You know, it really seems that there were three assassins that killed JFK. No, really. There is a sinister Jewish Zionist power that secretly controls the world's government. Yes, THOSE Jews. The bad, brushy-faced hook-nosed semi-cannibals that held the world hostage for actually, ever since fucking David nailed Abraham. Oh, sorry. Goliath. Same difference.
Did I mention that the whole fucking moon shot thingy was all an elaborate hoax? No Shit, Sherlock, Fuckin' Francis Ford Coppola directed the whole fucking thing. Right on Pad 9 in Hollywood. Neil Armstrong was a standup comic hired by Irving Veivovitz (again, the Zionist plotter) and, believe it or not, Jerry Lewis (France's beloved comic) was heavily involved.
Fuckin' A, let's not stop there. George W. Bush Jr. PERSONALLY orchestrated the Twin Towers attack. Like he could fucking orchestrate his own fucking boiled egg on a fucking Sunday morning at Camp David..
Yep, thousands of Zionist conspirators went down in a blaze of sacrifice so that the rest of the fucking six million could live.
Oh, wait. No. No Jewish person checked into the Twin Towers that day; they knew beforehand from emissaries from George Bush that "Mohammed Atta" was a pseudonym for the vicious perpetrators of mercilous destruction. Can you say "Cantor"? I know you can if you only put a little fucking effort into it. No, can you say "Cantor" and "Fitzgerald" at the same time? I knew you could. Guess, no, seriously, guess WHO FUCKING OCCUPIED THREE STOREYS OF WTC. I think you may have guessed right. I think you can count, and if you can, you'll realize that a FUCKING THOUSAND JEWISH PEOPLE DIED THAT DAY. Just do the fucking Google. I know you can. Finger, point, press, press again.
Did you know that GW personally hired a team of explosive experts who strategically planted seven thousand carefully-placed explosives to personally assure that 1.86 billion people could be deceived? To this day?
The Jews fucking did it. Them and the gays. I say nuke 'em all.
Oh, yeah, what was my point again?
Fucking Facebook has your fucking number and if you think sending a drunken email and regretting it the next morning was a a Bad Thing, boy, you have another think coming.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Jesus Christ
God, I hate Christians. Umm, is there any worse gang? Hmm, well let me tally . . . the Muslims . . . the Scientologists . . . Heaven's Gate Baptist Emporium (and Gift Shop!) . . . oh, and all those nice folk that think there are seventy-two virgins waiting for them. Anywhere.
I just have one word for them: "Shove Off".
The preceding message may have been disturbing for some readers. Reader discretion is advised.
I just have one word for them: "Shove Off".
The preceding message may have been disturbing for some readers. Reader discretion is advised.
Big
Have you ever seen one of those World War II fighters? No, really, in the flesh? Reason I mention is because (as you know) Taishi and I (mostly Taishi) have been building the little plastic models. That's what you think of them -- these little plastic things that look even tinier on TV.
But if you have ever had the experience to actually see these things in reality, you understand the word "Cadillac" or "Monte Carlo." These things were huge! Just as big as the bastards could make them.
Then imagine this small little pilot in this huge death factory . . . it boggles the mind.
You know, humanity is insane. World War II to some is just one big goddamn soccer match. My battleship . . POW! 1349 lives lost. GOAAAAAALLLL!
In spite of all the euphemisms to disguise them, these things, then and now, were designed to do only one thing: exact the maximum mayhem possible.
I mean, what the fuck do we need a flight of 4,760 Phantom H-19s and a Carrier Battle Group South any more for?
Who the fuck is there left to bomb into dust?
Osama, step up to the plate and be counted, you dastardly villain. Don't make us come over there.
But if you have ever had the experience to actually see these things in reality, you understand the word "Cadillac" or "Monte Carlo." These things were huge! Just as big as the bastards could make them.
Then imagine this small little pilot in this huge death factory . . . it boggles the mind.
You know, humanity is insane. World War II to some is just one big goddamn soccer match. My battleship . . POW! 1349 lives lost. GOAAAAAALLLL!
In spite of all the euphemisms to disguise them, these things, then and now, were designed to do only one thing: exact the maximum mayhem possible.
I mean, what the fuck do we need a flight of 4,760 Phantom H-19s and a Carrier Battle Group South any more for?
Who the fuck is there left to bomb into dust?
Osama, step up to the plate and be counted, you dastardly villain. Don't make us come over there.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Guys
Look, guys, I joke around a lot. It's just me. Fuck it. It's the way I talk in real life, if you were ever to meet me. But I wouldn't be much.
If you came across me on the street, you would not have a double-take. Not even.
I look so much like the average Joe that you'd mistake me for a shadow. I'm in my mind a bit better looking than a shadow, but then again, I have a tendency to exaggerate.
But it's okay. There are bargains we all make with ourselves. One of mine is a mantra that I kind of sorta pretty much try to make every single day of my life.
No, seriously. Put a stop on it. Learn when someone has just had enough of you. Shut the hell up, because in the end, your voice is going to be the last thing you hear. You have a lot of goddamn time to think about that, if you prefer to be optimistic.
Trust me.
But please do appreciate that I really don't know who you are, but you've had the patience to come by this spot and I do cry and scream but in reality, I most certainly do think of every single one of you.
Like they say, life is tough, and then you die.
But you know what? Flock?
I'll drag all of you kicking and screaming down with me when I go.
(And Christ, where on Earth did all you 44 silent people come from?)
If you came across me on the street, you would not have a double-take. Not even.
I look so much like the average Joe that you'd mistake me for a shadow. I'm in my mind a bit better looking than a shadow, but then again, I have a tendency to exaggerate.
But it's okay. There are bargains we all make with ourselves. One of mine is a mantra that I kind of sorta pretty much try to make every single day of my life.
No, seriously. Put a stop on it. Learn when someone has just had enough of you. Shut the hell up, because in the end, your voice is going to be the last thing you hear. You have a lot of goddamn time to think about that, if you prefer to be optimistic.
Trust me.
But please do appreciate that I really don't know who you are, but you've had the patience to come by this spot and I do cry and scream but in reality, I most certainly do think of every single one of you.
Like they say, life is tough, and then you die.
But you know what? Flock?
I'll drag all of you kicking and screaming down with me when I go.
(And Christ, where on Earth did all you 44 silent people come from?)
But I Didn't
Okay, so don't slash me with several machine guns. I'm listening to Donald Fagen, Brigitte has just retired and my tiny boy is pretending to be asleep.
So all is right with the world.
So it was disturbing when Brigitte came out here and asked why I was crying.
How do you tell someone you're really all right, it just seems necessary to cry? For me, music is the trigger -- it just kills me. It's ingrained in my DNA. It's so hard to explain. Christ, just talking about it makes me tired.
But let me tell you, you bastards, every loving one of you, that there is no better place to be on this earth than Donald Fagen singing from way back when, when I used to be young, back in 1982.
I could be wrong about dates, but then, you can
uhh
kiss my ass.
So all is right with the world.
So it was disturbing when Brigitte came out here and asked why I was crying.
How do you tell someone you're really all right, it just seems necessary to cry? For me, music is the trigger -- it just kills me. It's ingrained in my DNA. It's so hard to explain. Christ, just talking about it makes me tired.
But let me tell you, you bastards, every loving one of you, that there is no better place to be on this earth than Donald Fagen singing from way back when, when I used to be young, back in 1982.
I could be wrong about dates, but then, you can
uhh
kiss my ass.
I Thought I Lost My Mind
I really did ... Holy Goddamn Fuck, someone saw Fit to Make a Remake . . . Better than the fucking original . . . FUCKING A, this is already shaping up to be a good year. I love you all dearly.
Put on the fucking headphones, just forget everything you just learned, and call me in the morning after the two Aspirin.
Put on the fucking headphones, just forget everything you just learned, and call me in the morning after the two Aspirin.
Hip 'n Now Now
Sometimes . . . these times, my dearest flock of the New Year -- you just wax nostalgic. No, it's something not quite under control, kind of like watching Tom Hanks in the same movie as Whoopi Goldberg.
Yeah, yeah, n'er the twain shall meet.
But think, for instance, in this, our New Year, of forgotten wayfarers who went before us.
Who fucking blazed a trail a mile deep, only we were collectively too fucking stoned to notice it.
LOTS of people blazed that trail . . . hey, remember Debbie Gibson? Katrina and the Waves?
Well, fuck me with a bent spoon, neither do I.
But . . . there's always that "but."
Here's one for the "Forgotten but Not Gone" record books . . . best enjoyed on Eleven with very large headphones. The future's so bright I need shades.
Yeah, yeah, n'er the twain shall meet.
But think, for instance, in this, our New Year, of forgotten wayfarers who went before us.
Who fucking blazed a trail a mile deep, only we were collectively too fucking stoned to notice it.
LOTS of people blazed that trail . . . hey, remember Debbie Gibson? Katrina and the Waves?
Well, fuck me with a bent spoon, neither do I.
But . . . there's always that "but."
Here's one for the "Forgotten but Not Gone" record books . . . best enjoyed on Eleven with very large headphones. The future's so bright I need shades.
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