“Every drunken sailor feels rich on payday.” – Dr. Freckles
Overkill …
“Unconditional surrender guarantees OVERKILL.” – Dr. Freckles
Life, reality and dance …
“It’s a weird dance – LIFE … and sometimes our partner, reality, steps on our feet.” – Dr. Freckles
Tomorrow …
“Don’t worry … tomorrow is probably going to be worse.” – Dr. Freckles
I feel rich …
“If you live in a camper and feel rich? – then you are very close to the truth.” – Dr. Freckles
I spent 80 bucks at COSTCO, my brother had to buy the stuff …
– a new WAHL clipper set
and
– 24 decent IPA’s
10 years ago? – it would have been 40 bucks.
Still: I feel rich.
I felt rich seeing all that food, knowing it was unlikely to be like this a year from now. Relative to future me? Knowing that most people on Earth don’t even get to see that much of EVERYTHING, let alone have the money to buy some of it … I felt rich.
Not judgment, no real commentary here …
Like that simple comment I made a few days ago: “it seems as if the WORLD is holding its breath …”
(like that)
You shouldn’t …
You shouldn’t drive a CAT D6 naked to 711 to buy ZIMAs … you can … but you shouldn’t.
You shouldn’t test the waters … the waters are filled with giant lamprey that suck out your blood and bring you to a dark cave where helmet monks and mungo-freaks sing songs of never ending torment … so NO … you shouldn’t man.
You shouldn’t turn your nose up at CHEVRON food. Maybe CHEVRON FOOD is the only oasis for some of us in this food desert. Maybe canned food contains all the nutrients and heavy metals you need to live a full life … you don’t have to be an ass about your organically grown potatoes … go eat a cold can of chili, and live!
You shouldn’t hang out with DORBO-HERDERS from quadrant-2. Their minds are confused by crescent berry love making and genital mold. Don’t …
You shouldn’t do what your wife tells you to … choose the path of heroes and ignore her banshee screaming.
You shouldn’t “bend your knees” when you’re lifting something heavy … you JERK IT … just twist it … with your lower back … and then take the disability AND the Percocet.
You shouldn’t rent movies because Dane Cook is in them … I know you want to, so you can round out your night of binging CREED songs … but don’t. People already know you have crabs.
You shouldn’t go to Ramona’s on Friday night. Sure, you met her at Denny’s, and she has nice boobs … but don’t do it … she is a huntress and a cum maiden … she wants to grow your protein morgis in her towel closet. And you might end up falling in love, but her ex-boyfriend, Gary, is probably going to kill you and steal the baby and Ramona.
You shouldn’t mess with the witches of YOOBLOSS. They carry hiss viper swords and look to the mud paddies for their swirling and gusto filled lesbian orgies … come on man.
You shouldn’t grow that plant. That plant was sent here from DEBRIZ-PRIME in the Gromulan Sector. If allowed to thrive here, the python and the snakehead and the squirrel will rule over QUADRANT-GYPSY in REGION-DOOG … and then comes the hooker wars, that necessarily bring on Cthulhu and the KEK rebellion. Stop it with that fucking plant you bought on sale at Home Depot.
You shouldn’t go up to a woman in a bar and say “hey baby, want to sample my black and tan bean pudding” … you can say it … just might not work.
You shouldn’t listen to Linkin Park or 3 Doors Down or Nickelback … You shouldn’t listen to CREED or STRYPER … if you listen to COLDPLAY, then your mind is contaminated and your woman is a whore. Fuck off with your “world music”, I don’t care. Fuck you … fuck CREED.
You’d think I’d stop hunting the grog-freaks and the donut-toads.
You’d think I’d give up revenge schemes and stop sniffing glue …
At my level?
I don’t use condoms …
Women should be overjoyed to have my stroog-spunk percolating in their grape lab …
At my level?
I need women, 20 of them, to clean my house. They clean all day, and cook, wearing t-shirts, and flip flops, and that’s it … no underwear … nope.
They bend over a lot, and I sneak up from behind – it’s so romantic and sexy … Quest for Fire shit … right Rae?
At my level? Women spend days, scantily clad, in a jungle prison run by busty lesbian prison guards … just to do battle with each other in swamp pits in order to be my cum blanket. That’s my level TATE … or is it taint?
At my level?
I have swelter holes, filled with ky jelly and tabasco sauce, and my women massage themselves and become spicy in the hope that ONE OF THEM will bear my next tube spawn …
At my level I have women who fight each other, randomly, to compete for the joy of wazzalling my deeg-shaft … and that’s HUGE.
At my level?
Women cum from miles away, just to smell my rotten underwear and my old sweat rags and dingly-cloths …
At my level?
My dingus-fruit is gathered by greased up milk-maidens, ungunjoolating themselves in the pouring baths where gapes are cleansed by cream and wheat style whiskey …
At my level you would get it.
We had “magic fingers in the bed” – you are lost.
New pickup line …
“Hey winter-mouse, if you’ll be my love sweater, I’ll be your spunk cannon.”
Ladies: would this work on you, at the bar?
Holding its breath …
It feels like the world is holding its breath.
Scratch a socialist …
“Scratch a socialist? – and you’ll want to wash your hands.” – Dr. Freckles
Positive people …
“Ignore the positive people, they are holding you back: the negative people know which CHEVRON is selling guns.” – Dr. Freckles
Guns and Roses
“Guns and Roses was the Salinger of Air Supplies.” – Dr. Freckles
More on Lennie …
The more I think about Of Mice and Men and “Lennie”, the more I think … what if Lennie isn’t dead?
Cheap old WW1 hobo-lugar, firing God knows how old ammo … might have just knocked Lennie out …
He wakes up in the morgue.
And Lennie?
What if he’s really a Frankenstein-creature, designed by Thomas Edison …
And Tesla tried to save “Lennie”, but it didn’t work …
And Lennie can’t be killed, he can only be feared.
He walks the earth with vice-grip fists of steel and rage, and he’s no longer in man’s cage.
he’s not trapped by George and his simple minded rabbit logic
Pills …
“Forget white-pills, blue-pills, black-pills, and any other pills – instead: KNOW HOW TO IDENTIFY ANCHORED TRIPLE-STRAND CONCERTINA WIRE.” – Dr. Freckles
HOW I LIVE!
Is it too early?
Me: “Is it too early to drink beer at 4 AM?”
Mr. Scrumbo: “You live in a camper?”
Me: “yes”
Mr. Scrumbo: “You don’t own the camper?”
Me: “that’s right”
Mr. Scrumbo: “It’s too late.”
Women love your moms …
“Women always want to have sex with some other guy: probably your dad … or your moms.” – Dr. Freckles
Asimov’s 3 Laws …
“I have a rocket launcher buried in a locker some place, written on the rocket: Asimov’s 3 Laws of Robotics.” – Dr. Freckles
Be wary of white lines and white tape …
I made soup …
I made soup for all of you … but none of you showed.
I cooked coyote gizzards in zorg-oils, and mixed in minced beetles and darly-girds … and did you come by?
I wanted to give you everything … bastards.
We went down to the bowery and the Sklub-Sektor. We found the harley-rats and the cornet-monkeys. We made bats and chain from timing belts and filled pillow cases with d-cell batteries and rocks …
We don’t have a choice, and the whole town is turning green. All for SWEET GIRLS!
Weevil sadness settles in, as you take in the damage you did to downtown, and the buildings. And the poors are riled up, so they come out for “hot deals”, taking all the shit from the WALMART and probably ravaging HOME DEPOT as well.
And you could have had soup … but YOU DIDN’T!
There are shock armies forming in the national forests. Armies of dead-beat chongos and last-run sarahs. They wear clothing made from deer leather and old steel belted radials …
They sing songs of forever war, and own the lands beyond your highway suburban life. Fuck you.
A lot of people just get dumped now …
You go to the ER at St. Smiggins, and some drongo sends you to Nurse Lugar in exam rm. 5. And she puts a hydraulic piston to the back of your head, and pulls a trigger, and it’s lights out for you DOOBINS.
And your body just gets dumped some place … nobody cares shit head.
But I made soup of crisket-honey and dloom-joins and rice. You could have had SECONDS … SECONDS! But instead you went to the strip club to see MOMMA GETZEL twist her bazongas on the pole.
And this is why the cities are burning …
major body dumps outside every city …
usually in the low rent part of town, near the mixed-waste incineration facility is best …
And they’re just dumping them …
And it’s all because you didn’t come over for soup.
“Come to our store …”
You get your choice of chicken-rice or scab-milk. And the robot inspects your anus for remnants, while your mind is flooding with ads from OLD NAVY …
And you want to steal it all, but your crew can only steal so much – and you’re part of a flash mob.
You don’t eat soup.
Satan and his son are hanging out.
Satan: “Body dumps or McRib-Strategy?”
Antichrist: “Why not both?”
Satan: “Good idea son, I love you …”
Antichrist: “I love you Pa”
Elon really does troll you …
Elon Musk really does troll the “space is fake” crowd, but at times … it seems like he’s hinting towards the truth.
The Lambada …
“Remember when they said the lambada would cure AIDs … I do.” – Dr. Freckles