Most honorable profession at the point of a blade.
The last pure form.
Mastery without effort.
Song of the executioner.
The art of cleavage
and making chips fly.
Zen in motion:
OK. Stand the slab on end, like so.
No teetering, blockhe ad! That's it.
Our little champion.
Mr. conservative smarty pants.
Too big for his Republican britches.
One of the hollow men.
Just like his daddy.
Feet wide apart. Knees a little bent.
Heft the shank easy like, fingers loose, never tight.
Don’t s queeze the shaft!
Now, address the dodgy son of a bitch:
Mr. President, do you still insist
there were weapons of mass
OK. OK, sir. Whatever you say. But on your knees!
Perjurers, murderers of small children,
and loote rs of the economy
do not pass through Peter's gate.
Find the mark.
We’ll cultivate that little crack.
An opportunity waiting to happen.
Up the maul, most excellent tool of all my days.
Razor edge of discrimination.
Hammer of infinite heaven.
Bane of knots and heart rot.
Hewer of the toughest grain.
Instrument of the mighty spheres unbound.
Avenging angel filled with disdain
and all of your cronies and
Swift retribution is coming!
Now straight and true
and away with him...
( ! )
With that stroke
we could've thrice cut the deficit.
Pity the poor soul.
See! Look! It flies away…