Mon Feb 4
Taut teenage tits glisten with sweet sweat in the desert heat and I pretend to notice, but all I really care about is my beloved ice cream sundae. It can’t take this sort of heat. It can’t be out here with these dirty people and their envious glares. I need to find a safe place for my Sundae, an arctic paradise—but you ugly people won’t let it be. You keep trying to suck my fat black dick to distract me from the truth. The hot, wet, slippery truth.I don’t even mind. I’m not even here. I don’t even care. I’m not even real enough to be called fake. I’m too disposable to be a poser. I’m too cold to be cool. Jailbait sandwiches. Piglets. Niggers. I don’t even have a mind to lose these days. I give up. Castrate me. Choke me. Burn me down and bury your children alive in the great field of my ashes. Let it be done. Let my Sundae be given to the people and let the people shrivel and die. Let my glory be short-lived but towering and fear-inspiring. Let cunts the size of canoes collapse and crush crusaders coming to kill the cowardly captives. You have not paid attention and for this you will suffer. In the transient afterglow that I swept beneath the rug called “SUCK” there lived four little trolls with three little souls and two little holes and one basket of rolls. I ate their souls, fucked their holes and came on their rolls. I am the man with the plan to dismantle the sun and use its heat to warm the bottoms of a little children until every plump little ass on earth is red and dead and ready to be fed to the demons that live in the heads of little gray alien beings who came to earth back in the late 1940’s as part of a top secret government program designed to garner sympathy for men with really bad comb-overs who think they look good but don’t know that other people are just refraining from telling them out of politeness and the fear of creating and awkward moment. This ultimately proves that it was the ghost of John Wayne who is responsible for 9/11. He knocked down the towers with his fat ghost cock. We never realized it before because we were all too busy jacking off to pictures of skating legend Tony Hawk to comprehend the cruelty of our addiction to 1920’s silent horror films. It all makes sense. Keep the fuck away from my Sundae, you thieving fucking vultures. I have rights. I have penal rights. I want to bite your babies in half with my eyelashes, for I am a cruel and weird and ugly god with very poor dental hygiene and a really bad rash on my balls that won’t go away because no one will sell me the ointment I need at a reasonable price! It’s not fair! It’s not fair. It’s not fair? IT’S NOT FAIR! FAIR! FAIR! FARE? fore? far. Fuck.

Taut teenage tits glisten with sweet sweat in the desert heat and I pretend to notice, but all I really care about is my beloved ice cream sundae. It can’t take this sort of heat. It can’t be out here with these dirty people and their envious glares. I need to find a safe place for my Sundae, an arctic paradise—but you ugly people won’t let it be. You keep trying to suck my fat black dick to distract me from the truth. The hot, wet, slippery truth.

I don’t even mind. I’m not even here. I don’t even care. I’m not even real enough to be called fake. I’m too disposable to be a poser. I’m too cold to be cool.

Jailbait sandwiches. Piglets. Niggers. I don’t even have a mind to lose these days. I give up. Castrate me. Choke me. Burn me down and bury your children alive in the great field of my ashes.

Let it be done.

Let my Sundae be given to the people and let the people shrivel and die. Let my glory be short-lived but towering and fear-inspiring. Let cunts the size of canoes collapse and crush crusaders coming to kill the cowardly captives.

You have not paid attention and for this you will suffer.

In the transient afterglow that I swept beneath the rug called “SUCK” there lived four little trolls with three little souls and two little holes and one basket of rolls. I ate their souls, fucked their holes and came on their rolls.

I am the man with the plan to dismantle the sun and use its heat to warm the bottoms of a little children until every plump little ass on earth is red and dead and ready to be fed to the demons that live in the heads of little gray alien beings who came to earth back in the late 1940’s as part of a top secret government program designed to garner sympathy for men with really bad comb-overs who think they look good but don’t know that other people are just refraining from telling them out of politeness and the fear of creating and awkward moment. This ultimately proves that it was the ghost of John Wayne who is responsible for 9/11. He knocked down the towers with his fat ghost cock. We never realized it before because we were all too busy jacking off to pictures of skating legend Tony Hawk to comprehend the cruelty of our addiction to 1920’s silent horror films. It all makes sense.

Keep the fuck away from my Sundae, you thieving fucking vultures. I have rights. I have penal rights. I want to bite your babies in half with my eyelashes, for I am a cruel and weird and ugly god with very poor dental hygiene and a really bad rash on my balls that won’t go away because no one will sell me the ointment I need at a reasonable price! It’s not fair! It’s not fair. It’s not fair? IT’S NOT FAIR! FAIR! FAIR! FARE? fore? far. Fuck.