… commanding on high through mighty granite channels, “let the drought cease!”
Just got back from New Orleans tonight, where there was much deviltry and doing-that-is-ne’er-well afoot. WERE YOU AWARE: that, in the glorious City at The Ende of the World known as ‘Nawlins,’ you can procure alcohol and have them pour it in a plastic cup for you to run ’bout the fair land with, laughing all the while, cheeks ever rosy?
Does it sound like fable and fiction? It is not!
Ponder that for a bit and let this moment be the grand premiere of season 6 of The Joseph Luster Report, to which I shall forever remain tacitly and gleefully chained.
P.S. Today is the day of my birth. Celebrate it!
subhumanzoids 
It was in the township of Dunwich, in a large and partly inhabited farmhouse set against a hillside four miles from the village and a mile and a half from any other dwelling, that Joseph Luster was born at 5 a.m. on Sunday, the second of February, 1913. This date was recalled because it was Candlemas, which people in Dunwich curiously observe under another name; and because the noises in the hills had sounded, and all the dogs of the countryside had barked persistently, throughout the night before. Less worthy of notice was the fact that the mother was one of the decadent Lusters, a somewhat deformed, unattractive albino woman of thirty-five, living with an aged and half-insane father about whom the most frightful tales of wizardry had been whispered in his youth. Lavinia Luster had no known husband, but according to the custom of the region made no attempt to disavow the child; concerning the other side of whose ancestry the country folk might – and did – speculate as widely as they chose. On the contrary, she seemed strangely proud of the dark, goatish-looking infant who formed such a contrast to her own sickly and pink-eyed albinism, and was heard to mutter many curious prophecies about its unusual powers and tremendous future.
Once upon a time, amongst the hilly brushes of Louisville, Kentucky, a man by the name of Mr. Luster resided in the kingdom which birthed the fried chicken. His misses, Mrs. Luster, stood by his side, fearlessly taking on any challeneges or obstacles that presented itself in their paths.On the last day of July, Mrs. Luster farted out a son, and Mr. Luster called him Joseph. The End!