INTENSITY²
Start here => M.O.-Introductions => Topic started by: God on April 09, 2006, 08:18:18 PM
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?Where were you when I was the 15-year-old Satan that girls two years my junior threw their bobbles at?
?Regardless, for every single day of the next 29, you shall have the divine pleasure of having a chapter of my diary to read as you eat your daily oats and hay. Chronicling my recollections of infinity, this book is according to former Daily Mirror Editor Piers Morgan ?the best thing since The Bible.??
-- God
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BEWARE THE JHEDDARMAN HE COMES IN MANY FORMS
while reading this story spin your head a bit and do funny shapes with your nose simulating being high on skittles and please forget i said this because afterall nothing is real do we live in a comic book or what i dont know shut up huh what who said that read the story whats on your mind just something wipe what huh oh well yeah ok
JOE HAILEY AND BAILEY WENT FOR A LIL OL WALK TO THE GOOD OL WOODS AND ON THE WAY THEY THOUGHT TO THEYSELVES ONE BY ONE WE AINT NEVER GONE THIS WAY BEFORE AND YOU KNOW A THOUGHT WENT THROUGH EACH OF THEY MINDS BUT THEY DIDNT SAY NOTHING TO EACH OTHER BECAUSE THE BEAUTY OF SELF CONCIOUS SHYNESS WAS LEAPT UPON FROM A TREE IN THE WOODS A JHEDDARMAN COMES IN MANY FORMS THEY HEARD IN A WHISPER THE TREE SPANKED THEY NO GOOD PANTILINER HOLDING BUUUUUUTOCKS BUT IT MADE UH NO DISTANCE I MEAN DIFFERENCE YOU KNOW WHY CAUSE THE JHEDDARMAN WAS ALL AROUDN THEM CONFUSING AS SOMETHING YOU KNOW YEAH AND IT WENT ON AND ON AND ON BASICALLY YOU KNOW YEAH IT WENT ON AND OFF BUT NOT LONG OFF AND IN THE END WELL ACTUALLY THERE WAS NO END EVIL WHISPERS IN THE NIGHT A HEDGEHOG COULD EVEN BE THE JHEDDARMAN NO ONE COULD ESCAPE THE JHEDDARMAN ONCE THEY STEPPED IN THE WOODS AND THEY DIDNT THEY LIVED THERE FOREVER BUT STILL THEY WERE EMOTIONS BECAUSE EMOTIONS EXISTED IN HUMAN BODIES BY THE WAY I FORGOT TO MENTION A HUMAN HAS TWO LEGS AND A NOSE AND STILL THIGNS HAPPENED FOR ALL ETERNITY AND NOBODY CARED BECAUSE IT COULD OF JUST COULD OF BEEN A COMIC BOOK MADE BY ARCHIE OR MARVEL IT COULD OF BEEN THE SEA HAVING SEX WITH THE SUN YOU KNOW YEAH AND BASICALLY A BED COULDNT HOLD THE CHILDREN SO THEY WERE FORCED TO SLEEP IN THE WOODS EVERY NIGHT NOTHING MAKES SENSE NOR THE TENSE INSIDE THE JHEDDARMAN WAS ALL THE OVER THE PLACE LIKE AN ASPERGER CHILD ONE OF THE KIDS BAILEY DIDNT UNDERSTAND HE THOUGHT THEY WERE ALL IN A COMPUTER GAME AND HE HAD PROGRAMMED IT ALONG WITH ACE PORN KIND THE JHEDDARMAN BUT HANS ASPERGER FORGOT TO UPGRADE THE MEMORY AND SO PEOPELS LIVEES WERE AT RISK EMINEM WAS A GENIUS WHO WAS ALSO A TOASTER MACHINE BUT STILL ITS ALL JUST ANOTHER DAY IN THE LIFE OF THE JHEDDARMAN THE JHEDDARMAN SEES ALL HEARS ALL BES ALL AND FEARS ALL KNOWS ALL DOS ALL DOESNT ALL AND CONTRADICTS ALL BUT WHY WHO WHEN NO THAT MY FRIEND IS THE WOODS OF THE JHEDDARMAN WHERE THE END IS NEVER IN SIGHT BECAUSE THE JHEDDARMAN HAS AN AWFUL FRIGHT HE MAKES YOU FREEEZE WHAT ARE WE GONNA DO WERE STUCK HERE INSIDE A COMIC BOOK OR UH PAINTING OR UH COMPUTER GAME OR UH LIFE THAT DOESNNT EXIST INSIDE A BIG HOLE WITH NO TREES IN IT AND A WORM ON THE FLOOR TRIES TO MAKE SENSE OF THINGS BUT HE JUST FINDS OUT THAT HE CANT WELL ACTUALLY HE DOESNT FIND OUT BECAUSE HE DOESNT KNOW HIS OWN LIMITATIONS THE JHEDDARMAN DOES THOUGH THE JHEDDARMAN IS EVERYWHERE ALL THE TIME ALL AT ONE NOTHING CAN STOP THE JHEDDARMAN BUT THEN A TREE AND A ROCK AND THE GRASS AND A COMIC BOOK WOULD TELL YOU NOTHING CAN START A JHEDDARMAN EITHER
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<plays a scratchy vinyl version of "Dreadlock Holiday" for atmosphere>
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<puts on her party dress and lipstick>
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hallelujah, God is in the house! :angel:
PS. dear God, am i still your "divine angel," or have i fallen from grace? :-\
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by
by
the way
i
forgot to say
you
interpreted what i said
i
told you what you heard
we
understood each other in octogon mirror houses
now
i
hope
you dont mind
that i
add
by
the way
i
forgot to say
i
didnt mean
what i said
i didnt
know what to say
except what
came out
you sort of
knew that anyway
kneeling under chequered table cloths
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Welcome Comrade God.
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day three.
waiting for guidance, oh lord and savior.
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any particular god, or are you going for the i'm the only one angle?
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The Rot Movement
The Rot Movement is Born
? ? ?Ignorance is bliss, but
? ? idiocy a tragedy. Of course
? ? I do not expect these critics
? ? to understand -- the fools they
? ? are. For what have they to say
? ? in the face of originality??
? ? -- Marcus Maclean
?In the business of Rot, there are really only two things to keep in mind: we are not here to entertain the lesser readers, or indeed illustrate to any extent our originally intended morals or ideas ? because by doing so, we are committing a Rot blasphemy higher than any man can ever imagine. Secondly, we are most certainly not here to educate them of our purposes or secrets. I can?t imagine something so time-wasteful or unimaginably unintelligent. For what these readers can never realise, good friend, is that Rot is not literature at all -- rather, I declare, it is a source of misery and depression (if not isolation from creativity) that will, if used inappropriately, lead them all to madness.?
Two men, a woman, three children, and fourteen dogs were in a room having sex. The year was 2034, just one year after that goddamn terrorist had declared war on broom sticks and dynamite, and the same year in which some rap-guy was shot by his ex-wife -- apparently for belligerence of the extreme. Sarah Lee, one of the girls fucking, just so happened to be thinking about that exact thing; she remembered seeing the bloody face on television after school -- the old, wrinkled, overly worked-out face, which had been blown apart by a single bullet. And she also remembered the television reporter, some old dame who?d lost her money to her youngest son, speaking in a wildly excited voice. Ah. What a day that had been, the girl thought.
?I note with interest your false belief that, in some time or place long forgotten or warn out, Rot was actually invented. But do not be deceived. Rot has and always will hold a place in the heart of every reader who has ever read literature from those repulsive things we call books -- and, indeed, every man ever to live; for we do not have to recite to them our beliefs and views through paper only. What we explain is visible from all corners of the world, big and small. I admit that somewhere along the way someone actually translated the views and beliefs and visions which we express into readable pleasure ? but never -- not ever -- has a man imagined such fantasies. The mere notion is nonsensical.?
Some actor-guy lay asleep in his trailer, dreaming about tomorrows shoot for The Matrix No Longer Lives, Thirteen-thousand-and-ten, listening to the sounds of some long-forgotten being raped by her husband. Most people were apt to listen to that sort of thing these days, because it was much more soothing than listening to the bomb blasts outside, and the riot squads beating the Poor shitless, and the endless campaigns to vote True American?s over terrorists, who were now allowed to vote for president. In fact, he thought, it was almost better than listening to those basketball idiots beating there basketballs into rappers? heads, laughing and smiling for the cameras, taking shots for new Nike adds. But of course it wasn?t better than having sex with his daughter, thought the actor-person -- the daughter who was about to turn six. Nope, nothing was.
?There is also a considerable amount of controversy that we Rotist?s are merely attention-seekers: poor miserable souls who have never quite grasped the notion that fame is not the same as idiocy, and that words can, if provoked, become nonsensical or difficult in coherent terms to explain. For these critics who suggest this, I offer only one word of advice: Death. Kill the bastards. Make them rot in eternity for their own foolishness and attention-seeking. Because in their world, at least, there is no such thing as rebellion or violence -- there is no such thing as Freedom of Speech, or for that matter Negative Creativity. They cannot and never will understand that we Loyalists stand for one thing and one thing only: Freedom of Voice; Paper over Communism. And though I wish they could understand, such is their ignorance that they will never listen, follow, or believe you and I ? good criticism will come from the heart and soul only, not others. They will never understand. They will never believe. They will never follow. And the unfortunate consequent reality is they will never follow their own hearts, the fools.?
The New York City Police were on the side of the road stopping every second car randomly, administering the lethal injection to every driver who was under alcohol limit which you had to be over. Young Sarah Reeves, driving back from her sexual experience, smiled, because she had enough alcohol stashed away in the dash box to be over the limit. When she was stopped, however, the police ordered her out of the vehicle and almost at once began to rape and beat her lifeless, under the Presidents? order to destroy the lives of every goddamn female, while filming the entire experience. About two months after this, Sarah got a postcard in her mail box with the image of her naked on the side of the road, a cock in her mouth, masturbating while she was taken from behind, signed by the Terrorist Leaders who had assumed command of presidency, and who had given the vile order. At the time Sarah smiled and put the image next to the photograph of her husband, a thing of cuteness, the same man who had helped rape her.
?There is only one more thing I can mention to you, my dear friend: Do not be put off by non-believers. They were put on this earth only as Rule Followers; men and women who can do nought but the aforementioned. Such is the ignorance of their heart that they cannot understand Rebellion from Society, Rules, and any chance of a Literary Uprising ? a new generation of reading and violence. For that at least, sooner or later, they will be punished and led on to face the New Generation with shame and guilt -- but until then, I can only encourage you to keep strong. Because if we submit to their petty criticism and lack of understanding, sometime or another we ourselves -- the very founders of the Movement -- will fall to their lows. And what then shall we have to say to the generation who sparked our fury? Nothing, my dearest friend -- so keep strong, even if the situation may look hopeless; remember, if the Germans won, so can we.?
? ? ?When the world dies, only
? ? then will you White Men
? ? realise that the only tragedy
? ? of this earth was believing in
? ? what was never there.?
Elton John
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Hiel Gott
We spent most of Tuesday near the crematorium smoking pot and burning bodies and the like. Jabez said something amusing bout an Italian marxist friend he knew that tried to assassinate Gottlieb, but being a pacifist socialist cretin and the like, couldn't bring hisself to do the .9mm so instead ran up to the man with a butter knife and got shotted in the head by one of the general's body men. Me and the boys chuckled a little bit at this, and later that day headed into the city for a piece of action. Seeing as we was soldiers and all, a couple of teenagers almost gave us their souls for a fuck and almost died afterwards from pleasure. Me and Dr. Solomon (We call him doctor because he specializes in "medical" marijuana and opium) headed towards a market to buy some bread, but were pre-occupied by two jews fighting in the street.
"This man doesn't appreciate a good joke," said one of them, a chap in his mid-thirties.
"Like shit, I do. This one said something against us." spoke the other, a guy on the up-and-up. He was a well built fellow and moved bricks for us on occasion.
"Whatever," I muttered, shrugging, "I don't give a shit what this motherfucker said. I'm not the one you want to impress. You see fucking Adolf Hitler walking down the street, just don't say that."
The man looked downward, frowning. He nodded his head, and we shook hands.
I personally don't care what happens. I like jews fine, I don't see nothing wrong. Just like anyone else: if they piss me off, I'll get mad. Otherwise, it doesn't matter.
So me and Solomon bought some bread and wine and headed back up to the girls in the apartment. After a little action, we said our adieus and departed for the evening back to the crematorium to do some more work.
About 11:00 p.m., I shoved some little bastard into the oven after considerable difficulty. Jabez and Matthew had to help me.
"I can't get his goddam head in," said Jabez, the tall jokester who died the next day when a jew shot him in the head. I remember his face as he fell to the ground laughing at the little boy running up to him with the pistol. It was a memorable, yet startlingly depressing moment.
"Do we need to cut it off?" I laughed.
"Maybe," said Matt, not laughing.
We pulled the rotting corpse from the oven as Matt readed the knife he used in such situations.
I winced as blood flew from the lad's neck into my eye. The crunching of bone followed next as Matt slowly made his way through the neck of the body.
After we had thrown both pieces into the flames, we clapped each other high five and went home for the evening to sleep. Which I plan to do right now as a matter of fact
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Chicago
They say girls with big butts roam Chicago
And I'll tell you with my feather boa accent, "It's true"
Because, Hey, Kid I like you
I'm an eccentric rapist
But I like you
And hey kid
Baz Luhrman thinks
You could be a movie star
Nah Nah Nah Nah Nah
Hey big spenders
Don't spend your money
Instead commit crime and cheat on your honey
Hey big spenders
We're all gonna pay
For the crimes we commited
Back on independence day
Hey big spenders
Wass up?
Hey big spenders
I need a cup
To catch my semen in
So the FBI can make a check on my EYE!!!
Hey Chicago is free
The land of openess and honesty
And hey CHicage is the palce to go
So come on GO GO GO!!!!
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Alf and the Amazing Pile of Shit Known as America
Alf stared at the television screen, wishing he were dead. At least if I were dead, he reasoned, I wouldn't have to watch this shit.
Satisfied, he grabbed his hammer and smashed the screen. Millions of particles of glass flew everywhere in a flash of electricity. The two idiots who also happened to be present at that moment oggled at what the young rebel had just done.
"Did you just do that?" asked Joe, the Coke Addict.
"No," replied Alfred. "I didn't. It was him!" He pointed towards the statue of Dante that just happened to be sitting in a corner of the room.
The two drug addicts looked towards the statue of Dante sitting in the corner of the room and were surprised to find a statue of Dante sitting in the corner of the room, statuesque in it's pristine calmness.
"Is that Dante?" asked Joe's whore, QR322.
"Yes, it is Dante," was Alf's response
"Wow."
"Wow, indeed."
"Are you crazy?" she asked the statue.
The statue did not respond, although it did sit there statuesquely.
"Are YOU crazy?" she asked Alf.
"No, I'm not crazy. Everyone else is."
"Oh, okay."
"Hey!" Joe cried hysterically, leaping to his feet, "We're missing Batman! Turn on the tv!"
All three looked towards the tv and realized that there was no tv.
"Who fucked up the tv?" asked Joe, the Coke Addict.
"He did!" the whore pointed towards Dante.
"No I didn't" replied Alf.
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Stories are published. This particular one was published on March 23rd, 2003
"Take a seat Mr.Dict."
"Thanks. I don't like you by the way."
"Oh. Right. Well that's okay."
"Nothing's okay. There are too many civil rights these days."
"Uh. Anyway. What sort of job are you looking for?"
"I'll do any job. I am too much of a genius to work."
"Hmm. I see. Perhaps you would like to consider working as a cleaner in McDonalds?"
"Suits me. I hate McDonalds, it's full of happy kids who are making a future for themselves."
"Well, then. Now that, that's, erm, sorted. I have a busy schedule so you'd best get going now."
"Go on, I know your desperate to ask. Don't use words to ask your question."
"Alright, then. You got me. I am desperate to know. Why does everything you say come in sentences of two? And, uh, why does it seem every second sentence you say sounds completely out of character in relation to the first?"
"Because I never mean the second sentence I say since I like to contradict myself. Don't listen to the sentence I said prior to this one because I hate it when people understand what you say, and I hate it when people anaylze their lives and consider every solution to every problem."
"Hmm. Very. Interesting. So that must be why your called Mr.Dict. Because it's short for Contradict. That's very clever you know. However I'm sure some would argue it's a lame attempt at being a genius. I mean, Einstein was a genius but not because he contradicted himself but because he actually did something with his life and devoted his time to actually solving a problem instead of just considering the ways in which to solve it. You stupid idiot. Get out of my goddamn sight."
"I hate life, I was never good at doing things. I admire you a lot because you are part of a new generation that has a higher plane of thinking."
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Mr. Plague
a young boy. Cameron. It was nothing more than a hamlet, a village. sinking slowly into the swamp.
His mother's body was covered in dark splotches. She tore out her own eyes when God spoke to her in a dream/nightmare. "True repentence, mine childe," the Lord had spoke, "-the utmost physical pain is the only way thou will attain Heaven."
He looked around at the other villagers. harry the idiot lay in a pile of cow feces behind Sire Galdere's barn, dead, slashing constantly his back till the very end.
An old lady threw herself out of a three-story window and broke all the bones in her body on the hard-packed dirt road.
"H-help...me," she muttered to Cameron, who looked on in utter neutrality. "Kill..." She died.
The boy entered the town tavern where his friend Bert sat huddled beneath an oaken table clutching a knife, shaking visibly.
"Bert?" he said.
"Cammm Cammm cameron." Bert whispered. "god is killing us all, Cameron. You have to save us, Cameron."
Bert had the spots all up his back and stomach, swelling eveywhere. hard to look at.
"We must go see if anyone else is still alive," said Cameron. His friend shook his head.
Lester, a man who sold furniture, walked through the town looking for his dog. His dog lay dead in his arms.
"Gideon! Gideon!!" he shouted. Cameron could see a large black spot on the back of his neck. "Cameron, have you seen Gideon?"
Cameron looked at Gideon. He shook his head.
Lester sighed and trudged off. Cameron looked through windows and saw a women with a knife removing her clitoris. a dead boy covered in maggots and flies. a dead little girl he knew from church, bleeding from the eyes. a man. a dog. a horse. dead. dead. dead.
Cameron sighed and went home. He curled up in the arms of his dead mother and cried.
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Moulin Rouge
Would you like to come out for a night at the Moulin Rouge? We can meet the lovely Nicole Kidman there. I mean you know, I'm not the sort of girl who likes girls but Nicole Kidman is gorgeous."
"Okay. I'll come. But do you think they'll mind that I have huge titties and a big plump ass?"
"Nah. There's plenty of your type there."
"Oh good."
The two best friends who just so happened to be females started walking towards the Moulin Rouge building. Out of nowhere a man who appeared to be a pirate from the olden days ran up to them. It was obvious he was in a panicked state. He made movements with his mouth. What came out was, "Moulin Rouge. Beginning. End. Moulin Rouge. So take a friend. Moulin Rouge. What you give is what you get. Moulin Rouge. I best go now. I think I need a shit."
The two girls gasped in utter shock! How dare he? Speak to them like common dogs body! They decided to forget the incident in favour of trying to have fun that night.
When they arrived at the Moulin Rouge building they went in where Nicole Kidman was on a giant swing in the top of the building wearing lace net stockings singing showtunes.
They looked up at her in awe. All of a sudden a bomb hit the building bringing up loads of smoke and killing the people where it landed in a far corner. Then the madman dressed like a pirate came in through the door up to the two women and said whilst almost out of breath, "The chosen one has arrived! World War 2 begins!"
Smiling like a sick dog the pirate ran off. He pulled off his costume and revealed himself to be Winnie The Pooh. He went on to explain to everybody in Paris that day that Winnie The Pooh never died. He lived forever because he was a giant teddy bear and teddy bears never die apparentely. So anyway Winnie The Pooh did whatever he wanted to do in life.
I suppose you could say he was...
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.......................P-L-A-Y-I-N-G G-O-D.......................
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??? hmmm. that was the most surreal one, so far.
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conversation with myself
This is one of my works, this is one of my writings. This will make you complete. Let me start, let me end, don?t interupt me, I have just begun. You must imagine you are in my position. You must try. Don?t confuse it with joy. Don?t pick that up. Tell yourself what you see, is it real, is it good? When you are alone, who do you talk to. Try with yourself, does it bore you? Now that you have spoken to someone else try again. Does it interest you now? Come up with ideas now, now you can be free, now you can see how stupid you are. Now go back. This is one of my works, this is one of my writings. This will make you complete. Let me start, let me end, don?t interupt me, I have just begun. You must imagine you are in my position. You must try. Don?t confuse it with joy. Don?t pick that up. Tell yourself what you see, is it real, is it good? When you are alone, who do you talk to. Try with yourself, does it bore you? Ah, you have seen that you have interupted me, ah, you see that you have begun to end. But go back, again. You see that you enjoy yourself now. Talk some more, come up with ideas now, now you can be free, now you can see how stupid you are. Now go back.
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The Children Of The Past, The Present & The Future
The name's Gorgonzola. Mister Gorgonzola to you. I wonder if anyone will ever read this. I'm a thinker way ahead of my time. What I'm doing here, no one's ever though of before. I'm a scientist, but not the usual sort. See, I'm interested in people and the way they think, and what they do and why they do it. I ain't got no interest in preposterous nonsense such as looking up at the sky and et cetera.
I'd been planning it for years and one day the time finally came for me to hire some peasants to participate in my one-of-a-kind mastermind experiment. I was planning on seeing how 6 people interacted with each other. Obviously it was going to cost me a stable and a woodshed, so I decided to choose my participants wisely.
Well at least that's what I set out to do. Truth is though; I was looking for people who were unique. I wanted two of each type of person as well so it was bound to take me a few days and night's to find my beauties.
I wandered high and low, near and far across the British Isles searching for my participants. I thought I'd never find anyone, and then after around three months of searching, in an Irish city called Bangor I met two rather peculiar teenagers. They were out on the streets hitting each other on their heads with big wooden planks. They even were wearing some sort of old brownish animal skin! I thought to myself what kind of imbeciles are they? Well it turns out the sort I wanted in my experiment.
I loaded them up in the Horse an' Carriage and we were off away looking for four more participants. The reason I'd chosen these fine fella's is cause, they belonged in the sick house with the other loonies. But for some reason unknown to my brain of epic proportions they were on the streets of Bangor that day, and so I made the most of this extraordinary situation and grabbed them.
So as I said, now I needed four more participants, and after going all over Ireland I'd only found two worthy participants. Now I was off to England. I arrived at Liverpool Docks. A nice sight there. There were lots of fella's telling jokes. Aye, Liverpool?s full of humor and coming to think of it, sweet lassies an' all.
I stayed at an Inn in good ol' Liv'pool that night and I met these two little children. They must of looked, ooh I don't know; maybe 7 or 8 years old. They were humming little tunes and dancing. I asked them if they wanted to come on my experiment. They said yes. I loaded them up in the Horse an' Carriage and off we were. I must say though after a while I realized something.
Was I losing my mind? These little children were wearing the brightest clothes I'd ever seen! And I 'adn't even realized until a few days later along our travels. Surely I was losing my sanity! Something wasn't quite right about those children, but I knew I had to take some risks to make my experiment effective.
So now I needed just two more participants. We searched, and we scavenged and we wandered high and low all over England but sadly to no avail. I was losing faith, happiness, sleep. To be honest with you I was beginning to think I didn't have much left to lose. These people I'd chosen were driving me to mad acts. I was convinced they were too mad to live with while perfect for the experiment.
After much deep thought and ponder upon the situation, I decided that looking for very unique participants wasn't such a bright idea anymore. I needed to have at least a few sane ones. Well, that night I stayed in an Inn in Lancashire. The place was called Bolton. I picked up a lonely male teenager at a bar the following morning, and a happy cheerful female teenager at a horse race at food time.
At last! I had all my participants! I was singing and dancing and hopping and flopping and, oh lord was I glad! I hurried on home in the Horse an' Carriage with all six of my participants. Along the way we had some strange ol' times. None of the children got along. They were all on different wavelengths. I swear some of them were even actually living in the past and the future. Surely my ears deceived me.
The big day arrived. Day 1 of the experiment. There were to be 7 days altogether but Day 1 was vital for the experiment. Two law officers were round my lab by sunrise to make sure no funny business was going on and to give clearance for further experimentation.
I sat all my participants down around a lovely oak wooden table and stood next to the two law officers to observe the scene. Finally I could take a look at some people and start my new marvelous, original, unique brand of science!
"Hmm, this is a cool chat room. I wonder how we got here?"
"Dunno. Who cares anyway? Wanna chat?"
"I guess. What's up?"
"Grr LOL. I hate it when people say that. I say 'How are you?' cause it actually respects other peoples feelings!"
"Shut up dumbo. I mean as in YOU DUMB PERSON. You think your so clever lalalala just because your on the net lalalala hahaha lol LMAO HEHEHEHE I am evil so just tell me baby who's the man!"
"Whatever. Loser. You just act tough cause your a dirty smelling geek who is afraid of real life so you have to use the internet."
"Brb."
The two law officers and me stood there with our mouths wide open. I think they might have even dropped all the way down to the floor. One lawman fainted in a matter of seconds. The other turned to me, his face pale, "What in the name of Sinbad's voyages is going on here?"
I panicked. Perhaps I did the wrong thing but my experiment had to go on. I was intrigued by what I'd just seen. I had to go on! I quickly grabbed a sword from the table and in no time chopped the poor law officers head off. I felt a slight twinge of guilt, but the experiment came first. After all it wasn't like there wouldn't be more officers, but there would only be ONE OF MY EXPERIMENT!
Now that, that was out of the way I focused on the table again and looked at the six children. The two in the bright clothes had stopped communicating now and the ones in the old animal skins started doing things. Communicating though, well no.
They hit each other on the head wildly with their big wooden sticks. Oh no! They might kill each other! Not more blood in my laboratory! Was could I do? I was helpless. I decided to just keep on watching and see how things would turn out.
At the same time the children in bright clothes started talking again.
"Do you see them two lamers there?"
"Yeah."
"They're flooding this chat room like hell!"
"Ahhhhh! I HATE LAG DAMMIT! i hate lag dammit!"
"Stop it you foolish brats. Were on the internet. It's pointless typing a load of nonsense into the chat."
I was bewildered. The internet? Typing? Lag? Flooding? Where? I couldn't see no water flooding. These people were more insane than I thought! Or were they from the future? YES! That was it! I had the children of the future in this very laboratory, my laboratory! Mine, all mine! Imagine the possibilities. I could do a sideshow with these talented children of the future using them as entertainers.
I thought I'd seen it all; but oh no. Not yet. All of a sudden the two children dressed in animal skins started hitting the children with the bright clothes aggressively. I was worried. They might end up killing my soon-to-be sideshow entertainers, and why were they doing it anyway? Oh well, I thought I must let them be, and see how the experiment turns out.
Then the bright colored clothed kids started talking again.
"You are so pathetic! You're the worst flamers I ever known on da whole net Lmao!"
"Yeah you guys are like sooooo Idiotic. You can't even say something that shows the slightest degree of intelligent..."
Things got worse. One of the children dressed in animal skins bashed and bashed and bashed one of the brightly colored clothed kids until she couldn't take it anymore. She died. I could hardly believe it. This was the most overwhelming day in the history of mankind.
The other brightly clothed kid looked annoyed, "Dammit. They logged off... or were disconnected I guess. Oh well, life sucks. DOH! Now I have to talk to you dumbass flamers."
I was still amazed at all the words I had never heard of, and the actions that were un-thought of. However something struck me all of a sudden. The children who were normal hadn't said a word until now...
One of them looked around and said, "Your all scaring me. What's wrong with you? Are you sure you shouldn't be living with the loonies in the sick house?"
The child in the brightly colored clothes said, "shut the F*** up! What are you? Some skitsoofrenic/Schizophrenic maniac wannabe who thinks they live in the past. Jeez, people these days."
I couldn't take anymore. I was so happy I started laughing out loud. So loud in fact that all the remaining experiment participants turned their attention to me. I fell over laughing holding my stomach in pain. "Hahahahahaha! Hahahahahaha! Hahahahahahaha! Your all mad, mad I tell you! It's as if you?re the children of the past, the present and the future!" Then I stopped laughing. I realized what I'd just said and quickly took my sword in hand.
"I'm going to kill myself right now, but not because I'm in ill-health nor because I'm in ill-company, and not because I'm unhappy. I'm so happy at what I've seen it?s enough to last a lifetime's happiness! Woo!"
I had seen the answers finally. After a whole lifetime of thinking and work, I realized the past; the present and the future had some connection. I lifted the sword up gallantly and was about to thrust it strait into my heart but I felt a chuckle come out of my throat. I loved life. It weren?t time for death yet. And who knows? Maybe I?d prove there was no such thing as death.
-
The Communist Insanity
THE BEGINNING
An old man with only one tooth and fifty-cents in his pocket, which was actually useless, considering President Bush had enforced the new rule that only the rich could use money, because only the new five-hundred-dollar bills were useful, laughed a deep, almost guttural laugh, as he stood over Thomas Jenkins, who, just fifteen seconds ago, had attempted to steal his worthless hat, bought -- no, wait, of course, given -- from a butchers? store, because food stores no longer sold anything other than Coke and Salad to the Poor, which was useless anyway, seeing as they could no longer take caffeine, and vegetables messed with the metabolism in a way that would disgust even Steven King, which wouldn?t matter anyway, seeing as he was long dead -- killed by yet another car crash, the fool, while walking to the video store to pick up a porno, which only the rich -- rich, of course, if you had personal wealth above ten million -- could afford. And then he banged Thomas over the head, killing him instantly.
On the other side of town, where the rich and famous dwelt -- famous only if you had appeared on television at least ten times, had sex in front of an audience larger than five hundred, and been voted World?s Worst Dressed at least once -- Dan Clark, a bum, with two thousand dollars in his pocket, which, mind you, was useless anyway, because without a barcode or at least the number 666 engraved into your hand nothing could be bought beside Coke and Salad, stood beside a WMB -- changed, of course, from the original BMW, because Elvis Presley had reappeared, claiming to be the True King, and ordered any names, brand or otherwise, with less than four letters, to be reversed, because he was the only True King -- pissing all over the door-handle, laughing as Elizabeth Taylor, 193, on life-support, currently diagnosed with every second disease known to man, including HIV, stumbled her way towards the car, helped along by her thousand-and-one still living viewers and fans, who didn?t really like her anyway, because no one liked anyone beyond President Bush and Elvis Presley (aka The True King), and then fainted. Four hours later Elizabeth Taylor was pronounced dead and five hours after that buried next to Princess Dead.
Sam Goodman, currently America?s top politician, even though already responsible for half of America?s financial problems, including the recent stock-market dive when President Bush went live on Television, nude, dressed as a ghost in make-up (rumours are believed to have been spread that he desired to resemble Marilyn Manson, now Satan?s right-hand man), sat in Parliament -- which, to speak in ?modern? coherent terms, was actually Farmland, recently named by the Rednecks of Redville after a town set aside for America?s Most Hated -- arguing whether or not to allow cigarettes, alcohol, condoms, pornography, sluts, whores, and prostitutes to be made socially available to the Poor, who were mainly under twenty, except, of course, the old man still with fifty-cents in his pocket and a bloody hand, while Bill Clinton, engaged in oral sex with Pamela-lee-Jones, voted America?s Biggest-titted-Bitch, spat abuse about the Colony System and the Goddamn Russian Communists, always gotta be messin? up his motherfuckin? crib, like shit didn?t matter no more to nobody, except goddamn Marshall Mathers, the forgotten rapper. Good ole Bill was later shot in head.
THE MIDDLE
XMD, who, just like Michael Jackson (now renamed Janet Jackson, in the memory of his loving sister, who had died whilst under the care of the controversial sex-therapist, Neil Diamond) lay asleep, under a general anaesthetic, while his balls were severed from his scrotum, and the foreskin of his penis was rolled back to form a vagina, deep in a heavenly sleep, dreaming of the time when he and Eminem had ?got it on? when they had met by accident on the street, buying ice-cream valued at five-thousand dollars, while the Poor begged for the scraps of paper which held the ice-cream together, in the hopes of getting a lick, and watched as both XMD and Eminem began ?laying into each other?, which basically meant engaging in every single activity, from the sexual to the physical, while the man in the black trench coat watched from the thirty-first floor of the White House, smiling in glee as his career unfolded before him -- this grin later becoming a mocking laugh, when both XMD and Eminem shot each other in the head, causing a brief explosion -- and he was rich. The man was later named Big Brother 2056.
Nicole Smith, America?s premier female drug-dealer, something she?d learnt from her father, who, when she was just eight years old, had committed suicide rather than face the consequences of Big Bitch Bosses, the suppliers of the new street drug Purple Haze, was talking away on her cell phone to Mark Brown, an analyst from Downtown, currently under probation for feeding the Poor a loaf of bread and later offering them a drink of water, when suddenly a tele-text-o-mercial crackled to life, interrupting the conversation mid-sentence. Hey there, shopper! said the voice of Marilyn Monroe, who, by the way, had been brought back to life under the Presidents orders, apparently because of the size of her breasts and the famous Birthday song. Haven?t I been looking for you?The words, though vexing they were, hardly mattered, because at that exact moment an explosion erupted from a car, some fifteen miles away, followed by a sharp zip, before finally Nicole fell dead, surrounded in a pool of her own blood. She had been shot in the head by her own brother, who was on an acceptance mission from Big Bitch Bosses.
White-Trash-Bitch Kylie Monogue, who was the first celebrity to admit that going public to announce that one wished to have babies with one was exactly the same as going public and admitting you were desperate for a fuck, was standing on the side of the road, smoking a Camel filter-tip which she had been forbidden to do since she got breast-implants, as a source of product placement for her new movie, a film that introduced the role of fucking cinema-style, and just how different it is from real life, because every other White-Trash-Bitch doesn?t have tits these days -- it?s only the nigger-sluts anyway who have real pussy and tits -- and explaining that her marriage to former Russian Soviet Unionist Boris Domitri is definitely over, because, ?The motherfucker just can?t keep his dick away from me,? and while her current boyfriend, sonofabitch Keanu Reaves, licks the entire length of her body, all the while managing karate chops and ninja-flunks. Kylie Monogue never had children.
At the orders of secret Russian Communist Britney Spears, two young boys, fourteen, rape an eleven year old girl in full public view, while the police laugh in mockery, and the crowd begin to film, hoping to include the footage in their weekly submissions to TV4?s Who?s Getting Raped Today?, and while the girl is plagued with hundreds upon thousands of images -- all broadcasted internationally -- of rape-crisis centres, which are entwined with product placement adds and community service announcements (apparently a cheaper and more ?effective? way to advertise), and while the People?s Spokesperson -- currently 2uPac Shakur, recently brought back to life to fight in Rap Battles Weekly, a program where warring rappers legally beat each other shitless and get paid at the same time, or brought back to life -- speaks about the medical breakthroughs of Tobacco, and just how wrong the ?medical idiots? were for the last hundred thousand years; how the many marvels of cigarettes and cigars can actually extend lifetimes, and not the opposite. The girl attempts a scream but is cut off by the boys? warrior.
Helen Clark, currently Austra-New-Zealand?s Minister of Education, sits at a conference for the Rich and Mighty, in which the current issues of the Poor are discussed, and where all who are not liked as a majority get their throats slit, talking about the issue of youthful drug induction, and how the Minister of Illicit Practices is not doing enough to encourage such practices, because he spends too much time looking up pornography in both the weekly Television Guide and The Kids? Weekly magazines, while Jeremy Clark, her husband, attempts to file away at both her moles and teeth, both of which seem plausibly useless, and while John Howard, the only man in Austra-New-Zealand?s history to ever be re-elected as Prime Minister of I-Can-Do-Nothing-To-Help-You Politics beyond the legal living age (263 years, according to AI Regulations), sat behind a closed curtain, restrained, as a hairdresser attempted to pluck his eyebrows clean. All attempts were later concluded useless.
Osama bin Laden (as we shall call him, though really his name had changed to Indu-stria-lisation) was smoking marijuana along side Italian Mafia member John Claude Van Damn, when suddenly a rock smashed through the window, later found to have been dropped by the Goddamn American?s from above, with the message attached warning Osama to lay off the fly-by points, because already he was flooding fly-bye?s banking system, which would soon put them out of business, before John Claude declared Osama was a ?Bitch-ass pussy,? who, ?couldn?t fight for his beard if rapping depended on it,? and the two immediately engaged into fist-to-fist contact, knocking each other virtually brain-dead. John Claude was later awarded ten million for being the one to kill Osama bin Laden, but he never lived to enjoy it.
Satan and Steven King stood upon the throne of man -- Russia?s nuclear-weapons stock house -- fighting over who was going to push the button and end mankind, when suddenly Boris Yeltzon entered the room, with fourteen-million supporters behind him each wearing the symbol of the False Prophet, demanding that they Stand aside, because he hadn?t died to die; and if anyone was going to push those fucking buttons it would be him, and if you don?t goddamn stand aside we?ll cast you into a goddamn fucking abyss of Russia?s shit, where you can spend the next one thousand years of your eternally damned lives, and where you will be fed equal portions of Russia?s poverty. Satan stung Boris in a blinding flash of light, and as for what happened next, I can only say Steven wrote it all down.
Two young boys, both thirteen, sit in a smoke clouded room, deeply involved in the art of decapitation, being taught by Russell Crowe, who, just six months before, committed serial murder and was let off for lack of evidence, when suddenly a gun shot erupts -- it was later discovered that two niggers had killed one another, apparently over who was getting better ?ass? that night -- only to be hushed by the crowd of Bitch-ass-White-trash, some of whom are masturbating over the images of a woman being decapitated and raped, which in turn drowns the scream and guzzling of two dying niggers; hell, in the end, no one cared but the doctor carrying out the autopsy. The boys? mothers were both prostitutes and had left them to live in a dumpster at birth.
Marcus Maclean, white, with a faint brown complexion, which wasn?t visible anyway, because the sun had been blocked when President Bush declared war on Russia, only to be met half an hour later with a hundred-and-twenty-five-million nuclear war-heads, which had wrongly been aimed at the Ozone Layer, though luckily they passed through a wide gaping hole, now revealed to be the secret work of Green Peace, sat typing away at his computer screen, forcing a smile of sheer mockery, occasionally pushing the DELETE key, which, mind you, was currently the THIS-EQUALS-BETTER key -- a rule enforced by The True King, who, just five minutes earlier, had advertised a new product, containing the word MOJO, for just fifteen-thousand dollars; ?Just scan your barcodes, and it?ll be on its way. We prooooooomise?? -- with his pants down and his shoes on, touching himself where only the Poor dared to delve, because according to both Satan and President Bush and Marilyn Manson, penis? were no longer Cool. For Marcus at least, life was good, and the world was going to laugh.
THE END
-
Big Brother
Up in the corner the camcorder lay silently.
Watching.
Waiting.
Penetrating.
Slowly devouring all in its path.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Decland Capri lay down lazily on his cosy sofa eating salted popcorn he had bought from a supermarket. "Ahh. This is the life." He reached for the television control. Unfortunately he couldn't quite reach it. "Oh well. It looks like I will have to get up to reach for the control now. I was warm and snug where I lay too. Ah well. Life goes on as they say." He raised up and got the control then ran back to his sofa and lay back down.
"Ahh. Life is good." Decland switched the TV onto channel 1. A plain white sign was on the screen surrounded by a colourfully psychedelic animated background. The narrator whom sounded like a middle aged man sung in a jolly tone, "Harry's Crackers --- are the BEST!" On the sign the name flashed attractively. The advert faded out. Dec smiled happily and took another bite out of his popcorn. "Oh boy. I'm glad I'm alive." He switched over to channel 2. There was an advertisement on there too, very similar except it was advertising a different product. "Larry's Shoe's --- are the BEST!"
Dec giggled and sighed peacefully. "Ahh. Life, oh life, oh life -- in the days." He twirled his feet around a little and hummed a little tune. "You know something life? I couldn't be any happier. I got all I need in this life." He switched over to channel 64. On this channel oddly an advertisement wasn't showing. A television program was on called "Diagnosis Manslaughter". Decland turned the TV off promptly and got up off his sofa.
He started pacing up and down. He was utterly disturbed. What was he going to do? A TV program hadn't been on television for years. This wasn't right. It was unusual and wrong. He took a deep breath and ran towards the TV screen. Smash.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
John Prodeleon walked into the room. He sighed. "Where did you go Decland? Where did you go? Huh? Tell me Decland Capri, did you join the adverts in their search for recognition?" John saw a mirror on the wall and approached. He took a long hard look at himself. He grabbed the smashed TV and smashed it even more by clubbing it onto his head. Plop.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
A cute little girl walked into the room and saw the two of them dead on the floor. A tear twinkled in her eye. She peeled off a layer of her skin. Then she raised the already badly smashed TV high above her head. She chanted "All that glitters stinks of something" three times before killing herself by force of impact with the television.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Up in the corner the camcorder lay silently.
Watching.
Waiting.
Penetrating.
Slowly devouring all in its path.
-
SPUCKL PAUPER PUMOPA(the
IN SIDE A NUT POD, NO BIGGER THEN 2INCHS WAS A MICRO COSOM. TEEMING WITH BILLIONS OF TINY CRUTURES.
in these bunchs and bunchs of SPUCKS, lived AVUNCULI SAMUELI.
he was mildly retarted, and basiclly ran circles around and around the pod, unlike the other workers, who worked all the time, to accomplish nothing.
AVUNCULI also accomplished nothing, but shehe, didnt know any better.
one day avunculi had a daydream,an enlightening glimmer of hope.
He wanted to be the king, of the throngs of workers. however he couldnt because he didnt know how to speak haughjiji. Plus he didnt have a iusmiscus(long tubular toung) On top of that, there had never been a leader, in the history of all time.
AVUNCULI: then started to calculate the micro eternally recurrence of random chaos, and the formation of problems due to the axially chromatic economical phenomenon of a leaderless network of organisums......to be continuted
-
John Doe
Charles was an ultra-conservative republican fascist neo-nazi anti-Marxist homophobic Christian fundamentalist white-collar corporate whore. He lived in an apartment building on the upper east side, drank frappeachinos and tried to hide his contempt for niggers.
One day, sitting on a park bench in Central Park enjoying the morning sun, he was mugged by a large Italian man.
"Give me your goddamn money!" said the mugger in a raspy voice, brandishing a switchblade. Chuck reached into his bulging wallet and handed the man three thousand dollars.
"Jesus Christ!" the switchblade armed felon muttered.
"Are you happy?" said Charles.
"Yes. Thank you. Three thousand bucks!"
"Good. Now, please leave me be. I am trying to enjoy the morning sun."
"Aren't you in charge of that big corporation?"
"MAXIPRO? Yes I am. I am President."
"Wow. It's great to meet a big celebrity like you."
"Thank you."
The man put his switchblade away.
"My name's John."
They shook hands.
"Great. Now, I am trying to enjoy this fine sun-"
"My son wants to be just like you."
"Really? That's fantastic, but-"
"Yup. He wears a plastic pin-striped suit and walks around giving orders to me and my wife. It's hilarious."
"Great."
"Do you know our tenement building was just bought out by your company? Apparently, you guys needed it for storage or something."
"Oh. Well, I'm terribly sorry, but-"
"Sorry? Bwah, don't mention it. Anything in the name of progress, Chuck. I'm just glad to be of help to the economy." John smiled warmly, "Well, I better be going, sir. It's a lovely day, and I should be returning to my cardboard box. My family and I are gonna have breakfast today!"
John ran off. Charles shrugged, frowned, and looked directly at the sun.
-
Fuck Your Grammar
Carl gun in hand meanders down the open highway cars swerving to avoid black asphalt smells new old men driving pontiacs young men driving him insane but he fears not for there is no sanity in what is not sane head filled with disease he dodges a large pickup truck and opens fire on the driver through the glaring windshield red beautiful like a rose will to survive screams of horror magestic in it's own fucked up way where is he here there or nowhere all at once man driving ford escort dead falls to the dashboard as the car swerves onto the highway where it rolls over laughing Carl notices that his shirt is stained with blood not his blood others blood shoots the tire of a station wagon rolling down the road possibly heading towards a family destination of some sort like a big brown pile of shit heads down a pipe towards it's inescapable doom Carl grins as the wagon pulls to the side of the road and they notice Carl standing with his pistol blood on his shirt mad insane grinning as if he has heard some sort of deranged cruel yet sadisticly funny joke they die as he plucks them off one by one the parents first then the two little boys oh jesus they are dead he thinks even more blood this time kiddy blood not just idiot blood.
-
shouldn't you have waited until leapyear and began this on the 1st of february the same year?
-
Closing Time
Bob 1 stared at the TV screen. The same video was playing that played every Tuesday night. There was nothing special about this night. Bob 2 sat next to Bob 1 sipping on his beer. Bob 3 was next to Bob 2 playing Solitaire on the bar surface. Inside this particular inn it was gloomy and dark, beautifully so though. There were blinds on the window and nice little rays of light shining their prettyness through the window.
Bob 1 raised his hands to his chin and wrapped his fingers around it. "You know what Bob 2 and Bob 3?"
"What?" They groaned in unision."
"I never quite understood why we put the hour backwards an hour and then put it forwards an hour. Why not just put it half way in between forever and ever?"
"Yeah, coming to think of it that is pretty strange", said a newly enlightened Bob 2.
"Aye. Who knows why we ain't never done that. Maybe we will in the future or something, ya' never know huh?", offered Bob 3.
Up on the TV screen there was a clip of a sun burning in the sky brightly. The film then cut to a big battle. Lots of different armies were fighting in a fictional world. The film was called The Last Battle.
Bob 2 burped rudely. On the tv screen the sun faded out. "Hey, hey, hey it looks like me and you - Bob 3... will uh... not uh... get our own lines."
The sun burned out on the tv screen and in the real universe at exactly the same time. None of the Bobs were ever heard from again.
-
There is a fine line between apathy and obedience.
We don't like those whinos that come in here posing as friends, do we Harold? They're just a bunch of phonies and can stick it where the sun don't shine, am I right? Like that one guy with the purple afro and the gold chain draped across his tanned shoulders walking towards the bar with a slight limp in his left leg, that prostitute bard, taking a sip from a bottle of lager, feeling his insides burn as he realized what he was doing, feeling the thirst and depraved madness of the rat poison, taking another sip, then falling to the ground in a fit of hysteria and vomitting on the wooden floor. He died, and they dragged the body into the street and castrated him, poor fella, and left him in a ragged ditch near the capital. Max and Duncan wore expressions of lunacy, checking their pistols and giving each other intimate looks. They kissed passionately and charged into the street, guns blazing in a fury of smoke and sexual retardation, removing any doubt from our minds that the only good indian is a dead one. Duncan had said to me that he was infused with the spirit of Crazy Horse, that he would revenge the terrors brought on his people at Wounded Knee and others, take them out with a magnum bullet clenched in his teeth and another ejaculating from his gun with a squeezed trigger. The poor bastards didn't know what to expect when they saw him mow down five police officers and a little baby. I supported him, I suppose, for his ideology and love for the movement. I didn't expect him to go down so violently, eh? I say the only good pig is a dead pig, a dead cop, a dead police officer, with blood next to the hole in his head. He is no longer a man once he accepts the badge of (in)justice, and he deserves to die a bloody death. The only solution to the problems of this world is with a firearm. You hypocrite pacifists, you leftist upperclassmen, I'm talking to you. You claim equality, you say that you want to save the poor, from your huge house and swimming pool, but you do nothing. I know your real agenda, idiots. Your donations to charity are obsolete. You are just contributing to the problem. YOU ARE ALL PIGS. I am real. I am there on the streets with my gat blazing and eyes raged. with my 22 clipped to my belt and my uzi machine-gunning, I am God. I am the savior. Isn't that right?
-
2
Louie Lane and Simon Street got along mightally fine. They went everywhere together. Even to the toilet.
One day Louie Lane wanted a hamburger though and Simon Street wanted nothing. So they disagreed and parted ways.
The world ended in aproximately 0 days.
-
hallelujah, God is in the house!? :angel:
PS. dear God, am i still your "divine angel," or have i fallen from grace?? :-\
I dread entering the Kingdom of Heaven because if I am as forgiving as the Bible claims I am the company there shall be poor.
-
any particular god, or are you going for the i'm the only one angle?
I have spent nights huddled in my bedspread weeping hopelessly about my omnipresence. I pity the person who cries at this. Laugh; for heaven?s sake laugh.
-
? ??? hmmm. that was the most surreal one, so far.
The tragedy of death is that people are upset after it. When I die I hope I am run over by a bandwagon full of clowns.
That?s what I said when I was younger. Funnily enough, my hope has all but been realised. It?s true what they say: the funniest things are the truest.
-
shouldn't you have waited until leapyear and began this on the 1st of february the same year?
Externally the difference between crying and laughing is so little yet internally the difference is so large.
-
THANKS YUO!!
DAER OFFICER
THAk you for taking your time and us because of the sniper atacking and killing people and children so we thank you for watching our school and hold day so we thank you for what you have don for us
frome mahadeo persaud
key board class
1978 may 12
-
Brudda's accross the nation
(classical music starts playing but then a superstar dj goes over the sound with some loud phat beats)
Eh yo!
Sup!
Bruddas and Muddas...
All accross the land
It's time Eh Yo
Collect Yo Ho's
Na, Na, Na, Na
See RAP started BACK when us people gave no FLAK we got no RESPECT so we made out our BET carried out and never REGRET what you done brudda and remember it aint no crime to listen to yo mudda every once in a while
Eh yo!
Mixin' it up!
Remix like fo' real up in da 'ouse
Eh yo!
Not as quiet as a mouse!
Whoo Whoo Whoo gave you your name your fame your shame brudda remember to listen to your mudda NEXT TIME cause murder is just around the corner and its SWEAT TIME so buddahs and muddahs and all sorts of people come on and climb off your tall steeples
because...
ALL IN ALL YOUR JUST ANOTHER BRICK IN THE WALL
one more time my brudda who was born to a mudda -
ALL IN ALL YOUR JUST ANOTHER BRICK IN THE WALL
eho yo i cant hear you so
ALL IN ALL YOUR JUST ANOTHER BRICK IN THE WALL
See, 3po i spit like a star wars clone george lucas up in your super duper home see images of deadly drones and light sabers to jedi's home and i say this to all yo people on the phone
hey hey hey hey
hey HEYYYYYYYy hey
ALL IN ALL YOUR JUST ANOTHER BRICK IN THE WALL
all my yodas drivin in those skodas
ALL IN ALL YOUR JUST ANOTHER BRICK IN THE WALL
one more time yo and use the forces flow
ALL IN ALL YOUR JUST ANOTHER BRICK IN THE WALL
huh huh the song is starting to fade
ALL IN ALL YOUR JUST ANOTHER BrIcK in the wallllllllllllllllllll
(music fades out slowly while the listener can hear loads of brothers spreading the love accross the nation)
-
Uncle Tom Motherfucker
who the fuck am I to care
whether or not the world is about to explode
whether little kids are fucked by old men
in warehouses. i don't give a shit
because it's not me. it's someone else.
i'll never die because i am a teenager
i'm just a nigger living on the edge
but that all changed
when her rotting corpse disfigured and horrible
came to life.
-
The end of the world
Three transvestites stood on a yellow ford cortina singing in the rain. They were called Bobbi, Barbara and Elena. They participated in this activity every Sunday. The car was parked in front of Perry Tszupantaar's house. In his garden.
Perry observed the farce below from his bedroom window. "I daresay, they're craving attention." Perry felt a little dizzy from the stress of the loud words being sang. He sat down on the bed. His dog lay next to him, called Trevor - a male Border Collie. "Trevor. Trevor, nobody loves me. Nobody loves me at all. No single person in the whole wide world. Cares. About me."
Trevor looked up at Perry. He obviously understood Perry's emotions due to his highly advanced doggie senses. He made some puppy eyes expressing sympathy for Perry. "Speak to me Trevor. Say something. Prove to me that Science doesn't exist. Trevor I must hear your voice." He raised his glass of red wine from his bedside cabinet and took a long gulp. "Ahh," he sighed in relief.
Bobbi arched her buttocks upon the Cortina's passenger door. "Aww Mavis. This place is a total wrecker. The day is too." Barbara shaked her head. "I ain't never gonna see no knicker gals of mine going down a' big time, you a' know what I'm saying Bobbi?"
Bobbi stuck her cigarette in Barbara's nostril. "You ain't nothin'".
"Huh? Why do you two always leave me out of the conversations? Huh? Why? Am I the ugly duckling? I hate poetry. Imagery is too much. I'm going to run away."
The sun started coming down from the sky at a rapid rate and landed on the Earth. The Earth burned out in 0.00000000000000000001 Nanoseconds. The universe became a whole lot emptier that day.
-
the LITTELL BLUE CARR and friends written
Once apon a time a little old lady named Sarah.
One day the little old lady decided to buy a new car.
So she went to the car dealership.
She walked all around and finally decided on a small blue car.
She drove the little blue car home and parked it in her garage.
The next day she drove to the Supermarket.
When she left all the other cars started laughing at the little blue car.
The little blue car said,? Why are you laughing??
and the minivan said,? ?cause your blue! Tee-Hee!?
So the little blue car turned around and started to cry.
When the little old lady came out and got in the little blue car, they drove away in silence.
While he sat in the garage he thought of a great plan.
The next day the little old lady got in the car and they drove back to the Supermarket because she was out of condoms
When she left, the little blue car revved up his engine and did a WHEELIES!
THA END
-
The Mobile Phone
Four children sat in a room. Within 5 minutes each of them had held the mobile phone. Within 10 minutes everyone of them was dead. The end.
-
Ecstasy
Ecstasy is Death
?Drugs are the devil;
their mission is not
complete until they
have consumed all
Man-kind.?
- De? Michael
You okay, Sam?
Sam Simons laughed as Timothy?s head began to grow fat, gradually twisting grotesquely out of shape, until the skin began to melt and blood began to drip. A snot bubble burst just as his ears bent, became pink, and twisted out of shape. He was surprised, however, to discover he himself was changing. His skin was slowly bending to and fro, like a weak tree swaying in the wind. It was changing colour too: from bright and pink to dull and grey, before going orangey and then finally purple. And his voice - yes, that was certainly something to consider. Timothy?s as well. No longer were they the bright, happy, excited voices they had once been ? they were dull and monotonous - as tedious and unhappy as the sparks of the morning light. Sam began to shiver with excitement.
Sam, should I call an ambulance?
Sam continued to laugh as Timothy?s body began to loosen, tighten, and loosen some more. Timothy seemed to be laughing, as his body became more and more like jelly. Then slowly his clothes and shoes began to tighten, rip, and tear, before finally falling noiselessly to the ground. Now he stood dexterously before him; his skin was weak and tight, rather resembling an old, wrinkled face. But now it seemed not a body at all. There were no hands, feet, arms or toes - it was plain and sour looking: no skin at all, just blood dripping. Drip, dripping. Timothy looked like the devil. He had horns growing out of his forehead and his mouth was torn and jagged. He held a pitchfork at his side, which hardly managed to cover the curving tale which was working its way forward.
Sam, how many did you have? Three? Four?
Sam giggled as his attention was once more diverted. At the other side of the room - which, mind you, was now getting darker and darker as the music thumped violently away - a plain television set was switched on to President Bush. He stood side-by-side with Osama Bin Laden, wrapped in warm affection, speaking on friendly terms. ?Today, fellow Americans,? he was saying, ?the war of terrorism ends. Today we join allegiance with death. Today our toils and worries are left behind. Today, fellow Americans - today it all begins?.? The voice trailed off as Timothy let out a scream of laughter. Sam recoiled as his skin began to boil. Bubbles of blood and puss began to run down his arm.
Look, Sam, I?m gonna call the ambulance. You?re really screwed, man.
Sam began to drool uncontrollably. The whites of Timothy?s eyes had turned red; his pupils were black with red dots streaked wildly. His hair, face, and body was on fire - the flames burned wildly every this way and that. But now Timothy was changing ? physically. His body was getting less and less manly. The hair on his head seemed to grow longer and longer; his legs went smooth. For a moment the grotesque blood faded miserably away. The utter misery of physical deformation became little more than a forgotten rumour. Tits began to rise on Timothy?s chest. Something else rose on Sam.
Let go of me, dude. Somebody call am ambulance!
Suddenly the ground began to tremble, like an earthquake, only not. Surprisingly, Sam could only laugh as his feet collapsed under him. Timothy only stood silent. Then Sam?s laughing turned to hysterics as he turned in time to see the President in his final words, only this time it was the face of the devil. His face was wreathed in flame and his words trembled like thunder. ?Fellow Americans,? he proclaimed once more, ?hear me and hear me now! Today you have witnessed a revolution - one that shall never been seen again. Today, my dear, dear Americans - today you are all blessed. Behold, my friends! Osama Bin Laden, the friend of America ? the false prophet! Hear him as you have embraced me. Embrace him as you have Slim Shady; let the world know that we shall learn his teachings. Let us all remember his number, and mark it well.? A bright and sudden message flashed across the screen, far too fast and incoherent for it to be made out. It ended with a symbol and a number. The number was 666.
(what the hell is that thumping noise?)
Come on, get up! There?s a good boy, Sam!
The ground continued to grumble and moan; only now it was getting violent. Even the stern face of Timothy, his greatest friend, was growing worried. The drip-dripping of the blood had no effect on either of them. Suddenly there was a cry of dismay from somewhere in the room ? probably someone freaking off their trip. Just then the ground began to tremble, and it shook violently, until at last neither Timothy, Sam, nor anyone else in the room could stand. Some scrambled for cover. Some remained standing to face whatever this new wrath brought. But Sam ? Sam just collapsed.
The ground felt cold to the touch. It was almost half like cement, only it was much softer. And now it was getting hotter; so hot, in fact, that in a few minutes Sam felt he would burn up on the inside. He continued to giggle momentarily.
(shut up that damn music!)
Quick, this way Sam! The cops! Must?a been a tip-off!
Suddenly the ground cracked right open, tearing the dull room in two. It revealed a dark and endless pit, spanning longer than the mind could possibly imagine. It smelt of molten rock - that foul, putrid smell of rotten eggs. Sam could taste it on his tongue as he smelled it with horror.
Just as the trembling stopped, out from the newly opened crack, a fire-ball of immense size burst brilliantly ? a mixture of dazzling fire-works and chaos. It burnt both Timothy and Sam (and probably everyone else); and yet, he noticed, it only managed to cook their now-exposed blood. He trembled as something else formed - probably a shadow, as best it could be described - and flew up in the air with a horrid shriek of mockery and laughter.
Damn earthquakes, dude. Always gotta happen at the parties, I swear.
Whether it was a shriek or a dying moan, Sam couldn?t be quite sure. But just then the shadow appeared as something else - not entirely describable - that made an abhorred noise: it was a demon. Not a red, smiling demon with a pitch-fork and two horns on its head - no. It was far more terrifying and loathsome; it smiled in mockery as it began to round up teenagers, and stab them with vile ferociousness. A few times Sam thought It was coming for him; but it never did.
Sam noticed the demon was riding on a wave of flame, like surf-boarders ride a wave of water, only the demon was not using a board of any kind. It was almost as if it was controlling the fire, as though it were under its command.
Death is Pain
S**t, that was close. Dude ? dude, are you alright? Oh my God -
Sam had the sudden feeling he was wedged between two walls. They were cold and smooth, probably made of some type of brick.
(dude, I?m serious, shut that thumping music up!)
He looked above his head in an attempt to find something of escape. But he found none. Timothy was gone, so were the television and the room. Now, indeed, he was stuck between two endless walls. There seemed to be no ground and no sky, and certainly no escape. Sam felt tired. I need sleep, he though. Yes, sleep is good. Maybe if I just -
Oh my God. Sam, are you okay? Sam ? Sam? SAM! Sam, don?t be stupid. This isn?t time for games. Say something, Sam. This isn?t funny -
Everything turned dark. The music inside his head continued to thump. Although he didn?t know it, the music would never stop. But now he noticed that the music was louder, as though it were growing intensely. It went from a soft, melodious (if not annoying) dum-dum-dum to a much more vexing thump-thump - THUMP - BOOM - BOOM!
(please help me. Please turn off the music. Please God, oh please!)
Suddenly Sam was aware that he was dying. He knew this because of two reasons: his breathing had stopped - indeed, now he thought it, he wasn?t ?breathing? at all. It was as though oxygen had always been a feigned man-derived invention, never meant to be. Nothing more than a material. And secondly, he was flying. Not ?Peter Pan? flying to Never-never land, because there were no clouds or rippling waves. Only darkness. For mile upon endless mile, there was only a black emptiness; the world had passed away and eternity was just beginning.
Welcome to the end, my son. The former world is past.
News report, from The Daily Post:
Yesterday in Paddington, Police stormed a drug-riddled night-rave party. Their intentions were to catch drug dealers. Unfortunately for them, they found much, much more.
Sam Simons, a Paddington resident, was found on the ground. He had overdosed on heroin. He was later officially declared dead when they discovered knife wounds to the head and chest; apparently these were caused by a friend, Timothy, who had ?been scared of Sam?s actions caused by drugs?. Police have yet to confirm these reports?.
?Who said you could
ban Marijuana,
White boy??
- God
-
Untitled
You say the world appreciates you,
But you appreciate the world.
I try to explain
To tell you,
But you hear too many voices.
And no accent can help you now.
I want you to know,
To understand.
But you can't.
You say that life is everything,
But don't you see?
Life is nothing.
Without death, what do you have?
Everything.
And because your eyes are too wide open.
And your senses too sensitive,
You appreciate the world.
And you convince yourself
That the world appreciates
You.
-
The Journey to the Centre of the Penguin
I fumbled, and fed my eyes on the little light there was around me. I heard a noise, a voice? Two bright eyes winked at me from the darkness. There was the sound of ice breaking and suddenly it was light.
I saw that there was before me a magnificent bird, a penguin to be precise, standing there in a top hat and jockey suit holding my hourglass. I thanked him, and took the hourglass. Only four minutes left. But wait. . . Four minutes until - what? I had forgotten. I turned around to ask advice from my fluffy friend but his head was missing, leaving him unable to talk or even to relay a vague message using a complicated system of eye movements.
This scared me. Looking the penguin sternly in the neck, I commanded him to give me a sign of some sort, that he was still alive. I waited for four seconds, and then gazed in wonder at what was happening: The arm of the penguin shuddered and moved, producing a wooden signpost on which was scrawled, "All is well."
Taking this as an insult, I readied my Scriplock 4000 and aimed it at the left flipper. "One move and you're souffle," I said, trying to sound fierce but failing miserably, my ego falling flat on its face in a pile of leftover blacmange. I casually kicked it aside - I wouldn't be needing it where I was going. Looking at the badly-animated penguin, I prepared myself for what was about to happen. But alas, I then heard the telltale noise, fwhuh, fwhuh, fwhuh. . . the steady beats of a small aluminium propellor turning underwater. I counted the seconds, three, two, one. . . and there was a cracking sound, right on cue, and the ice broke - and up came what I had most feared: Jim Spriggs. And the rest, as they say, is history.
-
1
A scared man sat in the middle of the road clutching a keyboard in his hands. "The world is going to end!" he cried, and then suddenly he died.
Two teenagers looked at his dead body, bewildered. They didn't know what to say so they said nothing at all. They climbed the highest mountain in the world.
Kubba Klein looked through his binoculars. People died.
No one knocked at his door.
"Enter."
-
hallelujah, God is in the house!? :angel:
PS. dear God, am i still your "divine angel," or have i fallen from grace?? :-\
I dread entering the Kingdom of Heaven because if I am as forgiving as the Bible claims I am the company there shall be poor.
ouch. :(
-
Hey God, I just happened by to pray
If you see my friend, tell her to stay
In this world of a family kind
You the father, the mountain, the hill
The water is rising, sun is blind
The distant island, gulping with ill
We look to you, for refuge of mind
Peace by piece, nine by nine, love can kill
Piece by peace, eye for eye, fear entwined
-
Oh fuck off. ;D
-
/dies
-
/dies
So your FOAD, then? The pot chickens.......
-
dies... of laughing.
sigh.
-
dies... of laughing.
sigh.
Can you really die of laughing and not as a result of the physical sensation caused by a chain of bodily events that is often involved in the process of laughing? Shouldnt you have some sort of narration to point out that you have just sighed or put down something like *sigh* because it does seem terribly uncouth to just put it down on a forum like there is any literary value in that post atall.
Sorry/me is a pedant/ a completely pedantic is me. :P
-
my dear child, if we were relying on literary value in posts on any board i've seen, all of them would die within nanoseconds, quite honestly.
oh no! it's the Literary :police:
-
my dear child,
That's not me in the av.
-
really? gasp!
maybe not, but you're still only about half my age. i'm allowed the odd senior moment, you know. :P
-
i'm allowed the odd senior moment, you know. :P
can we expect you to be pottering around the forums dressed in beige, vaguely muttering to yourself about the price of TCP, then? ;)
-
fuck off, you CHILD!!!
i don't wear beige, and i prefer tea tree or lavender oils to TCP, fuck you so very much.
anyway, shut yer face, or i'll start moaning on about the demise of the blue rinse (this is actually true - there was an article on R4 about it the other day).
-
oh, but no problem whatsoever about the vague muttering - i can do that, in spades. ;)
-
Dear God,
Are we almost there, yet?
-
Hahahahaha, what the hell is this?
-
Maybe this belongs in the thread of god
http://www.news.com.au/story/0,23599,26229233-2,00.html?from=public_rss
-
Hyke, you are wonderful :laugh: