Month: October 2024

The Ancient Roman Republic was a confederacy of thieves – the best comparison would be those cobbled together privateer or pirate armadas/KINGDOMS of the 18th Century, or even the VIKINGS.

As a “pirate armada”, the Romans expanded – and like all pirate armada, they eventually retreated BACK to their “island”, Rome. And Constantinople.

And the BRITISH EMPIRE, that wiped OUT those PIRATE KINGDOMS in their heyday? – well they started as kings and barbarians, forming groups and gangs of men and women to scour the countryside and rip people off and this is a common road.

The fate of governments is similar to the “so called” fate of STARS.

Some governments burn out fast: like a PIRATE KINGDOM or JONES TOWN …

Some take longer to burn: like ROME, the BRITISH EMPIRE, and the USA thus far.

But the fate is always the same, they burn out and change into something else, and what is left behind is usually some kind of destruction.

Hillsdale College and other “conservative” diploma mills CELEBRATE this wretched ROMAN EMPIRE shit, because their interpretation fuels the neocon rhetoric … the truth is uncomfortable.

The truth is ROME was a bunch of bullshit, and all governments are: 1 SAM 8

Link: https://www.history.com/news/6-famous-pirate-strongholds

The LUST DRAGON tricks you into “parking lot hookups” and dried French fry yeast infections. It suckers you with “why haven’t you called me” or “is this a game to you?” – but that beast is not to be messed with. She’s scrumbo, abandon her to the coyotes.

TAME THE LUST DRAGON, BE PURE FLESH WRAP TOGETHER GRINKEN MAN … WOAH MAN.

Your spinctal refarction confuses the heart wad. Underpinning your FEAR is a BEAR TYPHOON from the Zygnous Sector near Happy Valley Three. We COULD build this furnace paradise together, but toxins enter our LOVE WRAP PURITY and the MAN keeps us apart. We flee from the SKY HAWK SHAMAN and never again take our place at the table of forgotten farewells and dismal hellos.

This is a scientifically accurate view of a woman’s mind:

A woman is a map-jockey. She picks at you and your clothes and your car. She picks at how you drive and the dirty dishes in the sink.

A woman cannot be pleased. She is frigid and disinterested, even if you give her your credit card, she is listless and languid and lost in her own self-loathing.

A woman spends YEARS in therapy, never finding escape from her own emotional puzzles.

Her mission is to bring down your energy levels and to trample your dream-flame. It’s a game to these females, while you drink ale and hang with your bros they act like hoes and can’t stop the needling. Frustrated and broke, you’re the bloke she dropped when the job was lost and all you had left was money for MAC’n’CHEESE.

THE WOAH-MAN is able to escape this perch and lands right on HIGH COUNTRY FRESH MEAT LIVING. You can find her checking out 9mm prices at WALMART on a FRIDAY NIGHT, because she’s going shooting the next day, and nothing will stand in her way. You can’t see that, but you can smell it.

SEEK THE WOAH-MAN GRINKEN MAN, or die trying.

1 – BOOVULA MADNESS

THE GRINKEN MAN locates a WOAH-MAN’s power center. He can smell it from 2,000 miles away. He spends at least 14 weeks a year hiking through the forests and fasting on wheat grass soda and dried out lemon rinds. When he has attained a massive level of spirit POP, he can gallop towards his goal, but he must be careful.

A madness sets in when the change warden comes by to see, and you are still sitting at the diner finishing off your flapjacks and bacon. Curley Jones sees you at the booth, and then the both of you do a line of coke and talk about MAGIC TRIXIE and her heart rockets, and her scab pudding.

If you can rid your mind of putrefied ideas then send a LOVE POEM to Kendra. Kendra’s eyesight has returned after the surgery last month and both of those “growths” were removed. SHE’S TAKING A BREAK from the rough life and the strip clubs, she’s cozying up to homestyle crack and jokes about the sores on her back.

TAKE HER FOR A SPIN if you can FIND that flow, and then you’ll know the depth and breadth of summertime twirl and counterfeit Mexican sundaes …

2 – UNGUNJOOLATING HER

Once you’ve strapped the WOAH-MAN to your pickup truck, then you can take her to the “cabin”.

There are many ways of snaring that girls honey drip magic. You can put on some slow music and talk about Austrian economics and gun control. MAKE SURE TO MENTION you have an OFF GRID palace, not far from Tierra del Fuego, and that’s where your Winnebago method takes OFF and her underwear gets WET.

Make a GROB PASTE of tester-water and mungit-grime. Boil that slime for 23 hours, add in some dried flowers and chestnuts. After about a day take the moist residue and rub it into her valley snatch highway. Charry pizza and New England chili spill on the floor, because her stomach is aching and the macro-cake from Aldi’s is bad, broken.

YOU SHOULD HAVE SPOKEN before she MOANED, and then the vapor escapes from her butt-clinch hideaway.

3 – SEPARATE the FESTER

AS THE WOAH-MAN achieves ORGASMIC TOTALITY, you will find your own lust ECLIPSED by her brave booby style jug-sensations.

She bites her lip, and writhes, as her voluptuous body UN-GLEAVES itself upon the sheets. Her eyes, watery and without regret, lock with yours and you can tell she’s getting SET for that HOT ROD game. It will never be the same after she grabs your sleek tube and covers it in lube and puts it in her “purse” for safe keeping.

IT GETS HOT and the naughty path is apparent. The WOAH-MAN is RIPE with sacred oils and musk and the smell fills up the room. You feel MAN POWERFUL, as a true GRINKEN MAN DOES, standing above your woman, getting ready for the final act.

4 – THE BARBARINO

Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t know anything about LOVE SPICE.

JON TRAVOLTA summoned HARLEQUIN INSIGHT when he took on the role of JERGIN soldier and kefler-elf.

Jon laid out the process for all, the means by which conception is achieved.

Step 1: ASK YOUR WOAH-MAN out to DINNER at a nice FRENCH restaurant.

Step 2: After you sit down at the table, have some WINE – red wine is best.

Step 3: Summon the MILK SPIRIT from her JUGS and pass the goblet for a fill.

Step 4: Your WOAH-MAN fills the GLASS with her cream, and it’s ALL ABOARD FOR LOVE TOWN once you gulp it all down.

Step 5: Extend the MAN TOOL to maximum length under the table, and if she’s able your WOAH-MAN will remove her underwear.

Step 6: With fully extended rod, prod and prod till you find safe passage to the HAPPY ZONE of wet wonder.

Step 7: CUMPLEATLY EXPLODE YOUR LOAD in her banquet hall, and let the FREAKS next to you GASP as their shock grows to disbelief, and relief, once the WOAH-MAN’s pleasure noises are silenced.

Within about 6-9 months, a BUNCTOUS BABY, your very own, will pop out of the WOAH-MAN … screaming and angry, carrying knives. That baby will be PACKING HEAT, as he SKEETS his way out of the GREAT CHASM and on to the world stage. You will be PROUD, because his crying will be loud, and his restless wonder will be without compromise or concern.

THE BARBARINO UNLEASES PURE GRINKEN MAN SPUNK LIGHTNING!

Never before have humans had this capability, this new course, and the world will shake as you BAKE your bread in her oven.

WHAT DO?

There are 8 sacred PIECES of a WOAH-MAN’S LOVE-ORCHESTRA:

1. Finger Sausage: this is the placing of your twitching and dirty paws in her AWE INSPIRING hooba-cave. THE RAVE you’ll get after spitting on her TOOVIS and rubbing the eel-rack will split your skull. No more time for slowing down, or taking polls.
2. Throat Candy: find the Oreo blaster and mix this with kennel-strewn garbage. Steep this mix with bisque and toffee that’s been roasted on the heater. It will be sweeter if you can find NITRO-FIZZ and JOOG-SAND.
3. Boob Twisting: grab her boobs, one at a time, and rotate them 30-45 degrees clockwise and counter clockwise. Do this as you POUND it, and make sure that her lips PUCKER when the sucker hits the ground and the Soundgarden plays ….
4. Butt Massage: make a fist of your right hand, while holding down the WOAH-MAN’s buttocks with your LEFT. Grind your fist into her ass, tenderizing her LOVE MUSCLES and allowing her DOOM FLAN to rinse out and the rest of the anal grease to dissipate on the bedsheets that you haven’t changed in 3 years.
5. Tummy Tickling: move your fingers across her trembling belly making hashmarks, she will GROAN and GRIPE, but the smile reveals the MOVIE BUTTER MAGIC happening between her legs.
6. Ear Pulse: stick your wet nasty tobacco chew tongue in her ear, hum and chant sounds right into her ear, whisper about JELLY-THRONES and cast out monkey dildos.
7. Anal Spruncto: find a medium sized zucchini, cover the zucchini in peanut oil and frosted flakes. After leaving the thing to get nasty in the hot sun, wrap it in old silk and burlap, and shove it up the WOAH-MAN’s asshole, do this before you begin the BARBARINO.
8. Final Escape: this is you, running from the police, because your WOAH-MAN reports you to the authorities. You will jump out the window, and land on the bushes below. Then, JET to your car, hoping you have the keys – and you don’t. After several minutes of trying to escape through a nearby swamp, you happen upon a beautiful raven, brunette and STACKED, wearing skimpy shorts and a bikini top. At this point you see the truth, and YOUR LOVE MEANING is SEALED by the JUICE-WENCH.

There is MORE to STALLION TYPE LOVE MAKING, but this is as much as YOU can handle, right now GRINKEN MAN … WOAH-MAN.

G.M.F.Y.I.L.Y.

MP3: https://planetarystatusreport.com/mp3/20241029_BTANL_Chapter_5_GRINKEN_MAN_and_WOAH_MAN.mp3

Donate: https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/doctorfreckles

You are wondering: am I just trash?

White trash?

Black trash?

Asian or Mexican trash?

Eskimo trash?

Any mixed up kind of bastard trash?

The answer: yeah buddy, you’re garbage.

But we’re not the worst garbage.

We are the wayfarers lost in the storm, our ship is leaking and our people are upset. Our friends want PIZZA STYLE ENDINGS and morbid-steak for lunch. We are TIRED of being torn apart by RAIL BUFFALO and fruit-salad vendors. If we can stand up to the FUTURE our PAST will be secured as it was when began our former quest upon the sands of time. Our slime realm goblets overflow with prairie milk and spiced chicory, but we TIRE of the pistols and the beatings and the seeding of our women with vicious bastard kin.

CAN YOU HEAR THE VOICE? – it’s coming from outside.

We are SCRUMBO and we grow frustrated, but why?

We are SCRUMBO and our lands and chickens are taken, but why?

We have too little to care, but too much for our overlords, but why?

Many TENS of THOUSANDS of years ago, a great secret was stolen. The Neanderthal of GRID-4 were invading the STOOB-CASTLE of Queen Nostra. After many years of war, the Neanderthal DESTROYED the Queen and stole her “donut”, leaving behind a future heir in her “panty drawer”. But the SCROLL CHAMBER was safe. The queen had kept her bejeweled scroll chamber obscured by naked women, with big boobs, dancing …

The CHAMBER of SCROLLS contained the TRUTH about broken down men and women, well past noon on their way to evening, and how they “ain’t no good” and “maybe should be taken to a dump some place”, and really vile stuff like this.

The SCROLLS were spread about, to protect them and trick MONKS into copying them …

Then, about 23,000 years ago, XOXS the Blyb-Slayer, found the BALAMOO CODEX or CB.

The BALAMOO CODEX (CB) held within its writings the delineations of HUMAN, and defined what and why the SCRUMBO are:

The SCRUMBO are meant for the pain,
the grinding of it all.

Toss them into the pit with the dog and cat,
let them eat bat and dead turtle.

These are the worthless sleepers,
covered in nugget dust,
covered in jizz. 

They cannot LIVE but serve and do so with a smile.

Their days are counted as VIBRANT FLAKES of YELLOW,
falling off the uranium cake,
leaving scars and burning on the colon and hands,
no one understands.

In the dwelling swamp of Deacon Woods and ROBOT NIXON, their memories of stronger times was turning to new kinds of DISCO DITCH burning, yearning. People started buying VELVEETA and TANG and using plastic cards to turn death into mourning. Soon, it would be plutonium and poisoned lung.

At the crack of DAWN the scrumbo loads into HIS CAR, and drives to the sausage-factory to get TWO FOR ONE deals on maggot-loaf and yellowdized tango-gelato. Keevous-types, wearing jeans and acting mean, arrive at the worksite to clean out the hole. Greg had dropped a dead baby down that abyss yesterday, and he didn’t miss, but the baby made it clay. So TODAY we dig the trench with the front loader, Planned Parenthood is coming by for a visit.

So you think you’re OKAY with this SCRUMBO LIFE?

Let’s review THIS from the BALAMOO CODEX:

THERE IS NO ESCAPE FOR THE GARBAGE PEOPLE!

THERE IS NO WAY OUT OF THIS LANDFILL SCHEME!

You might as well find the FIRST squishy,
nice little fishy,
crawling on legs to escape the SEA.

But you make that wish,
and find that fish,
staring at you on a plate of NEW POTATOES and JACKET-WORMS.

YOU CANNOT ESCAPE AS SCRUMBO ...

But there is the PATH of GRINKEN MAN and WOAH-MAN.

If you read on, you will learn that WOAH-MAN is the FEMALE CORN GOBLIN. She rides horses and teaches courses, makes dinner while making love. Her eyes are fierce, but a kindness lingers in her fingertip parade.

THE WOAH-MAN is a TIGRESS, she has teeth like cold steel and the power to heal. She breathes in darkness and exhales JOY, and BOY does she make a good stew. YOU GREW to know her, in the garden and the muck, when your TRUCK brought in 400 lbs of manure, and she was never TRUER as she shoveled that shit into row after row … she ain’t no ho.

SCRUMBO MAN has a PLAN.

He can JACK UP HIS POWER MODULE and dig his way to WOAH-MAN’s lurching heart, it’s a start …

WE SCRUMBO MEN must move towards GRINKEN TOWN. We pack up our boxes and leave behind our TESLA/SPACEX distractions. No more GAMER LIFE or STRIFE, our PornHub account canceled, we are tossed by the wayside.

BUT A FUTURE EXISTS IN THE GRINKEN-MAN WORLD!

You can’t take the ridicule and the bullies no more. You have to SHAKE OFF that DEBT-SWEATER and tell the “companies” to go fuck themselves.

No one is coming to take your gun or your pit-bull or your CHEVY TRUCK you FUCK, but your wallowing in life’s sticky transactions makes you prone to SADNESS-VOLLEYS and other sordid entanglements.

WAKE UP FUCKER! – WOAH-MAN is waiting, if you can be brave enough to find her boovula in the night. Her tender valleys will lay open, and you can attain peach-cobbler CLIMAX, but not if you keep sifting through the discarded nightmares of DEATH-BARONS and shallow blonde cock holders.

A GRINKEN MAN WILL:

• KNOW HOW to DIG TRENCHES for dumping bodies
• understand all weapons, and how to build them
• quote SPOONER and RAND at random
• garden and grow potatoes and onions and carrots
• raise CHICKENS and COWS and hunt buffalo naked
• be fearless before the DARK LEGIONS of Vic Jaspers
• have a compound, with concertina obstacles surrounding it
• know how to dress a deer, smoke it, and share it with WOAH-MAN’s family
• use the SLYB MANEUVER when bringing your WOAH-MAN to PEAK-GASM.

The WOAH-MAN can’t be easily captured by just any GRINKEN-MAN.

She’s always moving, and her gait is clean …

There’s a GREEN CUBE below the stairs, it harkens after that WOAH-MAN power track. When you pump up the BOSTON on full volume, she gets wicked and pulls down her panties for that “free ride Friday” style pelvic action.

The WOAH-MAN hurries, but don’t worry – she has a slice of pie left for you. You have to hit the GYM GRINKEN-MAN and learn NEW skills before you get killed …

A WOAH-MAN does:

• the dishes
• whatever I say
• make me a fucking sandwich
• nothing, takes my credit card
• this is sad

YOU CAN’T USE SCRUMBO THINKIN LINCOLN, your UBER ARMY of blue haired freaks are DONE, and the crumbly-bun of septic misery is coming for a visit pal …

You have to STOP acting TOUGH or ROUGH, but be the stone that traps the sword.

Words are BLURBOUS …

CHOOSE YOUR WAR CREATURE GRINKEN-MAN; elephants are so LAST MILLENNIUM …

BOTH GRINKEN-MAN and WOAH-MAN are lost …

So many years ago we set out upon this path, and now we find ourselves in the forest of impossibility. Are time is near, but the beer harvest is incomplete and the blood catchments are nearly full. A firm hand and a holding pause so that our cause can prevail, but you got a notice in the mail saying “get the fuck out, or the COPS will take your home”. You are not alone, for we are GRINKEN-MEN and WOAH-MEN together, covered in diamonds and leather, bristling with fearless action and carrying 55 kinds of throwing stars.

Our CARS will be powered by FRENCH BULLDOGS, chopped up and sent to the mill, our KILLING WAYS will bend to PEACE as the world is renewed and the body dumps fill.

Don’t you DARE SAY “nobody said nothing”, WE DID … we left you a note.

But your broken and soulless enterprises, selling broken homes to devil bastards, is complete and now is the time to sell your shit, GTFO of the cities, and JOIN ME, at my COMPOUND, not too far from GRINKEN TOWN.

G.M.F.Y.I.L.Y.