Oman Atna Ug. X-Ray vision for all.

M (also known as Dr. T, praise be unto his God-fearing soul that bows to no one but the one just God who hates the hippie- liberal- homosexual- abortionist- atheist- man- from- ape- baboons and the unbelieving heathen billions out east that are destined for limbo despite their conservative- heterosexual- pro- life- fundamentalist- man- from- pixie- dust- death- to- all- infidel beliefs) is hungry.

His stomach growls as he mutters choice obscenities under his breath.

It should be the law, he thinks to himself. It should be the law of the land, the law of God even, that food should be offered to him and his lot before the sun is nigh.

The infidels hide in the dark. He knows they pretend to sleep, to not exist. He knows of their lies, deceit and their empty, Godless souls; he has seen their axis of evil.

Ia (Insignificant aide, curses onto her ignorant lot), meanwhile, lacks the high moral fiber that she so desperately needs to aid digestion.

Ia: " Why not that bowl over there on the counter top, Sire?"

M snickers over his growling stomach.

M: " Harrumph!... you two-pence whore. You touch that bowl and the infidels have already won. That is what they want of you, debauched woman!."

Ia: " Sire.. I was only concerned about your well-being. We are starving, O esteemed leader!. Maybe we should call out to them, maybe they will feed us."

M: "Starving? pshaw!! Can not you see that we are overfed, you fat cow?! Did not not see the large sign that proclaimed "DINNER ACCOMPLISHED" about three days ago?. Do you not believe in Him?. If you don't believe in Him, you are his enemy, you bag of filth."

Ia: "..."

Ia: " Yes sire. I see it!! I see it now. Dinner accomplished. Your greatness, I no longer feel hunger. In fact, your esteemedness, I no longer feel my stomach or my toes. Hallelujah!! Praise be to him!!."

M: "Him? Who him?"

Ia: "You, your Majesty."

M: "Oh, him."

Blue Label

The passage of time has been dimmed by the years gone by, but the warm, heavy, air awakens M (also known as Dr. T, praise be unto him). Nothing has changed. The roiling clouds tear the sunshine to to shreds, and the heat seems to rise from the very bowels of hell.

Fan: "Nice shirt, man. Where'd you buy it?"

M: "Oh. Yeah. this one. yeah..."

Let there be a thousand words

M (also known as Dr. T, praise be unto him and his seed) watches the afternoon waste away into an uneasy Sunday evening . The cycle repeats, week after fleeting week whose brevity belies an endless life, just like the warm desert afternoon withers into the chill of a starry night, only to reveal another sunrise.

M is beyond cycles. M has no beginning, nor has he an end.

M is.

M: "..."

His Insignificant Aide (also known as Ia, curses unto her and her ignorant lot) too is beyond worldly cycles. Just as soon as she can get to this juicy hummingbird.