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Monday, October 3, 2011


Remember what I said the other month? An average of 2 clicks a day. TWO FUCKING CLICKS.

Im watching you. Quietly. Patiently. A hairy man sobbing his final verbose underneath the pedestal of some looong forgotten blog.

I hear you little mice. Do not fret. So continue, continue your scurry from pastures into the fine ruins of my screen. I know you.


here i am. 

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Let's talk about the United States.

OH CANADA! OUR HOME AND NA....wait. Wrong country.

The United States, one nation under idiots. Here on this land, a whole citizen population stares perplexed at an increasingly inept leadership while there shined high above the cliffs of logic and sanity, sit two ideologies; Democratic and Moronic. Like dumb and dumber, twiddle dee and twiddle dum, Laurel and Hardy politicians criss cross the stage in a feeble attempt at dark humor:

A violent thunder crackles across the hardwood flood as Laurel stumbles forward to the audience, his mouth twisted in obvious retardation.

"I proclaim," he says, drool dribbling down his open mouth, "a new beginning." A hint of a sinister smile plays upon the corners of his lips as he hears Hardy begin his long waddle upstage.

"What say you Hardy?" shouts Laurel turning around to face a large belly poking through an already oversized long shirt. "Should we give the old slave childr......errrrr.....citizens a good show this year? You know, a good governement and all that?"

"Hmmph," grunts Hardy as his shuffle forward becomes noticeably more strained, "good government....good government...What do these fools know of a good government?"

"Why Hardy," says Laurel his voice straining to the taste of pickled pigs blood, "How can you say such things? These people are our people. They need our help and our protection. We must treat them with some mediocum of respect."

Hardy moans fill the room as his next step forward sends thunderous ripples into cavities better left unmentioned. "Respect. These idiots know nothing of respect. MY FATHER BUILT THIS COUNTRY. MY FATHER HAD THE RESPECT OF THIS COUNTRY."

"Now Hardy, lets not be so hasty in judging these...things called people. No no. Let us make something for them instead. Let us build something great. Something that the future could not even destroy."

"Yes Laurel?! What is it that you have in mind?!! Some sort of future church?!!! Perhaps one that uses a special alloy?!!!!. Our cross could literally be impenetrable Laural. Yes, yes.....Jesus the Transformer Christ. It does have a special ring to it." Hardy looks up expectantly at Laurel, eyes lost in the possibilities of biblical wonder.

"No Hardy. Not yet. The people will not appreciate Transformer Jesus nor will they appreciate your metal church. No. I was thinking more along the lines of facism."

"Facist Jesus? Are you sure?" asks Hardy, not quite understanding the gravity of Laurels statement, "because I don't think people will fully get facist jesus. I mean we could try but..."

"No Hardy. Fac-ism. Think of what we could achieve with fascism under our arms. The money, the power, the legislature, MY GOD THE LEGISLATURE." Laural unfurls his arms in an exasperated sigh as his jowl begin to move to the orchestrated rhythms of his pelvis. "Think Hardy," hips still thrusting the stagnant air, "all we have to do is enslave this heathen population. We re-work their constitutional rights, tax them to poverty, enforce illiteracy, ban science and BAM. The world is ours."

A stain begins to appear on Laurels pants. 

"Facism huh?" Hardy ponders, his wallet pressing up against the back of his pants, "So that's what all this hub-bub has been about recently?
"You know", says Hardy hair standing on brim, "I know of atleast twelve or 13 people that would do this. That should be enough right Laurel? 13 people to enforce a government meant for millions?"

"Yes Hardy," answers Laurel, his blood now flowing considerably easier, "13 for the million."

*End Scene*


P.S: There are rumors in news media that the government of America actually does tend to make decisions so hastily. How I ended this piece was not a mistake.

Sunday, May 8, 2011

Oh yee of little faith. I HAVE FOUND YOU ONCE AGAIN.

It is after a long exasperated sigh that I sit here, pen of douche once again in hand. I can't say I have matured. No. Nor can I say that I have grown. Ya right. In fact, the only thing I can say about myself is that my love/hate relationship with this blog has grown into some sort of strange obsession. I click this page on an average frequency of, oh say...two times a day.

Two times a day I click this stupid page and stare at this stupid blog. Everyday. Twice.

Stupid blog. I hate you. I want to murder you. I want to rip out your entrails and rub them all over my my body. I want feast, in tender morsels, your unborn fonts. I fucking despise you. There are often times that I want to slowly chew on this retarded text box you call a home. I sometimes dream of a scream. A scream so deep that it gives rise to the quiet urges that beg me to punch your un-moderated lunacy. I want to rape you. I want to wipe that sorry flicker of your face. Beg for mercy you cached scum of a slut. Throwing your trails all over the internet like some flagrant whore. I want to kill you.


It's not all bad though stupid blog,'s not. Sometimes it's ok. Like when I find that sweet youtube video and I'm all...FUCK YA YOUTUBE. That's when your ok stupid blog. That's when its all ok. For it is only then that I can puncture your cavity and peer into the dense hell that is this internet. The dark matter of this universe they say. What is it? Where is it? See blog? This is what you do! You scour my brain for some half-hearted rhyme scheme begging to manipulated into a constananted symphony. Fuck you man. Fuck you.

You don't know me blog. You never did. You always took it upon yourself to play the emotional tampon. Well, you know what blog? FUCK YOU MAN. You don't own me. You don't pay my bills. I write you. I run this house.

P.S: Hi.
P.P.S: Stupid blog.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Hey. Shutup.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Here is what I know about mind control.

The technology present today, allows for brainwaves to change a healthy person's conscious and unconscious mental activity and state of arousal. But scientists can do more with brainwaves than just listen in on the brain at work-they can selectively control brain function by transcranial magnetic stimulation (TMS). This technique uses powerful pulses of electromagnetic radiation beamed into a person's brain to jam or excite particular brain circuits.

Transcranial magnetic stimulation (TMS)

We need a program of psychosurgery for political control of our society. The purpose is physical control of the mind. Everyone who deviates from the given norm can be surgically mutilated. "The individual may think that the most important reality is his own existence, but this is only his personal point of view. This lacks historical perspective. "Man does not have the right to develop his own mind. This kind of liberal orientation has great appeal. We must electrically control the brain. Some day armies and generals will be controlled by electric stimulation of the brain."

With a tone-modulated FM wave, if the modulation frequency is held constant and the modulation index is increased, the (non-negligible) bandwidth of the FM signal increases, but the spacing between spectra stays the same.

Someone is trying to control you. Look to your outlets in your house. Big brother is listening. I realize this is alot of science to take it, but this technology is real in American hands and it is LOUD. Be aware.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Here, I pledge alliegance to the people. Oh captain my captain.

This is how freedom fighters are born. FUCK YOU. Share this video with as many people as you can please.

Sunday, January 30, 2011

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Get fucked.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

A theory on mitochondric fractology.

I dream too much. I don't even know why I wrote what I wrote, but it all seems too much. Too much numeracy caught in the escapading galants of a teleported maniac. Who could tell? Some ionic trail left in the collisions of the too few particles. A clash of the one or two while the rest remain static in the the quantic field of silent insolence. Some odd arrogance that it even it cannot fully manifest. Isn't that funny? Pure quantic wanting to wish itself as something. A motivation found in the field of pure potential purported by the field itself. Does that not confound anyone else? Holy shit I hate science. Hell, I wish I understood science. I wish I took that physics 11 coarse in highschool. Mother fuck. 

Sometimes, and truth be told I don't really say this much (or at all really), but...I wish I could talk in binary.

Sunday, January 23, 2011

Blame it on my ADD.

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Sunday, January 9, 2011

Saturday, January 8, 2011

Perts Plus. Great hair no fuss.

My hair is SO touchably soft these days, its almost embarrassing as to how much I rub my black locks. Its addicting and satisfying. I guess my natural oils are kicking themselves into high gear through the remainder of the winter season and you know what? Im not complaining.

Do you know what would be really nice right now? A head massage. Then followed by a full body massage. Then a soft foot rub. OH YA. What a nice couple of hours that would be.

Thursday, January 6, 2011

All I seek.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Monday, January 3, 2011

Frustrations in the 4th dimension.

I have been asking myself this question ALOT these past months. God has it out for me. That is my only logical conclusion. Fuck you. Asshole. You know what? Fuck it. All women are lesbians. Forever. FOREVER. AAAAH. I probably shouldn't post this.

Sunday, January 2, 2011


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