here's a tip..... shhhhh.....it's king - you know who.


the jesters tear
- a fantasy poem
part VI

but then again the jesters heart is gold,
harm not in his repertory,
on another day he could clearly awake,
with a different ending to his story.


*** note to the prosecution-

no kings, jesters, police officers, or even this fly, were harmed in the writing of 
"the jesters tear-a fantasy poem."
nor have they ever.
neither will they ever be.

bluicide?

godless bob coins the term "bluicide," to mean the volitional act by an individual in deliberately provoking an armed police officer, who traditionally wear blue, into shooting them, the individual,  to death as a means of committing suicide.

this is not a recommendation to action for anyone, including the godless one, but just an observation of human behavior that is chosen by some others.

disguise

so this is how it looks 
inside my brand new body bag, 
all black and shiny and sterile too,
with my very own brand new toe tag.
a wise man once said to me,
something wise as they are prone,
"we come to this world with only our skin,
and we leave it all alone." 
with no regard for profit or loss,
or how to do it cheaper,
he has an appointment with everyone of us,
the one they call the reaper.

the reaper lurks shamelessly, 

just beyond our consciousness,

preparing for when he alone decides,

to deliver his deadly kiss. 

he works in silence unbeknownst to us,

and never showing his face,

till suddenly he's close enough 

to lay our lives to waste. 

he doesn't care that you want to stay 

with all of those you love,

and it just may be he appears to you,

as a murderer or a dove.

there's no limit to the myriad of forms he'll take,

but theres even more for you to ponder,

he may come for you as a saintly saint,

or a valued first responder. 

cops like their humor dark like mine,
no knock-knock jokes for them,
the only downside to killing me is,
they can never do it again.
i've told you folks the line is thin,
but that's just poetry in motion,
their line around me puts ft. knox to shame,
and has dispelled me of that notion. 

unmarked cars and nice ones too,

driven by those in blue,

sometimes more numerous than private citizens,

and thats just one of the clues.

they're running up mileage on their crime fighting cars,
they follow me mile after mile,
i think they ought to put those cruisers in park,
and walk with me for awhile.

they think i'm dumb like a box of rocks,

because i want a living cremation,

but there are times like this i clearly possess,

uncanny powers of observation.

it was just a ploy for a closer look,

that made him stop his ride,

to see if, like i said before,

i keep it by my side.

he was asking for the location

of the nearest postal facility,

but everything about this street clothes cop,

screams of incongruity.

he didn't want the one in our local zip code,

or the one in our office building,

it was enough so that i thought for a moment,

he wanted to do something chilling. 

casual conversation is fine with me,

but i can't help but be alarmed,

that there true intent just might be,

to do me irreparable harm. 

this constant surveillance, if it were any one else,

i might think i'm being stalked,

they may be working for that golden opportunity,

to outline my body in chalk.

it's a little confusing, the mixed signals they send,

i'm trying hard to read the signs,

to set in motion the wheels that mean,

the end of my behind.

now, i used to run some years ago,

and i'm certainly out of practice,

but with motivation like this,

and these cards stacked against me,

my run could be galactic. 

whether they're keeping me out or keeping me in,

cops sure know how to set the tone,

because they've got my ass confused as hell,

and i think i'm in the twilight zone.

if it's a a party they're yearning, 
i'll be back in a flash,

i'll order some pizzas and beer,

i've learned to find pure hedonistic pleasure,

in raw unadulterated fear.

am i having fun or am i on the run,

feel free to let me know,

just give me the sign you're ready to begin,

but in fun anything goes.

it's not a pretty sight for the public to see,

my flesh bloodied, twisted and mangled,

but i've an idea, keep it short and sweet,

with one bullet from officer angel. 

i've live my life, let's face the fact,

nobody lives forever,

i'm waiting on these banks for the ferryman to come,

to take me across this river.

"a body bag," such a perverse idea,
a bag to put a body in,
if i knew the reaper would be so soon,
i'd have enjoyed more unpardonable sin.
all is said and all is done,
no fears of growing old,
the reaper has now beckoned me,
and i think i'm growing cold. 
secure inside my body bag,
eternal death now looms,
the reaper has now sealed my death,
no more talk of doom and gloom.

my thoughts are slow, it's dark and cold,

and eerily very still,

i'm peaceful now, no tears in here,

because it is my will.

cold inside my body bag,damp inside my tomb,
this life will never flower again,
this flower will never bloom. 
the fruits of life that give us purpose,
are withered on the vine,
the reaper has now kissed my life,
disguised as the thin blue line.   

IS PRESIDENT OBAMA IMITATING GODLESS BOB OR IS GODLESS BOB IMITATING PRESIDENT OBAMA?

Much like pondering the chicken and egg theory, it may not matter what came first, but clearly when it comes to fashion, President Obama and I may have, without intent, started a mutual admiration society. Today I wore my pink shirt and pink, gray and black tie, as I have for literally decades, and the rolling eyes and snickering faces were just too numerous to count. 

Which leads me to another imponderable. Where have you sheltered sons of guns been for the last year and a half. Haven't you heard there's a new Sheriff in town? And haven't you heard, as reported last year extensively in the Washington Post, that OUR new audacious Sheriff Barack Obama WEARS PINK SHIRTS?

Except for that time I mutilated my throat with a razor blade, for art I tell you, while wearing my favorite pink shirt, turning it a rather stunning bright red and pink, STUNNING I tell you, I've always had a penchant for pink shirts. Men look very good in pink, pink and black, pink and red, and the President looks very good in pink shirts. There's absolutely nothing wrong with men wearing pink, provided it's outerwear. If it's not, I don't want to know about it.

To all you, grey, brown, and dark green wearing pedestrians I met this morning, looking like you buy your clothes in North Korea......GROW A PAIR! If crisp, sharp pink shirts are good enough for the leader of the free world, then it's good enough for, yours truly, a leader of a free mind.

Now, I don't want to hear any more snickering about my pink shirts, or I'll hit you with my purse. My pink purse.

Re: what up with men wearing pink , pink ties ,pink shirts,i would not be caught dead wearing pink.	Quote
"pile on you mother fuckers,i can take it!" >>Rumor has it, you say the same thing at rest stops and San Francisco street fairs.

"Those enemies of mine who did not want me to be King over them...."

"THOSE ENEMIES OF MINE WHO DID NOT WANT ME TO BE KING OVER THEM, BRING THEM HERE AND KILL THEM IN FRONT OF ME"

JESUS (LUKE 19:27)

Is this the "Prince of Peace" speaking? According to St. Luke it was.

Even in fable, Jesus, God, seems to have a multiple personality disorder. You can trust me on this one folks, godless bob knows about such things!

Howard County Executive and King Kenneth Ulman drops 13 felony counts against Godless Bob

Without comment,  Howard County Executive Ken Ulman dropped 13 bogus felony counts against blogger, "with no clout," godless bob. Considering the manufactured and trumped up charges were born solely out of personal malice for the godless one, it was the right thing to do.

While on the subject of  the justice system in Howard County Maryland, Let me just say that  I've never needed the services of a Public Defender before, and rarely the services of a private attorney, but I must admit to having a case of the heebie-jeebies initially because of all the talk I've heard about how Public Defenders just shuffle defendants through the court system like they do government paperwork. 

Let me tell you, I now know from first hand experience that the Public Defenders I worked with in Howard County Maryland provided the best legal representation I've ever received. They cared about the issues I was raising as well as the bigger issues of free speech and Constitutional Rights. While the case never even went to trial, I was completely confident in the abilities of these two Public Defenders and was certain I would have received an aggressive and principled defense by these excellent, and under appreciated Maryland Public Defenders at the Howard County Courthouse. With Public Defenders of this quality, who needs private and unaffordable private attorneys? Not me!
In need of a Public Defender and feeling a little skittish? If you're in the State of Maryland-relax. You're in good hands!
Hosannas to the Maryland Office of the Public Defender!

King Ulman drops 13 felony counts against godless bob

considering it was driven purely by personal malice, it was the right thing to do.