Monday, April 28, 2008

4000 years ago things looked pretty good for tigers but now we chase them from our houses with cell phones

Sorry I've been away so long but I have a secret and I'm not supposed to tell but I guess you won't tell noone because of your past history with me.

Turns out John Edwards--that famous psychic who can talk to the dead-- well, he called me and he was like...don't tell noone but someone who lives in the state that starts with an A or an O or an M (or maybe it's a city, he said (which was when I knew it was Omaha)) ... don't tell noone but someone who lives there might have cancer and you might know them and you might have visited with them this year or the last year.

So I think my neighbor has cancer but don't tell anyone because I'm sure he or she would hate for that to get around and John Edwards entrusted me with his name not to tell so don't tell him I told, either.

Sorry I was away so long but I was in Boston and I can tell you about Boston but the only thing you really need to know is that there are 11 million people there and not one fucking public restroom.  I had to pee and poop on Paul Revere's house and everyone applauded me.

Ok, that's a lie, that last part.  But I was very uncomfortable for several minutes.

Sorry I was away so long but I could have died today.  I took a bath in an empty house and I could have drowned and then you wouldn't even have known if I was murdered like that cop done his wife.  Then I'd be updating this site even less if that's possible.

I think the left side of my body is aging faster than the right.  The left side is like the Jew side, all gray and old and disfigured and when you see it you want to make it move to the middle east while the right side is infused with Christ and still robust (except for my right leg which feels full of lead).

Please don't tell my friends in the Jew army I said that, please.  There's a lot of things they don't understand about science.

Plus my right armpit stinks.  All the time.  It doesn't matter what I do even if I wash it every day still the next day it will stink while my left armpit is like the dry desert sand.  Like dry death.

My right is robust--except my leg as I just told you--and my left side is dry and faded like that Jew, Dorian Gray.

God I hope I get a raise soon.

Friday, April 11, 2008

Ants and shocks and bony cocks

Well, well, well, here we are again.  I feel like we're almost lovers.  No, not you...the pretty ones.  Ok, you too, but please don't tell my friends, they think that you're doing my homework or something.

Sorry I've been away so long but I've been digging my gall bladder out of my bloated guts with a spoon.  I've also been doing experiments.  Frankenstein was right, electricity really is the true thing to use to bring things back to life.  I been shockin some critters and so far, so good.  Ants and such.  First I kill them, then I shock them and it looks like it's really working.  I'll post the results later.

Bur really that's just filler info to bide my time before I get to tell you the things I wanted to tell you.

I just wanted to let you know that if I get buried alive then I know what I'm going to do.  A lot of people get buried alive as you have no doubt read in the literature of life and if it happens to me (I'm not going to die, I have a contract from Jesus signed in Jew blood) then I'm going to take full on advantage of my situation.

I'd lay back and try and remember a Madonna who was prancing around in a black bra and jelly bracelets and I'd just let my mind go with that for awhile.  I'd let the moment and thoughts just flow from there (much like the force but not kissing your sister kind of force.  Not that at all.) and I'd let it flow and flow until I was ready to move on to step B.

I'd certainly unzip the zipper at this point ... fumbling in the dark no doubt, maybe even short of breath at this point... And at that point I imagine that there'd be a loud knock on the coffin lid, "Ho, are you in there?  Are you still alive?"

It seems no matter the situation a man is never really given opportunity to examine the past and evaluate one's influences.

In the unlikely event that I am not interrupted I'll jack it.  And jack it again.  And again and again and again until I'm either out of oxygen or rubbed down raw to the very penis bone which is way down deep in a penis.  It looks like a fish bone, I seen it in National Geographic once.

And then at last I'd try for one more and I'd hope to die in that very position so that when the Rapture comes and I pop up out of the grave I'll have weapon in hand and can blast evil with giant strokes of justice, only it will be backwards strokes hard against the downward draft of fish bones of what was a penis but now is a fire shooting fish bone of fire death-glory.

Pyoo-pyoo evil!  Eat redemptive fire!  So fall the unrighteous from my loins.  From the very heat of my loins.

That's my plan.

Should I die.

Which I'm not going to because I have a contract and my door is covered.

Yes, my door is covered in sheep's blood and we know that death does not knock on the bloody doors where sheeps bled.

Here, you can read about ruptures if you want at these 2 sites.  The Jewish army showed me the 2nd link, so thanks, Jewish army.

Wednesday, April 09, 2008

Reading glow in the dark pron

I was made to know over my long break and sorry I am that it was such a long break but evil does not fight itself and I was made to know about some Oprah doctor named doctor G or doctor O or some such thing and apparently he holds the key to long health and goodness, this I was made to know.

I tried not to know but it was thrust upon me like this:  what?  never mind.  NO, YOU MUST KNOW ABOUT THE POOP THEORY.

And then it was lost to me for how can I resist knowing the poop story?

How can even one such as I a man of might beyond the might of the most mighty avoid a story about fecals?

I was trapped and drawn in.

And so it was.

So this doctor G has some kind of news about how your poops should look and how they twist in the stool and if you look at them you will know things.

I never could figure out what you'd know but there is some sort of science to poop which is so-called poopology and if it curves to the left that means one thing and if it turns to the right, well that means another.

So to be honest, I had to look for myself.  Before the large bed of overwipes I took a small peep the first day and it looked like a collision of time and space, to be honest.  Apparently, heavy drinking does not afford a left turned or right turned poop but rather an explosion of the poop cosmos.  The poop cosmos is vast and stinky.

So I had to check and check and over several days until one day it wasn't an explosion but rather a large fellow who's head was pushed out of the water and I'll tell you this, I panicked.  Not like a girl panic but rather like a frightened girl panic and I pulled out my Johnny Depp razor and did I slash and slash at it, you bet I did.

Well, slash and slash may be an exaggeration.  I got one good slash in and I think it was the poop throat or I thought so at the time because after the slash and what I assumed to be the poop head lolling off, the body slunk into the mystery hole where goes all the things that you have no need of like extra hairs and dirty dental floss.

Well, before I could get my bearings, the poop came back and with company for it was not the neck I severed but the tail.  Much like a terrible giant worm was this poop and this time he came back, poop fangs bared and ready for action and with so many horde hosts and then the true slashing began and it was a maelstrom of slashing and near bitings and I'll tell you went on so furious and strong that when all was done and I was finally able to flush down the fecal carnage I was covered in the stuff.

In fact, I think I accidentally had sex with one of the little buggers and that's how I got aids for they have only rear exits do the poops.  And that's where you go in, apparently.

Sometimes the life lessons are hard won.

Hard one.

Anyway, have a nice weekend and remember it's spring soon.  But not in Africa!

Anyway, that's the story about doctor G.  Be careful of him.