Month: January 2024

We shall make meat-shells, and frolic through the wastelands of DIMBERSHIRE and Cleveland …

We shall feast on feral hog and horgen-toad …

We shall burn the caves of YONDOON, leaving the ELITE to smell their own rotten and burnt crotches …

Our seats will be made of gold.

We shall have fists of glowing titanium.

I eat gunktus, and far out plutonium.

I feed on eel grease and long dead spider flowers.

You used your power for new soul source pudding?

I ate the monster soup, and melted the boovula.

Kids also say “I want to be an astronaut” – most grow up.

Give up Santa, Space and dinosaurs.

I get my PCP from Ned …
he lives in a shed.

I fill Ned with dread,
when I stop by.

His sister ASTRA is rubbing her tits,
and the cocaine racers are on full alert.

Chester the FREETO KING sees the edge,
but that doesn’t stop REGGIE from greasing up.

All is kettle beams and moist pudding.

All is gelatin magic.

Ned and I ran hookers near Cleveland,
our drawers were full of cash and stash,
our bodies wrecked from late nights,
Jersey fights,
and the maggot widows looking for CRACK.

I could have stopped that dude,
but I didn’t.

He needed a break – but I shook my fist at God.

And you? – what did you do?

I told Ned once …

“You’ll be okay at sea, if you can envision the END of NOWHERE …”

It’s out there – on the horizon.

Kitten warlords are forming gangs in VEGAS.

Tired old pooder-hooters are arming up in Ohio.

Stale whisperers are scampering back into their holes.

Ned knew a ginger freak once …
She sold her PIE online,
to any old scrob-herder,
she’d massage her boovula on demand,
as her husband watched in the cuck chair.

“Cherry Pie” or “Ginger Spread” – she went by many names.

But all pointed to harlotry,
and the selling of CHEAP FLESH for a buck.

It was the genital crabs that took her life one day,
took the cuck’s wife one day,
crawling out in fury,
in a hurry,
to find another hideaway.

Some of you live in houses of mud and glass …

You sling your ass for a grand, and a nightstand love-shot.

Your FERVER is BIG, as nature casts its gaze.

You made flavorade of your mistress and her turtle-maid. But your own pipe is tired, and the love grease is drying on the mattress.

I started treating my ankle-oozing spongilitis with PCP … feeling better already

I tasted the shavings …

As sky pistol heroes sung songs of long dead baboon cowboys …

I seared in the juices with my laser knife, and left the carcass to rot in the swamp … a soothing treat for the giant slugs feeding on hooker bile and tornado rats.

And Karen? – gone.

Karen took the granite sandwich maker, and two of our flavor-ovens for barbequing corn syrup …

I can’t lie – I was sad to leave behind the frenchie-roaster and the two sided panda oven …

We do the best we can with harper-style stew, we find the broken things by the wayside.

I tried to be kind, to all of you – but you ignored my pleadings …

now all scroglon and heebous types will be eradicated from the great wheel …

privlen-doogs and doorknob freaks are to be hunted on Wednesday … after breakfast

time is a hammer

I am Bob Ross

Did my first time edit …

Most of you won’t notice.

AS Chief TIME-WRANGLER, I have the right to declare all of you my time slaves …

I’ve been making you do shit, but you don’t remember … cuz time travel …

THE FIRST GREAT TIME WAR IS THE LAST GREAT TIME WAR BECAUSE IT IS A NEVER ENDING TIME WAR …

Now that my device is activated, I must tell you …

I have no choice but to unravel time …

Consciousness may be preserved for those that continue to exist … more Mandela Effects though … sorry …

Nonexistence will suck, maybe – for some of you … resetting time and…

this timeline is fucked beyond repair

you have all been fools …

you were given TIME SAVING TOOLS … but you chose your dating apps and your STDs and your dried out dirt covered rubbers …

So none of you get time …

Time is UP … to me.

Announcement:

Now that we are entering YEAR FIVE of Boblimptock, I must declare, for the record, mark my words …

I AM NOW TAKING FULL CONTROL OF THE TIMELINE.

ALL FUTURE EVENTS WILL OCCUR ACCORDING TO MY WHIMS AND FANCY …

Some of you dream of a techno-utopian future …

You’ll have a robot body, you’ll live forever …

But instead you will have metal hands and metal hearts …

You will scratch off your pseudo flesh to feel something, but you’ll feel nothing …

You will want to end it, but you won’t be able to.

Life is a ginger pcp pie …

(and then you die)

It’s just a missing puzzle piece that you and I never get to see … that’s all that’s missing from the picture.

When we realize the scope of it? – our priorities will be pretty basic: food, water, shelter, security

And it does feel like the “exclamation mark” is getting closer.