Introduction:
Hello buddy …
I see you out there, sitting in your underwear, eating chili from a can.
It’s been a long time bro, and many of the gumpton-folk are asking me: “Dan, when the FUCK are you going to publish YOUR MANIFESTO?” Cuz everyone is doing it, it will be bigger than BLOGS by the time this wave hits. For each soul and self, from the mind of fecal swamp spirit healing and circling back to the END of bygone turnip warriors, we will LURCH. We will brag and hag. We will write up a SPEC and send our inner sect the project plan for SCRUM STYLE Rambo-teams. YOUR VOICE WILL BE HEARD, when the great WAVE of manifestos crests, and you lurch and lurch onward, toward the cave … with the light at the end, coming at us fast.
We won’t walk or talk or jog or run …
We’re not here to have fun hun. We’re here to bring the FORCE of ancient juices and other forms of oceanic protein to the kind and gentle folk of sectors 34 and 89.7 on the FM dial. We will lurch and perch, our cider tomboys will sell canister chowder to the customers at Denny’s. Our MEME MASTERS will fashion darker visions, dwelling in the folds of your fatty pilot, sitting in your dingy bone-cave, called YOUR head. Now go to bed, and rest on that.
How many chapters will my manifesto have? – AS MANY AS I FUCKING WANT.
How many followers will I have? – billions … 50 of which will be human.
How many more nights of waking up with chills and spills of near emptied vodka bottles breaking on the floor … my whore girlfriend Tessie, getting messy in the shower because she just got done watching LAW and ORDER?
We lurch because it is a known thing, we lurch and glare because our enemies are hidden from us until they see weakness and pain and the gentle falling of old spirit branches.
Our lurching annoys our masters, so this is a bonus too …
We will lurch to our seats on the BUS, downtown – catching one of the shitty cans to REDMOND to crank out AZURE SCRIPT and rip a bong gong song as the clarinet playing TEAM SCOUT has a bout of gout and spits out that “great idea” about using “Python instead of Power Shell” … and now your help is complete, and this is why you glare and lurch too.
GREAT TIDINGS BESPOKE THIS ERA!
It will signal the coming of a new arrival of beginnings …
Your guide master has been born.
Your willing noggle-mind is ungloved.
Your bile duct fantasies are UNSCREWED and TAPPED, making a way for those tired old grandpas living in Fresno.
WE ARE THE SCRUMBO! Living in economic limbo under the overpass near ROUTE 71. We muddle and fuddle and griddle our road apple breakfast and on BUNKTON DAY we celebrate the mite and barley worm stew.
UPON BUNKTON DAY, OUR DAY OF TOTALISTIC REVENGE AND LIBERATION, a day that hasn’t happened yet … but February is boring, so maybe it will happen in February? Listen up, on that special day we will WAKE to a BEAR MUFFIN scent, and greet each other with smiles and piles of empty whiskey bottles … and say these words to each other, that BUNKTON DAY morning: “Good morning, fuck you, I love you!”
These are the conceived of chapters as of this wake’y bake’y morning …
- What is BOBLIMPTOCK?
- WHITE TRASH and HYPER RACISM
- Transcend the SCRUMBO mentality
- The Battle of Bunkton Day
- Directing Mind Fire and other TOTALISTIC powers
- HOOKTOGGENFOOK: the new KUNG FU
- A pilgrimage to Grinken Town
- BUILDING your GLIDE PLANE
- Striking Spiritual Gold
- How to pickup girls at bars (MIND CONTROL)
- CANDLE BLASTERS and our CROOKED MASTERS
- GREYHOUND
- UNIFORMS: Robot Hugo Boss and our dilemma …
- Managing Lust
- Prolegomena to all future bullshit
And maybe we’ll have some other chapters and some other subjects, so don’t be too focused on this pedantic nonsense … or as my old pimp friend would say: don’t pole vault over gnat shit.
It’s gonna be between 15,000 and 25,000 words – all dependent upon how lazy or drunk or distracted I get. I could also get bored. I read Mein Kampf once … I read the Communist Manifesto … I read Kaczynski and so many others over the years … fucking Ayn Rand … fuck … and they are all boring. If I get boring or BORED or BOTH, I will abandon this manifesto and move on to my dream of becoming a geriatric porn star (it’s a growing concern). It must be in the spirit of Bukowski and Channon’s FIRST EARTH BATTALION MANUAL.
The SKY CHARMERS will fear us. They spread the rancid thought-wax of a waning empire. Their mind spiders connect to the ALL BOX and out of that box comes RANDY COCKS, British 70’s porn star. They will harass us, they will bite at our heels, but we will persevere. We are the GROUND CLIMBERS, our mountains are made of pain.
The health insurance companies will DREAD US, as our helpful hints about self-surgery and vodka and 5 pound test fishing line, modeling knives and super glue, mirrors and other devices for doing those necessary self-care chores that keep the body safely from the grave.
The POPE will send his armies, so will Oprah and various Asian gangs … but our movement will be unafraid before that hairy assemblage.
We know the “Southern Poverty Law Center” is ironically named, and this will lead to MORE ATTACKS and MORE ARTICLES published on Zero Hedge … because no one else will touch us, and Zero Hedge thrives on being number 2.
It is OUR JOB to clean up the cities. Don’t show no pity as you roll your HEEMEYER style command vehicle to the town square. YOU ARE THE MAYOR of your OWN JOURNEY SELF. You own the sky-pilot drooling and your cooling brain will gain the DAY, as you slay the various socialites living HIGH on the HOG at Borlaug’s chemical bakery and food fakery.
SO STAND IN THAT SANDBOX BATHROOM, BEFORE THE LOOKING GLASS …
SPEAK THESE WORDS WITH FIERY GLEE, and if you are drunk it might help …
Ahem …
“WE ARE THE LAST OF THE HUMANS, WE CARRY THE CANDLE OF FROLICKING FEAR. WE WILL GET OUR ASSES INTO GEAR TO STAND FAST AND LAST THE WAY OUR BUBBLY WOMAN LIKES. OUR HIKES WILL BE FURIOUSLY HARD AS WE SCALE THE SHIT MOUNTAINS OF FLORIDA. OUR BREATH WILL BE LIKE STALE BEER AND CIGARETTE ASHTRAYS, STARING OUT FROM THE ABYSS. NO ONE WILL STOP US, NO WAY. WE WILL BE THE VICTORY BRINGERS AND BUSTY AND SCANTILY CLAD WOMEN WILL BRING US FRUIT. ALL HAIL THE NEW HUMAN. GOOD MORNING. FUCK YOU. I LOVE YOU.”
So it begins …
