“How do I screen my colon? – I sometimes look, majestically, and peer deeply at the stool I leave behind; looking for some oddity.” – Dr. Freckles
IDGAF
“IDGAF and feeling sorry for yourself are NOT the same thing, but they often share the same apartment.” – Dr. Freckles
If I were okay …
“If I were okay I wouldn’t be here.” – Dr. Freckles
Social media …
“Hermits like social media because it’s like micro-dosing human interaction; also why we hate it.” – Dr. Freckles
YURGEN TIME: THE MOON MUST BE DESTROYED!
“ALL HAIL THE YURGEN TIME!”, said Torwald the Bludgeoner …
He’d carry his bats and chain and inject himself with human growth hormone just to find a way to EXCITEMENT and NEW STYLE condo living. His parents were lost ones, and his wife left him for the turtle wax master. They said YURGEN TIME would end when the Sky Hawk Shaman declared BOBLIMPTOCK OVER …
“But it’s never over”, decried the mistress Dorsella. She spared no expense covering up her body with pasty green dresses and high heel shoes. Dark red lipstick and cursed eye gleams …
SKEEVIS KINGS hide from the yellow light and build onyx chapels for the coming of STAARN …
“STAARN the MASTER FORGER! STAARN the OBLIVIOUS! STAARN the SCARRED CAPTAIN … we know him”, muttered Dorsella, invoking “STAARN” as a curse upon the land, as a song to the wild sea, as an ode to lost cowboys and arrant knights looking for EASY HOOKUPS. The women folk were gathering fruits and nuts and oils for the celebration; the easy-going hustlers were setting up their tables for 3 card monte.
“When STAARN comes, the seas will turn to gravel and the mountains will melt away like gravy”, HEEBUS, Dorsella’s ex-boyfriend, pondered this undoing – this new age of chilled spirits and hot nights with greasy women.
It was foreboding, the shape of the clouds …
It was an omen, the noise of the crow.
It was near, the fire, the reshaping, the rebuilding of gangster worlds and pirate realms and the outlasting sense of flower and spice.
Torwald had returned from the SCOBE-WARS and was sitting with Dorsella and Heebus and a few others at the Rooksom Public House. He had a leather jacket with patches from around the world – if the world is defined in terms of Sturgis, SD. He kept an eye on his Harley parked outside, and another eye on Dorsella’s cleavage … and with his THIRD EYE, Torwald was digging deep into Heebus’ mind, soul space, tunneling deep into the hidden parts of Torwald’s brain.
Heebus groaned as the mountain tops began to sing.
Heebus had hidden, deep within the mind-space, stories and paths and means to great gold, adventure and diamonds. Heebus would defeat STAARN with LASER WINGS and common pizza herding.
Heebus spoke: “The moon is the guevous-cream in our monkey-steam … it’s a slab of hooker crabs, it’s the dent in our celestial rent … it must be destroyed …”
THE MOON MUST BE BURNED TO THE GROUND! – this was the zeitgeist.
Heebus and Dorsella and Torwald knew the MOON was to blame for ALL OF IT …
The MOON is the DIRK-NIGGLIN and CAPER MONK.
The MOON is a wine darling and a street alley minstrel.
The MOON spreads disease, crabs and STARBUCKS.
In YURGEN TIME, the clone denizens wander aimlessly and the wizards of Cleveland spin their jenny, looking deep into the highway garbage and the lost tire squirrels.
In YURGEN TIME, the OOG-MINES are laid across the bridge to reunion and redemption. No one is considered without fault, no one is clean. The swamp killers drive the streets, in firetrucks … they take the hoses and spray the hobos as they drive by, leaving them cold and shivering in the streets.
“I live in a camper … I am friends with the raccoon and the hawk … I am friends with the wolf and the owl … I GROWL at the MOON, cuz real soon … We gonna TAKE THAT MOON DOWN … The MOON must GO, or we can’t grow”, Dorsella said, as RED the FIRE-STURGEN burped and cried and vomited his ale.
Yurgen-wine is what Dorsella knows …
Dorsella spoke:
“There were 9 threegous wars, before the time of undoing. There were 12 elven kings, upon the arrival of TOR the MASCOT STEALER. And if we can forget, would we not FORGET the UPHEAVAL of DEB – when her lesbian forces stormed the island chain of Nubilinia?”
Her words resonated with Torwald.
Torwald remembered these times …
THE AGE OF HAGEN-TOOK.
Hagen-took, the FORG-MASTER, rode horse and shot canon and built trebuchet made out of steel and stone. he hunted the meercat and fed upon the loins of dwarves. His army wore codpieces made of codpieces, and his own codpiece was made of silver codpieces. And none were worse.
TORWALD WAS MAD!
He had loved Dorsella, and her heaving bosom. He inglomoolated her boovula multiple times, and left spizz oil as residue of passion.
His essence covered her like the golden shower of a hundred musk-maidens, and it was unto the rabbit lord that she was to be given – but Torwald would not have it.
“But the MOON MUST BE DESTROYED!” screamed Heebus …
And this too was agreed upon, it was merely the means by which the Moon will be destroyed that was up for debate.
It might involved building a 500 gigaton nuclear device using cobalt derived radiological materials and some type of crystalline tritium encasement.
We might have to build a super laser, powered by nog-sauce from the hooker sector. We’ll have this laser “manned” by prostitutes and strippers wearing nothing. And their own juices will power the laser … so even if that doesn’t work … cuz it’s as plausible as the MATRIX plot … you still have strippers and hookers. This made Heebus smile.
“THERE IS NO PEACE AS LONG AS THE MOON SHINES!”
At this the crew laughed …
They knew their task was “impossible”, but they also knew they had the GRIT and KNOWHOW to try … and try well.
Sure – the monks of GASTIA would try to stop them. Their sacred oath is to the VATICAN and Shirley Temple’s ghost …
Yeah – the BUSTY NUNS of DOOG TOWN will use their powers to persuade them to halt their journey and join the nuns, nakedly, in the sacred oil pools. They will say NO … surely … but nonetheless, they must gird their loins.
… and I sing their song …
… and I dream of destroying the MOON …
Every time some shit head says “you can’t destroy the Moon”, I will point ironically, and yet cryptically, at a portrait the lunar lander, on the Moon, I bought from NASA’s website.
They won’t know what I mean.
A few hundred megatons of nukes in the right spot, exploded on the dark side of the Moon, would send the Moon into a slowly degrading orbit, and in a matter of MONTHS … the Moon would be destroyed.
(along with the Earth)
The MOON is a death STAR …
The MOON is a death STAR …
The MOON is a death STAR …
I should run for president in 2024.
“Dan, what’s your platform?”
“MY PLATFORM? … fuck … fuck you.”
“Come on Dan, tell us what you will do as President?”
“I WILL DESTROY THE MOON!”
“Okay … strong position.”
The cost of destroying the Moon?
(pennies a day)
Next big thing …
I’m getting really interested in unicycles …
I have this feeling that the next BIG INVASION or ATTACK is going to come from strippers riding unicycles, naked … carrying glocks.
“STRIPPERS on CRACK on UNICYCLES!”
(call me Tarantino …)
(script writes itself in one weekend)
BTW: “The History of Successful Airborne Operations” is not a long read.
I’ve invented a super soldier …
– crack whore, former dancing nurse/BLM street organizer/drag queen story time host
– wearing armor made from US passport material
– masked up
– wielding a machine gun that fires box cutters
– riding a unicycle
– connected to a paraglider
– and she’s naked, with only a strap on
It’s like “men on the Moon” …
None of the ships that landed “men on the MOON” ever seemed like they could plausibly work.
But like “paragliders from Palestine”, the populace is mystified, stunned, staring gormlessly at their CNN or FOX NEWS, deluded and confused.
So “men on the MOON” works, and that’s okay.
HOLY FUCK …
a) load up a lunar lander with naked crack whore strippers, the armor on the lander is made of US passport material
b) once the lander LANDS, the hookers take off in paragliders, the hookers have a box-cutter firing swivel gun
c) near the ground, the hookers disengage from the glider and start riding unicycles
d) near the target, the unicycle converts into a pogostick dildo combo, and the hooker ride it using their boovula
e) the hookers are former BLM-DRAG-QUEEN-PUTIN-STORY-TIME-NURSES, that dance
f) everyone is stunned
g) no one could have seen this coming
Okay …
Run with this:
“ARMY OF DEAD BUT CYBERNETICALLY ENHANCED CATS”
(with rocket launchers)
(so “laser cats” doesn’t sue us)
Even more shocking than paragliders or unicycle hooker soldiers …
Dancing nurse …
“The ‘paraglider’ is this year’s ‘dancing nurse’, the ‘ghost of Kiev’ was last year’s.” – Dr. Freckles
Slow burn …
“Many non-linear processes can appear linear … until they’re not.” – Dr. Freckles
A cigarette …
“A cigarette is a reason to wake up in the morning, a GREAT reason.” – Dr. Freckles
Thug armies in the woods …
Did you know that radical hikers and granola types are forming thug armies in the Olympic National Forest?
I know this …
These are things they DON’T report in the news.
People are going up, into the forest, to live.
Boondockers are scattering to the 8 winds.
Everyone is lying …
“If you get the feeling that everyone is lying? To include you? – you might be close to the truth.” – Dr. Freckles
SKEZ?
I was meant to be REGION LORD,
to be married to a SCARLETT DINGER named SALLY.
We’d rest on summer days,
smoking crack and washing our crotch,
smelling the sticky love emanating from the grove,
becoming NORDIC DEATH MARES …
And left behind in the land of BOBLIMPTOCK,
sadly.
I was the GORGON that struck fear into the hearts of the dimblies and the gorbs.
I ate monkey stew with the kings and led the armies against the last onslaught of the TOOB GANG.
I suckled on breast wine, as the mistress held the whip; so many broken souls left in boblimptock.
Maybe Tomorrow
MP3: https://planetarystatusreport.com/mp3/20231011_Maybe_Tomorrow.mp3
Donate: https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/doctorfreckles
FRANKENSTEIN: an existentialist novel
Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein as an exploration of self in the world.
I haven’t been doing my work as a disciple recently … and I said “no news” … fuck
Link: https://www.theguardian.com/world/2023/oct/07/hamas-and-israel-at-war-what-we-know-so-far
- thief in the night
- He’s better than ant man
- we should be ready at any time
*** Hamas or Hezbollah, paragliding into a music festival, abducting and killing … yeah … this is all too real.
Spider Webs
Disillusioned at your own rate …
“Everyone has a right to become disillusioned at their own pace.” – Dr. Freckles
Maybe tomorrow …
Maybe tomorrow I will learn to fly, so high in the sky that I multiply and become like whiskey …
Maybe tomorrow I find a hidden tunnel to that magical beyond place, where frolicking monkeys sell you cigarettes and hookers … maybe …
Maybe tomorrow I invent love-sauce, and become like Ron Jeremy, as if I had the super power of total bone control and access … and maybe I marry a porn star wife … and maybe the marriage ends in divorce.
Maybe tomorrow I eat brisket with an old friend, and we talk about pistol nuts and french fry cream and albino elk. And maybe it’s important.
Maybe I will soon find the love of my life, and marry her in a meadow, and bury her next to the others, maybe? Maybe if I’m bad, right?
Maybe we get the FRANKLIN STYLE merge-tune in the coming weeks, when harmonic energy attains 5 levels of scale … and there’s pie. Maybe.
Maybe next week we will see new kinds of crispy chicken sandwiches, and this will trigger further crispy chicken wars and riots … and from this will be born a new sense of respect … maybe.
Maybe the oceans are dying …
Maybe I shambled out of apedom yesterday …
Maybe every Charlton Heston movie was true …
Why didn’t we build an ARMY of Charlton Heston robots? – we could have … we SHOULD have … maybe.
Maybe we did land on the Moon a few times, and then we forgot how we did it for half a century, as we spun tales of “singularity” and “super tech” … except when it comes to Space bro … less than 1000 have been there … think. Maybe “space” is bullshit.
Maybe my woman cheated on me with Dennis, and maybe Dennis is younger and hotter … but Krystal, you said you LOVED ME forever … forever is longer than 3 years Krystal. I love you … come back to me baby.
Maybe soon, perhaps within a year, I will travel to the mountains of Dysteria, and feed upon cumpus bread and tiggly wine. My garments will be made of silk and showered and poured upon by the gentle rains of spring, as the figures of disdainful regret hunt me and haunt me to the end, to push me onward to the blue star of destiny … perhaps THEN I will find my true love, hidden in the shadows. She will have crabs.
Maybe in an hour or two I’ll find the lost charms of DELMORDOS … and my male strug-levels will go through the ROOF … which means I have to move to the Jersey Shore and become a ja-brony … eat corn nuggets filled with anabolic steroids … power boost my blood with unknown things we dare not speak of … I think soon.
Maybe in about 2 weeks aliens will arrive from planet TOOBA, and with them will come the great discoveries of the galactic elite – carbonated fear drinks and used cigarette butts will be their bounty. I will gaze upon their sleek and greasy style, as the mileage provides hag energy, and the elf was to trod nowhere, and the heralds of chaos warn of coming storms and other crappy stuff … maybe. Maybe some kind of JRR TOLKIEN bullshit …
Maybe when the sun turns black and the clouds become acrid and sorrowful, I will GO to the Stingo Priests who sojourn near Sequim. They will share stories of adventure and piracy and lost pimps from Vancouver Island who do not understand the desire for “Thai food and craft beer”. Their generous offerings of thought are rejected, and I cast upon their visage a gaze of dynamite fury – and their lost memories are regained, as a lead pipe hits them on the back of their nasty heads. Very soon this will happen.
Maybe I’ll start lifting weights … get really fit and have those washboard abs … find myself a brunette kind of baby and marry her and move to the woods to have our fill of carnal bliss. She leaves me for Yurg the Archer, and they hunt beaver near the swamps of Krelm … and that would make me sad, probably really sad.
Maybe the STAR WARRIORS of Hollywood have x-wing fighters and millennium falcons and large imperial walkers … they shall reign in infamy as the LA tigers seek diesel fumes, and the ingenue rioters have nothing for them waiting, and no new livery apparel to wear to the cowboy weddings and vampire funerals … sure.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll stop doing crack … I’ll stop walking the street, looking for land-wax and opening up to random prostitutes and totally self aware alley thugs …
Maybe I’ll make ape-pudding for dinner, and I’ll sit in my cubby and meditate on camper style life changes and various forms of worms that will dig into my brain and infect me with pain … and the heat-chills from the weird residuals left over from other dying flesh … sure.
Maybe you can pack a wound with broken glass and sand and metal shavings and vodka … maybe it gets infected and you end up with some monstrous thing growing on you, with greedy eyes and lustful spirit. In days you are covered in boils and roiling with the fevers of a million diseases … but you don’t die, nature will not allow it. Maybe you get better and learn to surf … and this would be nice.
Maybe in a few days I’ll start fishing for something … I’ll grab a pole and some line and a lure … I’ll stand frozen upon the pier, looking out upon the rustic seas, imagining great creatures that luck down below and are so saddled with their own contentious dismay … I am aggrieved to know that twilight life still swims there, and feeds off the poison of the world. And I can stand and breathe … and drink jug slurry … maybe.
Maybe they’ll find the groodol soon – it will be tasty and sweet and neat and come from the bottom of the Pacific … seen post Fukushima … it’s happy and nice, our new style crab meat … one big red eye, it cannot die.
Maybe I build lasers designed to save whales …
Maybe I take that trip to Toledo, the one I’ve been putting off …
Maybe I join the GRONKIS LORDS or the WEST SIDE HOOLIES and do the jig with REBAR and pillow cases filled with d-cell batteries … sure.
Maybe I do this tomorrow.
I was born …
I was born …
I was born in the time of the razor-bats. These were bats, that carried razors, they drove Mercedes, they had the ladies …
I was born when skul-rings ruled, and everyone ate paste and gruel, their moms carried a chainsaw gun, just for fun, they’d hunt the genhdoo-tribes lurking in the forest, that was my time.
They sell those here.
MP3: https://planetarystatusreport.com/mp3/20231001_THEY_SELL_THOSE_HERE.mp3
Donate: https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/doctorfreckles
They do sell those here …
- Watermelon and pastry filler …
- Radios … for talking or listening … or hearing and understanding …
- Cars
- cocaine
- meth
- riddlin
- cough syrup
- vaccines, lots of kinds of vaccines …
- death fluid
- scorgon chips
- frenchie nibblets
- cardigans
- sweat pants with elastic bands
- beer and liquor and sadness and wine
- corn nuggets
- chicken blocks – popular in Denmark, a whole square can of chicken, defenestration, in goop sauce
- ocean beef: a new thing in the deep
- green yoog stew
- chili
- pensy-trog chops
- kayaks
- body bags
- sand bags
- concertina wire
- used sanitary napkins
- sushi
- horse or unicorn
- tiger meat
- wendy-spice
- light bulbs
- adrenochrome, now at walmart
- nuclear war
- Christmas cheer
- hawking spheres
- thanksgiving love … doesn’t last
- halloween costumes
- prostitute jelly
- tinder gems
- hookers
- clothes and underwear and condoms
- lubricants – for the car (dirty bird)
- carpenter hammers
- baseball bats
- metal pipes and chains
- welding supplies
- dynamite
- fishing poles
- archery kit
- bb guns
- tents
- water
- cake mix
- flour and rice
- orange juice
- bacon
- gasoline
- ammo
- bottle rockets
- pianos
MISTER SCRUMBO
MP3: https://planetarystatusreport.com/mp3/20231001_MISTER_SCRUMBO.mp3
Donate: https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/doctorfreckles
Mr. Scrumbo, he’s our friend …
- Mr. Scrumbo, he’s our friend, mr. scrumbo knows the end
- Got chapter one of BFW1 finished … hopefully I can keep up a pace of one chapter per week. It’s hard to say. Some people would look at my life and feel sad or disdain or hate … I have what I need, and some of the things I want … not perfect, but workable. Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face … your retirement plan, blumbo world, sucking fat for biodiesel …you could end up in the diesel.
- The monkey-herpes infected my testicles because I was pooping on a honey bucket, and a driplet shot up and touched my nutt sack … and this is wrong
- “It’s always a slow burn until it explodes.” – Dr. Freckles (Hemingway’s “how did I go broke”) These are big events, perhaps a 10,000 year event … Berlin, april, 1945 is where we are at … it’s “slow” until it’s not … desire for nature to be incremental and linear is not a rational argument … the slow burn is wishful thinking and last minute bargaining … at any time, right now, the system has a likelihood to go into multiple failure states … it can handle a few at a time, but not as many as are coming … and when that begins, everyone gets a lesson in discontinuous functions … Everyone I know is bargaining right now, in terms of the kubler-ross stages of grieving … denial, anger, bargaining … the core turning circle of American consciousness. Better get to depression soon, and then to acceptance.
- 2020/2021 as a “rehearsal” … what if all that nonsense was just a military style rehearsal, a simulation, to gather data for some FUTURE OPERATION that might not be fake … it might be real. Think uber / lyft … think data mining and modeling … complexity. As a military psyop it makes sense, but at a deeper level the reason might have been more than “how do we keep people busy”, it might also have been “how do we know what they will do” – and “they” in this context are the little people, us.
- “Be brave enough to be kind.” – Dr. Freckles
- Superman / Stalin / Man of Steel / “nice stalin” / learning / and the desire to be ruled. Super heroes are generally bad messages … childish notions
- My time travel ideas and a Hawking Sphere …
- Good day on Friday, got paid, not stressing about what’s coming … you shouldn’t either. It could be horrible, probably will be, and many of us are not going to make it … so what? “life is hard” has been the invisible tattoo on every living thing since the beginning …
IT MATTERS
MP3: https://planetarystatusreport.com/mp3/20230926_IT_MATTERS.mp3
Donate: https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/doctorfreckles
Notes: hey … no real notes.
CHOOSE TO BE RIGHTEOUS!
MP3: https://planetarystatusreport.com/mp3/20230925_CHOOSE_TO_BE_RIGHTEOUS.mp3
Donate: https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/doctorfreckles
Notes: it’s a rant, that does weave in Sasquatch …
A little slice …
So I’ve finished a couple days of work, haven’t really had to tutor much yet but I’m expecting my first victims to show up soon …
I’m tutoring and mentoring high school students, as prep for a career as a teacher.
Been thinking on the fictional writing project – “BIG FOOT WAR ONE” – and the first chapter that will likely be a back story, context, for all the grievances and issues, the moral justification for the war, and the initial plans. I can imagine the raccoon folk and crow/raven folk and the orca whales joining forces – the crow will be indifferent and cynical, as they enjoy the tossed out McDonald’s garbage that must invariably cease once the war begins.
My goal is to write one chapter a week – to attempt two “normal” sort of podcasts about “what’s up” and one podcast, or two, per week, on a chapter/serial basis. Sure, some might not get the idea of the Sasquatch, the forest people, the Yeti or Wookie, coming down from the slopes of the hills, filled with rage and glory, smelling of venison and pain … but some will get it, and if I can tell a good story, people will connect.
My boss and her husband have a property they manage for campers, “glampers”, and she offered to let my brother and I stay there – me in a camper, my brother in his truck but safer from boondocking and cheaper than the parks. It’s a real break from the running from one place to another, the frenzied search for SOMETHING LIKE what I left behind in Utah. But there is no replacing my friends Beth and Justin, there is no replacing their dogs, especially Boomer … I cry a little less now when I think about him, but I still cry.
So am I still circling about the drain? – sure.
Do I have some “solid plan”? – it would depend upon how you defined the word “solid”. I have a plan, I think I might want to teach. It would be great if I could make my podcast work, but maybe I suck, maybe I suck because I refuse to simply “entertain”. Maybe I’ll suck less if I tell mostly stories, because the reality of the situation is horrifying, best case, medium case, likely case. And, I know we’re being lied to on a historic scale, and the thing they are lying about is not good – that’s putting it in mild terms. But we keep going, we keep hoping, we keep dreaming, and we endure.
I could have avoided much of the “sturm und drang” of the last 6 weeks if I’d been able to simply pause, somewhere, for a few weeks … to take a sense of things. It’s a nice luxury for some that they can pause without falling off the social radar, without being cast, thrown, into the seemingly perpetual darkness that is STREET HOMELESSNESS … and the hatred directed at you because you simply made one too many mistakes … sucks to be you. If you HATE the homeless and you live in a city? – your rude awakening hasn’t arrived, but it’s coming. We could have made different choices, we could have CHOSEN NOT to treat housing or shelter like a financialized product – but our system tossed us a crooked bone, and so many, irrespective of political affiliation, picked up the bone. Should we be surprised that there is a boiling mass of human suffering below our feet? Rumbling, shifting, shaking the ground? – no, don’t be surprised when they show up at your door, and the cops show up to tag your bodies 5 hours later.
Yet – I have a camper, with a space heater …
I have the nature that surrounds me, and the bigfoot folk looking out for me or observing me … who knows what the forest people do.
I have food and water …
I have a radio and a Bible and Jesus looking out for me …
I have a lot to be grateful for, and I’m trying to remember that too.
I have a slice – not the whole pizza, a part of it, and for me it’s enough to keep going.
MIND JOURNEY: forgotten caverns of Nordstrom’s
- cleavage hustlers slink their way to the underwear department.
- bold pricks buy their briefs from Jerry.
- skleb-trolls wander the dusty way, talking up purses and handbags and wallets and departed friends lost at the Rack …
- Hoglon is leader of the retail death cult, he feeds on boob-cheese, he makes a bayonet wedding.
- Stugger-mugger jerk squirrel meat being sold near the coffee mugs, not far from the jabbering fools of fossil …
- PF CHANG’S is GONE …
- Mustard dog deacon’s are moving the juice for the crowded revelers, Orange Julius is being sued for ecoli
- Get your parrot suit on sale, and spy the next fall’s fashion – it’s grey and worn and red and deadly.
WOOKIE
MP3: https://planetarystatusreport.com/mp3/20230924_WOOKIE.mp3
Donate: https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/doctorfreckles
Topics:
- what’s going on with Dan?
- what’s in the news? – fuck if I care.
- “Shadow Over Innsmouth” – Big Foot Edition
- Big Foot War 1
- Angry people at walmart, angrier people at starbucks