Have Guns, Have Brain, Have Heart, Might Travel
 

 

 

 

P-T-B.com | Popeye Theophilus Barrnumb presents....     Face!     Tweety!     DEVIANT Art!     TooOld.net

Popeye Uncensored Ancillarum at Sanctuary West.   You are here.

 


 

 

     


 

 

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Site Contents: About the Artiste

Popeye Theophilus Barrnumb, aka The God of Skinny Punks, aka The God of Ants, (et alii), is a professional artiste, arting in many mediums, only one of which is as a professional Anti-Bullying Activist, at which He is quite adept, accomplished, and über-successful.
He was the Ring Leader of "Popeye Incorporated". #RIP
He was the first Red Wolfe. He is the only Blue Wolfe.
He is and always shall be Wolverine!
He is the Grande Master and Knights Templar of The City of Lost Children. (adult children, as it were, who suffer from Adult Onset Immaturity, and the many lesser traits stemming thereof)
He is The Moqer. Making a Moqing Moqery of the Moqishness that others of lesser ability attempt — This is His Grand Life Grandeur.
He is The Destroyer, in general, and of "Mocker". (you had to be there)
This is His Moqiphesto. His Danse Macabre. His Danse of Joy.
Among His many talents are Absurdist, Amusist, Banterist, Burlesqueist, Caricaturist, Cartoonist, Comedist, Comicist, Dramatist, Farcist, Humorist, Imitatist, Ironist, Jestist, Jocularist, Jokist, LamPoonist, Mimicist, Mockist, Parodist, Pastichist, Ridiculist, Sarcasmist, Satirist, Schtickist, Spoofist, and Witist.
He is The eVile Klown and a Performance Artiste Xtraordinaire.
This is Who and What and Where and When and Why and How He is.
Past – Present – Future.
He Gots Moxie!
Count on it.

 

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Never forget that your enemy does not see himself as evil in his own eyes.
This may allow you to make him your friend.
If not, you can kill him quickly – and without hesitation.
— Me, Myself, and I

 

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E-mail the Artiste

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Talk show host Art Bell is supposedly dead on Friday, April 13, 2018 (aged 72),
probably from complications due to COPD from a long life of smoking.
(which could actually be ironic — #RIP Ramona Bell)
Whatever.   #RIP (if you can / good ridDance)

 

Web Design and Layout by Popeye Theophilus Barrnumb, Esq. © 2014–2020 and Beyond — All Rights Reserved

 

This website, and the wonderful content contained herein,
is dedicated, with Love and many Thanks, to —
The Mighty Quinn, Blue Wolfe, The God of Skinny Punks, and Wolverine!

 

 

Powered  By

Truth!

 

 

Consummatum Est — Quod Erat Demonstrandum

 

 

 

Note that the original "owner" of this website, one so-called and self-proclaimed "Robert A.M. Stephens", aka "RAMS", is literally DEAD, finally, and it did not come near soon enough. We can only hope that it was excruciatingly painful and agonizing. I have appropriately appropriated this domain, as it should be. He stole the "Behold" idea and concept from me, and "Behold the Rage", as well, because he NEVER had an original thought or idea to himself. He was a Pathological Liar, thief, conman, apparent 'pedophile', and one of THE most egregious and ignominious ShitMonkeys I have EVER had the GREAT displeasure of knowing exists on Planet Earth.
He is now Burning in Everlasting Eternal Hellacious Agony.
As he SHOULD be.   (if there is any Justice in this world)
Good RidDance.
(if I ever chance upon his grave, I WILL desecrate it to the fullest extent of my being in ways much too horrendous to describe here)

Manfred Mann – The Mighty Quinn (Quinn The Eskimo) (1968)
 
Come all without, come all within
You'll not see nothing like the mighty Quinn
Come all without, come all within
You'll not see nothing like the mighty Quinn
 
Everybody's building ships and boats
Some are building monuments
Others jotting down notes
Everybody's in despair
Every girl and boy
But when Quinn the Eskimo gets here
Everybody's gonna jump for joy
 
Come all without, come all within
You'll not see nothing like the mighty Quinn
 
I like to go just like the west, I like my sugar sweet
But jumping queues and making haste
Just ain't my cup of meat
Everyone's beneath the trees feeding pigeons on a limb
But when Quinn the Eskimo gets here
All the pigeons gonna run to him
 
Come all without, come all within
You'll not see nothing like the mighty Quinn
Come all without, come all within
You'll not see nothing like the mighty Quinn
 
Let me do what I wanna do, I can't decide at all
Just tell me where to put it
And I'll tell you who to call
Nobody can get no sleep, there's someone on everyone's toes
But when Quinn the Eskimo gets here
Everybody's gonna want to doze
 
Come all without, come all within
You'll not see nothing like the mighty Quinn
Come all without, come all within
You'll not see nothing like the mighty Quinn
Come all without, come all within
You'll not see nothing like the mighty Quinn
 
 
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desart.[d] Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
— Percy Shelley, "Ozymandias", 1819 edition