MP3: https://planetarystatusreport.com/mp3/20230205_Chinese_Balloon.mp3
Donate: https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/doctorfreckles
Being Evel … (may have talked about this before, forgive me)
Careers …
This injury has got me thinking about changing careers … to daredevil …
I will jump stuff on some broken ass old motorbike … I will jump and then crash and get my body rekt and have hobo surgery clinics where sweaty old scum bags use modeling knives and fishing line.
Maybe I’ll take a trip down to Tierra del Fuego and become a tavern owner. Nasty and mean spirited fishermen will come in to port and sit at my bar and drink rum and complain about their hooker crabs. We’ll do coke and have panda style sex with the yoobly-girls of Santos.
I could get my pilots license to hustle food and cattle and drugs from one airstrip to the next. I could smuggle orgy greases to the rich folk in NYC, while partaking in gumbly-fuss with old miss sour crotch. I’d live a fast life way up high, my women would be scattered about.
I could become a mountain man and live off the scum-oil of the hills. I could have a cougar wife and live in a cave, I could build traps and toss the corpses in Pain River, near Loradio. I might have to murder a man for stealing my elk kill, but I’d still have to fuck his wife.
I’ve thought about cooking the blue meth, like Walter White. I could get myself a Winnebago and outfit the damn thing for a p2p style cook. I’d steal the methylamine from the asian dudes living across from the landfill. I could build a castle of beer cans and have scoob sex.
There are hell zones in S. America where a man can earn his way as a mercenary. I would form a gang called the “Hooskals”, and we’ll work out of El Salvador. We’ll take hit jobs and hunt down nuns, and steal money from the orphanages. We’ll guard the coca fields and hooker lands.
I might go to sea once again and eventually become a sea captain. My ship will be called the Storm Bitch and she’ll be painted blue and white and green. We’ll fish for stoog-fins and great white sharks, we’ll eat kelp and vomit up diseased squid after drinking torpedo juice.
There are these freaks in Old London Town that make hats and shirts and underwear for those sexy European style hooker models. If I go there, I’ll have a shoppe called Old Niv’s, and sell panties to women between the ages of 25 and 40. I’ll have cameras and peep holes everywhere.
There’s a farm not far from Grinken Town, a place I can settle down into my own whiskey oblivion and sell cat-scars and dog cake. I would farm phillips-berry and ferment the loin greases of coyotes and deer. After many years, they’d find me dead, with my 6 shooter, and my hooker.
In denser times, we’d cover ourselves in owl musk and hunt the beaver of the great swamp. My girl, Skleela, she’d rub booster-ointment on my body, ingunjoolating herself and reaching peek hooker-slut maximal. We’d have bonfires each night, and chew on drig-sausage and tooster-rat.
After many years hustling wino-sauce down by Hooley’s off of Grympton AVE, I’d work my women, making sure they didn’t hold out or keep that gold to themselves. My pimp kingdom spread throughout the new city, and the city dwellers made way when I came by. My heart would be fickle and broken, and those kylie-style woman type furniture brides would hold court at the nearby hotel … for a career.
My krinkus-bride asked me “how we gonna eat?”, so I’d go down to the LABOR READY hiring shack at 4 AM, and wait for some gig holding a sign that says “SLOW” or “STOP”. And she’d wait for me, rubbing her styg-spot, drinking yag-gin, and squeezing her boobies as she smoked weed.
- Doctor Quick Clean – fishing line, modeling knives, blue nitrile gloves, everclear, an impact hammer (rubber coated), dremmel tool with saw blades, barbless hooks …
- A Clown Named Switchblade
- Bounty hunter in sector 33 ZED, not far from the reeking forbidden zones and hooker republics …
- Submarine commander, patrolling the ocean regions not far from S’compton …
- Space warrior, wearing a golden electronic codpiece, with laser fingers and razor arms …
Crazy …
“Some of you are just as crazy as me.” – Dr. Freckles
I love life …
“I love life, just not most days.” – Dr. Freckles
COKE: Decline of the Best
“When did America go sideways? – WHEN COCA COLA TOOK OUT THE FUCKING COCAINE!” – Dr. Freckles
Dynamite …
“We used to play with dynamite, what happened?” – Dr. Freckles
Chinese Spy Balloon …
“The problem with shooting down Chinese balloons is 30 minutes later you need to shoot down another one.” – Dr. Freckles
“They buried the Chinese balloon the same way they buried Bin Laden, meditate on this.” – Dr. Freckles
Link: https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2019/aug/02/pentagon-balloons-surveillance-midwest
Link: https://abc7ny.com/chinese-spy-balloon-china-surveillance/12763290/
Fungi in the gut …
Link: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC5411236/
Wings …
Hopi End Times Prophecy …
Link: https://crab.rutgers.edu/users/omaha/NAI/Hopi_Prophecy.htm
Wookie People
The wookie people,
stand in the hills,
sharpening their sticks,
readying their skills.
SNAP, SNAP …
And they come running,
no more funning,
time for the reaping,
no more sleeping …
Except …
The eternal sleep,
having BIGFOOT,
SASQUATCH,
OMA,
YETI,
WOOKIE,
run his knife.
RUN FOR YOUR LIFE …
Because consequence time is here,
and there ain’t no more beer.