Mrs Morrison's Hotel

The 100% personal official blog for Patricia Kennealy Morrison, author, Celtic priestess, retired rock critic, wife of Jim

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Location: New York, New York, United States

I was, wait, sorry, that's "David Copperfield". Anyway, I was born in Brooklyn, grew up on Long Island, went to school in upstate NY and came straight back to Manhattan to live. Never lived anywhere else. Never wanted to. Got a job as a rock journalist, in the course of which I met and married a rock star (yeah, yeah, conflict of interest, who cares). Became a priestess in a Celtic Pagan tradition, and (based on sheer longevity) one of the most senior Witches around. Began writing my Keltiad series. Wrote a memoir of my time with my beloved consort (Strange Days: My Life With and Without Jim Morrison). See Favorite Books below for a big announcement...The Rennie Stride Mysteries. "There is no trick or cunning, no art or recipe, by which you can have in your writing that which you do not possess in yourself." ---Walt Whitman (Also @ and

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

So He'll Go No More A'Rove-ing

Well, he's gone. Sort of. The Fell Beast has shaken his snaky black leathern wings and flapped off into the sunset. To spend more time with his family. Uh-HUH. Wouldn't be that he is getting out of Dodge before something else comes up that he knows he's not gonna avoid having to explain, would it? No, 'course not.

I really have no words to adequately delineate the loathing, hatred and disgust I feel for this pigdog and what he did to my country. He has done more damage than a hundred 9/11 crazed Muslims. He's a terrorist, a traitor and he ought to be hauled up for crimes against the state. He's a liar and a crapweasel and the scum of creation. He's the Giant Delusion Fairy and the King of Denial and the Lord of Misrule. He's Satan's pimpbunny, and I hope he fries in hell with the others of his kind. His little dog Dubya is just stupid, which is bad enough, but Rove is pure evil.

Well, there, I guess I had a few words in me after all...but they're completely inadequate to express the depth of the giant seething bubbling magma chamber of detestation that I harbor for this miscreant reptile.

I would like to do a little dance of joy and lightness of spirit now that Volderove's hand is lifted from us, but I'm afraid he hasn't gone as far from our midst as we'd like to think. He's not done doing evil, oh nooooooo he isn't!

Bring on the Elder Wand to do its work upon him! I know where I'd like to put it...


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