The Milk Epistles #2

The Glandular Epoch
Along the sands and snowflakes of time the Great Cow wanders and wonders. A
beachcomber and manure shoveler in search of the Divine Cud. Ever- chewing, ever-
lasting, ever-shitting, ever-tasting, ever-regurgitating.

It's been a long time since the stars exploded and the Golden Pail spilled the milk of
human kindness. The green grass covered by famine, by winter, by cement hungers to be
reborn in the warmth of life giving methane. But we digress as often as we digest. There
are too many distractions, too many stars in the sky, too many pennies to burn.

The Meaning of Moo does not get lost when the seasons change or planets die. It becomes
more refined as time gently hones it and the Sound of Moo becomes the Grand Canyon of
sound waves. It laps our material senses like a bulls tongue on a cow cunt bringing us to
the climax of existence.

We expel acres of white milk and cum into the mouth of the universe and create our
version of life but the Great Cow wanders and wonders how to stop the flow. As the pen
will surely lose its ink we falter but the Great Cow and the Mighty Moo gains from our
misfortune and laughs while we bask in our post coital creationism.

We push, we pant, we moo, we milk, we cum, but we have no answers for the Sound of
Moo goes unherd by the vast majority and creation heads starry eyed into an immoovable
object. The Great Cow and The Mighty Moo fight us for supremacy and we never win. We
jerk off into the universe and the tissue of the Godz cleans up our mess and puts us to
sleep. Will we ever awake. Will we ever be the Big Cheeses?

The answer is NO! The answer is MOOISM! Come and partake of our headcheese and get
holy. Salvation does not come easy. The path of Mooism is slippery but in the end you will
find that your ecstasy is everlasting and for real! Come, listen and leave yourself behind...

David R. Wyder/The Holy Church of Moo