Dog’s have built a cargo cult around sausage and bacon
Some kind of weird vibe is setting off the dogs
Munctus settled upon the basin, drinkus, like there will “snow” soon
Debris of Halloween still on the ground
Shoreline
Kelp forest
Black Sea
Cold Deep
Submarine battle
Space Cannon
Sector 3 is in trouble from LORD DUGAH
Chambers are closed to the stink ghost
Shaggy has this OCD thing about knowing where everyone is in the house … and then he mutters his shit …
Beethoven – Symphony No.7 in A major op.92 – II, Allegretto … if you want a good soundtrack for these days, these hours …
A ditch in Duchesne, where a body was found
Plane crash, 4 people die, 9 survive, somewhere in the mountains
Kettle Falls
The hunter is looking west to see the tribes, the elk and caribou and other land-crabs are hunting there meals for the suppertime feast
Ape space man coming with golden cures, earth woman readies her root cellar …
Turkey is something else, be careful
Read MICAH 5:2, and know the truth of the ancient times …
NING-GO is ruler of REALM-90, his D.J. skills are renown, his guards carry sky lasers
THRIGGIN HAWK flourish in the time of gumbo-grease and hooker-yeast. Make some spring rolls from that crap you find in the gutter near the whorehouse or the strip club … make some breakfast of pain.
Seattle lightning squad, carriers of herpes and pox, spreading their joy this holiday season, making merry down by the docks after work, drinking everclear and rubbing onions and butter on their junk …
A blue ring, with lights dancing around it, carrying power crystals to the FOUNTAIN, to drink the purest wine and squeeze the Charmin …
A dog is barking, he knows if he barks too much … CHARLES BARKELY appears and will kidnap the dog to the under-dog-underworld …
In the sky they paint these words, “in the breaking dawn, you will die”. and I mark the seconds till the coming morning, and think about the hookers I will FUCK … when the time of cocaine comes
NOD, the monk king, owner of all porno, led his swarthy men on a quest for SKY LOVE and kingsly brinkmanship and sword fights and black-knight style shivings … with hatchet, and hammer, he made love … ask PAUL … fucker.
Some weird people about, perhaps more witches from SLC
A dozen eggs is about $5.00 … for basic eggs … up to $7.00 for premium
If you can afford to donate, please do: I need to buy a lot of cocaine for my trip back to Seattle
Poison …
Are you feeling tired, distressed?
Do you have chest pains and bloody stool?
Do you leave a puddle of drool on your bed, a shame pond that haunts you in the morning time?
Is your wife or husband cheating on you?
Do you have terrible kids and dogs that do stupid shit and this infuriates you?
A lot of people have seen positive results trying POISON (xl).
It’s an extended release poison designed to help you deal with these common health and psychological problems caused from consuming too much POISON …
Disclaimer tho:
Don’t use poison if you are pregnant, trying to get pregnant, or while having sex in a car going 200 MPH.
If you have heart disease, cancer, liver disease, scabies, autoimmune, diabetes, COPD, or any other rudding issue that is rotting your insides and driving you crazy? – then poison might not be right for you.
If you are taking any other kinds of poison, you might not want to take poison.
Stop using poison if your eyes turn green or you get an uncontrollable twitch in your left eye.
If you are over 50 and are at risk for common over 50 shit? – you can take poison.
Poison is best taken while drinking or getting high on cocaine …
If poison isn’t working, you can try taking more poison …
Fuck you and eat your poison.
“What if there is no hammer?” – a potential, from The Matrix
I’m close to calling BS on two things:
– that Paul was injured at all
and linked
– that he had any “brain surgery”
This all looks like a COPS episode that never gets aired.
(same thing you’d find at any trailer park on Friday night)
The “hammer” part of this story is becoming progressively harder to believe … Depending on what kind of hammer, one whack would have knocked out Paul … probably killed him … So what? – limp wristed swing? (perhaps) Or, as stated, there was no “hammer” at all …
Here’s what MIGHT have happened:
someone who was part of the Pelosi security team OR security for a nearby residence believed something untoward was happening at the Pelosi residence. Could have been a private detective hired by Nancy or some other operative.
The cops show up, Paul is in his underwear, Depape is in his underwear, and they’re NOT cooking meth … so something weird is happening.
Cops manufacture story about a “hammer” and an injury … perhaps there was some kind of blood, on the scene, that could be used to do this.
The “brain surgery” was more bullshit to garner sympathy/support.
And MAYBE there was a “hammer”, but its purpose was as a prop, to be used in case the cops showed up to a Paul-Party and Paul needed a good alibi … “hey, that dude attacked me with a hammer …”
Depape, being a transient type gay hobo, will likely end up dead soon.
This is looking more and more like “The Jussie Smolett Story, Part 2: Old Dude Gay Sex” ..(and why not release the camera footage?)
“Let a liar talk long enough, he’ll speak the truth.” – Dr. Freckles
Sted Master Gurgen … (a lord of Boblimptock)
Following the 5th Atomic War, Fuer-Master Gurgen lay stricken on the battlefield. His urine was bloody and cold, his heart filled with monkey-mold. His mind a parasite village, a “head full of bees” as the old folks would say … he was dying of brostimpus-deels disorder, and a new FUER-MASTER would need to be chosen …
In the time of the black moon and the wolf-squirrel …
A young lad good with a spike and a whip and a steel chain, he would hurl himself at the inside-out bears and achieve total victory during the GREAT CONFLICT of YAB.
A young brute, with silvery hair and greenish skin, armed only with his wit and the muskul oils of Thwarntoz, where the high priestess women massage themselves with joob-bile and cundrom-sauce.
His name was STED … but he would soon be the NEW FUER-MASTER …
When STED was 8, 4 dingus-merchants visited his parents. They had gold and spices and hookers and cocaine … they offered to buy young STED for 5 pounds of gold, and his parents, being poor and addicted to crack, took the gold.
The merchants took STED to the EASTERN PROVINCE, where the GURU STEVE lived. Steve made knives out of old chainsaw chain … he was a blacksmith and a farmer and a hunter and a lover … he had wives in every crevice of the world, anywhere he fell there was some young busty maiden to rub oils on his wounds and yank is zuby-pipe.
STED grew bold and strong. STED learned the ways of CHIEF DIGGLER and joined the ranks of the hobo-shaman. He cast spells and sold bogus lottery tickets to the Mexican-Irish in TEXAS. His masters feared him, so they let him follow the jaded and jagged side roads, they let him feast upon the monkey-paste and dine with the queens of V’ygsoon.
STED was 17 when he met the witch of VAROOM. She told him he was the NEW FUER-MASTER to replace FEUR-MASTER GURGEN. “The lands have been without a FUER-MASTER for too long, the soil grows hard again, the water glows with radiological fury, the children do not read or write good, and the women have given in to HARLOTRY!”, the witch told STED he needed to choose the throne, if only for the lifetime supply of cocaine.
The ceremony was complete, and STED became FUER-MASTER STED and the guardian of the last Nalley’s Tamale factory that still supplied this nutritious treat to all the scrumbly folk and wandering tramps …
STED would reveal prophecies while drinking and smoking crack:
“There’s a 200 gigaton bomb being launched from the moon, it will be here real soon, it will go kaboom …”
“Freeze-dried elephant monkey poop pie, it’s on sale at SAFEWAY, we’re all gonna die …”
“She drives a GM truck, she’s a country girl she’ll take for a whirl …”
“We all love corrugated monkey meat, it gives our lives a special treat, it’s always on sale.”
weird paranoid thought: is there less oxygen in the air than there used to be
I need money for my trip back to Seattle to buy emergency cocaine
The site is becoming unstable the way the site did a year ago at GoDaddy before those fucks ripped me off
Tried to create an account on Twitter, it remained stable and unlocked for 45 minutes
Denmark …
If you MUST hate some people and some place …
“Denmark is a shitty place, with crappy people living in it.” – Shakespeare (revised)
Prophecy concerning WW3 …
When it begins …
Ching-Chong forces under the command of General CHANG-CHING will invade Alaska, WA and CA …
They will sneak in using container ships … and pour out into the port cities, hunting the street wench, eating roaches and rats, ravaging the countryside, opening new Panda Express locations …
Russian forces will invade from Canada …
Biden will wonder what kind of ice cream they’re serving that day …
When it begins …
Claivan-volk will arm themselves with tooglin-swords and mug-grease. They will wear uniforms made from dead cats and carry baseball bats with large carpentry nails driven through them. The younger ones will carry pillow cases filled with rocks and nuts and bolts and other rusty pieces of metal they can find near the old abandoned library …
Nurg-tergler, the STENIC PRINCE, will form an army of castro-wenches. They will roam the countryside near Scompton, not far from where those nuns were murdered by the CIA last year …
There will be another crispy chicken sandwich war … KFC will lose bigly.
Psychotherapy over the INTERNET: nope …
“Don’t ever do therapy over the internet.” – Dr. Freckles
JINGHIZ-LOHR … (a lesser known LORD of BOBLIMPTOCK)
He walked in the sunshine with the 44 gods, when the world was new and the earth was still fresh. He hunted skylark-pony on the plains of T’ybek, and among the FRUNG people he led a revolution of total satisfaction, spreading dingo-crabs to every hooker and having an 8-ball of cocaine ready at EVERY party …
Jinghiz-Lohr ruled the 21 realms following the atomic wars … his lands were vast and filled with dead. He would ride his shark-eagle across the territories of YOD – and nothing could stop his throng. He fed on whale-perch and wore a codpiece made of iron and pain. In the age of BOBLIMPTOCK, he was the RADIOACTIVE COMMANDER ELITE and women sought his man juice.
Jinghiz-LOHR took the lands east of GRINKEN. He managed to topple governments and take their hookers as his wives … following the 12th Atomic War, all the scunglin-folk were covered in keester-oil sores. They would drain these sores and put the pus and munctus into a large pot … they would add crickets and rat parts and old style Nalley’s Tamales … Jinghiz would look upon this as a man with an appetite to swallow a landfill. Ching-Chong warriors dug their tunnels, and the world prepared for the 13th Atomic War.
Jinghiz once pondered … “how many more atomic wars will there be?”
And the Demon X’inder said in response: “as many are as necessary for you monkeys to learn …”
Jinghiz or “Jing” as his friends called him, had 3 mothers and 9 fathers. Their gumbo-grease was mixed into a great vat, and they would spoon out gobs of this stuff with an old rusty soup ladle and pour it into the mother’s xig-caves, where the mixture incooblerated and festered and formed strange long compounds, minerals, vitamins and formed a breeding matrix for the clap. The women then de-cloaked their busty bodies and wrestled each other, in the busty sauces of TOR, where meagen-priests made sacrifices and the priestess-guardians grew hungry for the flesh … After 5 months, the child would spring forth, randomly, from one of the 3 women’s mester-pools, and at that moment they would scream and wail and welcome the next LOHR, or ruler of the NUGGEN-VOLK.
Jing could build a home out of sand and blood. He could transfer his thoughts, into a bat, and then have that bat do some wild shit …
Jing had the power of Ourox, his hands glowed white hot, and his fists were made of titanium. With every karate chop, he could split a man in half – he didn’t cry … his sadness took the form of knives.
Jing journeyed, when he was young, to the land of Vod, where the mad monk of S’compton lived, among coyote strippers and old frail harlots. He learned to scoop and move, he learned the way of CLOG. The mad monk taught Jing the power of 9 perceptions, and the middle world between the paint and the wall. This was Jing’s new style destiny, and he could sense a weird feeling in his man-rod.
… the 9 perceptions or SOUL-LEVELS are as follows …
T’lib: this happens upon awaking into the MEAT-WORLD. You feel a tingle in your dinctus, and your butt quivers. Your body demands the EXPULSION of waste – but analyzes this experience, determining HARD-SOFT conditions for poo and the kinds of Indian vindaloo that produce the most satisfying body screams, or bowel movements. To be in harmony with your sphincter is to achieve LEVEL ONE perception or T’lib.
Aagen: … it’s like you’re up late watching PornHub videos, mainly Ava Adams. And you feel as if you know her, that you’re connected. You massage your own booge-horg and feel and great power-pull into the region of love-grease and oil expansion. And at that moment you are with Ava Adams, and she is rubbing coconut grease on her ample orbs, and groaning and moaning your name … and as she groans and moans you notice a substance dripping from her underwear, and this is golden and buttery so you make popcorn and collect the stuff and put it ON the popcorn. You finish the popcorn and awaken, realizing it WAS ALL a DREAM … and then Kurt Cobain’s ghost shows up, and you play a set.
Turino: this is the sensation of soul-oneness with small furry animals, cats, dogs, sometimes hamsters. Your minds are synchronized: if they feel pain, you feel pain. If they are sad, the sadness grows in you … if they feel like pooping on the neighbor’s lawn? – you see where this is going.
Zipzomatic: this is the feeling you get when you look at your paycheck and think “fuck, I don’t get paid enough”. This usually results in visiting some bar after work and developing some kind of unhealthy relationship with the bartender there, with visible herpes. You end up leaving your wife and kids and moving in with the herpes woman and life seems grand … until a random stranger offers you a map to a goldmine in UTAH, not far from VERNAL, near that mass grave where the Mormons killed them injuns in 1896 … you can’t find your way home, and that’s the KEY.
Xoog-Roy: once you have an ONLY-FANS account, you can tap into this juice. There’s an electric connection between yourself and some rando-stranger peaking at your johnson from across the WWW. You sense the frustration and anger, from some bogo-freak living in a basement, eating dongo-fries and breathing lyre-fumes. And when the strungis becomes peaked and firm, the coop-gas gets released and the freaks stop paying their credit card bills. This is the sensation of total bleakness, Xoog-Roy.
Playidas: Yoog-hounds can trace their way home, no matter how far away they are abandoned. They can find their owners, asleep in their beds, and visit upon them great abuses and harm … as if loneliness is manifest in all consciousness and these dogs feel it all and the worst parts of being left alone, in the dark, no food, no love. This is Playidas …
Wey-hor: it’s the FRINGE-CONNECT on your email account that sifts through player minds-sets and finds true ONE-SHIP … when you are one with the other and the other is connected to your loorg-pipe or man-tube. That moment she decides to pull a knife out from under the pillow and cut off your cock? – that’s when you can perceive Wey-hor and the great GROIN agony.
Lurg: after the age of DOOM, when COL SANDERS 6 armies are beaten at the Battle of Denver? – there comes an APE-GURU connected to all chimps and gorillas. His name will be Brogas the Immense. He would tower over his contemporaries, never revealing to them the horrible truth … that he was WOOKIE … MAN BEAST … BIG FOOT … SWAMP APE … he was the thing that screamed in the Louisiana bayou demanding justice for the dolphin. In the fragile vibration of this life, you can connect to toads … this is LURG …
Codaroomaboomalapa: Once you achieved the 8 corner stone perceptions, and mastered oneness with small furry animals, you are ready for SOUL TRIUMPH vis-a-vis MIND WORTHYNESS … and this is exemplar of CHRONIC-SUNDRY moog-viss or dingus of Saab. In the time of Grinken, the whale-beasts will roam the old town and the mistress will inguzzlelate herself with cister-wine and troog-worms. As if all this undulating sin were not enough, there is the tremor of TROOG … and when you’ve incorporated all of this, you can state definitely you are ready to split people in half with one karate chop, and then do some coke.
“WHERE ARE THE HARBINGERS?!?”, Jing yelled at the great mountain, the cliffs, the rocks and the river.
He was seeking the balance of ZINDER-REALM, and his own codpiece was covered in fire ants … and this was uncomfortable.
“WHY HAVE YOU ABANDONED THE SWAMP APES AND THE NUGGEN-VOLK?”, but only silence followed, as Jing laid down his head and the sun dipped behind the great mountain.
As night fell, so Jing fell into a deep sleep …
He went to a dream world, where frog-sailors built ships of weed and old time’y town squares were inhabited by rat-soldiers and dusty old munge-whores.
He dreamed he was SLUNGIS, the MAN-LORD, the one of many hooker wives …
He dreamed his hooker wives were all laid out on a gigantic bed, a bed that shook and shake’d and sprayed sexual greases all over the place, ancient oils of lusty boovulus.
He dreamed of battling the old dragon of D’ig, where COONDRAK the FIRE RAIDER held sway, and the several armies of Wug stood fast against the ORCA ZONE and the coming raccoon storm …
And as the sun rose, and dawn broke upon the plains of G’OGGEN … Jing himself awoke with new insights and a vision to lead his tribe …
Life’s strange dynamic …
“Don’t be afraid to stand your ground, don’t be afraid to pack your bags, because life has this strange dynamic.” – Dr. Freckles
They were playing “banksy”, as they shoved newspaper up each other’s butts and then lit the stuff on fire …
They had a third unidentified guy, eating chili in the corner, who would get up periodically and fart and pee on them …
And it just went sideways.
Paul and his twink may have been doing “MC HAMMER” or “hammer time” …
Take the handle of the hammer and shove it up the twink’s butt, you then give him oral highway or British tiramisu … all of which can lead to head injury, especially if you’re doing it MEXICAN STYLE …
His sexual partner pushed it too far …
Paul and his lover Levi Ballz were playing “village people” …
Paul was dressed as a NAVY admiral, Levi was the “carpenter” …
And it just got crazy …
it’s known as “making french fries” in the gay community …
sometimes “steak fries” … or playing “sweet potato”
Interestingly enough: when you play “sweet potato” in LA, you usually use zucchini …
… he and his sex-slave were doing poppers, and using penile-digglers and rasp-wazzles …. and shoving potatoes up each other’s butts … stuff got out of control.
And NANCY … ?????
He married her BECAUSE she’s a nasty drunk …
He can have his SIDE SHOW, and things got messy …
He ordered off the local menu, Nancy caught them, and she flew into an alcoholic rage …
This will get buried, some black-mexican will be blamed.
But the real story man …
Depape and PAUL were playing “two bag boys for Miss Gibonsy …”
It’s a dangerous game involving WD-40 and PVC tubing and large charge capacitors that you charge up and then insert into your yurgen-tunnel. And one of the dudes dresses like a bird and poops on your head … and then you kum in some biscuit sauce and get wasted off crack cocaine …
And surprisingly … something went wrong.
The “SISTEEEN CHAPEL” is a common trope in Castro, SF. You pay some poor dude money and crack and you buy him a tunic … you hand him some kind of carpenter hammer and say “now, build upon this rock” … as you arch your back, the young greaser twink inserts a volcanic stone into your sphincter, and then begins bashing it in with his hammer …
And maybe … this was too much …
“october surprise” is also very popular in San Fran …
You start with a “denver omelette”, that’s great but you need about 3 pounds of metal shavings mixed with wood chips and diesel fuel …
After you’re done massaging the junctus … you relieve pressure for the man-wand …
And something terrible occurred …
And if they were making a “denver omelette”, then something was haywire …
BTW: I believe the “brain surgery” is Smolett style sympathy-mining …
It’s kind of tragic, because PAUL was probably wanting play “Sister Mary”, while Depape was in the mood for “Old Man and the Pee” …
SOME DUDE ON ZH:
Ok let me get this story straight: the “intruder” breaks into the house, finds Paul in his underwear, the intruder slips off his clothing, the cops show up, the intruder rips a hammer out of Paul’s hands and then beats him with it in front of cops. Nice story.
Yes – every real life porn film starts that way
Me?
I think they were playing “Dirty Hairy”, and Depape, who was supposed to be the bungo-freak, brought too much nitrous … they probably overloaded and then Paul shot his load into the fondue set, and that’s when things got rough …
It’s possible they were playing “Mormon night out”, and the third guy didn’t show up or showed up late. They were in a kind of special love-nest-rope-trap, and it got bad …
The Mormon showed up and started pouring chocolate sauce all over the place … and this was the TRIGGER.
They were playing “Shelly Long”, and Nancy’s gape got filled with popcorn butter but the electrical outlet was way too close to the reverberating-anal-spreader … it was bad.
I think Paul was hoping for the “Tennessee Cowboy”, but instead he ended up with the “old fashioned Kentucky ass kicking” …
That’s $2,000/hour …
They used to call it the “San Francisco Treat”, but it’s where the top and his twink tie telephone wire around their glinctus, while they’re wearing adult diapers and tossing lumps of rotten horse meat at each other. This is done in preparation for the coup de grace of playing anal sculptor and then lighting off fire crackers in each other’s dinctus holes.
Of course they could have been playing “Queen of England”. This is dangerous, and does involve hammers and hatchets and lumps of coal. You have to have a keen eye for detail, because the rope play is intricate and if you pull on the wrong knot you can cause bodily harm.
Some freaks in SF think the old queen was playing “hot and moist”, while Depape was likely the “old squire boy from the village” and Paul was the brown dragon.
Sometimes things get messy … and a gay couple will try something really dangerous … like “the chunnel”. Sure, it seems exciting, but there are so many risks and so much KY jelly is used up in the process. “The Chunnel” is often followed up with “Al Pacino’s Secret” and then some kind of lazy reach around …
The “jungle book” is when things get really bad. Usually the twink brings the ants, hamsters, and other birds. These animals are coerced into entering the elder gay man’s mangina which is being held open by some surgical spreaders …
The hammer is typically used when playing “Ken Doll’s Surprise”, but I think Depape was wanting to play “lazy lumberjack” and Paul was confused.
I heard about this couple from Boy’s Town in Chicago that used to play “hide the penny”, but you need pliers for this … and maybe motor oil … but you would never use a hammer, would you?
People are asking what Nancy was up to …
But I heard Paul and Depape were on the “swing sets” and Nancy was on the “lazy susan”. They might have been doing “Cougar’s Revenge” when Depape failed to remove the shlig-pipe from Nancy’s nungis-hole. Nancy began convulsing, and that’s when the hammer slipped and hurled towards Paul’s anus-wax covered head.
This is probably what happened …
Paul was at the Blue Oyster tavern, drinking alone. Nancy was out with her friends, buying ice cream and anal swabs. Paul was at the bar, waiting for that special somebody.
Depape shows up and Paul can’t get stop looking at his package.
“Want to come back to my place?”, Paul asked.
Depape nodded, and they headed to the Uber …
Back at Paul’s, they began by playing “My Dear Uncle Jibbly”, but this quickly became a variant of “London Bridge” mixed with “Gin Rummy”. After about 45 minutes, Paul and Depape did a couple lines of coke and then got into the tool boxes in the garage.
Paul proposed the game of “find the robin’s hatch”, but Depape wanted to play “This Old House”, and that’s when things took a turn …. and stuff got real.
I think Paul wanted to play a game called “George Clooney”, and Depape was supposed to dress up like a woman and pull his C0CK back between his legs. Things got clinched up nearing the climax, and Paul grabbed the brazing torch while Depape took the crab leg crusher and smacked Paul across the face.
All of this happened so fast …
… Depape was going to dress up like “Patricia Anne Swallows”, and Paul was going to play “Lord Reardon”.
They stopped at Bartel’s to buy scotch tape and krazy glue and clam chowder.
After about 45 minutes of “Tim has the twitches”, Depape wanted to be on top and Paul said no. Depape saw a crab-shuck hammer on the floor next to Nancy’s heroin kit, and he just went for it …
Lifetime Movie coming out in 2023 …
“Secret Carpenter: the Paul Pelosi story”
It will be poignant and daring and magical … like some sleazy version of Brokeback Mountain …
(sleazier I mean)
There’s a good chance Paul was playing the “Island of Dr. Moreau” and Depape had dressed up like a crab, but then Paul set fire to the fondue set and spilled chocolate sex grease all over the french bulldog …
1 in every 3 accidents with a tool or appliance involves a gay sex act gone awry …
It used to be you couldn’t talk about gay sex …
It was secret MAN LOVE involving electrical wiring and broken glass and black nylon ropes and chuzzle-grease …
And you wouldn’t DARE ASK what two men in underwear were doing and why …
THEY WOULD INSKUZZLELATE THEMSELVES at every bathhouse, selling tinglies to the twink-lords and remembering the old times when all they had were the sewers and the rest areas and bowling alleys …
These lost dark loves, so fragile in the moonlight, trembling with fear as you insert the handle of the hammer into the goop-hole.
And this is love.
“circular saw”
“utility belt”
“dremel”
“sanding”
These all have different meanings in the gay man community …
“midnight basketball” also means something different in the gay-man community …
Paul wanted a cool-time Charley, but what he got was a wired twink looking for some dangerous action … Paul bought joob-oil and crisco and a frumbly-wand …
But Depape was wanting something darker …
They began, as Paul always did, with the “General’s Firing Squad”, but this quickly devolved into “Sarah’s Bunt Cake” and went further …
This was inevitable.
I think Paul believed they were playing “Ann Margaret’s Debut”, but Depape was really playing “BILLY the Skid”.
Paul went into that place looking for something dangerous …
He’d been trolling Castro for a while, but he ended up near Haight/Ashbury with a broomstick handle shoved up his a-zone and a hangover from drinking ever clear with the mayor …
A young lad, covered in street grease, came up to him … “hey man, you wanna party …”
Paul took him home … but first they had to stop at Home Depot …
They bought plastic tubing and drop cloth and fire extinguishers and roofing hammers …
They bought jimbo-style cook grease and one of those plastic swimming pools for dogs …
Neither one understood how crazy this would get …
Paul thought he was playing “The King’s Knight”, but Depape was playing “Texas Oil Strike” …
And there will be blood.
Fun fact:
All Home Depot stores in the San Francisco area are required by STATUTE to have pamphlets and handouts on how to safely use gardening equipment in gay style man sex.
“garden weasel” …
In San Fran, this means something different …
Paul thought they were going to play a game called “The Graduate”, but Depape was “Good Will Hunting” and had all the maple syrup and rock salt …
The bottom or “twink” in this case would run maple syrup and rock salt on their splingus …
The TOP or ELITE SIM would tie rubber bands on his balls and shove three turnips up his yincter …
They would break dance and toss chocolate scrunge at each other …
They would laugh and kiss and feel the embrace of their disgrace …
Eventually, Depape would say … “can you shove THAT up my butt?”
And Paul said “the hammer”, which end?
In the time of gleemptus, Paul rode a hawk.
Paul said to Depape, “will you be my sparrow-prince?”
And Depape said to Paul, “only if you’ll be my queer-dear and we can live all special like in the clouds far away from the evil witch …”
Paul looked around the room …
He saw the marks of his evil wife, and her scribble-oils …
He could no longer look into her fetid gape …
But what to do, how do gay men in San Fran escape from such as Nancy?
What if this was a REALLY convoluted and coke fueled gay escape plan?
I mean: those old queens … it’s all 007 and shit with them … going to the park late at night …
So maybe in their coke fiend states they thought “shit, what if we get into some gay man mash up and embarrass the F out of Nancy … she’ll have to set us free to have gay man sex in Barbados …”
Just a slight variation on a theme …
GAY ESCAPE PLAN – the common “heroes journey” for most queers.
Gay men dream of GAY MAN ISLAND …
A place they can go to and have gay-man style sex, with no limits …
This is where they were trying to go …
(the hammer was their pink slipper)
These types of gay hookups gone bad are often referred to as “A night at the Roxbury” …
Usually, the top instigates by using too much windex on the twinks tool box, but then the chimpanzee is let outside and the kangaroo coke is over and done with …
There’s a lot of whiskey and farting and object insertion …
Pledges of love and regret …
As the last whiskey bottle is inserted into the buntis pipe …
And the dogs scream in the night.
We now know they were probably playing a game called “two apples for Miss America” …
They got tired and the amal nitrate poppers were running low …
Nancy injected KROKODIL into Paul’s vein, and Depape was in the corner, playing the role of “Little Bimbo” …
But the cables got all screwed up and they ended up doing a “Borgnine” instead of a “McQueen” …
And then Depape grabbed the hammer and that was it.
Nancy let him in, as she always did. She wore a vorg-suit made of tin and anguish …
She led the poor sap up to the master bedroom, where Paul, spread eagle, had his “unit” inserted into ROOMBA and was playing the game “Terminator” … or … maybe it was the “Forbin Project” …
Depape, stripped down and Nancy doused him in gumble-grease and ointment pus and then tied him up and tossed him on the bed with Paul …
After Nancy finished off a case of wine, she began burning them with a cigarette …
It got bad, real bad ….
She placed DePape’s rod in a metal clasp and tied this to a french bulldog nearby …
And Depape broke …
He picked up the silver hammer for shucking King Crab, mashed up Paul and went running for the door …
(and the cops were waiting, already paid off with hookers and get-out-of-jail rape cards)
Food …
“Food was NEVER supposed to be cheap.” – Dr. Freckles
(that thing about inferior goods)
The State Withering Away …
“The Marxists talk talk talk about the state withering away, but the anarchists KNOW HOW we get there.” – Dr. Freckles
Alienation …
“The real alienation was never from the means of production. The real alienation was from nature, by steps, by slices, until we became untetherered, separate from any healthy ecology.” – Dr. Freckles
From here …
“I wish I had a t-shirt that said ‘FROM HERE: IT GETS WORSE’.” – Dr. Freckles
People will eat “bologna surprise” for Thanks-Christmas … yeah, they merge the holiday into Thanks-Christmas … the two holidays were too expensive. They will add in BLACK FRIDAY and call it “BUY MONGO SHIT DAY … and maybe beat up some folks …” … It will be AWESOME.
And you eat a mongo-feast of gumbo-grease and other holy offerings. You find old dead cats and you hang them from the gambrels … and the old harlot demons sing songs of SMART TVs and CD-ROM chargers and cancer-cubes flavored with bacon and dingus …
On THANKS-CHRISTMAS DAY, following BUY MONGO SHIT? – Jolly-Jorgles the Clown goes around … delivering gifts … and sometimes having sex with your mom. He fucks your mom … he doesn’t care if she’s dead.
By the year 2029 …
The 8 scroblin clans of region-3 will form a Traagen-Army …
The TURKEY will be used as QUAG-FUEL for the brogglen-tanks and to feed the kepler-wolves.
Black Friday was replaced with Red Thursday … a time of burning and yearning.
Radioactivity will be everywhere …
(even in your crotch …)
By the year 2030 …
You will get a letter from an old friend about a metal tube and an alien race. You will be invited to an “old fashioned” Thanksgiving in New England, at some abandoned farm where a bunch of hookers were murdered during the Great Depression.
When you arrive, your friend cannot be found – there is simply a metal cylinder sitting on a kitchen table next to an intercom with a note next to it … “PRESS TO TALK” …
You press the button and speak, “hey man, where you at?” …
Out of the tinny speaker comes a crackling voice … “yo bud, my brain has been put into this old whiskey can by them there aliens called the FUNGI people … they are really nice, from Pluto, and want to put you and your family in Folgers cans ….”
And this is not the worst Thanksgiving that year, believe you me …
By the year 2035 ….
We will celebrate THANK-YOU-TUMORS day … a special day when you take a razor and cut the tumors and lesions from your body … you mix them into an iron pot or dutch oven … you add whatever stringoh-sauce or jergis-salt or other spice you can buy from the witch that lives in the old abandoned reactor.
You make a kind of burrito out of fiberglass and metal shavings, and you jam that infernal thing with as much of the special STEW defined above … and you shove that JOY-TACO into your shriveled and pain ridden mouth, covered in sores and open wounds and dripping with pus that you then use as a salsa …
TUMORs will be seen as gifts from the great fireball, the liberator, the POXY-CLIPSE …
By the year 2050 …
It’s gonna get nice an cozy. We’ll all sit around that Thanksgiving drinking pumpkin spice coffee and shoving potatoes up our butts. We’ll make meat soup and have troglan-parties. People will smile and slap each other and play grab ass … they’ll bleed into their urine.
HARVEST TIME will be the beginning the season, when the freaks and nerds and greasers and geeks form various unholy gangs of street fighters. They go out to gather up the street protein and the farmland boob milk. Women will make human cheese and sell these cheese sandwiches … and they’ll drink more pumpkin spice coffee.
Prayers …
“Sometimes the Lord answers prayers, sometimes he’s just there to listen.” – Dr. Freckles
I might visit Seattle for Thanksgiving … big maybe. Could happen.
Two votes …
“In a just world, you would have 2 votes in every democracy: the first one gets you elected, the second one is taken AFTER your term is complete and this one is about whether you get to live.” – Dr. Freckles
FROM: MRS BOHDANA ALEKSANDER
URGENT REPLY NEEDED AND CONFIDENTIAL
Am Mrs Bohdana Aleksander the wife of Mr.Danilo Aleksander (Ukraine sunflower oil & wheat,maize farmer ) my husband was murdered by the Russian Army troop because of the war between Russian& Ukraine it was so very terrible. .
He was a sunflower oil & wheat and maize farmer who have invested much in agriculture political opponents.
I acknowledge very well that my Husband deposited the sum of US$10.7M (TEN MILLION SEVEN HUNDRED THOUSAND UNITED STATES DOLLARS) with a security and financial company here in Johannesburg South -Africa with the intention of using it for the purchase of new farm machinaries and chemical for Agricultural purpose as well as purchasing hectares of land in South Africa for his investment. I got your contact through chamber of commerce .With the high risk of staying in my country we are now on political asylum. (Refugee) me and my son we are here in South Africa, my position does not allow me to open an account or to normalize this fund to any meaningful business transaction, I want you to understand that this is purely family fund not money laundering affair.
I solicit for your honest assistance as I want this fund to be transferred to your account in oversea with your partnership, I will want to invest this fund in your country.
We can invest the fund as a family investment together with you in your country be assured that all the necessary document backing this fund has been arranged with one of the Attorney I meet here in Johannesburg South Africa, feel free to ask any question regarding this transaction.
Hoping to hear from you soonest, kindly contact me through this my private email For Confidential: [email protected]
I need your urgent and confidential response towards this transaction.
Thanks you and regards
MRS BOHDANA ALEKSANDER
My name is Timothy Loh LLP. I am a leading Hong Kong attorney specialize in corporate and litigation law private equity, hedge funds, investment funds, financial services, banking, and bankruptcy practices l am internationally recognized.
It may surprise you to receive this letter from me, since there has been no previous correspondence between us. I will also like to make it clear here that l know that the internet has been grossly abused by criminal minded people making it difficult for people with genuine intention to correspond and exchange views without skepticism.
There is an unclaimed “Permanent Life Insurance Policy” held by our deceased client.
The transaction pertains to an unclaimed “Payable-On-Death” (POD) savings monetary deposit in the sum of Sixteen Million, Nine Hundred Thousand US Dollars ($16,900,000) with one of the prime global insurers. The policy holder was one of our clients. Her name is Lucia Bosè. who was a film actress who died on March 23 of pneumonia after contracting COVID-19. . Since Her death no one has come forward for the claim and all our efforts to locate his relatives have proved unsuccessful. The insurance company policy stipulates that “Insured Permanent Policies" not claimed must be turned over to the abandoned property division of the state treasury after the deadline.
Therefore, I ask for your consent to be in partnership with me for the claim of this policy benefit, If you permit me to add your name to the policy, all proceeds will be processed on your behalf. I wish to point out that I want 10% of this money to be shared among charity organizations while the remaining 90% will be shared between us.
This is 100% risk free and 100% legal. I do have all necessary documentation to expedite the process in a highly professional and confidential manner. I will provide all the relevant documents to substantiate your claim as the beneficiary. This claim requires a high level of confidentiality and it may take up to Ten (10) business days, from the date of receipt of your consent.
Your earliest response to this matter would be highly appreciated
Best Regards,
Timothy Loh.
X’inder or Xyndur or Zindour … (a demon that chased me, followed me, from Seattle)
X’inder would tap on my window, when I was living in Little Saigon. He’d tap and stare, with his burning red eyes, looking deep into my troubled spirit. He offered the salve of forever time and relinquished his alley kingdom to me, I stared bleakly at his weird eyes and wondered how many kinds of cocaine he knew …
I tried talking to the freaks on the other side of DORGEN TOWN, they’d sell me the flounder-mist and I’d shoot up across from the CASCADE HUSTLER, and new bullet train that takes weary travelers from Seattle to the stripper corridor in Kent. Terry Michaels, the Mayor of Grinken Town, stood up for the convenience asking the STREEH-GLUN Klan to ferry mope fuckers from Queen Anne to Guemes Island.
X’inder was the great whisperer …
He drew in the phantom Carlos types, the ones all greasy from S’compton, bringing their frizzle clap and weird existentialist STDs. X’inder was the WIND FURY, he could keep watch on all his parrots all day long, he handed out favors across from the BIG BURGER on Aurora – the hooker parlors would empty out at midnight, just to seek counsel with X’inder, a hopeless wanting for exit strategies.
X’inder whispered through that window in Little Saigon, telling me of sights and smells and things to come … Telling me of weird Japanese sex crews and old time’y racist thugs who scour the streets of failure looking for their boxes of regrets …
“I am the WARLORD KING …”, X’inder screamed at his gronklin-style street armies …
Already, there are dringus armies forming up in the east – they seek the cloven flesh of midnight, they hunt wearing seersucker suits and wingtips … And you think you’ll flee to some caves? Buy some guns at Cabela’s? – nah my friend. GRINKEN TIME is near, and all the Hoglan VOLK will arm themselves with machetes and chain and look for the nearest TORG BEAST to harvest.
X’inder owns the beasts …
X’inder owns the sewers and the toilets …
X’inder is the window washer, X’inder is that old greasy janitor that seems to live in the closet that smells like bleach and vomit and tragedy …
You need it the way you need a wet lover on Saturday night. The lights are dim, always, because of those fucking LED street lights – the lights were brighter not so long ago. Now the race of humans crawls from one mishap to the next, in the twilight of these lights, in the shadow of an Al Gore toilet you need to flush 60 times. You need that diesel fuel to power your VOLKSWAGEN JETTA … and you don’t give a fuck if it kills some old whale in California, as long as the grizzle grease touches you and your witch wife steals the dolby buttons.
YOU NEED THAT DIESEL like you need to EAT. The food, the gombo-grease, the wheel chicklet sandwiches and burnt our frosting pies. You need the diesel so you heart can SOAR on lighting figs and scrumbo-wine.
… the time when the hippies were settling into their Clinton-Bush style American exceptional BDSM parties? Back then hooker kings ran the hooker trade just over the tracks in S’compton, near the Golden Corral that got shut down last year because someone found a dolphin tattoo on their steak … and a fingernail in the meatloaf.
It was crazy back then …
Half of all parents would put razor blades in the kids chocolate … mainly Butterfingers … because the next door neighbor’s dog told them to.
(it was awesome)
When I was a kid …
A lot of parents would put broken glass in their lemonade … they would serve it in ice cubes, in the hot sun … you’d crunch on that ice and your lips would be bleeding and the parents would laugh and laugh and laugh … because it was so fucking funny to see them damn kids lips bleeding … and crying for their mommas …
(it was beyond imagination)
wild dogs covered in leopard moss
going fishing off of the old wharf near that titty bar that burnt down
ski trip, in the mountains, where the old springs of D’Alok flow and the ancient ones do cocaine
hand out flame throwers
build little guillotines for squirrels
DEF CON 4 (1985)
One of the better post nuclear war films …
Paints a more accurate picture, reminiscent of the Aussie apocalypse flicks (Mad Max, etc) …
Has a decent plot to it …
Also a story about NOT giving up …
(full movie free on Youtube)
Damnation Alley (1977)
Not really great … but corny enough that it can make you laugh about nuclear holocaust …
“The only escape from the complexity trap is pain.” – Dr. Freckles
“The cringe’iest kind of bargaining is the bargaining for lesser catastrophes.” – Dr. Freckles
Financial debt is NOT the worst kind – though the central bankers and bitcoin fanatics and government will never tell you this.
The great DEBT problem is complexity: too much complexity, and the resource costs for maintenance, let alone expansion, become non-linear.
It’s not so much that you “run out of oil”, it’s more like there’s NO AMOUNT of ANYTHING to keep up with the complexity generated by … ding, ding, ding: government.
You want a way out of this mess? – you have to de-complexity and refactor society.
(adding complexity, like adding “87,000 IRS agents”, only makes the problem worse in a non-linear way)
And in terms of military command and control? – complexity is horrific … and it doesn’t matter how “advanced” your special weapon is … it’s an “eggs in one basket” strategy … like the death star and its ONE WEAKNESS … (that blows it up)
Something from 11/9/2020:
Warmth and Light …
“Sometimes I think that brief moment of light and heat from the nuclear weapon going off will feel kind of nice.” – Dr. Freckles
Spinning our wheels …
Biding time …
In the waiting room …
Going through the motions …
Waiting for the next shoe to drop …
It’s like the APE QUEEN, bringing her throng to Dooglinville, and not reminding herself that the undulation of her brunctis-zone where scabby beasts lurk and tuzzlelate her boovula. She swings with the WOOKIE FOLK and eats cream of cats. There were many who judged her, and were surprised when she fled the lands … and now they wait, for whatever …
It’s like that dude FRANK you knew in high school. He had firecrackers and fire ants and an aquarium with a piranha … He had porno magazines and a switchblade. He would brag about having sex with the English Comp teacher, he would tell stories of diddling little Jenny Moog in the bathroom. He smelled like bleach and cigarettes, you didn’t know if anything you were told was true. He said “I’m leaving on a spaceship and heading to MARS”, and he took off in that van that day … and now we wait, for him and his spaceship, and the cocaine …
What are we waiting for?
No exit …
Waiting for Godot …
Haunting the Jingus-Realm … living off poop soup.
Failure …
“I’m not embarrassed by my failures … I’m ashamed of the things I didn’t even try to do, because I was too afraid.” – Dr. Freckles
“They did all sex and all the drugs and they left us with their moldy rugs.” – Dr. Freckles
(cum soaked rugs)
“As history turns, the elderly are either revered or reviled.” – Dr. Freckles
Chicago …
SHEGLIN-KLAN, blood drenched fury, their eyes moving from one busty conquest to the next. Armed with bats and chain, going insane from the parasites in their food, water, rain. Jenctis-feasts being held now, where old people, old white people, are burned alive and savored by the dusky, dusty, swarthy conclave. And our own children watch as the fires glow, and Chicago becomes a graveyard, and a Bedlam …
CORBIS-ROO, the dirt-flurgur, last of the the wrench-hawks and lifetime CRIP. He has a posse of street warriors ready for action, they are armed with glock-19 designed to fire all cockeyed, the way a gangsta does when he’s high on crack and he just got done raping some white girl at the school. MIDNIGHT BASKETBALL? – hell yeah, that’s where he learned his trade, dealing, stealing, murdering and general mayhem. On those courts built by Clinton, he learned the OG way … and that’s just so Chicago.
Riviera Gomez Jones was the SOUTH SIDE sector leader for the new style AZTECS and their various Peruvian gods and INCA mud-water KINGS. A great fire eagle screamed as these mean street’r types rode their steeds down the MAG MILE, hunting gondo-flesh where the hookers clean out their boovula at Mayor Lightfoot’s street douche kiosk. “Everyone deserves a douche …”, Lori’s motto. Uugen-group hustlers break out of BOY’S TOWN, bringing their turbo crabs and their fire-herpes and their Oak Park style CLAP, all of it dripping the way Lori Lightfoot’s mouth drips drool during a long one … Chicago has NEVER been better!
We can dance around it, but Chicago is the Devil’s now. The streets are covered in a residue of evil and the people have sunken eyes and cocaine lips. They worship BAAL in the form of some frenchie living on the balcony along the gold coast. They cover themselves in GOOG-RAGS and hangout at Old Ted’s Martini bar, where they take swigs of magic-cone and then revel in their own loin grease. These traders of commodities? – trade in dreeg-flesh and human trafficking and little kids stolen from their families in the Ukraine. They will be the pall bearers for Chicago.
WAKANDA? … that’s a crack-pipe dream. WAKANDA the JUST? … just in case you were wondering, these people will eat bat and tiger and monkey. They will pickle the eyeballs of their enemies and use them in eldritch rituals involving puppies and gerbils. Their women wear nothing but one tight string, and the men wear a codpiece made of crocodile skin. WAKANDA FOREVER? – screams some hooker dying of herpes and crabs, as 9 gorillas take her for a ride. CHICAGO, Wakanda, Uganda … Idi Amin? Chicago is a love palace.
I married a girl from Chicago …
She was a skunk-wench and a whiskey-whore, she wore a hair shirt made of cats and was always late. She’d brag on Chicago, as she slurped her kale shake and talked about how many times she’s been mugged … almost like physical violation were a right of passage there, and then you realize: Chicago is Sodom … the Whore of Babylon. Dingus freaks officiated our wedding as the porn loop gave way to driggen-dancing. And those home spun walnut birds sang their songs of underwhelming light. Along the way, we forgot how to listen – so this is why we have GLOCKS.
99 sector armies are forming up near Aurora. The last of the heebus-traders sold his tiny hat to old shlomo, and now he moves gold to Haifa for the Queen. Chicago has become that black void that only Jung understood and Freud was driven by – that ugly hole of nothing rapped in pain rapped in emptiness. The people there cannot be helped, they are the bug feast of history, and soon their bones will be collected, for “bone day”, as the dogs rule the streets and the humans moan and mope and wail and slouch their way to Gomorrah … and the sun turned black for 12 days …. and all that was left was a broken landscape of morbid dreams and wild nightmares. Want to visit Chicago, amirite?
another full on PSYOP and it’s is not really happening.
partially real, partially fake – all sides conspiring.
the conflict between an empire in decline ($USD petro empire) and emergent multi-polar power blocks … some call this the Thucydides trap … whatever
But what if it is something else …
Rapture of the believers, end times and free will …
I would like to more properly explain what I was talking about in my last podcast about the Tribulation being unavoidable …
What if the Devil threw a picnic and no one showed up …
Rapture of all believers results in almost everyone being gone …
Boblimptock … revisited …
Screigling-TOG, the last elf-man of Trympton, he rode strong on the back of his battle hippo, as careless cigarette fiends lie wasted on the streets and old timey GILF hookers clean out their boovulum. Hairless toad freaks sell their pies made of nuclear waste and fear, and some wrong-time-charley finds lost love near the Tavern of Guilt. Glumpy days for the Haglin tribes, joggers all about, people looting and not shooting. A cavern lovers dream where aliens go to knock up hoes.
This is BOBLIMPTOCK …
GRINKEN TOWN wanderers own half the city, “and it’s not gonna change and we got the banks too”, screamed Haggen-Lo, the Vietnamese princess and owner of JORBEL’S FINE MEATS. Their place was for NEW KINDS of commie people, living in jingus-jars and selling their protein paste to unsuspecting Amish refugees. Never did they stop to remark on the beauty of the day, they kept time using bats and cats and rats strung up like strange fruit working their way to heaven on a thread. And the people spat at their feet … and the lords of the hills wasted, with the Wookie People, for their chance to RAVAGE and STEAL.
… and yeah … this SHIT is Boblimptock.
“INFLATION!”, screamed Queen Messtus, as her ladies in waiting massaged her body with ancient toovis-oils and whale grease. The Central Bank of Grinken, or CBG, is issuing wallet money to the harlot classes, allowing them to buy their blood turnips and their cricket flour. Voorg, the inclusive one, spoke on and on about “dropping cash from planes”, so that people can buy more planes. And the ROCKET JOOG kept complaining about strange princes from stranger lands.
… such is BOBLIMPTOCK …
When kelp warriors wear their gold, and the seal is excused from monkey-meat meals, the new angels of future stuff will spread the butter across the chasm and leave the women of GRINKEN TOWN quivering in ecstasy. Singlet wine, yurg-soup and tiger-stew are on their menu, with waiters wearing leather and diamonds and carrying bandy-bats with carpentry nails driven through them. Scared fishermen make way to safe harbor as the weather turns and the leviathan chases – flesh eating seaweed covers their bodies and blood drips from their eyes.
… and it’s fun during BOBLIMPTOCK brother …
Xyg, the tor-lord, craven and angry and hunting his cocaine juice down by the wharf … he seeks the golden stream and will convert a 1968 Pontiac GTO into a time machine, and a pocket fisherman into a dildo, and Ron Popeil into JESUS … TV jesus. Nestor hawks hunt their quarry where the greasy tricks look for young flesh. Skoog took control of sectors 4 and 33, his mind was filled with broken glass and metal shavings and rage. His fists were tough and scabbed over … his women lived in the caves.
… what mysteries lay with Boblimptock …
HAGAR tribesmen cover their bodies in tattoos and mutilations, CHEESE-MASKS are handed out to the old women so they can hear the wolf men and prepare their boovula for tantalizing exultation and moaning. Old teach with his nasty old books draws designs on the blackboard, teaches 5th grade to 8th graders who need to repeat 1st grade. Chiglin Ranz sought the crystal mallet of HORT so that the 17 witches might be punished and the armies of the EAST might rage south toward Armageddon. And the DEVIL laughed at midnight, and the babies were born under a dark star.
Can you handle BOBLIMPTOCK?
Keb? – he flew a plane for the allied armies. His jet was fast and nasty and casted from crystalline titanium, and all these weapons are controlled by his thoughts. Rockets, capable of destroying buildings and poodles, are fired while he travels at MACH 300 … so very fast. And his hooker wife? – she waits at home, watching TV, yelling at “PUTIN, PUTIN, PUTIN”, eating her hot pocket WHILE the contractor working on her kitchen eats her hot pocket. There’s no more chardonnay to drink, and the pill box is empty. Chariots of iron and wood creak their way to BOBLIMPTOCK.
Can they run?
A SKLEEG-CANNON is used when you’re fighting coober-bears. These bears wear an armor with a CLASS-8 rating, they can fling time spells and incantations. They are the guardians of lost swamps where cannibals hangout and make pizza. They are the wanderers, the broken records, the one shoe. They are the mailbox that is full, but full of what? – “Those pictures you have been looking for?” … but were you looking SCRO? His deception is full and the bread of the past is moldy. The wine of madness is still being sold at 7/11 …
Ready for convenient shopping during BOBLIMPTOCK?
Cat herders from S’compton leave the bones for the dogs, their hand cannons blazing with jergin-fury and their women rubbing their strimbo to achieve total oneness. West side and east side rappers keep the fire blazing, as angry cops beat their suspects and dump them off of Muscle Beach and Medina and near the old pier where the LA PD beat that old lady to death two years ago. And VENICE BEACH? – her queenly ways will bewilder and beguile, and the whale merchants will suckle upon fried grizzle.
… want to know more about BOBLIMPTOCK?
“MALIBU LIGHTING”, demanded a jogger. It was day 33 of the police strike, and the hookers were all in chains. Wild and mean dogs chase the hookers down the street, as their pimps rule each corner and the pill merchants rule the ether space. Cocaine cougars, lonely in the Brentwood Hills, touch and rub their nuggy-dingle and imagine bare chested dusky and dusty and swarthy types breaking down her door and managing her arousal, 6 on 1. And that burger joint? – they’re beyond meat now. Dead rat and cat are for closers, the mystery meat tacos are for the kangus warriors and the crips and the bloods.
… and you can be a hip hop king?
I knew he was cleaven-beast when I saw that scrumbo. He was hanging down by the CHEVRON off of Drimpton Street, not far from where those crips got slaughtered six years ago after those nuns went missing … we don’t talk about it. HOOGER-CROW? HOOGER-CROW our scroglon lord stepped out of the darkness wearing a codpiece of silver and steel. He smiled his crooked smile as he swung his ax and kilt my friend Junctis. He declared the age of BOBLIMPTOCK when he saw the fire eaters doing their dance, and the men of DORBOH finding poison eels in the sewer. HOOGER was the first warlord of boblimptock, he road a wolf into battle …
.. boblimptock the great?
“The tisker-rat is fine eating”, declared LORD BOBLIMPTOCK. “I feed on this as I feed on souls, and my own heart becomes stonier, my fingers caked in blood …” It was the age of GROTON, when young ladies would form lines just to get a piece of his sluggle-oil. The GREAT LORD, as he was called, would bathe in drinktus and muskrat flesh and the sauce of Fue-Master-Gurgen. And in this solace he would imagine the coming wars against MARS and the LAST HOOKER REPUBLIC of MARS … and what that would mean to his 50 wives and 432 childrens … maybe 434 …
… is he not magnificent? Is he not BOBLIMPTOCK?
Messengers of the future are telling you to caste out your rage and replace it with broken glass, and metal shavings, and sawdust, and diesel. You have the oyster of success, your hooker wife awaits you, 66 floors up from 6th AVE, somewhere near the DREGEN CLANS where pear mist sundaes are served to heroin addicts and their funken-folk. TREGLEN, the UNDULATING? – his own posse hunts flesh down there, those loose women in high skirts, being chased by wild dogs at the park. TREGLEN has his fill of that booty, and the world turns grey and red.
… but LORD BOBLIMPTOCK will rule, and all the skugglin-feeders will be his serfs.
HOOGER-CROW has seen the signs. He has collected his own skungo army and is readying his sword. He has PILES of silver, stacked at warehouses, in the Catskills … and he’s ready to pull out his pistol of deflationary oblivion as long as the hookers take VISA …
He has the heart of the newstyle clown-king, and his name will be known among the 8,000 tribes of NYC.
I met HOOGER in San Francisco back in 1987. He was one of those YOUNG PUNKS making his way, going from one cocaine snake pit to the next. We shared hookers and heroin, we drove a Lambo out to Munkton Point. He showed me his plan, and I knew he was the one. He said “we’ll be KINGS of the new realm, and all the lands will be ours, all the bodies will be buried, all the sparrow hawks will kneel before us”, and then he passed out, started convulsing, I had to wipe the vomit out of his throat so he wouldn’t die.
8 Regling-armies are forming outside of S’compton … the grinken hordes are massaging their sklib, sharpening their swords, staring deeply into the abyss of soul pain. SCRANKTON, the CHANG-CHONG LEADER, built his own abattoir of drinkton speed freaks and old style groglon monkey women. And when the scarlet whore spreads her legs, you know her kumm is made of honey wine.
