Beware. When I left today for the Shizzle Market and went up the old drive, I thought of age and innocence and wandering. The town had completely transformed into rust. Nothing was left looking like it had before. All along the drive, I walked with me dog Rex, and I discovered that he could no longer talk, but could now sing. Amazed was I to see everyone bound in blue overalls. In some ways, I suppose it was refreshing. My little dog was singing on and on about the statue of liberty to the melodies of showtunes from "The Sound of Music." Chief Big Ramble was dressed in a black business suit, and suddenly everything reminded me of all of the episodes of "Sliders" combined. It looked horrible.
Up the street came a man poorly shaven and twisting like an English Cedar in the wind. Obviously, he was some sort of junkie or cokehead. A man like that only keeps a job if he has some sort of spouse to support or a habit to keep up. Maybe both.
I stopped, and pulled back on Rex's Leash. He gasped for breath amid an attempt to hit one of Julie Andrews's high C's. As I'm typing this, I'm reading it aloud to my ex-girlfriend over the phone.
There was a giant hush over the town. Everyone noticed that I had noticed, and that made me noticeable, so they noticed me. People young and old turned to see me. Babies too underdeveloped to lift their heads did to my amazement sit up in the cribs, or even lean out of them to watch. The only one who didn't stare was Rex, who smiled vacantly at all of them, licked his lips, and then turned his head down in a bashful, friendly sort of way.
I know there's only a certain amount of time when you can take with things like this. You just have to realize that you're out of your head. There's no way that anything of these can be real.
My friend Erin is a white girl. She speaks to me in my sleep, haunting me at night. She has four horns that all spray me with DET, and she toys with model airplanes in her spare time. She is my best friend. She whispers to me very softly at night to kill South American Dictators from the 1980's. And then I wake up and realize it's 1992, and that's not a revelant or constructive thing to say. My therapist found out about the artificial twat I'd carved out because I read all of the white supremacists on my friends list. I've tried over the past week to carve out an artificial vagina underneath my ball sack, because I want to look like Hillary Duff, except as a man. You know? Kind of sexy in that Hindu or Bugs Bunny kind of way. I'd like to say on behalf of me, that I don't date white women, but I sure want to look like one.
Do you understand? Good. Thanks, Erin.

Yesterday, I went to church in my little red Beetle, all ready to cut myself because it was a new, but rather unexciting day. The Lord God seemed to do it, letting the blood leech from his fingernails like a damn dirty ape. Argh. My girlfriend is so scared about how we are.
This morning, I cut into my stupid black flesh "I AM A DIRTY NIGGER."
I know! I know it's racist! I've thought about life a lot, lemme tell you that, but this has gotten unreasonable. I'm feeling OK, and I like to cut myself, and if the Lord Jesus NOT BLACK Christ thought that sort of thing about me, well then lemme tell you again, OK. Sometimes, I think, maybe I'm not all that bad. Carlton got back from work yesterday sweating like a pig and he talked to me like he was some sort of damn college professor. I'm 22, but I still live with my girlfriend in my parents' basement. They don't like me. They always buy the crappy paper towels for me to eat my hot pockets on. It's completely unreasonable. I don't even know how to deal anymore.
I think that at the heart of my cutting is white people. I honestly don't think that they want to help poor people. They look at me like I'm trying to disassemble the economy single-handedly, and then I read the white supremacists here on livejournal and I just want to knife my stupid black skin. The way all of you white people describe cutting, and show your pictures, it seems to me to be a QUITE different process. I think to myself, cutting is involved, no questions asked, but I don't have the gall to post stuff like that, at least not yet. I understand the difference between up and down, a razor blade and an Exacto® and that's what makes my day go around.
Wait, lemme put away my computer. My Mom just came in.
OK, phew, she's gone. I think she keeps checking in on me to make sure I'm not masturbating again. It just gets so hard. There's a certain point when you're slicing up the old thighs and it's 4 a.m. and you're watching late night E! and eating Cheetos and thinking, Dude, I just suck. And that's when I take the blade.
So slowly.
Maybe just below my gouche and below my balls.
And I try to cut a little vagina, just like all of you white girls. And I then I nearly choke on the hot pocket, because that shit is rough. And then I cough, HWOOP HWOOP, and I start crying and then I jerk off because they just started showing the French style bikinis from the south of France.
I really need help. I need someone I can turn to for help, because right now cutting and the Lord God's church are essentially all that make sense. Frankly, i'm not too sure how you Jews out there deal with all of this. I want to be white, I want to be skinny, I want to look just like Hillary Duff, I mean, except a man. That way, and only that way, I would be OK.
I've got a list of scenarios I'd like you all to go over in your head and think about if you can relate to them. I don't want to cut myself, I don't want to turn into a non-Christian, and most of all I just don't want to feel so weird and alone.
1) When you're reading the Bible, and you're thinking about Jesus's sex change (It's in there!) do you ever think he had second thoughts? Do you find that this triggers you to cut, too? Oh, please, I want someone to understand me.
2) When you're at Disneyland (OK, or at Disneyworld greedy bitches) and you're on that ride where all of those munchkin people are singing "It's A Small World" don't you just want to take a knife and run it right from your anus, up your back to that little place right above the vestigial tail? (NOT THAT I BELIEVE IN EVOLUTION. THAT IS SINFUL)
3) Do you guys have boyfriends or girlfriends? OK, good. Well, when you guys are having sex or eating out or going down on each other, do you ever wish (OK, this is a little embarassing . . . . phewww) . . . do you ever wish that they'd just bite down on your genitals and take those away too with your semen or vaginal fluids?
OH SHIT, here comes my Mom, just a minute.
As I'm typing all of this, I'm reading it aloud to my ex-girlfriend over the phone. I hope that you'll excuse the fact that, YES, I do need some support before the next episode.
OK, well I hope those scenarios ring true with some of you guys. I feel so lonely, and would really appreciate your help.
My main problems with white people are that they probably wouldn't accept it if I explained to them quite rationally and quite calmly that they were simply evil. They wouldn't understand my girlfriend, and they certainly wouldn't understand how they personally enslaved us. ("Us" meaning all people who descend from sub-Saharan Africa.) I just . . . I don't know.
I think I'm going to cut again tonight, and then pray for forgiveness. My Pastor, Pastor Harry, told us all in youth group that if we ever felt really bad for something that he could help make things better. That he'd hold us all tightly in the back of his Cadillac and pray with us, maybe try to help us out of what is a potentially horrible scenario. He'd try to set all us straight. Especially the damn homosexuals. They way they push and pander to all of the world with their horrible ugliness.
I want to cut that little area between my toes; it's so fat and ugly and black. God in Heaven above, this is my prayer to you to make me stop cutting:
Dear Lord,
Please make me stop cutting.
I don't want to be worthless.
Please make the other people on livejournal cutgroup help me,
and give me advice.
They seem like good people to me,
at least the white ones.
Don't tell me to push that blade back into my gouche, rendering me sexless
and likely impotent
No matter how likely I am to develop
prostate cancer
there is no reason at all to shove an x-acto blade into my gouche
in an attempt to carve out an artificial twat.

Phew, I'm OK.

So, last night Jason came to my apartment and sucked me off before we went bowling. Then, I realized I was gay. At that moment. And worse, that I hate white people. Anyone who would do that for me probably wasn't thinking clearly.
The next day I told Pastor Harry's wife about all of this. She was new to the ladies' club, and she seemed really sad. I usually have to wear really long sweaters to cover up all of these scars and it's getting old. Furthermore, I attend a nigger church which really sucks. But she prayed with me, but it wasn't in the back of that big Cadillac.

"Baby, maybe you shouldn't worry so much," she said. "Those scars will heal, just like how the Lord can heal your heart of all pains in time."
"No, they won't. The amount of tissue damage I've done is substantial to say the least. In all likelihood, I'll always look psycho with these scars. I look like a . . . "
"Like a what, baby girl?" she said.
"I look like a junkie, m'am."
"Awww, naw," she said. "That's nothing nice to say. My Momma always told me that if I couldn't say nothing nice that I should say nothing at all. That always put me at peace."
I sighed, and we hugged, and she kissed me on the back of the neck. I really like her, even if she's a nigger.
I stubbed my toe last Saturday night at the youth group choir, and that made me laugh. I told my friend Saul that it really put my cutting habit in persepective, but he, when I said this (and although formerly friendly) simply stared at me and backed away. I hope he hasn't told anyone.
OH, shit here comes my Mom, guys. I gotta go.

Blue bottle stop at the ice cream station
I knew that I needed to ween off but you weren't there holding my emacia044955ted hand so tightly in your large white one. I just get sick of all of the money that my mother left me from the Coca-Cola factory. It just sits in my living room and causes scurvy and depletes my body of all of the essential vitamins. (I am starting to think that I am no longer capable of basic functions like fucking and photosynthesis.)
As I write this, I'm saying it to my ex-girlfriend over the phone at 9:15 on the East Coast in this dimension not on drugs NOT BLACK.
Oh, dude, what a drag.
I saw my friend Ashley today. Ashley is a bisexual nymphomaniac. She is one of those people that I think will one day grow up to either design billboards or shoot people for money. Her mother has lymphoma, just lays in bed all day like a dried-up rockstar or an elderly woman behind a counter. Much thanks to sadrazorgirl2004 for her feedback about my Mom. She hasn't talked to me since the lawnmower incident, and I'd like to thank all of you that emailed me and tried to help me cheer up.
I have herpes around my anus. At first, I considered it a deep, dark secret of discreteness, but I learned that each one of us is someone's fetish, and now I know what to do. Insurance fraud is an ugly thing, so I just burned the bike tires with my harry potter books and pearl jam compact disks.
Ontario is def not treating me well. I was outraged by the state of politics here, the "decriminalization" (more like niggerdom) of mariwana. I hate that about America, and if you are American I probably hate that about her.
My friend Saul fell in love yesterday. OMG, I remember "love". 4t9043tt903q4t093t309u4t0u34qt[ajihagjiiajjaijjajahaw90hjag9hj0ag0j9h9h0jag4h943ih0awrgeihnupwreag8hiweag9j49t4894498u408yq344383q3qt448443t84q43tq84t343t89u434t8u34q4t38443834tq843884439202202022022022022022022020110101101101011011101101101101110110110101003ii13tih2awhugfefuiohawehuo;aiwfehuio;wefewh;eeahwf;9e9uh43tt39t9449ag4ajhergargehjwjfloveloovelooovellooveloveoloveloovellovellovellovellovellovelllvelylllovelyllovelylolovelylveloveoolelveolyllovelyllovelyllovelylovelylovelyplovelylovelyllovelyelovelylovelylovelyolovelylovgelylovelyloveklylovelylyhovbelovelylovelylovelylovelylovelylovelyloebvlylovelylovely.
It was a rough thing. It all seemeed like garble over the internet radio like podcasting. Like Johnny Cash singing his beautiful songs of fate and adoration over the phone to me at night. And then after the stroke, how totally messed up he got. It still riles me up.
I just can't stand white people. All the time they are completely void of sympathy that my community faces. Their passions are meaningless, and they simply do not understand.
Oh, no, not now, not now. Sorry, I am ADD. I think I am having one of my fits.
STOP STOPSTopSTOIoSTOPSOTOSOP
A year ago, I stopped
my U-haul at the shameless failure.
At the bank to stop the river. The river flowing too hard.
And no way to stop it.

This is a poem I wrote for my girlfriend to tell her how much I love her even if I'm not perfect and she is:

East

My arms were pushing as they were able against the current.
My robes were heavier
with each push east,
against the gravitational influence.

The tiger in the tree, you see,
the tiger in tree.
The tiger in the tree, you see
and he's taller than me.
Taller than me.

The monkey in the tree,
the monkey in the tree and
hes wiser than me.
The monkey in the tree.

South

I was crying by then,
still trying to stop the water. To drown in it.
I forced my head down and down trying to hurt myself
on the rocks just down below the water. To drown.

Slapping some earballs that happen with time
unwrapping the tapping from the beer halls
Untying the trials and tearfalls
with terribly merry fingertips.

West

The surface tension stung my face on each plunge
and the rocks would just barely scrape my forehead. I wailed into the sun,
shaking my fists, and jumped headfirst
into the shallowest rapids.

When seven spider frogs attacked,
the crack of tongue to tail allied
with these eleven sacks, the creature horn arrived and clapped,
and seven spider frogs attacked.

North

Dizzy, I lost track of direction as
I inhaled a breath of river
and tumbled backwards, broken in the current.
This is where I woke up, with no idea who brought me here.

Oh OH OH HOhohh HOHOHOHOHO, " said Santa Claus.
Woah, the room got kind of blurry there for a moment, as if sponsored by the ongoing drama and melancholy of some sinister character, some personnel remotely establishéd in the body of Drew Dishman of Richmond, VA. Listen to the pop music, and then maybe you'll understand the depravity of what's going on right outside your door, of all that you left behind in a past life of tyranny and majesty. The grocery men talked to me in my sleep, and told me to kill my Spic Neighbor® because he took my job down at the mill. He's a sorry sort; living a life of quick fixes and automatic registration will lead one to the basement of bureaucracy. Horrible is rhetoric. I rocked for the truth in a concert that toured for four months to defeat one man's presidency, and now I sit back and I'ved MovedOn®. I'm set.
The relationship broke, but I didn't. I felt at the time that years were lies, and that friends were simply alibies. They were proof that you had, at some juncture, existed. That was enough for me, and enough for the jackass Cracker that wrote the approving dogma for Microsoft's Word Spell Check.
Fall in love, like an angry dove of peace.
RELEASED at a funeral,
for someone you knew by heart.
In 1992, I founded the Emo Movement®
while drunk at your sister's party.
We broke up on the First of March
so I joined the Male Rejection® group here at LiveJournal
and thought about going back to Church with
an altogether new take and
an altogether new toke
It felt right, maybe you won't be confused and I won't have to care. Ben Kweller, I promise you, cares for your well being. It starts stopping when it stops hopping. Hops. Beer. All that liquer shining and clear. Wear that dress, like an Elvis Costello done at night at two in the morning to your ex. Know what you wanted in the beginning, and then find out how that relates to you now. Give up everything you own to a male-spirited God that understands you, and wouldn't be so tendentious as to want to see you in Hell or anything. I look out for him, and at least once he's looked out for me. And that's when I met you.
I heard some bleeding heart peace freak try and tell me about feminists and their nigger loving. I just wanted to shoot in him the head, and after that fuck his dead corpse. He hasn't read me Live Journal, so he wouldn't understand like you guys. That the price of publishing: waiting and dealing with the damn doomfreaks. Listen to yourself, and imperfection will be seen.
I'm on a government list, but I should be on yours. I am a murderer. I masturbate.

Today, I was talking to God. I was sitting in Biology class thinking about cells and all of the glorious phospholipid bilayers whose polarity makes all life on this glorious piece of His Creation possible. I asked my teacher if she thought there were planets other than Earth that God had created and she said that she thought so. I thought about Christ, and asked myself as I always do "What Would Jesus Do?" and that question yielded me to understand, No, KNOW, that Jesus would not create Aliens. Everything that my mother and father have put into me as a good son would never make me want to shame them by questioning such strong notions that bind my faith together. The sun climbed into the sky this morning from the East and tonight it will set in the West, and certainly the book of Genesis has made that clear enough to me.
I have been really struggling with my faith ever since we've been talking about what the Evolutionists believe. Everyone in the class looked at me weird when I said that it all sounded really wrong, because the Lord God created everything in seven days because that's what the Bible says. Such an ever present world that we live in, so much temptation. I don't know how to balance it all out with my faith.
I asked my partner Allen what he thought about all of it. We were out on the porch holding hands smoking cigarettes (:P Sorry, I know you guys are always telling me that I should quit! I'm working on it. The Lord wants me to take this one step at a time.) He was really cynical about the whole thing because he thinks that Christians hate our sin because we're gay. I told him that wasn't true and I kissed him on his neck. That was a really good day.
Lately, Allen and I have been really strapped for cash. Allen's Dad is a civil attorney, and so Allen was telling me about all the afternoons he used to spend down at his office helping his Dad out. Apparently, it is not only hip, but quite profitable to run one's car into someone else's in order to acquire that person's insurance money. I was aghast that Allen suggested this, because the Son of The Living God Jesus Christ would never want me to harm someone else. I thought about all of the hard work and determination that I had put into my life, and all of the Lamb sweat that I had put out.
Yesterday, I mowed the lawn. The grass was really rough because it had just rained, so I decided that it would not have been best just to mulch the stuff. It tends to all get stuck together as well as to the blade, and so I collected it all in a bag. This drives the motor less, and it wastes much less gas, so I had quite a bit of high octane left when the afternoon was done. And before God made the Sun rise this morning. So, Allen and I were out there talking and smoking our Winstons and we got to thinking about his old van that now sits out there uselessly in our back alley. It is a 1994 Chevy van made back in the era where everyone wanted one, and the SUV had yet to take its mighty stance at the forefront of American automobile engineering. I got to thinking about insurance companies and dollar signs and that new ruby earring that Allen always said would look so good on me.
We drank some wine inside, and thought about our lives.
So, I went outside, poured gasoline all inside the surfaces of the van. I repair bicycles for a living, so there were a lot of bicycle parts laying around everywhere. I thought it best to just keep them there. Obviously, you have to break some eggs to make an omellete. Then, I took out a match and lit the dark red pool of gasoline that was lying around everywhere in the floor that had slid underneath the seats. Immediately, large blue and yellow flames climbed throughout the cabin as large amounts of oxygen were sucked inside. I freaked out, and pushed myself away using the footguard that ran along the side of the van. Immediately the flames began to consume and melt the cracked vinyl seats. I sat down on my lawnchair and watched the whole thing go.
I had to move a few of the rubber tire insides out of the way. I didn't want the flames to lick them too bad. Allen burst out of the screen door at the back of the apartment and looked thrilled. He hugged me and we sat beside the whole thing watching it go down, excitedly.
Perhaps 20 minutes later, one of the niggers who lives above me burst out from above me in a window and said, "Dude, your fucking van is on fire! We have to call the fire department!"
Of course, I immediately called him out for swearing. Then I said, "Forget it, 'dude'!" (Allen snickered at that) and I added, "Just wait ten minutes before you call the fire department. In the meantime, let it burn!"
Well, apparently, when the cops showed up (that stupid called them immediately) they immediately figured out what happened because I had forgotten to move the nearby gas can. Gosh, I was nervous at the big guy looked down on my with crossed arm. That stupid darkie who lives upstairs I think told them everything.
Well, sorry to trouble you guys with such a long story, but when I've posted on here before you guys have usually been such good listeners and such good companion brothers and sisters in Christ! Please let me know how you think I should proceed because I don't think that the liberal secular courts are going to just let this slide without some sort of persecution.
Yours Once More In Christ,
Tyler

Today, I woke up, and I realized that I was in love with my priest. She's been working for the Government Church® for about ten years, back ever since George W. Bush, Sr. and the liberals invented the Internet. Damn, I thought, as I saw her make countless circusacrifices to the Temple Gods. Over the course of the last few posts, I've been getting the feeling that you've been getting me all wrong. You count me like a silly, silly room destroyer and possibly even a bather. I've been concreting the grass all morning, watching the drosophila swarm like jealousy and even a larger disease. I'm not one to try to counter the ways of the great munchkin fighter. He's such a randy individual that I can't offer much in return to counter it all. It's a big waster of time, and not to mention the roller coasters. The big, punch-up redneck politicians stay up all night fighting the nigger lovers. And here I am, sulking like a giant radio that smiles with a billion vices that haven't even been invented yet. I cut my wrists, and happy happy joy juice came out, and it spirted in my eyeball socket. I lost my eye in the first Gulf War, so I type most of this from a braille typewriter I stole from the Venezualan premier's house. I knew a boy who wanted to be an ambassador/astronaut once, but following the war all he could think about was the pointlessness of loving and breathing. As I type this, I'm reading it aloud to my ex-girlfriend over the telephone, and she is constipated because she ate a lot of soup. The broth can become like a cork for all we know. We don't have the technology yet to really analies that Clay Street technology yet.
Sure, we can invent robot friends and we can grow tissues in factories that behave efficiently enough (under controlled circumstances) as enemies, but there's still not enough on the street to make up the difference. The television shines like a light house over the sound, leading the ships to many great things, including my horrible, horrible sense of melancholy. Dog, I'm so deep sometimes. I think about that as I kick your Nigger Mother® on her and my way to the great beyond in a spaceship she built for Orange Crush, a gigantic marijuana spaceship that will always, as long as my superpowers hold up, make it through customs. The agents will stand aside and watch the greater destroyer of all world wonder about the next episode of The Wander Years. Superman is not a figment of my imagination, I realize as all things come to and end. It's oh-so-possible to sing Frosty The Snowman while watching cartoons and hoping for the Goddamned best. The ocean was round and dry today, and the water below it moved like a huge overextended metaphor. I did not care.
When I was in high school, I wasn't very popular. There was a boy named Gerald who had a bad boy crush on me, which does not mean anything sexual per se, but rather that he just idolized me. He had a big model train set that we used to go play with, and have circle jerks. Apparently, women in Australia like him weren't too proud to be in the company of national parks or flying wingnuts. I don't think about it much anymore. It takes up too much time, and is kind of like that time when my Mom commuted an hour everyday to work, and then blamed me when at the end of every day when she got fired and she had to spend the hours between five and six o'clock looking for replacement employment. Oh, gosh, I hope you're reading this, Dale, from the male rejection group. Sooner or later, Homeland Security® is going to find this page, and I will no longer be able to transmunicate the words of the Divine Prophet Allah from the safety of my bunker in Jerusalem, whatever that's going to mean. I can tell people to turn the other cheek, but ultimately I need to fight the great blackness myself. I was really proud of myself this morning because I helped a bunch of poor people that truth be known, really don't know better than to trust my worried instincts and to help me with my house work. Sure, you might contest that they're slaves, but we all have our wills ahead of us, and an outstanding command of expression. Ultimately, I can deal with almost anything that people throw at me.

I want to shake my doo doo hole like a magic bird! Watch that insignificant trout try to operate a forklift on the job while sifting candlewax through a NASCAR tranmission filter. Grimey niggers! I hate your darn kind, and I hate your unwillingness to open your legs for my opened legs. You men and you women with your hori-BIBBLE. Pope me into your walabee hole. Come into my car, and I'll waddle your jimmy stock with the calacabet soup. I rub too hard last night and it all turned green and yellow and made me feel really warm and spangly. I didn't want to be left alone with you, but the calacabet soup rushed out, and all the Hispanic kids with their laser jump ropes wandered about outside until they couldn't see anymore. And then there you were waiting.
As I'm typing, I'm reading this aloud to my ex-girlfriend over the phone. She's really depressed because her dopamine dealer just died, leaving her the family farm, a giant pink-tinted eyeglass, and a roundabout of mysterious venture. You can try and try but you'll still just be a lonely surgeon attached to her or his (DON'T WORRY ABOUT The P.C. stuff jingleberrries!) alabaster minglefoucks. If you spend all you're time, and you're outside the golden palace, and you don't have your game token, where then will you be? This one time me and Rich Uncle Harry Not A JEW were wandering through Brazil, and he had his magnificent wooden umbrella coated with glass bamboo, and I was looking at all of the dirty aristrocrats with bamboo through their noses and foreheads sloped like Mount McKinley. Damn dirty cracker farms. If those sluts would keep sucking my cock, maybe I wouldn't be so gay. The fire police called today. A lot of orange doodads have been wandering through their cleanboats, and thinking that they're the fucking captains. They would probably dress up like Walrus McJunction and never think twice about the second guessings. I love being bored, feeling my ribcage empty like a dogame flickle. I wanted a women, and they wanted a man, and they wanted a woman, and that was how the whole cycle became an expected and generally natural part of nature.
My Dad doesn't like my blog very much. It's not like he taught me how to masturbate or anything! Why would you think that? I'm normal. I like cool kids. The cool kids make me stutter and shake like a stinky wake, like the sea combing over the lollipop land. Like a giant overextended simile. But please, sit down for a while, stay, enjoy the show. Get some option corn, and stink in the doo doo hole! I sat around, and shoved a candle in the fortress of solititude. Superman waited for me, chewing his spearmint gum like a nigger with NewMAN cigarettes. The TV told me that the cutting would make the neo-nazi stop sucking my dingleberry. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! When I was in the fourth grade, all of the other kids used to love my joke about my dingleberry.
Always Punching would say things to me like, "Hey, stop disrupting class."
And I would say, with a damn witty frown on my face, "You shut the buck dup. HARDY HAR HAR HAR! I fucking hate you. I hate your kind, your cronies, and their faaaaaa, I mean, Fffaaaa. Warm up your following, because there's a lot to be warned about.
erhgawJAEROJWAGREGIPJawrwJIOParpjOvJVAJWAVwAJVPajvOPPwjoOJWOAVv djoa)AV)#$030303030303003030330303030303303030303030220303030303030330101001101110011110101101101001101101`011010110110101101201011001100110111110101101010110111011011011011011011011011011011010110101011010110110101010110101010111111001010101001011000101011010110101101011011010110101101101101010110101101111011010101001010010100110110110110j102j12f0jfiohooqwihoqdjioWDJWIOQWqwdjioiqwdjiooQWDWIJJ2200393939339001001011011011.

I went to see the Smashing Pumpkins, and they wore fashionable hats and other clothestuffs. Absolutely, indelible. There was a sallad bar there, and that made me reel happy. They were showing flicks of chimpmunks, and
AWWALLLLLLLLOOOOOODOOOOODDAAAAAAADDDdD - - - - - AAAWWWWWWAAAAALLLLLLLOOOOOOODDDDDDOOOOODAAAAAADDDd ---

Sorry, fags.
They were showing race and cars and calacabets. It was strong and fantastic, indeed. One time it felt silly to lounge around by the motherfucking seaside because that's where all the Mexicans live and I didn't think so. My Daddy was with me, and Daddy didn't know what to think when we had to pat me down for calabet soup. It was really gay, yo. I didn't know what to think. The roller coasters are not what they used to be these days. I once followed a man home stumbling like a wooden cat. It made me feel better to kick his sorry squadron off his goddamnblasted head. What a phony. What a stupid fucking phony. I'm reading this aloud to my ex-girlfriend on the phone (which is really cool) and she's sitting there like a smartypants laughing. Man, this everything the chrome wall told me it would be: follow the light home from the netherworld, sulking like a bag full of chlamydia, and there you are! Safe, sound, and burnt to a crisp.
aG

This one time I went to Japan with my rich Uncle Bernie who is not a Jew. Uncle Bernie not a Jew followed me home from work one day with his gloved hand and Australian shoe polish.

aGWE AEGa
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It smelled like Aloe but I never had to lick it off like lotion. We jumped that plane with engines that sputtered aergawegeargjsaresijnjnrgjigjgjgjgjgjgjgjgjgjgjszegjkajegiojrijgserkjgksrjl and their propellors turned like something incredible, as if you stared off into them as they accelerated and they appeared to turn the opposite direction. Today, I asked people on the street where I could find a stupid, slutty whore to do my dirty work with, hardy har har har har har har har har har, what a twisted bitch she is. i had to find her under a barrel full of sawdust, in a mattress filled with fingernails. you stupid bitches with your flashlight tongues and wrist operated go go mobiles. I fucking hate your walrus machines! GODAMit!
You listen to Gold machine, and there will be enough to last you a lifetime, sinbar the sandbath. I can feel your presence and your dirty nipples hard from playing in the sinbar. SINBAR, I am your bank teller! SINBAR, I told at your bank! SINBAR, golden mistress of wasted time. We'll open Christian NOT BLACK presents in the open sewers where rats live like karate masters. I'm a pacifist, which means that I live by the West Coast. Welcome to hell, you stupid guy. The Freak s have power now, and if you are not listening to the ground or the salt or the whip-cracking palies then you can live by yourself. You always find the time for me, mon cheri, and I will always find the time for you. I cut myself against today, this time with a wrist watch. I think my disorder is getting more serious. I can't believe those people who fake like they have a disorder just to trivialize what we go through. I don't know what they go through to read another issue of The Onion from 1998, but damn. They think they are so special. My Uncle is not a black person. He voted Democrat in the last election, like a lot of donkeys! HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW But then he turned inside out: he wrote a political blog and then rose up in the sky like a meat sandwich, like a huge lexapro. It was magnificient. So now I'm cutting myself with the wrist watch, thinking about everyone whom I am going to die for. Whom I'm going to give it all up for. My schizophrenic neighbors have tried to encourage me, keep a watchful eye out, but they just don't know about the firetruck and the battery acid. WWWWWWIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNKKKKKKKKKKK. I've got enough slut juice in my balls to Water Amherst® four times over, and you can kiss my ass if you think that sitting at home waiting for an alligator farmer to show up with a riot hose is enough for me you can kiss my ass because I don't give a fuck.
The cartoon show came on today. It was safe and quiet for all children. You have to look out for that that will sell, kids' cartoons, portrayals of Hitler and his randy crew. Look out for yourself, enough, and you'll be in guard. Just trust in the warm blanket. Shit, i need to hide the screen, here comes . . .
YYYYYYYWAWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNOOOOOOO! Like an African tribe hurting over the sea! YYYYYYYYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHWEWWWWWWWWWWWEEEEEEEEEEAAE (SHIT FUCK NO NOT AGAIN IT BURNS SO UNBELIEVABLY MUCH LIKE AN IRON GATED PIXXXTURE,
Please God,
forgive me ffor my lashing out
for my undisputed wallowing in yourr unmaltered grace
Your following the rules of command
and damned
DAMN
DAMN
DAMN
DAMN hoeless boy!
Maybe if you get your mind together a bit, you'll know where you can spit and swear beyond compare. Thing of thinks as,
I hold the hand
of your constable
and trust in its handsome righteousness
that your following has done
for me
Please keep me safe from you.

OK, Uncle Henry is gone. I talked about wildebeasts for a wild. Tell me, if geese are beasts, and owls are fowls, then wherein lies the simple undermonkey. I don't know why, but Selma's car broke down today and we have to go into town to find a replacement wall switch. It gets so tied up and shitty in there I just don't know why the Southernors Governor would just take it apart that way. It wouldn't make much sense, and, frankly, I wouldn't bit down hard if I thought that beneath all that bread there was just not a piece of dried Oakra or a bit of the old Amos and Andy show that my Uncle Henry used to watch when he sat down for the evenies. Skotch flowed like PVC piping, and we all sat down next to the mosquito fence to watch the morning burn quietly into clocktime. My Segway came by and told me that I needed to stop my desire to come to the United States and that in my county following cooking instructions could mean a new life in a place I've already been before.

Today today I walked around in the rain, wow, how it falls so quickly and virulently in this corner of WestChester County. As I type this, I'm reading it aloud to my ex-girlfriend over the phone. She has started going to "Church" to "worship". God, I hate those smiley church cunts. LOL. If you're reading this I hope you're sitting down, because like check this shit out: I was walking down the street, and my friend used the N word ("nigger") and I was watching Adult Swim and then my girlfriend dumped me.
And then I hung out with one of my black friends and then I felt better. She works down at Stuffy's Subs, and totally defies all of the stereotypes that the "squares" on "MTV" like to shove in your face with their big fat pig hands. Oh, and I have to warn you, I may seem straight edge but I really hate those liberals. That's right, if you're liberal, I hate you. It's not that I don't like a good laugh now and then. In fact, I listen to compact disks that my cousin in Orange County sends me. Damn, I love him. But the truth is that when I'm sitting alone at night rolling the spliffs and feeling good, all I want is a bit of the giant roller coaster.
When I was in high school, I was really popular. I mean, it was insane. It was like, Woah. It was like, Holy Shit, dude, what is happening with the hate groups and the girls with the Capri Pants. I mean, damn, boy, I just want to go to Hawaii and sit my poop off and get my rocks ground. Boy.
I used to have a BMW. Yeah. And then I would ride ride through ManChester county with my hand in a girl's lap, and her hand on my head rolling through my hair as if I was a fire fighter. I'm working for the City of New York right now as a fire fighter. I was involved in the September 11, 2001 invasion of the space people. They were a rough crew, lemme tell you, but not as rough as my kind and my sign. I'm a liberal. Today, I listened to Michael Stipe when I was watching Fox News and Fox News said to me, they said to me, Michael Stipe said The Batles were elevator music. Elevator music? Elevator music? Flooddown uproarious! I didn't need none of that nonsense to rock my crib and fuel my fire. It was enough for all of the children in the house. It makes enough sense to me. My friend once went to Germanyy because he's in the military. He's got a wife there who's always crying because he's off and alone in the woods with just a copy of Club International® and a prilex. That's an anti-cholestrol medication for all you suckas, LOL! :*( I can deal with enough for everyone.
My friend was once anorexic. Yeah, I got friends, more than you, don't you forgett.
Dudes, cunts, I got dumped yesterday. Shit, no, I ain't gay. I've got Dean Martin style, and wiles. I went to Harvard fools. I am ed-u-ma-cated in English, Spanish, and my Momma said, "Well, at least you keep your rectum clean" and I said "Shit, Yeah" Momma That's How I Go. Hallmark cards know enough, they are the distilled wisdom of our ancestors. They are paper wisdom in the hallways of your shopping malls. Your strip joints, your aspirin. Shit, Dad, I hate your ass. I went to the club last night, all sorts of fire fighters there. After 9/11 I was granted a settlement of two million dollars which I'll say beats the pants off of the $300 dollars President Clinton sent me. I know enough for you and I know enough for me. The club was full of women with babies because they all got pregnant off of the television, full of boyfriends full enough with their egos to tape their intercourses with infra-red technology like we used to use on the crew, like we used to use like we should.
I took my share, and went off to California, before I came to WestChester county. You might say things to me like, "Damn, boy, why couldn't you make it in the music movie industry?" And I'll say, Fuck you, Cunt! I work hard enough for me money, and I'm going to work hard enough for you. For some reason on 9/11 it was St. Patrick's Day in Chicago and all of the Leprechaun Catholic fools were out on the street worshipping a big Golden Calf that knew its way on the streets sure enough as in the Gulliver. He knew it was better to reign in hell than serve in heaven, and She Shined with the full orange and gold light of that sunset I was rapping about. But anyway when the towers went down I didn't feel the need to smile, even though I saw my silver plaque at the end of the toothbrush rainbow. What you have to say to yourself when you finish reading this is, is that shit deep enough for you, my cunt?
If I was in town, maybe you wouldn't think about shit so much. I got this friend studying business, because he wasn't no firefighter, and he certainly wasn't no firefighter when the twin towers went down and that makes me comfortable enough. Ever since I've collected benefits because I didn't die and shit. I stole a t-shirt because I know Osama Bin Laden pretty well, so it was easy just to go up to the counter and spike on those "I Love NY" shirts (except the word isn't "Liove"" it's a giant heart go figure right, cunts?) but that's just the way it goes.
I believe that at the end of time a multi-headed sheep will kill everybody, and that a giant dragon will shine above our sunsets like the Aphex Twin logo. The Aphex Twin logo is right in front of me right now explaiining why I should hate my Dad. I was at a Wedding last month, and my Dad was drinking bleach through a straw which was pretty amazing if I do say so myself.
What? WHAT? What the fuck do you know about love, jackass?