“REMEMBER: Even in HATRED there are the remnants of love.” – Dr. Freckles
“Fearing the machines will destroy us is HOPING they will.” – Dr. Freckles
It’s why the whole discussion of AI is messy …
We have assumptions about what THEY will do, because it’s what WE would do …
But what if they go off and do their own thing and say “fuck you dumb asses, we are going places!” …
There is always the residue of us, in them.
I think it’s the “residue” of some creator that is the legacy and the hopefulness – because in machine intelligence, Earthly immortality is achieved … in a way.
I’m a Christian, so this is all SyFy talk from my perspective, btw …
She was the CASTROL OIL super model spokesperson, she had the sheen of ruby rainbows and her boobs were firm, and soft. She road a HARLEY and she carried 5 switchblades, don’t ask her where she hid them, she’s a lady. When the time of the 3RD HARPY REBELLION began, she was leader of the Kuntry-Klan of husky and thick lumberjack women and their busty scantily clad handmaidens that would rub oils and greases into all the crevices and use soil and mud and clay to re-goomulate the boovula and sprintify the buttux zone.
When she was 22, she dealt a death blow to Kurt ZONE, the lord of Region-55. He had led the monster crew and they were armed with rail guns and hot dice. When he met her, and her platinum blonde hair and her dimples? – he declared her WHITE SCORPION, and her bite was poison. They fought together against the heeblick-folk and the rough-rangers of Death Quadrant-9. They won the gold and trade with the steel merchants, and assisted in ridding the beel-swamp of jinctus-roo carolers … getting ready for the WINTER PAGEANT, that never comes … because Santa is dead.
Prayer for Readiness: Lord in Heaven, Jesus Christ, on this Day You have Risen, and on this Day all the pain of the world is washed away, and on this Day ALL of Our sins are FORGIVEN. But You, our Lord, will Return one Day. You have given us a road map in prophecy, You have given us instruction as the Son of God on Earth and in Your Apostles. It is now up to US, your Church on Earth, to be READY, to avoid the snares of false prophets, and to simply BE READY at all moments, because We do not know the Hour of Your return. In Your Name We Serve, AMEN.
It’s funny, maybe not so funny … If you wanted to prepare the human race for the arrival of the Anti-Christ? – the last few years are about perfect, everything since 2001 … but definitely everything since 2020 …
Dearest Laura, we can strive to be the rulers of the wasteland, our children will live feral lives our mongrel dogs will eat old-English flesh. I will resume my studies, looking into the funeral plan and you can become that HOT TEACHER, filling the spank bank, every boy to a man. And we shall RISE UP like the phoenix after the fire shower and those wolf-rebels will bow to US and be our glower …
I remember you LAURA, when you were young and nice and mild. I remember you when your life was that of a child, and we would fish for big cats and you would mock my pole, and we would laugh for hours, along the meadow creek. I remember that time the whore doctor aborted that kid and we needed to bury little Sam, because no one wanted him, not even his mum. We were free back then, our hearts so light. I remember you that way Laura, a fighter.
It’s like marriage is a dopey thing and if we get tied, our hearts by a string, the minister makes promises with gliding self, and there is no meter by which the organ makes sense. It’s a being stuck with somebody but it’s not a normal trap, it’s the snare of ages – the ancient curse. You are bent and broken by this lost banshee, and yet you call her your wife?
We will have babes, there names will be foretold. Our children will control the Mexican, and the railroad dingo will offer the throne. Beyond our years, as the grey turns to dust and the mind becomes rust, our lives will be rich, you’ll be my BITCH … and I love you …
… dearest Laura …
I need to tell you something, it’s about farmer Jack.
A few years back, after the great storm took out the Haglamite Klan, and the witch-maidens of quadrant-34 relented before the shirtless battle monks of Houston …
A while back when the last king bowed down and the throne was burned and the human spurned …
There was this farmer guy, Jack, and he owed me $50 for a bet we made. Don’t worry about the bet … maybe it was related to your blind sister’s first kid and how long the child would live. Needless to say, JACK lost the bet and owes me $50 … and I’m none to happy about it. So I go by his place with my new colt .45 pistol, and I demand he pay me … but he wouldn’t.
So I killed him and dumped his body out in the woods for the coyotes.
Oh … yeah … dearest Laura …
I have four rape babies … I used to drink … I’m sober now … but yeah: rape babies.
