Tippy's Message to Swirlypine

Swirlypine,

Have I been so long from you that you move so far away from the core values I taught you? As I hoof it down the southern Sierra trails into Latin America, via boat, ATV, mountain bike, plane or other throughout my adventures towards Venezuela I check in on the blog at the local cyber cafe's. I have to tell you I am dissapointed. What otherwise should be encouraging rhetoric to my soul has become like a bad anchor in Scott Peterson's boat.

Your early post's were weak, to say the least, but they had guts, and integrity with a plethra of enthusiasm. It was only a matter of time that they got better with Brent Geisberg stepping up to the plate and reaching a Swirlypine plateau with the brilliant analysis on the ultimate apostic sermon, and of course the Rev. C. Jerome's plea to TBN to give his grandma's money back. But from there, those glimps of brilliance have given way to mediocrity. Raca. Get behind me Satan I say.

I don't ask for perfection. I don't ask for the greatest wine from the greatest vines. I only ask for guts. For a stomach of stone, and the powerful attack of the Chubacabra in your sarcastic born again souls. I have met the Chubacabra, and he is evil. With only two small but defining holes to the neck, the beast sucks the innards out of his prey and runs off in the night. While this beast is violent and cunning to the Latin world, the essence of his power and determination is nowhere to be seen in your work anymore. Swirlypine has become to me like a piss in my Corona, a bacteria in my fish taco, and a cobra in my Tijuana jail cell, staring me right in the eyes.

As I seek out Chavez and avenge my dear brother Pat Robertson who I have learned to hate and admire at the same time, I am reminded that old Pat at least has the huevos to speak his mind rather it be political correct or not. But not you Swirlypine. I know you are trying to find me and keep me from harms way. Bartenders up and down the Pacifc Ocean coast have kept me informed of your efforts. But let me tell you. Unless you start writing from the heart, criticizing from the soul, demeaning well meaning Evangelicals from the deepest and smelliest part of your upper colon, I don't want to see you. Or hear you. Or smell your presence. The Chubacabra is more welcomed in the seat next to me. The Chubacabra is looking better every beer, while you, Swirlpine, are looking more and more pitiful every post.

You must be hot or cold. Your Paul and Jan short pieces are lazy and stupid. You might as well take over Rosie's show and through softballs at Cameran Diaz, or go on Oprah and talk about adventures in weight management. If this laziness continues I will do everything possible to see the demise of this blog.

Wake up Swirlypine. The emergent church is caling you, and your former potential as a leader in the movement is giving way to a "has been" cyber rag, read by one or two of your so called friends.

Wake up Swirlypine. Pull your head out of your cyberass.

Love Tippy.