You sit there in your wall to wall carpeted condo, snorting axle-dust and beating off to 2 LIVE CREW music. You have black-light posters of Black Sabbath and talk up the GOOD GAME of “bunkers” and “hooker harems” and stockpiles of MOUNTAIN DEW CODE RED. Your chili-cracker hideout has already been targeted by KING JUSSAR and the GENERAL is sending a missile your way … and you think that AR-15 is gonna save you?
You think that GUN protects your kids?
There of mug-night scum that wander S’compton and nearby and wait for you and your slut wife to go to sleep. They have bats and chain and lead pipes, they slunk about half naked and high on PCP and KROKODIL and METH. Their teeth are red and yellow with the still wet grizzle of some tough customer they had to take out behind the Wendy’s … Your kids will be hunted, as you sleep with your AMBIEN whore, and they will be shipped to Saudi Arabia and turned into WHITE SLAVE CATAMITE FREAKS … and your gun didn’t stop those gypsies, it just made them lustier, angrier, wrathful and overwrought.
You just bought a flamethrower?
What are you going to do with that flamethrower?
You think you’re tough enough to take on the WHOLE 82nd AIRBORNE DIVISION with that one flamethrower?
Brumble-beasts will saunter their way to your humble abode, releasing the stench of your GUNS and KNIVES and FLAMETHROWERS. Your kids and family trusted you to protect them, and you bragged and bragged about your precious flamethrower. You told TODD, your neighbor, “hey man, I got this basement of food and ammo and AR-15s … and now I got this flamethrower man …”. Todd’s family began starving first, and Todd would come by, awkwardly, begging for his family – and you would, politely, turn him down … Sure, you stand watch with your .357 RUGER REDHAWK, and your flamethrower nearby, but you need sleep, whiskey … Todd comes by one night when you’re passed out on the couch and brains you with that award you won for teamwork and then he ties up your wife and kids … steals your food … ammo … flamethrower … and burns your house down …
Are you SURE that AR-15 is gonna help you?
You’re being chased by TEAM X-RAY, the most advanced United Nations special ops team. They’ve tracked your truck to REALM 77ROMEO and plan on dropping a mini-nuke on your position. They have shoulder fired nukes, 1KT yield, capable of taking out a whole city block man … and they’re coming for you. They have neutron bomb hand grenades they’re gonna shove up your butt, and then toss your ass over the cliff … and below, as you smash upon the rocks, you’ll see your BLACK RIFLE, your AR that’s been chambered for .300 WIN MAG and has that slick polymer stock … that’s the last thing you see …
You THINK that SUV is gonna SAVE YOU?
You and your family are huddled in some WINNEBAGO being driven by William Shatner, chased across the desert by warlocks and witches and Satanists and KELMO-DOOGS. And they ride hard with their feisty gaze and seek to set fire to your bitches and your blow. What? You think your off road vehicle is gonna help you now? You gonna “put her in low” and power up that hill up yonder? What the fuck dude … YOU ARE DOOMED … YOU DOOMED YOUR FAMILY … all for your SUV …
You think that pilot’s license is enough?
You think people will just be LINED UP or FORMED UP in squares and phalanxes and various impostures of cubes and pyramids and triangles?
You think people will be formed up into trapezoids? DO YOU? LIKE YOU’RE MOTHER FUCKING GENERAL SHERMAN MARCHING ON TOKYO!?!
You gonna load up your CESSNA with molotov cocktails and cigarette booty?
You gonna ride down them FEDS with your propeller driven demon, you painted it woodland loam for some reason, but it won’t matter when the USMC pulse cannon takes you out of the SKY!
You really think that AR-15 is gonna do ANYTHING?
When those BLUE BLOOD PURPLE HAIRS come with their TECH and TANKS and PREDATOR drones to shove a hellfire up yer butt and watch your neighborhood glow WHITE HOT with phosphorous bombs and belly shaped dream winkles … what ya gonna do?
You think this will be like the last time …
This time they’ll have CAPTAIN AVATAR and his WAVE MOTION GUN and you won’t be able to resist the GREAT POWER of the STAR FORCE as they shove the ARGO in your fat face …
If you stand on a high enough point you can hear the whining of the world. The clock ticking down. The air leaving the balloon.
If you can find yourself on the top of a mountain, you might sense the coming WHIMPER …
No BANG …
No Excitement …
No FANFARE …
Just a pile of flesh mungous, the last human left alive, screaming for MERCY and DEATH in the year 2103 …
“SOMEONE FREE ME FROM THIS HELL …”, then pathetic silence as the radioisotope batteries give out on the junctis-module and the crumuli flesh is flushed into the main digester tank … and it’s over.
Maybe it’s different …
Perhaps the LAST HUMAN is a STRONGLOID-HUMUNCULOUS comprising all RACES and SEXES and SKIN TONES and EYE COLORS. It slunks through the empty streets, licking sclib-paste from the rotting street game. It mutters a name, repeatedly … “TONY …” – “My name WAS TONY”, it chants, in subdued breath, as if afraid to wake the STAR DEMONS that brought us to this fate. A perfect person, in every sense – filled with tumors and purple bile and yellow teeth and ears sealed over with scar tissue.
How about them apples …
It could happen like THIS: In the year 3344, a generation ship sent from Earth hundreds of years earlier, powered by a hybrid fusion-anti-matter drive, reaches TERRA-244 … a goldilocks zone world … a world with triple state water and ski resorts and and old style scotch whiskey … The humans leave the ship for the ground, after waking up, and set up camp, but they hear a rustle from the woods – CAVE MONKEYS … the cave monkeys ruled this world, and fed on dead ideas and abandoned space orphans. Cave monkeys attacked the human encampment, and left honorary piles of stool where each tent was set up … this is how the world ends …. the LAST HUMAN being pooped from a cave monkey.
… sure …
Jinctian-ho-mongers sell the SKEEBS of REGION-3, and hunt telly-flesh down in the swamps of south S’compton. They sing songs of bewildered dust babies, as they feed upon the marrow of this sterile land. And the turnip-head musket men call forth DOOG the GYPSY CAT, to set it right … but he does not hear them.
Tilapia dancers from Juarez process corn-pills for the duke. They can’t stop working until their quota is met, for the island wanderers would show no mercy and the Greek pond joggers take time at the checkout. You could hire a man to clean the bathroom and to get that yellow filth off of the base of the toilet, but that man is GONE. Robot gardeners set fire to the church, and the LAST MAN … the LAST PERSON swaps stories with St. Peter at the mission.
KEVIN sent his family to Nebraska for the SUN FESTIVAL. That year the SUN turned on 30 days, and for those days one could wander to the surface and enjoy the bursts of gamma rays and UV-C and solar wind particles tearing the flesh wobblies from the skin and heart and mind. TEGLON FREAKS gather black mushrooms from near the cooling towers, and the waste pool is open for swimmers and divers and dreamers. No one considers the voice of their children, for they fall to the ground like scabs chipped away by a pocketknife after a long night of drinking everclear.
BLUE MEN struggle in the great wheel, as time grinds them down and leaves their hearts sideways and bent. They know the GREAT CRIMES of the TRIB PASSAGE and suffer no fool regarding that truth. The hospitals are filled with waxy pink flesh, seeking some kind of balance, but the BLUE MAN controls the power station and the radio and the auto shop. Every parts store is under their care. Every library is forgotten, and his HAZEL FURY sets fire to all. Goofing on the dynamite store, the 8 year old boys toss nitric acid at the old fools and hobos, and the LAST PERSON smokes a cigarette made of asbestos and graphene, and tosses his junk in the GROOB PILE.
Is that how it ends?
WE COUNTED the last flowers to bloom, and fed the whales to the crushers. When the squirrels went into revolt, we implanted the raccoons with chips and lasers to take out them damn squirrels. Our eyes are held open by toothpicks and copper teardrops, our mouths are PVC now, hooked to the central swill tank where babies are tossed in just after birth. We watch reruns of the SEINFELD SHOW, as the bile pumps remove our waste and the flesh dries around our bones.
The LAST person left alive makes a command request: rm -rf –no-preserve-root /
The lights flicker in LAB-JULIET-666, and the various vats and tanks start draining into the long dead ocean …
His name was KROGAN the SNORG-MASTER, and he felt his body crushed and pulverized as the wheel spit him out into the waste pond and the lamprey-sharks fed upon his flesh.
… he was the last man …
SHEESTRA the WHORE QUEEN ruled the EARTH until 4566, when the WOOKIE REBELLION broke through on the HUMPTON FRONT near FRESNO … Her lesbian submarine navy controlled much of the Pacific, but CARL the TRESSLOR had the LAST LAUGH … he introduced a nannite technology into the main plasma vault, and all the old ships were set to sink by the next MOON. DROGLON, the gervis-herder, was the last dude on watch that day, he saw the highland folk burn, he saw the cloud-realm turn to fire, he saw his hooker wife become salt, and his family reduced to seal-milk. He’d leave soon too, he’d be sad for a few minutes, and then whimper … and then nothing.
… so it goes, AMIRITE?!?
CHURG stopped the chant, and rounded up the TROOG-JOCKIES. These were the STRONG SERVERS and bed scum. They made their homes in the walls of the old city where the rats lived off of decaying dead and aborted babies. People would just have babies and toss them into holes, in the wall … they’d hear this all day long in the last POD COMPLEX … Sick folk, weighing 400 pounds on average, would waddle to the edge of the balcony to piss and poop and pray for some demon to emerge from the muck swamps below to destroy fate and remove this caste of lost grumble flesh. CHURG lit a match to the methane pipes and saw the building windows blow out, as the fatties were ejected from great height out the floor to ceiling windows in their POD SPACE … and a shower of plumps could be seen by the LAST MAN, before he lit his own fart and blew away …
And below the heavens were ashes …
And beyond the horizon was tomorrow.
And the LAST HUMAN stood there, staring, at it … imagining what “could have been”, and knowing “what did”.
They are lying about the climate, on ALL SIDES, to include your favorite OIL corps.
They are not going to tell you the truth.
They don’t care if you die.
THEY want you scared of drag queens and black clad freaks and Putin and TRUMP …
They want you confused about the world …
They PIXELATED your dollar store pleasure palace, and left ALICE the hornet skid looking for woop-sauce and cranberry junk. They rubbed one out to OLD SMOOTY as your family ate sand maggots and fed on upholstery stew. Carter sent his corn cob your way, and your momma gave it love …
THEY LEAVE your heart broken and filled with trouble. Promises of vengeance and glory and GREATNESS, but what you have is the CHEETO BANDITO staring down the glassy fox strugglers, combing the beach for bits of Fukushima reactor and dockside poetry is read the feddle-fish.
They BUY THE WORLD for a pittance, and hand you the door grangler expecting pus to fulfill your meat wishes …
They sell burgers to the FANCY FLINGERS and other BOOMER FINKS out there cruising in their EASY RIDER electric scooters, looking for the VILLAGES entrance, but getting stuck and eaten by gators instead … They said they’d call …
I’m gonna start rhoiding out … taking HGH and other stale intoxicants that will reshape my midsection and lead to GREATER LIVES through science …
I’m gonna start eating vegetables, and clean fresh mountain sprites. I’ll live off of the dirt magnets and steal the spark from Chem, the gardener. I’d see my six pack abs breakout, ass a woman’s boovula bursts like a blood blister. And ain’t NOBODY gonna stop me, ain’t no one gonna care.
I’m gonna start time traveling again. I’ll go back to 1833 and make love to Duchess Shiva, as I ingroobulate her boovula and stroke her strinct. Clever forgers will make me guardian fists and glowing gauntlets, and I’ll have the eel pie after the old lady dies.
I’m gonna, dude.
I’m gonna find my kids. I got kids sprayed all over S. Korea, and Indiana, and Tennessee, and WA state.
I’ve got so many kids all over the place, stuck to walls, dried on to some bit of paper towel, or old sock.
My kids scream in the night for their papa, for their COZY LAND.
I’m gonna WIN BIG.
I’ll head to WALL STREET and open up a trading account with Block and Streakly. I’ll trade pork bellies for lemon juice, I’ll do a smoothie arbitrage as I drink my Orange Julius and marvel at my brand new suit.
Next year my underwear model wife will love me.
I’m gonna become a pirate.
My air ship dirigible will patrol the skies in search of easy prey. I’ll grab an 747 filled with fat boomers headed to VEGAS, and chop up their gold teeth, and toss the fregen-droogs from that commie altitude understood by Pinochet.
Eat their steak!
I’m gonna get abducted by ALIENS …
I’ll camp out at SKIN WALKER RANCH and summon CHARLO the REGAL SPUNK and await my reaming. They’ll come down in laser ships, armed with wharf bundles and hammer sklid.
Those aliens will anally rape me, for hours, and then wipe my memory.
I’m gonna heal the black community.
I’m gonna get on in there with my WHITE GINGER WAYS and teach them celtic love magic. I’ll caress the true hearts of African American power, and bring greater joy to Wakana and S. Chicago.
The street warriors will bow to me as HAG LORD RULER!
You walk around all special, like you own the sidewalk and the alley. You steal from the old ladies, just trying to buy their old lady underwear and hosiery items? – you gonna get it …
You seem SO COOL while catching the L-TRAIN to Camino Heights to meet Tracey, your hooker lover. She scrapes the snail wax off of your knob, and you go to town making kelt-magic in her boovula …
DAMN YOU TO SCREEGLE VILLE …
YOU TALK YOUR WALK and meet old Jester Simms on the veranda to discuss corn mash and scrizzle?
You SWELL with your nice home and indoor plumbing?
LIVE LIKE THE DOG MARTYRS!
But you eat cat scat and die among the cocaine warlords of S’compton. You don’t have a way out.
DAMN YOU TO GRINKEN TOWN!
Take your dirty bird wife and your sour kids and your mangy cat and live under the bridge near the solid waste incinerator.
Tie up your dreams and leave them to die on the subway tracks, along with your festering questions about “aliens” or “bigfoot”.
S’KLEZZ merchants sell their wares to sleeper agents and BMW mechanics. Guarded and inward thinking, these basil kindred dwell in time’s gap and NO ONE is taking their fruit wraps.
You can master the same power of FLIGHT, and go to the MOON like BUZZ ALDRIN, but you need love.
THE MOON is the STAR PRINCESS!
She dances with herself, in her large bed, satin sheets, and boovula sauce dripping EVERYWHERE.
She makes love like the comet apes that chisel out graffiti on all the Kuiper Belt objects. Her own glistening signals the coming of LOVE MASTERY.
DAMN YOU AND YOUR FOREHEAD ALIEN!
I’ve seen you looking in windows at 3 AM, trying to find some “honey love” to smoke out your passion.
I’ve seen you driving, late at night, cruising the strip and talking the sidewalk honeys – all of whom have severe genital crabs and herpes.
DAMN YOU TO S’COMPTON!
That’s a place for YOU!
You can eat the roach paste at the mission, where OLD SARA tells you to “pull on her wet kitten”, and you refuse, so she tosses you out into somber realm.
YOUR HEART IS POLLUTED MOTHER FUCKER …
But you only hear whale-hawks.
I’d cancel your NETFLIX, you won’t be needing it – not in the mines of Torg.
You will be tossed into the great crusher, where your bones will be mashed and thrashed and your tiny heart will be nothing but a slowly drying stain upon the cave wall …
WE DON’T CARE about YOU!
I couldn’t fathom why she burned my world down, why she left me with Old Sid.
I cared for her, and her cats, and her collection of musil pipes – and NOT ONE thank you … Just her cold stare at midnight, and the pale softness of her knife’y heart.
SCREAM AT THIS UNIVERSE OF KAI …
NO ONE IS GOING TO SAVE YOUR CATS!
They are condemned for being furry and whimsical, their plight was known before the dinosaurs sold espresso, across from the TOWER RECORDS that was shut down a decade ago …
NO ONE NEEDS YOUR WHINING!
We want your whistling to stop, scumbag.
THUNDER JUGS?
ROOF POSSUM?
KYLE SLICE?
It goes by many names, colors.
I grabbed your lice quiche at the sandwich shoppe, and ate among the hoolie scabs who would frequent the hipster scene.
I savored that pulled turkey sandwich on sourdough, and made certain they knew it!
DAMN YOU FOR MAKING ME LOVE YOU!
I was your grey master, and you were my mountain bunny.
I carved sweet signs into your heart, and you stapled my junk to your dreams.
There was a time when I would have JUMPED THE SUN for you, and stolen Apollo’s sword grease – you know it.
SKATES AND RAYS!
I took a turn with my pole, on the pier, next to BIG BERTHA and her screaming kids …
I would cast that lure deep into the blue, imaging coasting monsters below, and how much of a hero I would be if could catch one.
But the sharks were dosed on ketamine wine.
KETAMINE WINE?!?
Sure … we drank that stuff in junior high, while we smoked cigarettes and listened to “rock and roll”.
Elvis was our home room advisor, and his spicy wench would squeeze her double-ds into a blouse and pant suit, and still we saw the dust ferret.
Coodies?
DAMN YOU TO COODIE VILLE!
The Devil won’t stop you …
The Devil sits near the rim of the world, where the soldiers of tomorrow prepare.
The Devil owns most of the WWW, and eats fried chicken with Old Farmer Brown.
NOTHING interrupts his private time, and the Devil sees you.
The Devil sells his postcards to wandering shit heads, bespoke of in the annals of NORDING.
The Devil shakes your intention, and offers you mist candy and rotten cheese …
BUT YOU ARE A HILL BABY!
You took the PILL before the shill court decided your fate.
The Transantarctic Mountains bisect a 3rd of the Antarctic continent. McMurdo station represents one of the entry points to this alpine chain …
But wait a minute … let’s back up.
The Antarctic Treaty was signed in WA DC in 1959, by 12 nations – Argentina, Australia, Belgium, Chile, France, Japan, New Zealand, Norway, South Africa, United Kingdom, United States and USSR …
You see, in 1945, at the end of WW2, the allied forces, working with a THEN still allied USSR, began a weather study project – Project Cassandra. The purpose of the project was to determine the current state of the Earth’s geo-climactic systems with a special emphasis on the impacts of the Arctic and Antarctic regions on these climate phenomena …
By 1955, “Cassandra” came to some interesting conclusions …
That the Arctic Ocean and permafrost system served an essential role in maintaining the Earth’s temperature – even driving great oceanic pumps that would allow heat exchange.
The Arctic System was in the initial stages of failure, from the perspective of humans who have lived in a unique climate nexus for nearly 10,000 years – barring periodic shifts, it has mostly been stable and cooler. But now that balance has changed.
That under the Arctic Ocean, in a frozen and stable state, there was approximately 3.4 trillion tons of methane. Within the arctic permafrost system, there was an additional 2 trillion tons (after microbial life begins converting formerly frozen permafrost), and nearly 100 billion tons of nitrous oxide once the frozen organics begin thawing and converting.
The rate of permafrost failure would be slow at first, and then accelerate through building positive feedback loops.
The whole process will result in a new equilibrium climate for the planet, warmer, many regions uninhabitable because of heat and humidity. Ocean levels would go up approximately 50 to 100 meters, with an end to permanent ice.
The final stage would result in rapid warming, worldwide, and though the event itself might only last a decade or two – the transition period might be so cataclysmic, that very few if any humans would survive.
That the use of geoengineering technology might slow the process, the process itself, best case, would be in final stages approximately 7 decades in the future … but it was a range prediction based on what computers were capable of in that day and age. Sometime between 2010 and 2030 was the high likelihood window.
Finally: this was always going to happen. It was possible a tipping point was crossed with human activity, but some other actor, in nature, might have done the same thing.
Project Cassandra’s report was CLASSIFIED Q-CLEARANCE TOP SECRET – only the leaders of certain nations and vetted advisors were allowed copies …
A secondary project, Project Noah, was kicked off to determine IF there was anywhere on Earth where some portion of humanity might survive. Some of the scientific team from Project Cassandra were also Project Noah analysts, and they already knew the answer – Antarctica.
Because of the tilt of the Earth, and the Earth’s orbit, Antarctica is nearly in a permanent frozen state – although the humidity might match that of the desert, the temperatures are almost always at or below freezing, year round. Even in a worst case scenario, the Trans Antarctic mountain chain would have areas above oceanic sea level rise and capable of housing large bunker projects, landing strips, nuclear power. A large Uranium deposit was discovered in the Transantarctic Mountain Range, only 200 miles from McMurdo Station, so the recommendation was to build the complex close enough to this deposit that they could use electricity from the bunker complex to power equipment, trains, and other resources needed to mine and refine uranium. The reactors would be built near the deposits, with transmission lines, above ground, from the power generation facilities to the bunker complex.
Despite generally arid conditions, there was a great deal of underground water, ready for human consumption.
With hydroponics and artificial light, much of their food could be grown and they could use green areas to assist in cleaning the air of these bunkers.
The expectation would be a need to house between 10 and 20 million people. In 1955, this number would have been a significant portion of the US population. In 2023, this represents a mega city.
Project Noah began to implement items from the overall plan in 1956, with the following sub goals to be achieved by 1960:
A worldwide treaty restricting access to Antarctica, under the guise of “peaceful research only” (approved research).
A military psychological warfare operation to direct “blame” regarding any climactic impacts at consumers – car drivers, people that eat meat, just about everyone. Make humans feel guilty about the modern life they live, and blame them for any climate disasters.
Begin a crash geoengineering program to manage solar radiation and to enhance chemical ice nucleation to support the Arctic and Antarctic and increase the longevity of the ice pack in the Arctic Sea.
Direct a campaign to downplay and ridicule topics relating “geoengineering”, “methane”, and “permafrost collapse”.
It became obvious to the managing projects, regarding the use of geoengineering, that there would inevitably, especially in the last few decades of such a program, be toxic effects. At a certain level of concentration, the toxicity might be immediate in many cases, resembling illness and death from respiratory diseases or infections. It might become necessary to manage the impacts of geoengineering by implementing a PSYOP program, amping up a fear of “viruses” and “bacteria” … support creative people writing stories about epidemics and viral outbreaks. This way, towards the end, toxic shock and exposure to geoengineering compounds can be managed as some kind of “pandemic”.
Another thing they realized was this: they would need to regulate economic activity, in the world and local economies, to enable periodic testing of atmospheric conditions. They did not believe the human component was directly contributing, beyond possibly triggering the event, they did believe human contributions impacted calculations about “when” the final stage of permafrost collapse would be reached, when the first “blue ocean event” would be seen – that is an arctic sea free of ice. When the Eastern Siberian Arctic Shelf, and other regions, would begin belching up destabilized frozen methane. So, every 5-10 years, they could re-calibrate their model, and have a more precise idea of the time frame for these events.
B) PROJECT NOAH
Project Noah began building the main bunker complex chain in 1961 …
At first, it was hard – to get the materials needed to Antarctica, to conduct operations year round in impossible conditions. Digging out and hauling out rock and debris from the bunker construction went well, developing the logistical models around the nuclear reactors and electrification took a lot of work – and adjustment for extreme conditions that might get even more extreme in the future. It was decided that over-ground power transmission and communications linkages was preferable to buried, given the rapidly changing nature of geography in the expected catastrophe scenario.
Because there would be a great deal of transitory instability around the time that the complexes are filled and prepared, they decided to create a modular and nested, hardened model for each sub complex.
Each module would be a high integrity reinforced area, with its own access to the main air and water resources, and with its own access to the surface. Each module zone, housing approximately 10,000 people, would have all equipment necessary for repairs and for exiting the complex in the event of adverse external conditions – persistent high temperature and high humidity conditions, extreme cold, potentially low oxygen condition.
Each module would generate and manage its own oxygen, air … as such, they would be capable of operating, sealed off from the outside, for up to 50 years … longer possibly.
The US government, and other participatory governments, began tracking key individuals in 1965. They looked to high IQ, socially functioning individuals – in many disciplines, areas, as potential enlistees to the SAFE ZONE … Scientists, doctors, sex workers, entertainers, managers of industry and engineers. Up until 2015, the list was still open. By 2015, they figured they were reliably in the 10 year window, and they had, for 20 million spots, 60 million on the waiting list alone …
It was recommended that high profile enlistees into Project Noah fake their deaths – helicopter crashes, planes, ships sinking, drug overdoses, suicides. By faking their deaths, their disappearance from public life would be mostly ignored by the majority, leaving only a minority of conspiracy theorists actively looking into these scenarios.
The 9/11 attacks were set up to create a “super window” for base-lining the state of the Arctic system – it provided an economic slowdown and a shut down of air traffic. This allowed all particulate matter, to include geoengineering particulates, to fall out of the air column and this provided a better view of the state of the atmosphere and arctic cooling system. By 2003 it was determined that the final stages of Arctic collapse would begin in the 2018-2022 time period.
A final super-check of the state of things was done in 2009.
A massive global economic crisis triggered an extreme shutdown in industrial activity, allowing for another look at the numbers/metrics and to update a decades old but still used and modified computer model.
The model verified the 2003 conclusions, and determined at 100% probability window for the worst of the catastrophe between 2019 and 2025.
Project Alpine, the coordinated use of geoengineering to manage and slow the rate of Arctic and permafrost collapse, began in earnest in 1959 … there was a secret treaty signed by the same signatories of the Antarctic Treaty – the secret treaty described how aircraft and other technology, to include weather tracking and model development, would be used to manipulate the Earth’s climate. Since the main focus for much of this time period would be the Arctic system, it was believed it would be unnecessary to expend many resources managing public perception at first. Post 1990’s, they would need to begin geoengineering at a large scale over populated areas, and at this point some kind of cover story or military psychological warfare program would be needed to managed public perception.
Project Alpine would run the disinformation sub-projects, geared towards discrediting critics of geoengineering and anyone raising an alarm related to methane or permafrost degradation. They would control access to graduate programs in related fields of study, and actively manage researchers, using carrots and sticks, to keep the RIGHT perspective out there regarding the climate. Once active geoengineering began over populated areas, they would need to change the story from “global warming” to “climate change”
C) END STAGE
Final stage geoengineering, to begin (as predicted) in 2015, would be highly toxic – so toxic that many people suffering from autoimmune and allergic disorders would have immediate reactions and in a significant number of cases (5%) would simply drop dead from respiratory failure. At this point, a concerted effort would need to be made promoting “new diseases” and “bird flu” other “severe or acute respiratory disorders”.
Because the geoengineering program would degrade the ozone layer which protects the Earth’s biosphere from UV-C and much of the UV-B, there would need to be a program managing people’s views of sunlight – to include development of more powerful sunscreens.
The “alarm” was raised, secretly, among world powers, in 2018 … this also coincided with a Bill and Melinda Gates’ Foundation program promoting fear of some “new virus” they called ominously DISEASE-X. It was decided that a multi-layered high intensity military psychological warfare program would be kicked off in late 2019 with some “exercise” known of publicly, to feed all limited hangouts of the coming PSYOP.
The kind of psychological warfare being used to managed this period of “alarm” would be geared towards the following compound goal:
keep people at home, mainly
keep roads clear
keep people divided and in a state of fear
impact intuitive types by carpet bombing their unconscious with pseudo-disasters and lesser catastrophes
keep people traumatized
Mainly, they needed to keep people under control, so that it would be too late for them to impede Project Noah, by the time they figured out what was going on …
They understood from NAZI experiments, that the mainly trauma based mind control at a population scale would trigger adrenal fatigue and other chronic illnesses would be made worse. Trauma based mind control at this scale would cause plagues of madness and insanity. The longer these operations lasted, the more severe the damage to civic society, and it was expected all the programs would lose their respective power after 5 years.
The principle operation, Project King, would focus on a cold or flu virus that originates in China. The back story of labs and wet markets would be maintained to keep people in one limited hangout or another IF they asked too many questions.
Secondary to this was Project Schism – a multi layered program to keep people in divided subgroups, making it much easier to control the whole population. NGOs and various groups would be used to foment street violence, and race, sexuality, wealth and other points of division would be accentuated and focused on by the media.
Project Wall was the project to limit access to the Arctic Circle during the final stage of arctic system collapse – the core of this program would be a limited and localized war between Russia and one of its neighbors, ideally a US ally. This would allow the shutdown of 60% of the arctic system, in order to block independent researchers. The rest of the Arctic Circle would be policed by NATO/UN forces, and that would enable an information cordon around the entire Arctic.
Based on monitoring, it was clear members of the uniformed services of several allied nations were likely to mutiny at some point near the end. Another side mission of Project Wall was to use up as much small arms, anti-tank, anti-aircraft, and other munitions from the arsenals of these nations – the net result would be stealth disarmament of the populations, excepting private ownership of small arms.
When the green light was given in 2019, many people in positions of power resigned from their jobs, left their occupations. Some of these were normal retirement events, some involved aircraft crashing. Project Noah expected to have 100% of all enlistees, in the bunker complex, by Jan 2023.
Project Dark Winter would be the final stage of geoengineering before the evacuation of “enlistees” is complete. This would involve massive solar radiation management, the use of magnetic field generators to distort the Earth’s ionosphere and thereby create atmospheric gyres to direct the jet stream and to circulate what was left of cold arctic air. The program would be so toxic that the population would need to be in the state of confusion to not become suspect, Project King would use disinformation around respiratory illnesses, and their “cures”, to managed this wave of deaths in terms of public perception.
By 2024, most of the world economy is in shambles, the rapid transition effects of arctic collapse become obvious even to the most blind. The Noah Complex is full operational and fully occupied, with some accommodation, on an emergency basis, for “waiting list” folks.
D) BREAKING DOWN
By the year 2026, most of the world’s boiling water nuclear reactors, despite being SCRAM’d, are in some state of meltdown, polluting coastal waters and estuaries. China, Russia and the USA and NATO decide to trigger a massive nuclear war in the futile attempt at triggering a cooling event, like “nuclear winter”. They even decided to set off a few 20 megaton bombs near some worldwide super volcanoes, again, for the stated reason: to trigger some kind of ice age. By 2028, it was clear that none of this would work, as what was left of the human population was dying of radiation sickness.
The Noah Complex was safe from the radiation – the amounts that reached the Antarctic were manageable by the system’s closed loop air generation and filtration.
In 2029, various gumptick tribes of North America, to include the swamp people of Oregon and WA states, joined forces as a “true revenge army” who’s purpose was to find those responsible and seek total revenge …
Many TOTALISTIC revenge armies were on the march in 2033 …
All the scum classes of sector-55GAMMA were sending their young men and women, covered in tumors and scars, to take on the automated defense fortress of Tierra Del Fuego – wrongly believing this was the SWEET SPOT for complete escape from the poison zones in the north … they were annihilated …
Meanwhile, The SCRAGEN-FOLK of POD-11 were in an uproar … Meat paste was being rationed, and the scare-monkey cadre were spreading rumors of a re-processor breakdown … Antarctica had seen scares like this before … the great toilet paper shortage of 2030 was bad enough … “All POD-11 must DIE” was the rallying cry of Jen Stoorg of POD-3 … He led the NORTH SIDE coalition of nomads and other pastry chefs …
In the 2040’s, most of the youth of the ANTARCTICA SAFE ZONE were into gutter-jazz and jizz-pancakes. They lived off of funge-mustrel, a new compound mixture from the “farms” where the old people were being taken – more and more often … They’d have some old “Uncle Dan” or “Aunt Frederica” they’d take down to the compliance station, at that point the old people get loaded on to trucks and just “taken some place”, it’s what people would say. “My ma? – she’s just going some place …”
In the 2070’s, the first revolt of the SKLAAG-JERGEN breeders began. They had been the primary sources of “taco meat” for a while, and they grew tired of their boovulas being used to create more … “Why can’t the JIZZ MASTERS increase their production of clam chowder?”, cried those blood harlots … A furious battle happened along all the main fronts, from POD-33 to POD-90 … the cream sectors were denied access to the main food caldron.
The “OUTER WORLD” as it was called, had fallen into a weird mixture of Mad Max and Miami Vice – various clan leaders sold a mutant strain of COCA plant extract, called SUPER COCAINE … it treated radiation and got you DAMN STRAIGHT MEGA HIGH. QUEEN LUSTRA had set up her home near VEGAS, but DUKE STARDOM was already ruling the mangy folks of the former California – they were dust eaters and dirt breeders and wicked weasels living on nothing but pain.
Juicing was the thing now …
Everybody had a juicer.
The hospitals of the ASZ are scrumbly pits for jell style nurses.
The food is mostly dindus-morg and triple style pork paste … some weasel mold.
The sex is awful and degrading and disappointing …
We sit at tables at night and gnaw on our stryg-bars with our two good teeth and a few tears roll down our faces and we stare intently into the darkness, towards some calm place beyond the seas …
Bettle-moss pizza is on sale most nights, but it is made of crickets and mites.
Your turntable mistress has a new position ready, just need more of the whale-grease from Teddy’s …
There will come a time when the CLEAVEN-FOLK leave the hills and swamps. They’ll come after you and your fancy pants sentimentality and other grongozoid-husk-varmint-juice.
It will be RELENTLESS …
And after?
The dusk-wench will cry “FURY FOR THE DEAD SCROLLS!”
(but echoes)
Only the echo of stale promise in the light of NEW SAND REALMS.
“STAG RULE is DROWNING!”, cried Freedus, the nut-gromel and toog-stand.
He’d been clawing at reality, trying to find a way back to the Cave’s of Sym, where his mother had killed his brother’s uncle’s wife’s dog CHERRY TOP …
Dennis, the COOB, stood by the burly hornet women.
Our sadness fumed. We had not fire to warm our gruel nor cow to milk for our finer sauces. When the French King visited? – we simply had canned tuna and old ranch dressing. His cloak was thick and torn, his crown made of iron and thorns. He walked with a limp due to some wound he got during the 32nd War of Robotics and Porn. He was hated among the hill people, but loved among the harbor rats of Marseilles. Once, in Bombay, he made love to 68 women and then ran off when he found out half were pregnant … such are the tales of King Uuggen.
Still … there were night terrors and sweats and delirium tremens – as the alcohol leaves the body and the mind quakes at the thought of NEW DAY and MORNING TIME. All made smooth for the Cleaven-folk.
Cleaven-folk are powerful beasts, covered in possum oils and fish guts. They range about the streets looking for young flesh and blood ponies. Last time they ruled the lands, the soil was soaked with blood and the turnip fish lay dead upon the sands.
All for what?
Mexican pie?
Could be Troggen-Skleek – this is harvested from the Baltic where the sea demons pray.
2,000 years ago, before the Danish overlords were driven from their ancestral muck, the SKOOB-FIENDS bred lions and hawks and some squirrels. They would raise squirrel meat, and eat it.
The Cleaven-folk take BIG RISKS … they ride the wave of disarray and panic as the ASS CLOWNS of Wall Street go sideways and the FED turns NORTH. They don’t wait for TIME BANSHEES to grant special rights – nay … they are the STAR CHASERS and eat brandy soup with monsters.
When the DRE’LL told Queen Moorsol to surrender her navies following the ninth lesbian war of total regret? Did she not stand up as Cleaven-folk and declare the near space her monkey realm. Sure, she did … Can we recall how many of these fine waifs were tossed from the bus?
STRUGGS dealt the final card to Oberly and his crooked harem. He made money from selling jewel-wine and hardening window passes in Quadrant-21BRAVO. His mud whore, Sheila, dug the star-bishop and ate from the table of sand and glass. Her stare could cut you, bleed you, consume.
I know the mark of the mountain bear. I’ve seen his glare, and the growling embittered voice of that hairy thing haunts my nights. I ran to the forest and lived like a denizen of stuzzle-graves. I ate the last pieces of that dead thing, that was buried under the church nearby.
SHALL WE TALK OF CLEAVEN-FOLK MAGIC?!
Grape saw gloom.
Tester binge.
Rat march.
Kennedy sideways after darkness.
Moon rile.
Ghost coffee.
Kelp trials.
Snake bearer.
Summon the gods.
Demon power rod.
Jizz parley.
Do you want to travel further down the back roads of Styg Town and sojourn among the flying fish?
For too many days now, the HELGEN-KLAN has been scouring the river bottoms for what’s left of the salmprey … half salmon, half lamprey … something the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation came up with …
Seegen-Nol, the knife-wielder, kept his own nig-swamp out back behind the dumpster. He’d brew muesel-wax and sell his own tyg-sore scabs to the pimp off of Blinkton Street. There were those demon cubs that roamed about, seeking after the fallen-by’s and the other side-alley scum crew. He’d been Helgen-Klan since he was 10 years old, before that he was sold to the pedo-merchants for use by the sky-lords and the sky-hawk-shaman.
The MORG FIEND UNION of splaguus were living it LARGE 10,000 feet up … in super-mega structures of steel and will and whore-guzzle … These were the SKY FIENDS selling juice marker to the scuzzle realm below … the lower tiers … the sewer folk.
At the appointed time each day, he would climb to the top of Dixon Tower, and speak directly to the sky-lords above, in their cloud realms, living a kite-fancy life:
YERGEN, I was your butter scamp during the heaving times,
You kept my flesh hidden in the score zone,
You kept my screams blocked by the lancet guards,
You kept my skeezel-juice in a JAR labeled COARSE ...
I saw you ...
HO-TREASE, you beat me with whips of iron and glass,
so many chunks of flesh tore off and left by the sink,
and you told me "don't tell anyone", and so I didn't.
I kept your HO-SECRET,
as I cleaned the cum and blood from the bathroom floor.
I brought you spice wine ...
And the VOOR-DOMERS?
That tribe of sea minge?
They would tie me up and kick me,
they would spend all day beating and kicking me.
They enjoyed filling a pillow case with bars of soap,
and taking that bag of soap,
and pounding me in the nads ...
I remember your breath ...
I spend my days making swords and knives,
I carve out my words of revenge on every dead thing.
I keep the warm truth of this hellscape,
and for the cost of my rotten flesh ...
I'll wait for you, you fuckers ...
I'll wait for you in Hell.
Seegen-Nol spoke those words, to the sky, to the clans above …
They were the golden people, and their world was clean and their air was crisp and pure and innocent still …
The eagles and hawks had long since gone, but the robot birds guarded these regions …
And Seegen-Nol knew his challenge was great.
But his was the song of revenge.
There’s was the reaping of consequences, growing from a garden of dismal rule.
You can’t get twisty-egg disease unless your boovula is inflamed and there is darstiss residue collecting around the ring of your dorf-crooz.
I remember when Cary Grant made love to some blonde bimbo on a train, but he was hunted by angry Germans armed with bats and drag queen scamp oils … he got some kind of worm from eating that doberman-cake at the fishnet rally for OLD GREY BEARDED FREAKS and other hippies living in Sector-455-ZEBRA …
There are swamp turtles in South America, the live off of water buffalo scat and Amazon greebe-shit from dying anacondas … These turtles are infested with tiny singe-ant maggots, that feed on their brains and muscles … so the turtles move excruciatingly slow, and are covered in fungus and moss and other tiny worlds … People who have eaten these turtles also become infected, and the maggots eat away at all their happy memories, leaving them slow and sad and covered in moss …
SKY-VIRGINS do battle in vacuum ship dreadnoughts, 20 miles above the surface of the Earth. Sometimes you can see the flashes from their plasmatic rail guns, sometimes a laser blast or an explosion … The ships up there have poor circulation and are a home to many different kinds of mold … mold that enters these SKY-LESBIANS boovulas and cause stringus-infections and super-yeast-12000 … If you are sick from this type of infection, you can douse yourself in gasoline and monk-jelly and grab a road flare and jump out the airlock, falling through near space, towards the land below …
You get “flea-gulls” from hanging out at the ANCHOR BAR off of Grinken AVE in San Francisco, CA. They get into your junk, and your junk stops feeling right … So you take your gold to Melba’s off of 3rd and sell two pints of faerie dust jizz to take your lightning wand to the BIG EASY … You can buy a gamma ray laser to get rid of those fuckers … they’re tearing the insides out of you.
After 8 PM, when the guile folk tremble before MORTE, the guest is allowed to feed on lice pudding and the chef is allowed to bite the dark oyster …
When jousting near Mumbai, and your elephant craps a big one? – you can BUY a KITE-WRESTLER, or one of those kids that grabs a welding torch and tears apart ships along the shore, like sand termites … they have the tumor juice … they know.
I went back to the JFK assassination and got JOHNNY CARSON to sell paperclips to Muslim hoarders. They took a smell and went north …
I shunned the Moon goddess and knew her carnal despair as our bodies were entwined in zero G and our hearts were filled with muskrat juice. We danced among the caverns of ZORN as tulip soldiers fired their laser cannons at the KRIEGEN FOLK. And once we tore a hole in space time and reversed all the sacred crimes our pimp daddy FOSTER MCGIVENS returned from the wars with rescue trophies and dead hooker wives.
When Cleopatra ruled Egypt and the other Macedonian Kingdoms fell, I took a turn as Caesar, and leapt from rooftop to rooftop like a Mexican roof dog hunting some small tasty morsel to quench my lust. Tilly Gippers stole the time-watch and needed a lift to 1873 to steal gold from his long lost love – but I told him “we’ve fractured time too much, we live, but our hearts turn black and cold” … he didn’t care … he had all the cocaine.
I was a Norse King, when Ragnar raided the English poolies and left the monks dead at old Red Rock. Carsten, the feston-herder, etched my name on the walls of Cornish masters, as the harlot women of sector-98 went wild and left their disco love by the exchequer, no longer delinquent in her payments to the outsiders. William the Conquerer sold tickets on e-Bay, and the time rift spread to quadrant-ALPHA, and too many fractors ran loose in the city.
The FRACTOR is a jaded soul that rides the wave of improbable life. The fractor is conserved by space-time to enabled the wild pizza ride between possible NOWs, and the yesterday NOW that the fractor can get to. Like an expanding oasis in a torn up desert, the causality field is the warm cuddly place that protects the FRACTOR – but nothing can protect the fractor from the sadness of loss, and of lives never existing, and other queer effects of broken time.
Someone taught Hitler to dive off of Old Creek’s Mountain and to lead the lesbian beastress women against the voluptuous armies of Madam Soviet, during the great commie war of 1956 … so many fission bombs were dropped on NYC and LA and Tokyo and London … the mutants ruled the lands and the comic chants filled the air with stale regret.
The fractors stole THE RUBIES of MARS in 1985, after President Ray-gun delivered his great speech denouncing the space-nazis of region-712. They took them rubies to the belirium-mines on Saturn, and harvested gimble flesh from the super beings that feed on our own nightmares. Nasty and unlikely friends lived on angel grease there.
Bone day is getting closer …
The dogs sense it …
They know that the great wheel is damaged, and that all stuff will be replenished and repeated. The dogs will gather the bones into a great pile, and make things ready for the reboot of history lost.
The fractors sense it too …
(and we prepare)
AT END TIME, when the the loop is closed between creation and destruction, T-RAY ARTISTS form coalitions of accident whereby they hold hands across time and institute the permanent FRACTOR – universe without end, without beginning, time looping in on itself, ouroboros …
I would stand there, at Time’s End, and sing the songs of lost worlds – of lands destroyed, of existence wiped away. We survive the great reaping only to carry the wounds of trillions, and to have knowledge of that which never happened.
After the bombs start falling, the GROGON WRATH demons will usher forth from the great hole in the middle of the world. Volcanoes will explode and unleash a fury of DISCO MADNESS as the crips and bloods rip up EAST LA and NYC becomes a home to rat-demons from sector-3.
And some will say “well shit man, couldn’t we have done something?” … and nothing would ever be done.
THE KIB WARRIORS are about to arise. They stand tall and have washboard abs. They sky-hunt for BLOOD eagles and the torn jaguar skin crawlers from Guatemala. When you hear the hawk cry? – then run for the caves, because they’re coming. They want to ravage your women and steal your HEART WAX. They feed on broken monsters and old Catholic priests, and with fists of total vengeance they smash the peddlers of haagen-flesh with the almighty power of total cloud oneness.
I’ve taken a stroll among the stars, and Neil Armstrong bought me a ticket – Buzz Aldrin was there too, he brought the MOONSHINE and fruit for the spody. There was this maiden of the Moon we inseminated and left for dead – but her head lived on from the infection. After 2,000 years of hooker armies pounding the lunar surface to dust, only grey-whales were left, with fire minds and fins made of diamonds. They slapped us around, and we stole the platinum-gold and headed EAST to MARS.
Those Martians are something …
WHEN MARS was NEW …
We were the young bucks filled with fucks and finger candy for those cocaine wastrels from Broadway. They’d dance the 7 veils, will needle marks on display for every freak and nasty old hag. I kept women at the BAR on Olympus Mons, they always covered themselves in BLOOP oils and were ready for action if the pimp daddy called – on laser phone.
They, the MARTIAN PEOPLE, lived hungry pirate lives, surrounded by gold and whiskey and LIFE. Their love ran deep along the trenches, from STOOG TOWN to FRITZERLAND, the Valles Marineris became the canyon of death where no true warrior bled anything but white and the vapors gave you NUGGIN TOMB death flu.
I met my 53rd wife at the bar in FRITZERLAND. She was watching “Ghost Writer” on NETFLIX, and I had to say “fuck honey, Roman Polanski is a disappointing old pedo”.
“I don’t get it, the movie scares you …”
“Scares me?”
“It scares you baby, that’s why you hate Polanski …”
“Nah baby … if the BIG REVEAL is the CIA has plants in foreign allied governments and even picks leaders? … that’s not much of a reveal …”
She slapped me and went home with Rowdy Allan and his harlot skunk TINA – there is no alternative.
IF YOU ASK A KIB WARRIOR about his GIRLFRIENDS? ….
He’ll tell you “I’ve got plenty, in shallow graves, across the southwest …”
KIB WARRIORS have hearts of pure cobalt, and a hideous courage that keeps them up at night. They’ll spend many weekends golfing and talking about Chad, but in the end they can’t abide by froggy-jerks with side-eye glances and Q-anon stickers on their foreheads. They FEED the anger machine the dead, and the dead wander in darkness because of their inheritance.
“You might as well be a Chinese-mexican”, a KIB said to me once at Trader Joe’s … He took me for Irish-slovak or Vietnamese-german. But my heart is pure, and my race is the race of MAN.
The KIB WARRIOR mediates spiritual energies, balancing the forces of light and darkness …
They put a guy in every Roman Polanski movie that LOOKS LIKE Polanski, but isn’t …
Sweaty and greasy – the wolf women will melt into each other, swimming in their stink juices and showing love protein the way.
This was always going to be HOT and STEAMY – burning with lice magic and monkey furniture.
There are 81 earthly tribe types, and of these 7 are the “primary races” of splendor.
When you live in SPLENDOR, all the strange weevil masters send emissaries of scare nighttime and murderous oil spasms.
ERGO: the “seepage” is the smell bad power anomalies bleeding into life.
The WOLF WOMEN await the sweaty grease times so that their nether regions might be moist in the love-power of total and complete kum-goo-ation and splurge / sploosh abeyance …
Kind nester-elves will ungunjoolate the milf-maidens of HIGH NATION POWER GOLD.
Hunting humans in the Grizzle Swamp near S’compton, Utah …
Running from greeley-monks and those nasty fire mimes that can’t stop shoving their stink in our faces.
Making plastique from home improvement store bargains, as our dogs feed on the bones of the dead pimps and crips.
Mexican legions are marching on your home town, looking for easy time Sally types to make love to in the honey bucket …
Your moms? – they flaunt their boovula before the scungous hordes and pretend they have the teeth of the wolf … but they don’t.
Wolf Women scream loudest.
They are the harbingers of some dark star traveling the universe in search of stone monkeys and the blood mountains of the lost cop herders. They feed on the Sargasso Sea urchins and dying mangroves as the Yurgin-Sharks feed on the babies from the Planned Parenthood abortion factory outside Virginia Beach.
CHIEFTAIN TOMM told the 8 female consorts that he had “no time for their bullshit”, but the wolf women came for him, that very night, and tore off his junk and fed him his own shit …
Johnny Boy, the HIP HOP KING, treated his girls like trash, so the wolf women came to his home and tossed him in the dumpster, piece by piece, chunk by torn chunk, all from the wood chipper slurry …
And you question their coming?
Where they are from?
ARE THEY BITCHES?
THEY ARE WOLF WOMEN … bitches all.
HELLO TORGG-MINER SUPREME … I saw your glowing eyes burning holes in the sky as the 99 alien races approached and the plumes from their fusion drives could be seen burning in the pitch black … Sure, you can eat your “Quaker Oats”, but it’s filled with asbestos and old dead politicians …
Inglobate …
To create some kind of globe out of the muck of existence, where gravitation pinches your ass cheeks and makes you pucker up real good …
QUADRANT-44 is now complete. All the hefton-types and their nasty wives and mean children can move into their pod-zones. The refrigerators are filled with mink-wax and old stale beer, and the cupboards have chili and whiskey and bleach. Your kids will go to school and be taught how to unlearn and their children will learn how to hunt protein in the garden of death.
I left TURLEY with his mom near the diner across from the church they burnt down 6 weeks ago. I couldn’t help but think “his MOM is a WOLF WOMAN”, strutting about all saucy and greasy and covering herself in kelp-paste and erstwhile duck pudding …
Sure, I made love to your mom … down by the river, not far from where they murdered those nasty priests a few years ago … I touched her and she felt my male cane strength. Scum dealers, paid in rubies and emeralds, never had so much flesh pleasure, as her tummy shook and her insides filled with bile.
“THESE ARE THE WOLF WOMEN OF GRINKEN TOWN!”, that bishop exclaimed to those dusty followers of the old faith. They have been sojourning in the desert for 80 years and no longer feel or touch or smell.
The ZIGDON-TRIBES are upset about sklovik-protein illness and blood fumes …
The ZEEG harvest is low, and the water is polluted with skreevous juices and old dead hookers …
We must organize VROOG-THUMPERS … they will wander the streets, covered in used tire rubber and armed with lead pipes and casket-knives …
We have to motivate the DRYG teams, and send them deep into WALL STREET to achieve totalistic racial powers against the emperor of PYOTO!
Deep in the JOOG MINES the stray virgin gunners were readying their pill boxes, Terrence of Borthrania was headed to the front with reinforcements and metal shavings and pizza …
Heg-Setter and weird Danish princes were wandering the JOOG CAVES, looking for disk-milk and dog-soup. Horrible mute carny gypsies collected their gold from the old bearded clam, Jessie, and left behind 8 pennies of sewage.
Tizzy, the sky demon, rode her vodka-camel to Old Tingly Joe’s Mexican Style Belgium BBQ outlet … she grabbed a sklaag-sandwich and hairdo tuna. Her attendants wore sequince mini skirts and carried baggies of meth mixed with lighter fluid. A gentle wind blew through the alleyway east of 33rd Street, and the mad dirt artists were congregating near the wharf.
TEGGER mine rats chased the scarlet wastrels down the tunnel, towards the light … Gypsum monkey children look for discarded whale fat near the opening, as the yugon-snakes feed on dead babies … not far from the abortion clinic dumpster.
Cathedral wench princess heads EAST to Maryland.
Terry, the wheeler, hears voices in the north.
Cartridge faeries are handing out 5.56 to children in school.
Ghost passengers ride the train towards sunset.
Scores of frost-maidens sharpen their wolf axes and build battlements to defend against the troll army of Mordechai.
“Cancel the farmers market … it’s over … the dead are strewn about …” – Gendiz Frygh
… Gamilon planet bombs have turned our world to RUST …
… BUT WAS THERE HOPE?
General Lysis … shit posting about the STAR FORCE …
… this is where it gets kind of rapey …
… we learn some truth about Japanese culture …
… women are disposable things …
… women are like potato chips …
Isn’t that RIGHT, SPARKS?!?
What did we learn:
MARS is 1,000 light years away – and it snows there.
Pluto has amoeba creatures or protozoa living on it.
Towards the end of SEASON 1, shit goes downhill …
Japanese culture is kind of rapey. Sort of into a LOT of having sex with unconscious women … damsels in distress …
Humans are kind of rapey …
There are no heroes …
All navy guys are kind of rapey … US … Chinese … British … Turkish … rapey
The ARGO is a giant rape cannon … wave motion gun? – what kind of porn-hub James Deen rapey’ness is that? The Desslok gun? Come on … hide your L’s better …
The moment you are in NOW, the now, is not fixed. It’s not some point on the domain, where there is past, present and FUTURE. The NOW is the trailing edge of the future, it is the not yet settled past.
Chaos siege awaits the time-worms, as entropy generators expand the envelope of the NOW. Present-wise, the angel-masters keep their clocks tight and wound, as the last of the eons wane, and the feather-quarrel ends in stalemate.
All of the heathens want their blood vengeance, all the Gronkis Lords are forming up north of S’compton …
Grinken Town is on fire with RAGE and BLAME’STORMING …
All of Boblimptock trembles before the scavenger hordes of DOOG-FROMM …
(start sharpening knives and sticks)
“I AM THE PROPHET OF FIRE!”, screamed the old scarab priest. 10 GUNDRILLES of ashes were filled and then dumped in the great river south of ALABAMA. The ceremony would need to be completed before the next blood moon, so that the ravagers of midnight would be satisfied and the Devil has his due …
“S’COMPTON IS A PARADISE OF LIES!”, but no one heard the old man over the din of flamethrowers and sawed-off shotguns. The SCREEGEN-KLAN was forming up off of TEXAS STREET, and the ROWDY ANGELS were the last line of defense against those kindred spirits gnawing on human bones and despair. They were brewing beer from blood and baking bread from hip bone grease … They were the lost.
GENERAL KLIIG held sway over the beekeepers and the Catholic nuns – he had a basement fun house for orgies and dirty spankings. His second in command, COL TRAN, ran the whiskey scene in China Town and his black-guards controlled all hooker flesh on the north side, not far from that abandoned library. His echo-princess, Tanya, spent her nights at Harry’s Bar … “it’s the best scene to be seen”, as she’d tell her sorority sister friends.
The general’s 4th RACIST ARMY was closing on Dayton, while Admiral Ping was moving his greaser navy past the checkpoint at Old Dallas. The submarine commanders were issued orders, and they knew that many folks were going to be burned.
As if trouble weren’t all over the bowling alleys, the BISHOP came along to offer assistance to those saucy natives running loose at the ZOO. Machine gun fire was everywhere, as naked onyx battle-bitches came screaming from all directions, carrying machetes and nothing else, with METH EYES and angry teeth.
STREEGLER moved his tank army to Los Angeles, where the EAST SIDE HOOLIES used rocket launchers from Germany to eradicate those STREEG-WHORE tiger-men. The AIR FORCE of Southern Gentlemen and hooker wives hit targets in NYC and Detroit.
SUICIDE BOMBS, programmed to be severely depressed, rained from above – like wet leaves in autumn and the crimson shower covered all those blessed and scattered by SKAG-VRAAM, the last of the TORMENT CHAIN GUARD.
People were expected to check their skin tone chart and determine sub-class or horde they are a member of …
Many saw darkness, so they chose the SEA-NYMPHS …
Many saw the light, so they became jungle-crackers and went for the swamps west of NOLA …
AFTER THE 25TH RACE WAR was over, many suspected that was it … okay … we had that … but no … the wars would continue into #26 …
SORGAN, the Helot-Skrib, controlled sector-33 and the outlying quadrants of region-12Z. He had blazing eyes and pale skin and jelly hands. His VERGON-TOON slave women covered themselves in skunk oil and treavous-juice. And when the clarion call of forever love showed up upon his shore, he forged seven alliances with the sky lesbians and the dingo-muck funkin-folk.
This was the order of battle:
Esther was tired and gave up her mink cloth.
Jonathan was eager, and fired his meat cannon at the gathering crowds.
The Jizz King won great victories, then was defeated by the Crips and Bloods.
Karen, Queen of Blood Rites, took time in the swamps of GIB – her arms were tattooed in blood signs and Devil margins.
Kelvin kept watch near the Eastern Passages, and fire bombed the three cloisters of T’arnoz.
And after the Battle of HOOG in 2099 AD, the teal guards rose up against the last black wench and stole her hurdy-gurdy. The black and yellow races forged a flesh pact, exchanging virgin priestess women and other fertile valleys.
The green and purple species joined forces against the white-cracker resistance …
Cooper-Smith, the warlord TAILOR, grew tired – so he joined forces with the mocha and trog people of sector-17.
And the 26th Race War was finished …
The dead lay decaying in the streets, the bonds of vengeance formed again. All the various colored and pale peoples kept their secret hatreds and prepared their death machines.
The cities were dust and rubble, soaked in kangaroo stool and possum entrails.
If you were clever, you could design a shape-charge, like a super-sized claymore mine, into the tail gate of a truck. If you gave the driver bullet resistant glass and hearing protection, they could back up, fire the thing off, and drive away …
You could even design a near 360 degree deployment system into most modern trucks, and still give the driver a fighting chance at getting away.
Nobody cares if we take those bodies down to the river in east S’compton, where those folks hold their weird olive oil parties.
Nobody cares if you take those kittens and put them in a few garbage bags with rocks and dump them in the bay … no one cares … people will take photos with you … people will want your autograph.
If you start rounding up the old people out near Grinken Town? If you start selling “pot pie” to the sad old miserable shut ins, but it’s really cat food in rancid cookie dough? – no one cares … you’ll get an award.
the flowers
waiting lists for organ transplants
Methane or clathrate … too hard
truck windshields
abandoned kids working in the cobalt mine
the plane that crashed with that lacrosse team onboard
The MOVIE KUMGASM came out in 1967. It was out of SWEDEN and represented one of the best examples of boovula-play then seen by the strangely broken American public.
Tired from the ongoing Vietnam War, the Americans were READY for a story about some red haired freak, barely clothed, running through the woods of Sweden, being chased by bare chested blonde chud carrying rope and chains and whips. The main character, DANA, was constantly pulling herself through brutal swamps and fighting off wild Swedish alligators, while only wearing a t-shirt and underwear.
Buried in the mythos of this story was the tale of orgasmic pleasure from the filling of a woman’s chalice. Her thrust-ogre is always waiting, always ready, for some white-man or black-man to fill her UP … to complete her. And as she senses a totalistic oneness, her mother-code kicks in and wants to make sure the BABY is OKAY.
KUMGASM 2: THE KUMMINGER, came in 1972 … just in time for the WAVE of SEXUALISM spreading across America. Torrid and spicy, weird scenes involving large black men with overly-sized male man tubes, were taking terms with the NEW DANA. The woman that played “Dana”, had overdosed.
An old freak from the LA Times, film critic, Sherrod T. Myers, labeled KUMGASM 2 “the most important theater experience since GONE with the WIND”. Sherrod took his brother’s wife, Tina, to the movie – his brother was killing Catholic nuns, in El Salvador, for the CIA. He and Tina made love afterwards, so excited by the “surprise ending” of KUMGASM 2. Sherrod ended up murdering Tina, a few weeks later, when he found out she was pregnant. It was a hard time for people, a hard time for the dark lords of midnight who hunted their prey, blameless, as the Moon looked on and the astronauts died of cocaine.
When KUMGASM 3 came out, the original Swedish film crew decided to film ON LOCATION in the jungles of the Philippine Islands. They’d shoot the film on one of those lost islands, rand by cannibals and heroin lords. They made deals with LORD TIG of the Eastern Philippine Alliance of Communist Rebels. TIG enjoyed his WHITE WOMEN, and the KUMGASM team made many white slave women available to him, to be taunted and tied up, to be whipped – film of these off the cuff encounters made it into KUMGASM 3 – the 7 Tubes of S’Korn.
The story line behind the 7 Tubes was kinda simple … an Australian geologist, played by Misty Freewinkle (known for her supporting roles in films like DEEP THROAT and the DALLAS FORWARD PASS). “Terra Disray”, the main heroine of this story, finds herself in the swampy jungle, sweaty and tired, and surrounded by many angry and lustful natives that she had hired in Manila to help her find the MOTHER LODE of ancient oils and greases that would make her rich …
As the filming of 7 Tubes progressed, DICK REMINGTON, the man playing Misty’s romantic hero in the film, came down with a form of genital crabs only found in the Philippines – a weird, nasty illness … those damn things ate off Dick’s penis, and he had to be replaced by an up and coming STAR named Hank Denver.
Hank Denver was well known in the film world as a “lover double” – a man who would play Steve McQueen, in some steamy love scene, injecting his sausage magic and large pectoral muscles.
At one point during the filming, TIG, the warlord chieftain, decided HE wanted to be in the film – and things got messy …
TIG made weird requests, and began holding late night “swamp and cocaine” orgies where the actors and actresses were forced to participate in sex rituals while TIG did coke and watched and listened to BEE GEES music.
The world turned dark in the jungle, and each night things got worse – leaving the crew of “7 Tubes” wondering if they would ever make it out of that Philippine jungle hell alive …
Misty, who was preparing for her “big scene”, had never done 7 men at the same time – but, the penultimate scene unlocking the secrets of the ancient oils and greases, required this ritual and it was meant to be brutal, humiliating, painful and messy. They had 6 cocks ready to go, but the 7th was missing – probably dead some place, probably being eaten by rats. So, the director looked about for volunteers – and TIG, the warlord, was READY TO GO and become a Hollywood star.
That night they shot the ULTIMATE LOVE SCENE – 7 men running a train on one petite and busty Misty – there was a horrible monsoon and the jungle was extra streamy and slimy.
As Misty “took it”, and took it hard, she was tied between 4 trees with roughly tied rope stretching her apart …
She was gagged, but her screams could be heard throughout the jungle – as those nasty men did what they did to her, every hole … sometimes two or three to one hole …
All the shots took about 5 hours, and the sun was coming up as Misty was freed from her jungle imbroglio and the men were drinking beer and eating meat and doing even more cocaine.
At around 7 AM, the director let everyone know that “this was it” – they had it “in the can” and were ready to go home. They’d filmed 27 hours of love making and jungle chases and weird alligator dick play …
Even Misty wondered if this was going to be her “big hit” and maybe she could buy that cheetah farm in Santa Barbara …
Many decades later, after the 4th Tri-gleam Conflict, this film would be used to spread anti-Philippine propaganda. The Scarab-Priests of Delaware made their case known against all profanity, as the Jizzum Sons of Texas consolidated their control of Northern Mexico and Phoenix …
Carla Tate? – she was putting on an improv show in Vegas called “KUMGASM X: READY FOR IT”, and it was being receiving very positive reviews by the New York City crowd.
But nobody really understands the pain of those days …
Nobody cared to remember the struggle in that jungle to create art …
KUMGASM was something more …
A dedication to a woman’s total pleasure, received and conceived, when the chalice is full and the orifice is active …
