Fornits
Treatment Abuse, Behavior Modification, Thought Reform => Elan School => Topic started by: Anonymous on November 22, 2004, 01:28:00 AM
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Hey everyone ! i'm a fucking loser ! i want to post my nonsense on line so you all can read ! i like beer ! i love the Bears ! i love the white sox ! i love the patriots ! i love my cock ! i love jeff, i love gary ! i mean i'm a fuckin genious !!!!!!!! just ask me !
Hey i love MISTER PINK ! i mean c'mon people ! he's soooooooooo smart ! he writes about his life !
how can you not read about his loser life. . . . .i mean you did just read all of this ! LOL . . . .
KEEP reading !
i'm going to shoot jeff in the head !
OH YEAH !!!!!!!! just shot him !
MAN ! i wish i could have used a bomb and been as smart as mister pink !
oh wait i already am ! Go big BLUE !
Suck an ass mister pink, no one cares about your B.S.
Everyone just read this !!!!!
GO JEFF !!!!!!!!!!!!! :skull:
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dude ! where u high when you wrote that ?
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No i'm not high ! i love nonsense ! i love people who write shit to get attention,
No WAIT ! i want to be a writer ! i want to be Stephen KING !
yeah that's it
KING !
I am the block king !
EAT MY ASS :smokin:
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FUCK me in my ass ! YEAH !!! more attention !
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I NEED MY TAMAR !!!!!!!!!!!!! her cunt smell grrrrreat !
:I can vouch !
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oh by the way. . . .i am the arch angel micheal !, i'm here to save the world ! follow me my star of david friends ! i am the new messiah !
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at least pinks rants are interesting in a twisted way,you are just a dummass.Why do you even care?Why don't you just shut the fuck up Jordan
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Oh yes i am a fucking dumb ass ! And jordan you are cool ! i did eat an ass. it happened one night while i was cooking a deer hoof. all i wanted was the ass, and i got it ! jeff came over and said ; DAMN that smells like ass ! i said hey, do you want to try it !? he said YEAH ! so i shot him in the shoulder. He laughed, then i stuck a tube of cookie dough in his ass. He said WHOOOO !!!
Jordan would you like to come over and cook deer hoofs with me ? :smokin:
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OH i had to come back to tell you what happened today. I was washing my feet and i fell down the stairs. i hit my head on the fire hydrant i have in the front room. i think i might have been knocked out for about 2 hours, when i woke up i had shit my pants ! Gary came over and woke me up. He said it smelled like ass in the house. so we boiled some eggs. Man that helped ! Gary kept asking about cookie dough ! so i knew he talked to jeff ! But the funny part was we forgot to take it out of jeffs ass !! LOL, can you belive that ?! Isn't that whacky ! the tube was still in JEFFS ASS !!! HA HA HA ! So anyway, doug walks in the house and says--gary we need to talk, did you boil eggs in this house ! Gary's like yes i'm sorry ! Doug starts to cry and says I thought you only did that with me ! Then he pulled his pants down,shit on his hand, and, threw it all over the wall. shit i have to go Caboo is here ! i'll tell you all the rest later !
Jordan, i'll call you later ! we need to talk. I'm sorry about the cucumber ! kisses ! :em:
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dear god, the animals have taken to the streets and began to multiply. I come back to headquarters and find the whole godamned place has turned into a circus. "such hideous violence" I thought to myself. auras, paranoia, surround the whole of my head and I recall sensing it was the time for action. It was sometime after midnight on november the fifteenth, and we went out to work on a massive fireworks display that we were planning to explode in the morning to scare the snot out of the neighbors. They know me as a gentle, fun-loving boy with a goofy sense of timing, but they would never in their darkest dreams expect to be blasted out of bed before sunrise for no good reason at all. Only a vicious imbecile would do a thing like that, and they knew I was not an imbecile.
It was the late janitor, who turned me into a bomb junkie, and I have never forgiven him for it. He was a genuine swine whenever explosions were mentioned. he never saw a fuse that he didn't want to set on fire, regardless of where he was in the world or who might be standing nearby. He lovedexplosions and he didn't mind admitting it. On the other hand, that went out with those creepy bamboo cages they used to have in Calcutta, where blonde slave-girls were auctioned off to savage Asian bandits, and never seen again.
Ah, but we stray into Racism, eh? But not really. No. It is just another way of wondering out loud how I came to be at the same school as some of these rat fucks. Ah, we should be ashamed of ourselves. And I am. Sorry, we got stupid for a minute. It won't happen again.
What I'm really thankful for is complete and utter the failure of John Kerry's bid for the presidency. that and those microwaveable burritos, but that will come in time. It happened a second time, for this I am sorry.
Jesus babbling Christ!
thats where we were, it was the worst single event in the history of the state of maine, including Pearl Harbor, the San Francisco earthquake and probably the Battle of Antietam in 1862, when 23,000 were slaughtered in one day.
Many things have happened since last week -- many weird things, radical things, savage 180-degree swings between totally opposite poles like Joy and fear, wild passions and violent rages, sudden love and sudden hate. ... I have known them all, and I fear I have come to like them too much. I am an Addictive Personality, they say, a natural slave to passion -- and many Doctors have warned me against it. I am a High-risk Patient. But not all of those doctors are still alive today. Two committed suicide, and two others had their Medical licenses lifted for abusing Hospital drugs. Another misdiagnosed his own wife's Cancer case and was forced to retire from Medicine. After that, he went into the psychiatric business and destroyed the mental health of a whole family by convincing all of them, one at a time, that they were fatally Dysfunctional and probably Insane. Their only hope, he said, was to have each other committed to long-term, fearfully Harsh and impossibly Expensive private Insane Asylums. ... The children got the most painful sentences. One spent two years in the lockdown ward of the Menninger Clinic in Kansas; another was put in a straitjacket and turned over to the notoriously cruel Cocaine Addict Wing at Jackson Memorial Hospital in Kansas city, which is not in Kansas proper, where "Isolation Therapy" is mandatory for the first nine months. Justice is expensive in America. There are no Free Passes. ... You might want to remember this, the next time you get careless and blow off a few Parking Tickets. They will come back to haunt you the next time you see a Cop car in your rear-view mirror. Or if you notice your teenage daughter hanging out with a rotten-looking Skinhead. ... There is no such thing as Paranoia. Your worst fears can come true at any moment. ... What happened to Lisl Auman can happen to Anybody in America, and when it does, you will sure as hell need Friends. ... Take my word for it, folks. I have Been There, and it ain't Fun.
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What? Meet me? At the Illinois State Prison? Am I having an acid flashback? Who is this woman? Is my phone cutting out again? Who else is on my line that I don't know about? The police? John Ashcroft? Kobe Bryant? J. Edgar Hoover? Is this really the end? Where is Bob Dylan when I need him tonight?
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Must've been an illiterate contestant from a game show. I have been assured by several friends that there is no need for concern, and the ranting will be over any second. The whole affair quickly degraded into a shouting match after the bomb in the mailbox failed to detonate because of poorly manufactured fuses. I was forced to wait several minutes and then take charge of the situation myself. Common sense would have advised against using firearms to ignite the gunpowder, but I am a man of uncommon ideas. My life partner, god bless her soul, arrived on the scene at just the right moment. taking aim, she leveled the shotgun towards their garbage can and took several wild shots. Of course, my neighbor, and unruly gentleman of corresponding temperment was woken by these goings on and came in my direction. The situation was a bad one, the time had obviosuly come to be gone, along with his garbage can, the contents of which included nothing except fifty pounds of seeds and stems and a broken bong. My neighbor had smashed the bong and then backed over it with his pickup truck after he found his wife sleeping with the janitor. This simple confrontation speaks next to nothing about the real nature of his unruliness, to be honest, I had half expected to find the janitor's severed head beneath these piles of marijuana rinds and bong glass. Lucky for everyone involved, this was not the case, blood soaked paraphenilia are useless for making the kind of hashish that only high schoolers will buy. i could've gone anywhere in the world right now, the federal zoo included, but had to decline because of their recent installment of FACIAL RECOGNITION SOFTWARE. scary idea when you sit and think about it, and i couldn't risk another encounter with nazi military authority, at least not on this morning. Right, and let's take a break from this grim business for a moment. It is driving me to drink.
After a three hour debacle the pope unwittingly declared a continuation of the ninth crusade. Whoops again! Hold the presses; things have changed. bizzaire gibberish and reports of mass panic that is too hot for television, I've been told. And so much for that, eh? Who needs public lewdness in a time of fear and depression like this? Not me, bubba. I'll stick to the great all-American pastimes of bombs and baseball. but going into these winter months will be hard indeed. you see, baseballs freeze up in the winter, so they can't bounce normally. ... I know this from horrible experience: I once walked 22 consecutive batters on a chilly night in Taylorsville, Ky.
But that is another story, and we will save it for later -- maybe for some warm summer night when bands are playing, and children shout, and perverts work the bathrooms under the bleachers. You bet.
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We knew him as "Mister White" in those days, and we knew that he did some kind of extremely important work that may or may not have had something to do with traveling to kentucky. But we never quite knew what it was -- and because of that, we were vaguely afraid of him. Today his poor ass is sitting in Fort Leavenworth for a several turns of this planet around the glowing disc known as the sun, something having to do with a moslem and a device known as a 'LAW'. All I know is i'm not flying for a while yet, not after they got rid of peanuts... and Pan-Am for that matter.
I was brooding on this last night, when the phone rang and jerked me back to reality. It was Sarah, calling with a frog in her throat. I could barely hear her voice.
"Speak up!" I said sharply. "I thought I told you never to call me on a cell phone. You sound like some kind of Eskimo whore"
"Sorry," she whispered. "I'll call you back on a land line." Then I thought I heard her laugh, just before the phone went dead again.
"Are you drunk?" I asked when she called back.
"No," she replied. "I am high on life."
I hung up the phone and walked outside. I was in no mood for this tonight. I needed to clear my head, go watch Al Jazeera or something. The pictures on the television looked like a Hells Angels riot at the infamous Altamont rock festival. the first wild days of our latest battle against Moslems in Iraq, where our finely-trained U.S. combat troops are filling the streets of Fallujah with the infidels blood and America won't even show it to us. Whatever happened to newsreels god damn it? so what? Violence and brutality are no strangers here. We have known both for many years; and on some days, I almost enjoy them -- if only because I am a fourth-generation American, and that is the way I was raised. I own property and I frequently shoot sporting guns, just for the practice... Right. And never forget that, bubba, etc. etc. That is the kind of macho gunslinger talk that you hear in any sporting room where hard-bitten gamblers habitually gather to watch major sporting events.
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Ah, yes, but all of this has little to do with the realities at hand, despite the best-laid plans of Mister White, the cold war did not continues into the year of our lord, 2002. Nor did it end in the nuclear holocaust he had envisioned. Not unlike the Book of Revelation, now that you mention it. When Hell erupts out of the earth and the four Horsemen of the Apocalypse ride everywhere, everywhere, with permanent flood-tides of blood and filth and murder that will destroy our lives forever-- Right, and so much for that, eh? You bet, so i'll lighten up with the preaching and at least try get to the heart of the matter. all great things happen during the nighttime -unless you behave like a fool and choose to sleep through it. trust me,
nobody hates sleep-deprivation worse than I do, but on some days, I am forced to tolerate it, for reasons that come with the territory. We are, after all, professionals. It is better to win than to lose. That is the law of nature. It was on such a night my life partner and I paid a visit to my neighbor. We found it not an easy task; a neo-industrial compound several miles in length and width technically seperated our properties, which in addition to non-filing explains my incredibly low tax rate. Onward we pressed. The very foolish janitor once told me the straightest path between two points is a straight line. The bastard never climbed a barbed wire fence or inhaled fumes that turned your vision from simple dilation into a kaleidiscope of shattered glass. No sir, these were not simple boiler room fumes, "Something utterly evil" I remember thinking before my thoughts spiraled into madness. Neither of us remembered how long we were in that state, we just didn't seem to care, really. The point is I still possesed the dexterity to send up my own homemade fireworks over my neighbors house, showering the top with sparks and wonderful explosions of color. No harm done, I can assure you, and friends have assured me that this is not a crime unless he has bought the airspace above the home. but that likely belongs to the industrialists nextdoor just in case we decide to get sassy and fire up a lawsuit about dangerous fumes in the air and drinking water.
Among the many strange movies in the White House top-secret film library is a genuinely-wretched Hollywood classic titled "Squaw Man," which I happened to be watching last night when a wild-eyed gentleman burst into the house and screamed, "How do you like me now? You honky pimp!
It was our old neighbor Omar, who still owes me $90,000 from a previous gambling disaster, which ended tragically in a long-ago bet involving his little sister and the New York Yankees and a rash of White Slavery accusations against me and my life partner and everything we stand for. So the sudden appearance of Omar after all this time was not an entirely comfortable thing to see.
my partner seemed to feel the same way, saying nothing as she hurried out of the room and left me alone with the brute.
He wasted no time in small talk.
"Where is the Princess?" he whispered harshly. "I have the money now, and I have come to get my sister. Where is she? I want her now."
His words were fuzzy and slurred. I could see that he was about to lose consciousness, so I smiled calmly and offered him a pack of whiskey-soaked Camel cigarettes.
"What's your hurry?" I said. "We have all the time in the world, don't we? How about a snort of Absinthe. I have some wonderful stuff that Col. Mirab just brought back from Turkey."
I reached for the bar near the fire and abruptly started laughing at him.
"The bitch is gone," I said. "She is gone where you will never find her."
Then his voice trailed off in a cackling noise that I remember so clearly from my days as a youth, when we first watched Old Will from up the street beginning to tear the head off a live squawking chicken as he slid to his knees and passed out...
Of course. Why not? It happens all the time.
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And so on and so forth. My plans for a relaxing evening were again betrayed. You see, I was delayed on route when a mustang cobra in front of me struck and killed a pedestrian. The military had just finished mopping the blood off of the road when I arrived on scene, but the body was still splayed in the middle of the intersection. I slipped the lieutenant a twenty dollar bill and he eyed me with guarded suspicion. "No civilians allowed" he said and clicked the safety off of his AK. this was not a time for another confrontation, so I did the only thing a man in my situation can do, I ran to the nearest payphone and called in the heavy artillerey. I would stay longer, but the stench of the napalm is overbearing. until then my friends and swine.
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Those of us who had been up all night had no need for medication. No, what we needed was strong drink. Lucky for us all, I knew just the place. However, when we arrived on scene, the doors were closed. "Damn it to hell" I thought
"where am I going to find absinthe now?" True, there was an ounce or two in the bottom of the flask, but a yellow mold had also attached itself to my liquor, and I had no wish to repeat the events of last august, where I vomited for one whole hour on the floor of the auditorium during a Bob Dylan concert. Who can really be sure though, Dylan is getting old, and to be honest, it could have been anyone. I was so swollen with shame and puke that I felt like a Japanese Fugue fish in heat -- and that was when I thought about Seppuku. It was the only honorable way out, so I reached for my gold-handled Samurai sword.
Just then, the telephone rang and I heard the angry voice of my friend Curtis. A chill went through me. He was moaning and jabbering hysterically about his aged mother shooting herself with the heirloom family shotgun.
"She'll be better off dead, anyway," he moaned, "and so will I."
I said nothing about what I was about to do when he called. It seemed like the wrong thing to say at the time, and I didn't want to be blamed for his death.
So I hung up on him and cried for a long time. Then I decided to dress up in a proper costume for the trip ahead while I listened, dreamfully, to Dean Martin croon a teenage love song with the lyrics, "He's got you ... I've got your picture, he's got you."
That is a morbid observation, at best, and we are all stuck with it. Curtis was the owner of a green 1977 Ford Thunderbird from a police auction, the kind with the white leather top and all the buttons and dials associated with any car that comes from the factory without seatbelts. Like riding inside of a giant watermelon with glass windows, that is the heart of my story and
JESUS RAMBLING CHRIST!!
Who knows why I suddenly changed my mind? Many people will call me a whore and a fool and a traitor for saying these things in public and betraying my own people at a critical time like this -- and they all may be right, but so what?
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It is 3:16 in the morning now, and my plane for departs at 8:45 a.m. Or at least that is what my virtual ticket tells me: Come Fly With Us?
Flying to the anywhere has always been a vaguely morbid experience, even for professionals like myself. The trip itself is usually several hours across open water, in a cramped tin airplane with 300 frightened strangers who stare down helplessly at the white-caps of the endless deep-blue ocean. December is an ugly month for getting involved in public travel. It is a desperate season for most people, but not for me this year, because I am turning into a Body Nazi, and I feel pretty good about it. Ho ho ho. Yes sir. Nothing can hurt me for at least 30 days, and by then I will be twice as strong and crazy as I am now.
It happens every year, one way or another, and every year it gets weirder. And wilder and darker and more intense.
Which is pretty damn crazy, on some days, but that is only gossip. "Crazy" is a term of art: "Insane" is a term of Law. Remember that, and you will save yourself a lot of trouble.
The Marquis De Sade was born crazy and he did monumentally crazy things every day of his utterly degenerate life? But he was only insane when he got locked up in jail.
I almost never killed people who crossed me when I was drunk.... That will make for interesting conversations in a courtroom. It is the difference between Guilty and Innocent. Ah, but why are we wandering off into some queasy world of mystery and speculation? Is it Necessary? I mean, Hitler was a monster, a murderous speed freak who wanted to rule the world. He was hated and feared by his own Generals. Everybody hated Hitler. He was too crazy to live -- yet he did rule the world for 12 years and four months, and he got away with it. "Exactly", as Omar would say.
Right. No more of those warm summer days in the centerfield bleachers with no shirt and cold beer and Dolly Parton on the radio. No sir. That was yesterday. Today is a whole different story. Welcome to Generation Z. The fat is in the fire.
I shudder when I think that my grandmother, the beautiful Lucille Lady Ray, grew up in a time before automobiles or radios or even electric light bulbs existed.
That poor woman saw too much, I think -- but that is way beyond what we are talking about. It is sort of like bringing the String Theory of quantum Mechanics into a football conversation.
Forget it.
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Just then I heard the lock on my gas tank rattling, so I rushed outside with a shotgun and fired both barrels into the darkness. Poachers! I thought. Blow their heads off! This is War! So I fired another blast in the general direction of the gas pump, then I went inside to reload.
"Why are you shooting?" my life partner screamed at me. "What are you shooting at?"
"The enemy," I said gruffly. "He is down there stealing our gasoline."
"Nonsense," she said. "That tank has been empty since June. You probably killed a peacock."
At dawn I went down to the tank and found the gas hose shredded by birdshot and two peacocks dead.
So what? I thought. What is more important right now -- my precious gasoline or the lives of some silly birds?
Indeed, but the green Thundrebird broke down yesterday, so I have to get a grip on something solid. The Other Shoe is about to drop, and it might be extremely heavy. The time has come to be strong. The fat is in the fire. Who knows what will happen now?
Not me, buster. That's why I live out here in the mountains with a flag on my porch and loud Wagner music blaring out of my speakers. I feel lucky, and I have plenty of ammunition. That is God's will, they say, and that is also why I shoot into the darkness at anything that moves. Sooner or later, I will hit something Evil, and feel no Guilt. It might be Osama Bin Laden. Who knows? And where is Adolf Hitler, now that we finally need him? It is bad business to go into War without a target.
Generals and military scholars will tell you that eight or 10 years is actually not such a long time in the span of human history -- which is no doubt true -- but history also tells us that 10 years of martial law and a war-time economy are going to feel like a Lifetime to people who are in their twenties today. The poor bastards of what will forever be known as Generation Z are doomed to be the first generation of Americans who will grow up with a lower standard of living than their parents enjoyed.
That is extremely heavy news, and it will take a while for it to sink in. The 22 babies born in New York City while the World Trade Center burned will never know what they missed. The last half of the 20th century will seem like a wild party for rich kids, compared to what's coming now. The party's over, folks. The time has come for loyal Americans to Sacrifice. ... Sacrifice. ... Sacrifice. That is the new buzz-word in Washington. But what it means is not entirely clear...
But I wander off into topics that don't concern us here today.
Counting on others to do anything right is like throwing your money to the winds of fickle chance, something only a common junkie would do -- but there were many junkies, and not all were "common," by any standard. They were big-time people -- U.S. Senators, Presidents, evil pimps and gold-plated whores from mysterious harems in Hong Kong, Turkey and Liechtenstein. The power they wielded in the years after World War II was enormous. They traded in diamonds and rubies and atom bombs. They rarely slept, and their blood was always boiling. Those were wild and lawless years in the Capital District.
Are you as stupid as a chicken on a freeway? Are you a natural fool? Good, I didn't think so, because if you were, I wouldn't hesitate to have you flayed and turned into germ-free hamburgers, with just enough purified animal fat to make you sizzle...
Don't take any guff from these swine...
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What the hell? There is far too much ignorant squawking these days; just remember that
someday soon, I will walk on a road made of your bones. The time is coming, the fat is in the fire. There is a famous "Three Stooges" film clip that says all we need to know about the you. Here is how I remember it:
On a warm afternoon in the summer, the Three Stooges decided to cool off by going out on a nearby Lake in a small rented row-boat and feeling the breeze in their hair. Why not? they thought. Floating around in the middle of a nice cool Lake was the smartest thing they could do on a sizzling summer day.
So they dressed up in their normal black business suits and set off across town to the Lake -- where, after long haggling about money with the boat-rental man, they took possession of a 6-foot dingy with two oars and a small tin bucket for bailing out the odd leak or two of stray lake water. ... There were other boats on the Lake, and young couples were drifting around happily in the shade of wide sun umbrellas. It was just another idyllic day in the American Century.
The trouble started when the boat sprung a leak, as rented rowboats will, and one of the Stooges noticed that water was rising around his ankles. He pointed this out to his companions and they began bailing water out of the boat with their handy tin bucket. ... But they couldn't stay ahead of it, even by using their black howler hats as bailing buckets. The leak was worse than they'd thought. The boat was filling up.
It was then that they put their heads together and came up with a brilliant solution -- They would use the oars to punch a hole in the bottom of the rowboat, so the water could more easily flow out. ... And when that didn't work, they punched another hole in the bottom of the boat. And then another. They were getting desperate, and the boat was in danger of sinking.
Still they bailed crazily with the bucket and three hats. They were far out in the middle of the Lake and none of them knew how to swim. Other boaters ignored them, or laughed when they screamed for help. ... What a fine Hoot it was to see these three stupid, fat men flapping around like wild rats in the middle of a calm little lake. ... Yes sir, that was the Three Stooges for you, Real Jokers.
The moral of this story is clear as a new pane of glass to everyone in the world; you are a babbling jackass.
But don't worry. Quick exit, Soon come. And it won't even be noticed..
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It was then that I thought; comments like that are a sign of small and insignifigant genitilia. but I didn't say it out loud, fearing it would be taken the wrong way... anyway, that is neither here or there really, and has nothing to do with the business at hand.
It was midnight on Sunday when my telephone rang. My nerves were raw, and my eyes were swollen from an overdose of pure Ozone, which had blinded me many hours earlier when I tampered with input-jets at the swimming pool.
But the phone kept ringing, and I recognized the singular voice of my friend Curtis, he was calling to tell me it was copacetic that I wrecked the Emerald Green Thunderbird for the insurance money, which by the way, turned out to be substantially less than I had expected...
"It's nothing to worry about" Curtiss told me,
but too late, the rumors had troubled me.
But he was in a cheerful mood,
He chuckled, then inquired about the health of Anita, my life partner, who also swims with me. "Is she the one you put some Buckshot into last summer?" he asked, "When you were shooting at bears?"
"No," I replied. "That was Deborah, my Personal Secretary for 20 years -- she stepped into the line of fire."
He paused for a moment before answering: "Well, ... I've always been confident that you know what you're doing out there -- But it sounds like a dangerous operation."
"It is," I said, "but we like it. We fear nothing."
"Sure," he said. "That's what Charles Manson thought -- and look what happened to him."
I jerked him up short. "You should be more Careful with your jokes, James. What if I told you I know exactly where Edgerrin James is tonight?"
"That's impossible," he said quickly. "Nobody knows where he is. He has dropped out of sight. I called the Police in Miami -- they didn't have a clue."
I laughed. "Don't talk like a fool, Curtis. The Police couldn't find a Whale on Miami Beach at high noon -- much less at three o'clock in the morning. And they're afraid to even drive through Edgerrin James' neighborhood. It's off Limits to cops."
There was no reply for a few seconds. Then I heard him Moan softly. "Please," he whispered. "Don't tell me these things. I have to fly to Alaska tomorrow, and I can't tolerate Fear while I'm on my vacation."
"Yeah," I said. "I know what you mean. Grizzly bears can smell Fear from two miles away. They will hunt you down and eat you like cheap meat."
"O God," he muttered. "That's exactly why I'm going to Alaska -- I've always yearned to see Grizzlies in the wild."
"Hell," I replied. "Grizzlies are nothing, compared to what you'll find in Edgerrin's neighborhood. A Grizzly Bear wouldn't last 10 minutes down there. It's like the Heart of Darkness."
He moaned again, then changed the subject.
"How's John?"
"He's in excellent shape." I replied
"I'm working on a song with him now. It's about Fear."
"What?" he said. "I didn't know you wrote Songs."
"Hell yes," I replied. "I'm a Writer. I know not fear. I can write Anything: Songs, books, Love stories, strange and savage Poems about prostitution in China, wild beasts in Utah ..."
"No!" he said sharply. "Not in Utah! There's nothing Wild in Utah. That's where I'm going for next year."
"Well," I said grimly, "I'm afraid you're in for a shock, Curtis. Things have changed in Utah. The State Police are trying to round up the Bigamists, but the Bigamists are fighting back -- with bombs and heavy machine-guns. It's a Civil war over there. They've gone Crazy! The Bigamists are Violent, and they refuse to be rounded up. They're fighting like wolves."
"God almighty!" he groaned. "That's the worst news I've ever heard in my Life. I hate Bigamists! They are crazy and cruel."
"Not really," I told him, trying to ease his mind. "They won't harm you, unless you provoke them. They are peaceful people -- but they're more dangerous than hungry Hyenas when they get attacked."
There was a muttering noise on the other end, but he said nothing. I thought I could hear him breathing, but finally there was a clicking noise, so I hung up and went back to work. "Maybe he fell asleep," I said to Anita. "These people like to go to bed early."
She nodded. "I know," she replied gently. "They are not like us. We come alive at night, like lizards in the dark. Let's listen to some Bob Dylan and get busy."
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Some things never change, eh?
But time flies, and I am going blind again, from that evil Ozone water -- or maybe it's just the daylight. ... Of course! All Vampires go blind when the sun comes up.
So why worry? Everybody needs a few hours of good sleep now and then. And tonight I will be able to see everything that moves, from here to as far as the Crow flies. Ho ho.
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Anyone listening to this fellow? A few geeks will, of course. A few swine always do. No place is utterly clean. That would be atmospherically impossible, eh? And rest assured that nothing on this Earth is 100 percent clean. Nothing?. Are you one of these people who honestly believes that Cats are clean? I hope not, because you are riding for a serious fall. Cats are filthy, and they don't mind passing it around. The smell of a large cat (as in Lion or Tiger) at room temperature in a sea-level house is so powerful and so disorienting as to derail the human brain. The odor of a mountain lion in the wild is far more terrifying than the sight of the beast, even on a frozen night in the snow. It will literally "take your breath away" at 10 or even 20 yards. Your whole nervous system will seize up and be paralyzed, even your lungs. So stay away from all animals that are bigger than you are, especially at night when they are nervous. A brown bear will eat your whole body in 24 hours. Beware.
What? Why are we worrying about Bears at this time of year, in the middle of November?
I'll tell you why; Because it goes without saying, of course, that extreme behavior in is not recommended. Heavy drinking and berserk gambling among strangers will usually lead to trouble on the road, and you want to keep in mind that airport bars are no longer as tolerant as they used to be. Last year's fun is today's crime. Even tying your shoes in an airport can get you locked up.
It will not be long before all major airlines will require all passengers to disrobe and change into standard Hospital gowns before they board a plane. This is already in the planning stage, according to a lawyer from Miami who also assures me that sleeping gas will be introduced later this year on flights of 40 minutes or longer. "The gas has already been market tested," he said. "Passengers are heavily in favor of it."
"What passengers?" I asked him.
"Sure as hell not me"
"There will be no exceptions," he assured me. "Only uniformed soldiers and police officials licensed to carry concealed weapons."
"That's good," I said. "I have a machine gun license."
"Very funny," he said. "Don't push your luck these days. That's why we have these new secret prisons."
I hung up and crossed his name off my guest list for the tomorrow nights festivities. Nazis are not welcome in this house. They can't be trusted.
Animals! Animals! I have always hated Animals, especially at this time of year. They wander in and out of the house, babbling and drooling on each other, and the snow keeps piling up, up, up, then flooding with filth when it melts. ... Yes sir, haven't I been telling you all along that November is a horrible month? It sucks in nine-thousand ways. Hot damn! I could go on and on about this, but that would drive us all mad.
Right, and that's about it for now. I hear the gong, and I must have whiskey.
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Ho ho. Don't try that one at home, folks -- at least not until you have checked your visions against the record for at least 22 years, like I have. The downside in this kind of thing is that it can be Grief, humiliation and, in some cases, an agonizing reappraisal of your whole life.
So why am I saying these things? You might ask. If it has made me so wise, why am I trying to hurt myself again by betting on long shots? Am I a fool? No, I am a proffesional. yesiree, buy the ticket, take the ride. Here is my story.
I was sitting alone in my kitchen Monday night when a swarthy little man appeared suddenly right behind me and blew a cloud of white cigar smoke around my head. "Gotcha!" he barked as I reeled off my stool and grabbed for a nearby screwdriver, but I was demoralized from the shock of being taken from behind by a stranger in my own kitchen.
When he laughed at me, I recognized him as Omar, my new neighbor from up the road. He had been missing for most of the summer -- which was fine for most of the neighbors because they feared him and believed strongly that he should be locked up. And now he was back.
"Greetings, Omar," I said. "You're just in time for 'Monday Night Football.' Do you have any fine hashish?"
He stared at me for a moment, saying nothing. Then he smiled darkly. "Why do you ask?" he said with a grin. "Are you having trouble with the neighbors?"
Just then the Sheriff walked in, clapping his hands and yelling, "Are you Ready? What's going on here? Where's the football? Why the f--- are we watching gymnastics on TV?" He surveyed the room expertly, then his gaze fixed on Omar. "Who's this?" he asked me, still staring at Omar, who was rigid with fright. He had never met the Sheriff -- or any cop, for all I knew, and I could see that he was momentarily un-hinged.
"Don't worry," I said, putting my hand on his shoulder. "You're safe here, Omar -- as long as you don't act rude."
The Sheriff, a huge man with a morbid sense of humor, reached out for Omar and pulled him close. "Are you ready to gamble?" He whispered. "Do you have any money?"
I left the room to relax, then I slipped into my costume and went back to the kitchen, where an elegant crowd had gathered for the game.
The Sheriff and Omar had been joined by a Buddhist called Ed, two criminal lawyers from Texas and a cluster of beautiful girls who lived in the neighborhood. Nobody spoke as I wandered in and glanced at the TV screen ... What?
Why had they refused to let me tell my story about Princess Omin and my accidental dose of second-hand hashish smoke? And why I lost all my bets? What was wrong with this place? Nobody wanted to hear it. All they wanted to do was laugh at me. Hell, I never dated Donny Rumsfeld's daughter. All I did was follow those tire tracks in the snow until they went straight off the cliff -- so I stopped my Jeep to investigate.... Ah, but that is another story and we don't have time for it now.
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Whoops! Dawn is up in the Rockies, and I am late again for my deadline. The bell is ringing, and I must end this thing at once. My beautiful fiancè is wandering around in a champagne hangover, and I have to put her to bed. I am still hypnotized by the flash and glow of her elegant diamond ring. I have never paid much attention to diamonds, until now, but this one is very different. I am utterly fascinated by it.
Right. I am wildly high on everything I see or touch. We laugh a lot, and we fondle each other constantly, even in front of the Sheriff, who recently got married himself, so he should be familiar with this kind of madness. True Romance is always exhilarating for us addicts, and I like it.
Bang! And that's it, for now. There is no more. Aloha.
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Despite the hardship of posting the same exact ting in two separate forums, I will do my best. mahalo, we will walk a trail of bones
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So there's jeff and gary playing dungeons and dragons naked sitting on a twister board. I go up to them and say . Guys ! we need tuna ! they were in awe that i remembered how much they each like tuna ! Gary was so excited he squirted out a little piss and hit jeff in the left eye. I don't have to tell you how mad he was ! he picked up his cards and his v8 juice and stormed out to his car. But he forgot his clothes !!! HA HA HA. He was so mad that we were laughing at him that he pissed on gary's collection of male wigs that he had stored in his garage ! anyway i laughed so hard i shit myself ! bad thing though. i had explosive diarehia ! I knew i shoudln't of eaten those grapes with miracle whip ! but who knew it would make me poo ! I'll let you know the rest later ! . Hey mister ! this is my rant ! you got to your own board before i call your mother !
You piss ant fucker ! :smokin:
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Michael Lewandowski "SYN" ..... His real job is he is a floating janitor for liqour and wine stores. Syn has a professional degree in cleaning toilets.
Looks like Elan did teach you something boy.
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Hi, folks, my name is still Thompson, and I still drink gin with ER Nurses at night -- but in one particular way, I am a New Man, a different man, a more dangerous man than I was the last time we talked. And that was a few weeks ago, eh?
Indeed, I can walk again, and I like it, because last month I felt an acute spasmodic pain in my spine when I walked. There was nothing cute about it, no socially redeeming factor. It just plain sucked.
But I have just returned from an extremely intense few weeks at the world-renowned Steadman Hawkins Clinic in Vail, Colo. (yes, the same city where Kobe Bryant ...), where I had radical surgery to repair what was beginning to give me some pain. Great pain on some days, and I finally decided to get rid of it.
I am no stranger to organ replacement, and I always find it refreshing, always a happy improvement over Pain.
I hate pain, despite my ability to tolerate it beyond all known parameters, which is not necessarily a good thing. I once gouged about two-thirds of my hip socket into mush for five consecutive years, until I finally felt enough pain to have the bastard replaced.
And Titanium turned out to be far more comfortable and flexible than the human spine anyway, especially mine. It is lighter, stronger and far more adaptable, in every way, than bone or steel or anything else in the human body -- and I am installing it in my own body as rapidly as possible without doing anything stupid.
My alloy spine replacement is about 70 percent finished, and after it's completed, I will take a break. And maybe have a look at this weird and degrading Kobe Bryant story, which interests me. The more I learn about this case, the more I understand that this is not about Rape at all. It is about money, pure money and nothing else. Nobody is going to jail in this case, but some people are going to Pay.
The downward spiral of Dumbness in America is about to hit a new low. You thought O.J. was bad? Wait until we get a taste of the K.B. scandal. It will be like a feeding frenzy and a long parade of cannibals.
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I had a truly horrible dream last night about how I blundered into a fight between Mike Tyson and Arnold Schwarzenegger on Sunset Boulevard in Los Angeles. I was sitting next to Arnold in the back seat of a black stretch-limozine. We were on our way to a TV studio for a debate about his long-time working friendship with the powerful Bush family from Texas. It was a solemn subject and I didn't quite understand why Schwarzenegger had agreed to debate it in public, with me or anyone else except maybe Karl Rove. He was raving and snarling into his cell-phone about something that had to do with Arriana Huffington, so we tried to ignore him as the limo crept along in a grid-lock traffic jam. Tempers were rising and there were no ice cubes and we were sure to be late for the TV debate. I was ready to jump out of the car at the next stoplight and hide out at the Polo Lounge.
Suddenly I felt the car stop. The brakes screeched as the limo rear-ended a big SUV right in front of us. BANG. It was not much, more like a nudge than a crash, not even a small fender-bender -- and then the violence began.
I was looking over the driver's shoulder when I saw what looked like a small burly black man leap out of the SUV and come sprinting toward us, bellowing savagely, "You damn crazy honky bastard! I'll kill you for this!" There were desperate screaming sounds and then the awful smashing of window glass, and then the car began rocking crazily. There was something familiar about our attacker's face, but it was all happening so fast that I couldn't be sure.
Then, ye gods, I recognized the vicious snarling face of Mike Tyson, former heavyweight champion of the world who once seemed unbeatable forever, by anybody -- until he went over to Tokyo for a low-rent, bum-of-the-month-type, no-interest, who-cares "tune-up fight" against some unranked, oft-beaten challenger named Buster Douglas. He was such a hopeless underdog against Tyson that the fight was actually taken off the board in Las Vegas, when the odds reached 40-1.
Nobody else even wanted to watch it with me. We had all been Suckered once too often into paying big money to watch Tyson race across the ring and beat another terrified fighter half to death in 90 seconds, or 85 seconds, and that was it. There was no more.
Mike Tyson took all the fun out of boxing -- especially for those of us who grew up on Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier. I remember two minor details from the slow days leading up to the fight in Tokyo. One was a flippant reply by Tyson when Larry Merchant asked him if there was any possible way that he might lose this waltz with Douglas.
"Only if they have a sharp-shooter in the crowd." said Iron Mike with a confident leer.
The other memorable detail from that week was that Tyson had traveled by himself all the way to Japan, 15,000 miles RT, 36 hours on a commercial airliner, because he was publicly crazed and distressed by the breakup of his first marriage to super-popular TV actress Robin Givens, which was driving him nuts.
I noticed this and made a mental note of it. Mike Tyson, as history now shows us, has an extremely fragile ego when it comes to being rejected by women. There is no record of him doing anything but flipping out and spiraling into violence. Back in 1990, those episodes seemed vaguely quaint or goofy, clearly driven by passions beyond his control. What the hell? Aren't all violent high-strung athletes that way?
And that was my situation when the fight began. I was certain that it would end quickly, like all the others. Why shouldn't it? Why indeed? But now, in long retrospect, that first and only Tyson-Douglas fight was a wild and crazy thing. Buster Douglas literally beat the living piss out of the champ. It was one of the best and most shocking upsets in the history of professional boxing. Scheduled for 12 rounds, it ended with a knockout by Douglas after only 10.
I still watch that fight on tape from time to time, just for the wild excitement of it, the sheer impossibility. It ranks right up there with some of Ali's finest hours...
[ This Message was edited by: Mister Pink on 2004-11-24 14:28 ]