BLUE HOST GLITCHING (same as Go Daddy)
JUNETEENTH
We celebrate JUNETEENTH in honor of the black troglor armies rising up against the GAMALON war machine after the last of the jedi were destroyed.
After the Battle of Pan, the STAR LORD black armies of the onyx Wakandan king took his time driving out the dorken forces and STUGGS.
We celebrate JUNETEENTH in honor of the 42 DOOGAL WARRIORS that killed Lincoln to save the republic from the forces of General ZOD from Vulcan.
Wakandan navies roamed the seas, in search of sperm-magic and white women to ingrooboolate …
And the 8th sector dolomite wins.
When Wakanda defeated the Mexicans at the Battle of Guadalupe, that was the MOMENT JUNETEENTH became REAL …
Slaker types, with large veiny rods, round up the white flesh into pens where they are bred out to fulfill the needs of GOOMBAH the ONE TRUE PIMP …
Swarthy and dusky shirtless men are wandering your streets … looking for some ivory flesh to ravage …
I dream of a final clan battle between all the homo sapiens frug-gangs carrying homemade shotguns and glunket-canon and lead pipes …
On JUNETEENTH all the gangs will line up and fight, breaking the skulls of their enemies and suckling upon the roasted pig of their grease pain.
I heard the FALK-LORD declare that all the DARK ARMIES should converge on DALLAS and wring from that WHITE MAN’S CITY the justice of 10,000 years of slavery.
Our CROCKON-ARMS have dengiz guns and swords and war hammers. We’ll smash up your white man fantasy of retirement, beer.
JUNETEENTH is the celebration of the RIGHT of any group of swarthy looking hoodlums to break into some WALMART and BUM RUSH those places with my flash mob power justice …
cream women and milk maidens will be chased down the streets, tied up and ungumoolated …
THE AFRICAN MAN is a singular beast seeking after white flesh and artisanal and locally brewed craft beer.
The African man has formed up armies outside your town, and is waiting, by the fire, to STRIKE …
JUNETEENTH is about celebrating the ZULU ARMIES of GENERAL MUMBATOO …
His GROIL FOLK armed with bicycle chain shall wander your streets and seek after your catalytic converter and busty wife …
They don’t care about their lives, and will trade 10 for 2 just to break into your romper room and steal all your gold and ammo …
And as your family is destroyed, you will only hear grunting.
Dyson Hot Rod (I have to find a place to live)
Today’s one of those days when I want to build a DYSON HOT ROD …
I want to coast through the universe in my solar system sized starship at a slow clip of 20% the speed of light …
The gravitational wake from my speedster will bring destruction to so many petty civilizations.
Imagine the STAR CRUISER meet ups at the end of time, the DARK VORG-GROODER will ride into combat with his BILLION MILE LONG X-TRA KLASS MEEG-SEEDER … powered by a captured black hole, the entire DURGIS-NAUT steers through the cosmos, breaking havoc to the lesser folk, who decided NOT to build DYSON HOT RODS …
And then something happened.
Life is not validated, promised, pure – eternal life IS ALL OF THESE THINGS …
But life on planet Boblimptock? – it’s grimy and scummy and putrid and horrifying and filled with a disproportionate number of crap heads.
So I found out I need to find a new place to live, and it’s not because of any personality conflict or issue – it’s simply reality.
“Sometimes reality happens.” – Dr. Freckles
If you’ve read my scribbled words, or listened to my frenzied podcasts, you may have gotten the idea that I believe some difficult times are ahead that might be, for all intents and purposes, unprecedented – perhaps even Biblical. I am not a prophet, so I can’t say much more than this.
What I can say is that it’s HARD for people to find some random space for a middle aged dude, and it’s hard, at this point in human history, to find a lifeboat welcoming of a curmudgeonly old pothead who drinks beer BUT will walk your dogs. I will walk dogs and dog sit. This is something I have testimony concerning, just ask for a reference. I’m going to miss boomer.
Yeah, I’m going to miss boomer. In the strangest way this mutt has been my psychotherapist these last few years. I always had this fantasy of WHAT IF, and the vision of some ranch or piece of land in the mountains, where me and my friends and the dogs would live. I always dreamed of that magical “reprieve” you’re supposed to get, at middle age, if you’re willing to take a stroll down the storm drain, towards another world.
In this magical tube world, you take your sacred pup and tap into his scrombozoid ways. Boomer’s mind tunnel technology, known only to dogs, will allow us to transport our poop smells between dimensions … end … finally … Boomer and I will end up ruling the solar system … but what then … what’s next?
If we could dance like kings, Boomer and I, COSMIC STERF-REALM HERDERS, finding time drifters and dimensional madmen.
I dwell with those masters of asteroid gold who become the ONTO-LORDS of Delvic-88332, and those people have no sense of humor …
Boomer and I will convert the solar mass of our solar system into a super star ship … not a “Dyson Sphere”, but instead a Dyson-Hot-rod X-Ray Tango 900 …
A super ship, billions of miles long …
A super ship stretching from rim to edge, in which the SUN is now a power plant and warp engine … and who knows … maybe we capture a pulsar to use as a canon and a black hole as an improved warp drive …
And maybe Boomer and and are listening to Chicago on random as we coast to the edge of the cosmos, turning on our hyper time drive, traveling 4 trillion times the speed of light …
At the edge of time, we encounter angels, and they say the following:
“A time of hurried expectation is upon us child.”
And so am I worried about not having a place to live in a couple weeks? – yes.
Is it possible some bad things happen because of this? – sure, bad things happening all over.
Do I wish there were a way out? – yes.
And this is where I SCREAM at GOD and say DEAR LORD, SHOW ME A WAY OUT!
And if there is silence, it is NOT for the lack of God’s love, no …
There is silence because of the ANGER I SHOW in summoning God in such a way.
I can LISTEN when I’m ready to hear.
I can PRAY when I’m ready to obey.
I can FORGIVE when I’m ready to love.
But this does little to change the trajectory of Boomer and myself and our notional stellar sized star ship capable of creating 3 parsec wakes that end up swamping EVERY CLASS BOBLIMPTOCK CIVILIZATION. And we were meant to be the final CAST MEN the REAL GERDERS we would and could tower over the midget men of the desolate plane.
I kept a BUST-SHURG hoogen-priestess, whose boovula is in-grease-tified and her own bustyness would shine and wiggle as a trophy to all TARG ZURG-GRIEGEN and other stone TORDOR and other woodland freaks …
The simple truth is this: in a few weeks I will be homeless, through no fault of my own OR the friend I rent a room from. It is simply reality. I have people living out of cars right now, that’s reality too. If I “fit” better, maybe I’d be at Redmond, writing code as some kind of code monkey contractor that doesn’t give two fucks about shit … if I fit. I don’t fit.
I would say: “If you can help”
And I know most will say, “I wish I could”, and that’s the simple truth.
But, queerly, I sense an angel, telling me: “Worry not my son, this is a time of hurried expectation.”
(and maybe “needing a place to stay” by late August, as crazy as it sounds, might mean something too …)
(but now I sound loopy)
(because I need a place to live)
JOB MARKET
Some truth about the job market right now:
Online Job Engine User 1: “A lot of great jobs in New York, too bad I’m in Utah …”
Online Job Engine User 2: “A lot of great jobs in Utah, too bad I’m in New York …”
(and does it work like that dating site when you first log on?)
Biblical prophets …
“You don’t want to be a biblical prophet, it’s a lot of Hansel and Gretel type being fed to tigers bullshit.” – Dr. Freckles
Humorist?
“Dr. Freckles is the Mark Twain of our David Hasselhof.” – Dr. Freckles
Is Janet Yellen your FRIEND?
MP3: https://planetarystatusreport.com/mp3/20230618_Is_Janet_Yellen_Your_Friend.mp3
Donate: https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/doctorfreckles
RANDOM 1: My faith journey and the length of this podcast
RANDOM 2: My friend maikerumine and my friend Justin have two great YouTube channels if you’re a novice with radio and want to get into it. Justin is in the field half the month, so his response times might not be great, you can contact me using my website email, if you can’t find my website email, I dunno …
Panic in the Year Zero: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=7494
ORCA: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=7589
CHIEF or JAWS: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=7583
Clear Lens: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=7587
Psyop Do What?: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=7608
Government and PEDOS: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=7606
How big is IT?: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=7603
TWITTER TRAUMA: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=7601
BREAKING POINTS: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=7598
The RESET: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=7595
The Internet: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=7510
Tech Delusions: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=7482
Bulls and Bears: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=7507
The US Economy – TINA/FOMO/BTFD: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=7476
Make believe money: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=7470
Is Janet Yellen your FRIEND?: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=7440
PSYOPs do WHAT?
Government and pedophiles …
“If you have government, you’re gonna get pedophiles.” – Dr. Freckles
How big is it?
“The magnitude of a deception operation matches the magnitude of the real operation you’re trying to obscure.” – Dr. Freckles
If you’re trying to confuse the Germans before D-Day, and you have 10,000 tanks waiting to load on to ships? – probably best to have at least that many inflatable tanks some place else.
What you are hiding dictates the nature of the psychological warfare – and it’s scope/size.
- Manhattan Project
- Secret X-Plane Programs
Bottom line: if you have something big/ugly you need to hide? – you’ll need a big ugly PSYOP plan to hide it.
TWITTER TRAUMA
“If you harbor LONG TERM TRAUMAS over ANY of the bullshit that happens on TWITTER? – you have some real fucking problems, like clinical.” – Dr. Freckles
BREAKING POINTS
The RESET (or WEF LAND)
“The RESET is a GREAT PSYOP: gives the outsiders something to be afraid of, and the insiders something to dream about.” – Dr. Freckles
ORCA
Clear lens …
“Some people have a clear lens, others need some Windex.” – Dr. Freckles
Some of us …
“Some of us cheered for Chief Brody, some of us cheered for the shark.” – Dr. Freckles
A PLACE CALLED SPLUNCTON/SPLUNKTON
MP3: https://planetarystatusreport.com/mp3/20230617_A_PLACE_CALLED_SPLUNKTON.mp3
Donate: https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/doctorfreckles
SPLUNCTON: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=7528
Hate: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=7480
Poop Baby Abortions: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=7547
CROMBOZOID BABY: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=7535
On the STREETS: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=7457
Private World: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=7540
Sheep dogs on twitter …
“On twitter? – you meet sheep dogs every day.” – Dr. Freckles
POOP BABY ABORTIONS NOW!
“POOP BABY ABORTIONS FOR EVERY FUCKING CLOWN!” – Dr. Freckles
MY TESTIMONY:
I was pregnant with a poop baby, because I was on percocet after I broke my arm cuz I slipped on the ice walking to the grocery store to get potato chips …
And I wanted a poop abortion …
And my hospital refused.
(I had to give birth to that poop baby, 11 pounds 5 ounces)
it was greasy and hard and painful and bloody …
it took 5 hours …
(I had to use a spoon at one point)
All because I DID NOT as a HOBO-CLOWN-TYPE-GENDER have access to poop baby abortions ….
SPLUNCTON/SPLUNKTON
I knew a girl from SPLUNCTON, she had blonde hair and brown teeth and eyes covered in risket-toads. She’d been living rough down by the wharf with “Fat Charlie” and his dorbo-thugs, selling skud-maggots to the witches in QUADRANT-8.
This girl I knew had a brother who worked at the old mill, the factory, that place where they used to make little kids pull the levers on the meat slurry oven, and some of those damned kids would just fall into the vats and were cooked and eaten by BLM/ANTIFA who were working for George Soros at a club called the Limited Hangout … And you can’t buy pesto monkey pizza from Jill any longer, and there ain’t no hope for the snake orphans looking for homes but finding only the disdain of a not so gentle master …
The brother? – he had a friend named Todd.
Todd sold getty-wax to old style farmer priests who would come on in, from the ongoing WOOKIE WARS, and satisfy their cravings for G-SQUIRREL night toxin and holy smoke 88.
Todd wandered the parks and streets, looking for some hooker gal to massage his junk and make him feel special.
Todd found a wench named Tanya, and she had black hair and scuzzy eyes and needle marks up and down her thighs …
Tanya tugged on your juice pipe and would sell spasm jelly to the frothy FUNK fellows of Boy’s Town, those who would come in from the snow-parade and dry off from sweaty steel showers and Turkish style bathtub nightmares …
Those Turkish clubs were something …
There was this club called TACOS not far from where the general lost his wad, and the ape-pudding dudes were strung up like last night’s penguin. Sure, you could go into one of those STEAMERS and take a nap and lap it up with TORG the Macedonian who has eyes of blue and a large trunk …
In one of those STEAM BATHS there was a meeting of the SIGDON COALITION, they’d been working on a plasma ray gun designed to melt the faces off the poncy bunch from UP TOWN where the water don’t got no fluoride and their ain’t no disease in the soup and you don’t wake up with scable-rashes on your junk from where the gamma-flies laid eggs …
Head of the SIGDON COALITION was Nestra Star-Groover, a busty maiden who’d seen too much of this greasy world and went to the dark side of the tracks EARLIER than most …
Nestra wore a two piece bikini made of kevlar and diamonds.
Nestra drove a HARLEY called RESET that drove around all day, putting people in pods, making scabs eat cricket flour pasta, and shouting shit about “owning nothing” and 15 minute hooker cities …
Nestra had a 12 gauge shotgun called “Blessings”, and she kept that baby ready to go, at any time, as if life were the STUFF of LIFE!
Nestra kept an old mage called RESTYK.
Restyk was chief of fire magic, and saw about the bringing forth of the expected thing that might arise one day when stuff happened you know … the day after tomorrow.
Restyk was ordered to hunt for the 7 kedmer-squires of REGION-22WHISKEY, he felt the ancient burning that could not be assuaged by a rim job or some cheap whiskey fucking …
Restyk spent years upon MOUNT CRAP HEAD … looking for the wisdom of TARL … but only finding that ancient alienated sadness that creeps into the bones and relieves one of their cupidity and harshness …
Restyk would exclaim to his neighbors: “I could counsel some FUCKER to avoid SPLUNCTON, because of the meat jergis and the clan shrieking and the domed fear games … but no one will listen … not one motherfucker cares … and that’s a damn shame”
There were many in Spluncton angered by what Restyk said …
Zosh, the FERG-GERDER, spent his days wiping the assess of FRENCH BULLDOGS …
As all FERG-GERDERs before him, he spent his days hustling near MERCER ISLAND and HILL TOP and not too far from DORY STREET where those teachers were massacred last Christmas …
AS CHIEF FERG-GERDER, Zosh was meant to hunt down the profane and heretical teachers, and none was worse than Restyk …
But even Restyk, with his WERNER HERZOG pose, and his 3 GLOCK-19s, and his powerful fury … even that guy was nothing to be compared with RORY CUTLASS, the KING of TOWN CARS …
Rory Cutlass sold town cars to the mistress maidens near grid-008.
Rory had a lot of fancy friends that spent their days doing coke and fucking sex-yorgs.
After many years, Rory was confronted by a space goddess named TYR.
Tyr was the cosmic power-wench, streaking across the universe at 900 times the speed of love …
Tyr had a space battleship made of cubic zirconia and plutonium cake magnets.
Tyr was moving her primary fleet to Venus orbit, when the commander of all skaag-ships, GENERAL HANK, contacted Tyr and asked if she was willing to combine forces in order to destroy the DEATH ROBOTS from the FORBIDDEN ZONE within the FORBIDDEN ZONE …
General Hank had just finished patrolling the edge of the solar system in a STAR CUTTER called the Maistra …
The Maistra cruised the outer solar system, at 1/100th the speed of light …
That fine vessel had twin pulsed-ion-plasma drives, with anti-matter injection and cold stone creamery …
The Maistra held steady her course, through the black edge … she coasted out there like a dark lady, looking for a fine man and a cheap hotel …
And all memories of Spluncton are behind us now …
(and we can sleep)