Category: Lords of Boblimptock

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How many times?

MP3: https://planetarystatusreport.com/mp3/20230225_How_many_times.mp3

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

How many times will you hunt the flesh of the world?

How many times will you lie trembling in your own gooey minctus?

How many women will turn on you and leave you begging for mercy?

How many time worms will wriggle in your belly seeking escape, but you are the eternal seal and you won’t allow ANY TIME to change until the time comes?

How many times will I venture into the spirit mind, while observing nothing and being wrought by that terrible inner pain and existential gastric infection?

How many times will I fall in love with a hooker style lover, only to be dumped someplace … with only a terribly incurable genital crabs infection as a persistent and unholy reminder?

How many times will the water fall from the waterfall until the water is gone and we’re falling for fake water being sold by the fallen ones? Fallen angels selling us fake water, what shit heads …

How many wars will be waged? Will we writhe as mud bunnies in the forbidden zone? Eating rat pastry and watching our gums bleed? Infatuated with the END of TIMES, instead of living with the greasy green sprouts of woolly headed thinkery and coke head optimism?

How many urinal cakes must I eat? Will I forever wander from one CIRCLE K bathroom to the next, looking for that tasty, waxy, nasty thing, blended in the patina of urine coarseness and fast-time love making doing it trucker style in the alley?

How many times will I watch some NETFLIX SYFY FANTASY limited SERIES, produced, ostensibly, by some NORDIC CRAP HEAD, but with English dubbing that sort of works, and it avoids being labeled CHING-CHONG racist BECAUSE of the surreal nature of the plot and how it’s confusing? FUCK THIS BULLSHIT MAN … (fuck it)

How many times will I lay awake, frustrated with the gods, seeking a kind of SOUL VENGEANCE that is only allowed to true warriors of the KIEFTAN-KLAN that hunt the old beasts near the ravine where you dumped the body of that hooker last Summer, and your dog told you to do it?

How many times will they shut off the electricity, based on the reasoning that I can’t pay and I don’t have no job for the simple fact that I stole money from the owner of the restaurant while she was wrapped around my man pipe in the lady’s room and it felt bad and rough, sandy?

How many times will fuckers say “good morning”? Are you afraid of the NIGHT? Do you not SENSE the coming dawn, ripe with dark and greasy demons, all of which are there to hector you, down the street of failure, until there is NOTHING LEFT INSIDE except “good fucking morning”?

How many times will my lover shove potatoes up my butt? Does she know this is hurtful? Does she know that I have feelings? I could have taken that job, hunting wild grizzly, eating and foraging off the scraps of broken worlds? But YOU are my tormenter MISS POTATO HEAD, and why?

How many times will I be chased down the streets by mobs of angry villagers, upset that I ate all their chickens and stole all their eggs and live like a hairy wild man making love in their fields to busty ladies with little regard for vaginal cleanliness or KETO STYLE PALEO diets?

HOW MUCH WATER, REALLY, GOD? Why must I keep drinking it? I drink some, I think I’m done, and then I’m thirsty again? Who thought up this bullshit? Why must I keep drinking water, is there no end to this madness that eats on me like some untreated STD in my groin, leaving sadness?

How many times do I have to stand there and listen to her talk talk talk about CANNING? Putting carrots in jars and meat in jars? Preparing preserves of apple and strawberry and jizzum? I can go kill some guy and feel better about it than all this “let’s put shit in jars” wastoid witch beast … tired of it.

How many MORE FUCKING TIMES will the aliens show up at 2 AM, all “smiley and grey”, to shove a metal probe up my anus? And for WHAT? SCIENCE? Are they the dumb aliens that build star ships but also have a keen entrance in the shit tunnel? Come on, it hurts down there from rape.

How many screams will be heard once the great SASQUATCH-POCALYPSE begins? Will those grand beasts, 12 feet tall, come streaming out of the hills to ravage our busty women and steal our craft beer and catalytic converters? And what will come of this, once the wookie is finished?

How many more MEMES about DODDERING OLD PRESIDENTS falling down stairs and then going crazy and taking on the flavor of human stink flesh as the tasty obsession that drives that old shit head to hunt long pig on the streets of WA DC while the secret service helps him with this?

How many YEARS until the sky turns black as blood in the darkness? How many YEARS until the sky hawk shaman brings back the light and cures the crotch rot in our hearts? How many measly pieces of jingo-fries do we get at dinner if we finish eating the monkey-pigs and gerbils?

How many drinks of whiskey in that nasty bar off of Grinken AVE, where your MAIN SQUEEZE hooked up with Larry and went back to his apartment so that he could ream her rightly? And you’re left drinking Wild Turkey, alone, with the stink of cigarettes and stale beer about, salty?

How many times will people create new ONLINE DATING accounts, only to be fooled by the first or second “wow, you look cute” message, before the fees kick in, and you know she says she lives a 3 day drive away, but she really cares and thinks it would be great if you could meet?

How many more monkey-people must die before the 12th KOOP WAR ends and all the last jizz-priests completed their forsaking of wave-oils and meat-nuggets? But you’re too slow, and the killer whale bites off your nuts so you can’t just drive to Burger King and get some chili now?

How many times must I explain to people that I don’t really BELIEVE in ALIENS, and if you are being visited, late at night, by some “being”, a being that seems to have a purpose around raping your butt hole, that it’s RAPE and it’s a DEMON and it’s not cool man? (it hurts there)

How is it we are still here, breathing? Should we not be stuck in that strange zone of forgetful bliss sauce? Are we not the HORNET EMPERORS that once ruled over the deserted shire, once the shit princess gave up her amulet and all the orcs set about impregnating her poop chute?

And is it not our fate to be beaten, like the old time’y black and white style take downs? Where Humphrey Bogart pulls out his 1911 and pistol whips you until your face is mashed in and there are brains all strewn about, but he don’t care because he finished an 8 ball of coke?

Whilst we delve so deeply into the font of DESPAIR, that our only escape is to brew KROKODIL with Tracey, once she gets off her shift at the strip club, and you don’t ask her about that whitish goo, on her bra, because that’s not “the basis of a trusting relationship”, buddy boy.

HOW MANY TIMES … I ask, DEAR LORD … must I sit here, with my sores and scabies? Will I lance the boil with this dirty steak knife, and smell the pus once it’s done? Can there be a greater HELL than that ditch we dig for ourselves and our dying stripper wives? Do you feel me?

And this is it …

The nature of time …

The infinite complaint …

A forever kiss from a pale skinned mistress, as she lay there, all swollen and frosty, looking for loin grease to sally forth and warm the cudgels of your heart.

Time is a WHORE named Sheila, she has crabs.

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Awaken Dear Grimble! (Lords of Boblimptock)

MP3: https://planetarystatusreport.com/mp3/20230225_Awaken_dear_Grimble.mp3

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

Wake up gentle GRIMBLE …

You’ve been asleep for 7,000 years …

Come forth gentle GRIMBLE …

Bring us the laughter and tears …

Build your castles made of wax, unto the realm give your blood oath, unto your lover give your STREAM.

Make your river a valley of whores.

Arise pedestrian KING, reclaim your kingdom among the freaks.

Stand up, Tornado Knight, and bear the light breath of life for the STROGAN-FOLK and their sheep.

Fire up your furnace and cast aside the old dogs of war, replace pink sprites with metal and kettle and knife and pie.

Open your eyes WISE GRIMBLE, take note of the time and usher forth the flames and tremble.

If you walk the EARTH for 7 years, you can make amends for those old crimes of tasty blood malady and overcoming fruit guilt.

STAND FAST OLD BEAST, and wave your hands about …

The DELORIAN FREAKS will stride over wasteland cities, and the bejeweled harlotry will herald an age of STINK BEETLE PIZZA.

Your mind will slice through the bullshit and reveal the inner core of disturbed angel sands. Your kite spirit unites the 77 demon worlds, and opens a portal to the newest and most fantastic of places …

OH FINE GRIMBLE,

your mind on fire with GRIEF-RAGE.

You remember the time of broken heart’d living, when the cavemen women wrapped themselves in steel-cotton, and the grease merchants sold dolphin-slab by the gallon to truckers …

Your fist will beat down the failed crap heads.

There are no words for you GENEROUS GRIMBLE!

You give of your flesh sauce and no monster will halt your guile and danger …

Your plan for us is wise, and our workers have begun fashioning the stone. Our astronomers see the Heavens and gaze too deeply into doom paintings.

DEAR GRIMBLE, HEAR YOUR SULLEN PEOPLE!

My Grimble, come home.

A fire shall burn, and the hog-dwarfs will pay.

A cannon shall boom, and the cougar wench will be lost to the swill.

A lion will ROAR, and the KELMER-MONKS will learn to hunt grease-weasel and eat black pear pie.

And you, Dear Grimble, will ride high on the wheel-throne hound.

A time of testimony will arrive, when the 17 hooker-wives will give their word to the throng. Judged for heresy, the GRAND DUCHESS will ungudgulate herself will tinctulating her boovula.

A sly jester frolics nearby, high on PCP and stale cocaine …

And OUR GRIMBLE is ready!

THEY WILL COWER BEFORE YOUR STRENGTH!

They will cry and wail at your approach …

They will be heard saying, “the Grimble approaches, hide the busty women and the beer …”, but nothing remains hidden before the Grimble.

He is the caretaker of all lost sins, he is the SAUCE!

How many 8 balls of cocaine have I had, waiting for you my loving Grimble?

Am I simply a plaything of the gods, being tossed about by fate, like some meth head loser that can’t stop thinking about LAY’S PLAIN WAVY POTATO CHIPS?

Will the wizard steal my robot arm, to kill you?

So we still wait, despite feeling the quaking earth …

We still hunger, despite hearing your distant steps, the crushing force of your giant flaming iron feet burning and squashing the ground …

We prepare the great offering, of Norman Borlag stew and diabetes goo, and more.

We wait as space ghosts, covered in dingus brine.

We wait as HEROES, sitting up our swords.

We wait as hooker queens, with steel bearded rage DOWN THERE. (you know where)

We wait and smile and worship and build statues of our friend GRIMBLE.

And one day, HE will take us home.

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When I was a kid …

MP3: https://planetarystatusreport.com/mp3/20230131_When_I_was_a_kid.mp3

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

When …

When I was a kid …

We could go to the 7/11 store and buy switchblades … you could even buy the ones where if you pressed a button the knife blade SHOT OUT at your enemies. You could just point the knife at your friend, and the blade would shoot into them. They ended up making those knives illegal, but for a time we were innocent and happy with our knives …

When I was a kid?

We’d spend out summer days hunting apple pigeon near the old orchard, living off of grizzle grease and old dead squirrel. Our parents were getting drunk at the Knotty Pine Tavern, while the kids were making shit-houses by the irrigation ditch and eating scrob.

During those halcyon days of youth? – we sought after firework power and smelly screeg juice. We’d buy worms from Little Mountain Store, and then go down to the pond to catch rainbows. If some kid fell into the pond and drowned? – we felt bad about it, then we played Donkey Kong.

Back in school our teachers used rods and yardsticks and belts and cheese paddles, to teach us a lesson. If we acted up, they tied us to logs and rolled us down the concrete steps in front of the school. We would spend hours in the basement, with the festering rodents and mold.

In high school, the kids mocked me and chased me. I lived in the shadows, even the “Tree People” shunned me. I was an outcast, living off of crack cocaine and pop rocks and Pepsi. I took my orders from an alley cat and carried a lead pipe, and my face was covered in rooster gravy and bear piss.

As kids we raised different kinds of animals and kept them in jars and cages. We’d watch MUTUAL of OMAHA’s WILD KINGDOM, and pretend we could steal the hearts of nature and clamp down on the natural splendor. We’d eat the faerie-grapes and whistle songs of dormant hyenas, cats.

When we were kids, our parents could buy hippo and elephant at the butcher shoppe. We would eat the ripe heart of the world, as we watched the Gong Show and supported our favorite freak. Our songs were the songs of sky rockets and afternoon delights and magic nasty rendezvous.

I can remember old Andy who lived near the abandoned puppy factory. He had a small hovel, covered in moss and dead birds. He’d invite the kids in for “cough syrup and cheese”, and some kids never came back. The parents burnt down old Andy’s home, and dumped his body in the river.

My sister’s would talk about the “black man” that lived in the woods. He was black, and would sneak into the house at night and steal babies. They would spin these yarns of semi-racial bare chested violence, as they imagined their Nubian king taking them away from their Catholic doldrums and forbidden jungle delights. Is that racist? – I don’t know …

In the mornings when we got up, our parents would make us breakfast – we’d have TANG and VELVEETA and re-liquefied parrot stool. My friend Skangus spent his days training mice and drinking KOOLAID. He stayed after school so Father Jim would teach him special lessons. We would find Skangus, trapped in the sacristy at the Church, and he didn’t want to talk about it, and his altar boy uniform was stained with blood.

My dad would take us to SAMBO’S. It wasn’t Sambo’s for that many years, the name changed. It was themed on some little black kid being chased by tigers, and the story line about how his family ate bush meat, and sometimes ate people. Little Sambo would run shirtless through the European settlements, impregnating white girls and stealing big screen TV sets … is that racist? I dunno …

We would play with buckets of gasoline, tossing flames at each other and melting garbage bags. If some kid got burned, we mocked the kid for it … it was there fault, and then needed to pay. We gave the kid raspberries and ripped up his underwear. If he went home crying, we laughed. Maybe that kid didn’t make it, maybe he set himself on fire to prove a point.

We would hunt for the freaks on Little Mountain, firing our BB guns at any the dared cross us … they lived up there in the woods, covering themselves in slug-oil and tooglin-blood. We’d round them up and put them behind a fence. We’d toss old cheese burgers and soup at them, and they would cry out their great pain to a world more interested in Fantasy Island and the Love Boat.

We would go smelt jigging, in La Conner, and take those damn slimy things and use them for crabbing … that sea protein was prized among the JOOBLIN-VOLK and they used the paste to clean their pixie pipe and massage their woman’s boovula and skleeviz. They would win awards, handed out by the old chief, and then take their winnings and play video games. Nobody joked about Asteroids, nobody took fun in Pacman or MS Pacman. It was all about the stinky dead things, and the old people dying of consumption.

We had games you could buy: Captain Kill-doh, The Furious Claw, House Trap, Cat’s Whisper and the Broken Glass Puzzle Fun Box … Kids would eat pieces, small magnets, their insides would get all fucked up. We would dare each other to eat bits of plastic or shove asbestos covered french fries up our noses. We ate raw DDT and lived like monkey fiends and our homes were caves and our time was empty.

But …

We made it out alive. Being kids.

I saw this movie …

Link: https://metro.co.uk/2023/01/30/digital-humans-created-by-ai-could-replace-supermodels-18188963/

ZeroHedge.com Rundown …

Zerohedge.com

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The Rule of Two Votes …

MP3: https://planetarystatusreport.com/mp3/20221023_THE_RULE_OF_TWO_VOTES.mp3

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

What I MIGHT do …

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

Episode 36 …

Link: https://www.zerohedge.com/political/17-out-place-artifacts-suggest-high-tech-civilizations-existed-thousands-or-millions

Free version of book: https://planetarystatusreport.com/pdf/20150204_Episode_36_by_Daniel_J_Sullivan_copyright_2015.pdf

“FREE MONEY”

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 …

Posted on

In a nuke war …

MP3: https://planetarystatusreport.com/mp3/20220925_IN_A_NUKE_WAR.mp3

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

I was at the Maverick yesterday …

“What day is it?”

“What?”

“What day is it? Is it Friday?”

“It’s Saturday …”

“I still have time.”

In a nuclear war …

  1. Your girl named sally.
  2. The dog in your life.
  3. Cocaine searches.
  4. Fishing for cockroach wine …
  5. Your ex-wife …
  6. Primary targets …
  7. Come as you are …
  8. You are the missile commander, manning that silo
  9. Bombs make us clean again …
  10. We become like children again.
  11. In a nuke war, you have an ESP DOG
  12. In a nuke war, you hunt grinkus-flesh
  13. In a nuke war, women wear almost nothing, they cover themselves in muskrat juice, they’re hot and crazy and very loose
  14. In a nuke war, Lee Marvin will roam the countryside, driving his Army jeep, looking for something to love … he’ll find a mutant sheep, he’ll settle down and marry, they will have a nuke-baby … they’ll name it Harry.
  15. Wookies come down from the Crazy Mountains, they find Montana wine and ravage the busty maidens …. they wield swords of fire … their eyes glow brightly … the cockroach-stew, is meant for me and you … in a nuke war
  16. People will eat chimpanzee burgers
  17. You can live in an orbital facility, making zero G love to Scarlett Johannson
  18. You can get on board a starship headed for Martian colonies having sideways sex with Mrs Troobis … and she gives you an A.
  19. In a nuke war … You will want to have condiments … Mustard, hot sauce, Sriracha … You will need the condiments because you will eat two things: – canal foam – human trog meat
  20. In a nuke war, all the races will be melted into one.
  21. You will smoke anti-radiation cigarettes, as your 3D printer cranks out tiny 0.5 kiloton nukes … you will have your own shoulder fired launcher … you will take out your ex wife first.

All of this happens in a nuke war …

Social Contract

“The perfect social contract is NO social contract.” – Dr. Freckles

Don’t give up …

“If you’re not dead, you have another chance to fail!” – Dr. Freckles

9/24 …

According to the Simpsons, Homer predicted SOMETHING BIG on 9/24/2022 … best minds believe this refers to the BIG FOOT ONSLAUGHT or WOOKIE WAVE …

The Big Foot people are sick of our shit. They stand 15 feet tall and weigh 600 pounds and can rip your arms off and beat you to death with them. They are tired of our crap and our race wars and gender wars and deconstructive liberal ass-hattery.

They seek our flesh, to ungudgulate themselves and to excite their female’s boovula. They will use our munctis-grease for festivals of promiscuity and fertility so that more wookie people can rule the post nuclear war wastelands.

The Antichrist …

  1. He will be young – and a HE. Probably his early 30’s when the tribulation or end times begin.
  2. He will be successful, brilliant.
  3. He will be attractive, charismatic.
  4. He will be so irresistible that people won’t understand why some reject him, and many will.
  5. He will come with MAGICAL SOLUTIONS to dire circumstances like: famine, disease, disasters known and unknown.
  6. He will begin as a peace maker, bringing the powers of the world under his sway.
  7. He will end as a war maker, seeking the destruction of all mankind.
  8. Those Christians left in the world, after the arrival of the anti-Christ, will be tested – many will fail.
  9. Humans who do not believe in Jesus and His Resurrection, will still have a chance during the end times to turn to God. The window will exist, because the Ecclesiastical life of humans will be so hard, dangerous, miserable and filled with tests of faith.

Meals …

“Every meal I prepare has an ICD-10 diagnosis code associated with it.” – Dr. Freckles

Pain …

You will wander the gusto fields, looking for angel wax. Your dog will hunt the eagle-ferret, your hooker wife will make the stew … and there will be pain … and you’ll feel it … deep inside.

You will seek out the crystal of ORBIS-THROG, making love to the 7 witches, climbing Mt. Dinctus and hanging brains with the YOGI di RAMA … and YES there will be pain … and your body will become smelly, rancid, yellow, and filled with swamp gas.

Yeah … there’s pain.

You will wander down to the wharf and meet Captain Nemo at a gay bar … the bar will be the blue oyster, the Captain will be playing grab ass with a twink … he looks at you, with his bloodshot eyes, and cum covering his greasy hands and you wonder … if you fell in love with him, would there be pain …. ANS: YES FUCKER … it’s like Disney Land, and filled with gombo-creeps and pedos … THERE WILL BE PAIN.

You were space-cracker 99, you rode the star-lines with Peter Weller. Your cyber-cat said “don’t trust him”, your stripper-maid said “give me his sminctus”. Time was frozen, and your last wife, or your first wife, stole the golden-hoe candles and now you’re drifting towards that black hole where Matthew McConaughey and Nicholas Cage baked fraggle-cookies and designed robot-Kevin Bacon … and there will be pain … and there’s no stopping it.

Amazon … you have excess warehouse space in SPAIN.

This excess warehouse space will be used for splunker-harvests. Old scrag folk will be picked up on Tuesday from the old folks home … and then taken to the rendering yard where the dingus-hounds bark at them and usher them into the chipper. Blake Screeg, the UURT-KING, fed those droppings to long dead snail-wolves and those weird fresh street gangs that carry glocks and fire them sideways OG. And yes – there is pain.

YOU …

In your ignorance …

Will master the cards and the broads and sing the songs of cocaine and strippers …

AND YEAH …

THERE WILL BE PAIN!

To be happy …

“Not needing a lot to be happy is a super power.” – Dr. Freckles

Anarchist Rommel …

“Gustavus Adolphus and Cromwell were very close to becoming Anarchist-Rommel.” – Dr. Freckles

There is no alternative …

“TINA dies as the $USD dies.” – Dr. Freckles

Link: https://caia.org/blog/2021/10/13/whats-tina-and-it-good-your-portfolio#:~:text=In%20the%20investing%20industry%2C%20TINA,nowhere%20to%20go%20but%20stocks.

No alternative to …

  1. the housing economy pyramid
  2. the FED and printing monkey
  3. blowing up poor brown people and stealing their shit
  4. the TOP STOCKS that are TOO BIG TO FAIL
  5. dollar cost averaging
  6. voting Dan … voting … TINA

Something to think about …

The US military has killed more black and brown people than any other military on planet Earth.

The AK-47 has protected more black and brown people than any other rifle in history.

Posted on

SCROGON WARS!

MP3: https://planetarystatusreport.com/mp3/20220530_SCROGON_WARS.mp3

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

What follows the UKRAINE WAR … ???

This war will be followed by 8 SCROGON wars … all fought over ginkus-meat and tribblings and the leftovers from second harvest sifting of corn kernels … and undigested carrots.

You will eat stew made of munkis and mold, you will boil in the hot sun like a gumbo freak. Your eyes will be glassy and red and your neebus pipe will close off, sealing off all your stool so that it begins to excrete from your pores.

Following this? – the 9 hooker armies will encircle Grinken Town …

WHEN SKLEEBO JONES rides high in the sunset, and Terry the joker-roney gets his hamburger helper start-up going?

When the dongle-berries turn green and then ripen?

After the schlungis birds fly away, down south, to feed upon the decaying corpses of old men and young hooker princes?

Then you will know …

I was TORGEN-HERDER, with Putin, in the time of ape-priests …

We fed on bat meat and chased jungle women and suckled upon the trankle-fruit as we rubbed ancient spices on our nads …

Late in the evening, we would ride elephants covered in gold and diamonds …

Little jungle children would light firecrackers and handout chicklets …

The caves would be revealed, and the nastiest hole would find peace.

When Jengiz-Tuul finds the lost cup, and fills the brim with blood-ape juice, then the QUEEN of HOOKER CITY will be at one with total victory …

Neegus? The Infiltrator?

He will be taken to Beckest-Dor for trial and strung up like a cleaven freak … being eaten alive by mutated genital crabs …

And your hooker wife? – what shall she say?

“Why don’t you support the Ukraine?”

“… why don’t you go into the kitchen and make me a sandwich …”

89 scrid ago, when the tailors of Tilapia made ice-pants and corsets of steel?

During the age of BOJIMBUS, when Tyre was burned and Carthage ravaged the busty nuns of Dunbaah?

We hired our own robot slaves to clean out the gilly-pipes and massage the dringle. We made guns out of potatoes and hid them in our butt crack … and JILLIAN FERTILITY was to be had if you could get the coinages …

I did not fear the muskrat or the owl …

But I did fear the wretched sadness, turned to old wine and misery.

Emerald queens, you had your jungle realm. Untold nightmares and storms haunted those places, crammed between Nordis and Trog. Sasquatch, 15 feet tall, chased busty women through your streets, as the joggers ravaged Grinken Town.

Fisty nurses, with tired eyes, handed out curses to all …

Genial soldiers handed out lead.

(until everyone was dead)

By the YEAR of GUMPTOUS, all buying and selling will happen with TROG-LORD coins … you will buy your gallon of protein slurry from Old Dingus’ Protein Emporium, you will saver that lukewarm greasy mixture, in the cold damp room hidden from the sight of God.

Your mind will begin splitting and ripping, and your heart will become cobalt and deranged … Angry hordes will hunt you for your nad-fragrance and sell your eel carcass to the hookers in sector 44 …

And Bitcoin will make this all possible.

Hating people … (not all people)

“I don’t care where I live, I can hate people anywhere.” – Dr. Freckles

Failing at everything …

“I fail at EVERYTHING … including giving up, or giving in.” – Dr. Freckles

FACTOTUM: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/497199.Factotum

PHYT … (fit)

You look fit …

You look really good …

Wow, what are you doing?

Have you lost weight? – I know you have … P90?

Yoga? – sure …

Anal-flinktus … why not …

Pear of unbearable pain shoved up the bunktus-pipe? – sure …

You look so phyt (fit).

Posted on

FEAR

MP3: https://planetarystatusreport.com/mp3/20220123_FEAR.mp3

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

Sarcasm, and the Turing Test …

Another important fact for snowflakes: SARCASM is not PASSIVE AGGRESSION … If it confuses you? – ask for clarification. (but SARCASM is a pretty cheap Turing Test, BTW … and the bots on all social media go haywire when you use sarcasm – hence another reason for my using it)

REACH ME ON GETTR: https://www.gettr.com/user/planetarystatus

Relationship trouble …

Link: https://www.clickondetroit.com/news/local/2022/01/21/detroit-man-accused-of-pouring-lighter-fluid-on-pregnant-girlfriend-setting-her-on-fire/

Joy …

“Joy is aesthetically more pleasing IF you are not surrounded by people screaming in pain.” – Dr. Freckles

Fear and consciousness, revisited …

“Fear is the gap between consciousness and knowledge.” – Dr. Freckles

Have you spent time on GRINKEN STREET?

Have you seen the RED DEVIL MISTRESS? Her dancing at midnight? When her body was covered in grombo-oils and her maidens would bear swords and knives and pillowcases filled with rocks? This was always going to be the final offering to the priestess. We were always going to get trapped.

I was her crooked lover, when we would lurk down by SHIMBLEY’S off of SCRIMPTOM. We’d drink harlot whiskey and breathe the fumes of bromide and aluminum and other barium laced poisons falling from the sky hawks. “You coming to my place for Sid’s birthday?”, she asked. “No baby, I’m heading to HOOKER SQUARE for the free money …”

She was slim and hard. Her sunken eyes betrayed years on the street, looking for her pain sauce in every gutter. I’d think she was my girlfriend, if she wasn’t my hooker wife.

“Did you hear about Terry?”

“Nah, what up?”

“Terry was selling S’KLINK down by the old abandoned library …”

“Cops?”

“nah … fucking GRONKIS LORDS are moving into Splunkton and have some road kings on Grinken …”

The GRONKIS LORDS were moving EAST … they began as an offshoot of the EAST SIDE HOOLIES, who were originally the anti-SEMITIC JEWS of BOBSBURG. But then they, the Lords, had a following out with the CRIPS in Seattle, and this all set off a WEST SIDE vs EAST SIDE grudge match between all the hip hop overlords in Detroit.

“Shit … Terry gonna get ripped?” … Ripping? – that’s when a tribe gets an old pickup and chain and rope … they attach your legs to some old cottonwood tree and the chain to your chest … you are pulled apart and then dumped in the river … probably near the sewage plant.

“Don’t know …”, my street flower said. My Meg … my tormentor.

Things are getting tougher on Grinken Street.