Monday, December 31, 2012

The Bill Of Rights Explained


   Freedom of speech means you can talk to yourself in your cell. Freedom of assembly means you can gather with selected inmates in the prison yard one hour a day unless you are in solitary confinement. The right to bear arms means you can be issued  weapons if you are a soldier of the government that are forbidden to the citizens. Freedom of the press means you can write on the walls of your cell unless  you are told to stop. Freedom of religion means you can believe anything you want unless such a belief is deemed a threat to the State. If the belief and the State are identical then happiness is achieved and need no longer be pursued. Freedom to petition the government means you can petition the government if in your cell you are given a writing tool, a paper, an envelope a government stamp and a mail deposit access route.

Sunday, December 30, 2012

Fat Women


Have you ever noticed fat women are never quiet and reserved? They're always in-your-face boisterous. They are never bashful, or hang back in a standing conversation, especially if there are men in the pile.
   If you start to feel up a fat woman, even if you never laid eyes on her before, she will just stand there - or sit there, they are usually sitting, and usually at the table - she will just sit there. At worst she will say "Oh you nasty man" while doing nothing to stop you or discourage you. Except maybe to laugh.
   Oddly, fat women are laughing even when nothing at all is being spoken by anyone else. No need for that, they will say something themselves and then laugh for five minutes at it. Just to keep the fatgal laughter going. "Oh look, I just leaked through my Kotex HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA isn't that funeeeeeeeee????"
   No. No, miss tub o' guts, it isn't. It's disgusting. Just like you. And everything and anyone involved with you.
   Tolerating The Offensively
Fat is something people who will not tolerate anything...they'll tolerate The Offensively Fat. And they won't say shit about it. They'll even have them come into their house. A Jew muslim nigger dying of aids infection, naked with sores, and leaking puss from every pore, they would blow apart with a shotgun if he ever tried to enter their house. However, Andy's behemouth wife who eats whole bison raw while they are still kicking and braying - they'll let her in with a cheery hello and then give the bathtub a hug and a kiss on the cheek besides: they'll still be hanging on and being dragged with their ankles scraping the carpet during the drag while Fatso is already on her way to the kitchen to open the refrigerator and the pantry to start separating the lard products from the water-based products while squirting a can of Reddi-Whip into her baleen-free maw to keep her strength up for the task. Then she'll pour the water-based products down the sink and pull a pound of uncooked bacon from under her mumu and toss it onto the stove while screaming things like "I GOT THIS AT THE STREET FAIR FOR 2 DOLLARS A POUND FROM THE HARRIS RANCH!! IT WAS A MASSIVE PROMOTIONAL GOLDMINE I STUMBLED ONTO!! I DON'T EVEN LIKE BACON THAT MUCH PLUS MY TRAINER SAYS IT POURS GLUTAMINOPLEISTOCENES INTO YOUR SYSTEM AND WHO NEEDS THAT? BUT I HAVE TO COOK IT NOW BECAUSE THE MAN AT MY PILATES BOOT CAMP SAID IT HAS TO BE COOKED AND EATEN WITHIN THE HOUR OR IT LOSES ITS SAVOR AND VITAMINS!! ANYONE WANT BACON WHILE I'M COOKING IT?" Meanwhile by this point in the fucking lying psychobabble the pound of bacon has already been reduced to an empty frying pan save for the layer of boiling bacon fat which she is pouring into a jar to take home to slather on next morning's toast.
   Having a fat aquaintance is every bit as irresponsible as actually being fat. Someone blowing smoke from a cigar made out of rolled Zulu feces into your face is less rude than hauling a fat person around for everyone to have to see. Sights can kill you just as quickly as smoke can. Especially the sight of a fat person. Once the smoke from a cigar is gone you forget all about it. However the sight of a fat person stays inside your head forever. You can't get rid of it even if you sandpapered your brain.
   Smoking actually has some advantages. One of which is it keeps you from getting fat. But being fat has no upside. It just has sides. Big oily stinky ones. Big sides that don't add to the comfort and well being of anyone else. Other than the pig farmer who is now selling a lot more product thanks to your swollen, putrid flesh heaps that have to be nutriated over and over with melted hog bodies. Hey fatso, you need to petition Congress to mandate a method to liquify herds of caribou so that you dont have to lose precious time cooking at the barbecue, you can just pop the top off a 20 gallon cauldron of semi gelantinous eland stomachs and push your face into it and suck away. Have a few people hold your ankles as the level drops so you can stay connected to it as you siphon-up the Marfak.
   Fat women are always excited to organize some sort of activity that will involve you and all your normal, sanely-sized associates. The assumption is that you don't have a problem being seen in public with a self-detesting fouly-shaped, sewage-scented silo. The assumption is that you are so lacking in self respect that you will allow yourself to be considered an indifferent wad of human shit that doesn't give a fuck that he has some pitching and yawing barge in his retinue whooping it up over nothing, talking about food exclusively or eating some when not talking about it and just generally making a commotion to hide with noise the visual fact that she is an obscenely gluttonous flowing, sagging, slowly moving stalagmite of a debris pile calling itself a human female and expecting you to do the same and to even hug it from time to time while it plants kisses onto your cheek from two fat, wet, writhing eel lips filled with crumbs and margarine. You're supposed to put up with this. And who would put up with that. Well you would if you are part of the vertical liquid lake's retinue of prideless freaks.
   Hey, I have an idea: let's have another 50 years of courtesy to these assholes. Let's have another 50 years of pretending that they are not feral pigs with no self control and no self esteem but rather have "an eating disorder" and not a a will power disorder. Let's just keep doing that. Because hey it's working so far and the results are sterling!...not only are there more fat people than ever it's now damn near impossible to exclude the blubberfest planetoids from your life. You almost have to be seen with them now. And all they want to do is eat. You can't engage in even a walk around the trashcan with them that they don't need to run into a fucking restaurant and sit for three hours pretending to be picking daintily through ten plates of ham and sipping a cup of coffee with ten quarts of ice cream in it. Food food food food food. It's fucking relentless. Your fingers fatten every time they fucking show up. Your eyes get puffy when you hear the first mindless, brainless titter floating across the atmosphere as they approach, anxious to hug you and plant a quart of flowing hot saliva onto your cheek because it's the closest thing to sex they are ever going to get from you so they play with their twat while doing it. They rape you with a fucking hug. You want to push them in front of a freight train, not that it would hurt them.

Jury Duty Patriots

 Jury Duty has many amazing aspects, but the most amazing one is the number of people who think its
great. These people are called passive aggressive assholes and most of them work at a job paid for by taxpayers who don't want to pay for those jobs voluntarily. Jury duty is deciding if someone gets to live outside of prison or inside of prison. An even bigger asshole called a judge is conveniently placed between the jury assholes and the prisoner captive to make it look like there is a buffer between what the jury decides and what the judge decides. Judges seem to be quite capable of putting someone in prison singlehandedly. Why the innocent citizenry is coerced into this Dark Ages ritual of savagery proclaimed to be noble and wondrous could probably best be explained by Satan.
   Nobody actually thinks jury duty is anything worthwhile. But nobody will say that in public and on the record because they don't want to be the target of the scorn and feigned disgust of their idiot friends and neighbors and a lot of people they don't know and will never meet in 300 lifetimes. So they all make believe it's something really really swell and it involves the king and his court and we never really  did shitcan England and all their nonsense, we just changed the names of things. We are still basically England. And of course Queen Elizabeth and her idiot inbred son laugh at all of this, as does her court of jesters and all of the people in the land and the realm. They all laugh at America because we are still a British colony. We just have been told we are not, and being Americans we believe everything we hear. We believed Don Lapre and we believe Barack Obama and we believe Diane Sawyer. We believe everyone who speaks while cameras are trained on them. We're like African niggers: we see a camera we get all mystical and magical and see voodoo wonders everywhere! The camera is not a tool to us, like a screwdriver, a camera is a bringer of happiness and pain and fame and fortune and jail!
   The camera is a deity in the pantheon of ancient Greece. It's not an accident one camera manufacturer named themselves Olympus.
   So everyone tries to avoid jury duty but they all feel as though it has some mystical churchlike aspect involving right and wrong and crime and punishment and these are common notions associated with religion. So jury duty is sort of religious. Which is true. Slicing newborns open while still alive and cooking them and then eating them piously - or ravenously - before a statue of Moloch made from pumice is also sort of religious. In fact jury duty and child sacrifice serve the same deity: the god of death.
   But if Adam and Eve - who of course never existed even though human recorded history is evidence that something is clearly wrong, and that Adam and Eve would certainly explain why - have taught us nothing else they have taught us that we much prefer to listen to Lucifer than to Lucifer's creator. Humans to this day prefer the creations to their creators. We always believe the power to come from the machine rather than the mind that created the machine. Humans are not complex. They are simple idiots.
   Which makes them perfect for jury duty.
   A trial is a circus performance disguised as magic designed to make believe that the people running the court are noble spirits and guardians of the people not running the courts. The fact is, if there were no courts there would be no crime. By definition.
   This concept is so basic and simple that people will get into a fistfight with you to deny it rather than sit down and try to understand it. Because everyone is convinced -  even though they have never witnessed an example of it - that without the courts and the cops and the law there would be something called "chaos." Which does not exist in nature. Social chaos, being never precicely defined, basically means "a situation you dont personally like."
   The only thing that creates crime is the law. The law does not prevent chaos. It only defines crime. And laws are created by men - usually boy loving ones or dedicated sociopaths - so it's a pretty good bet you will never get a good law out of one of them. St Paul, 2000 years ago, caught onto this, genius that he was, he taught us this and everyone thinks he is speaking about some tenth dimensional realm of eternal immortality. In fact he was talking about life here on earth. Why the Catholics took it to the hereafter like a fucking Haitian Ape, I dunno.
   A crime is something defined by the court. Not by reality and certainly not by you. The court is there because you want someone besides yourself to be in charge of you. Because you're a lazy idiot.
   Look at the Jews: they have a frantic compulsion to have someone other than their own deity be in charge of them. That is why they quietly go to their deaths when ordered to: because the people they put in charge of them ordered them to and a deal is a deal.
   Jews: they're ridiculous.
   A lot of people are convinced Jews are running things.
   The only thing the Jews are running is new and creative ways to get persecuted. Because everyone knows they won't resist. Bark at a Jew he runs away. Sure he comes back for more, but he's a Jew, they can't help it, they love punishment. It gives them something to create really shitty music and songs about. Which creates more abuse. That's how bad the songs are.
   So jury duty's a joke. Just like you. Thank you. Fuck you.

Friday, December 28, 2012

Why Americans Are Fucked Up In One Sentence

   Americans are fucked up because they have never worked in the retail business.
   When you work in the retail business for at least ten years you eventually come to realize from repeated and repeated and repeated experience: that there are only other individuals. There are no imaginary entities such as a corporation or a State or an agency or a committee or a group or a board or a government or a municipality or a Church or an association. You come to learn that these things are not things you deal with. You only deal with individuals. You don't deal with all those other things because they are just imaginary entities. Like Fairyland. The only reason all these other non existent entities are not called Fairyland is because the people working in these entities have a vested interest in keeping you convinced that they are not fairylands. Otherwise they would be out of a job if you - who are paying them even though its not voluntarily - if you were to wake up and open your fucking eyes and see that these entities are just imaginary; with real people - all of them assholes - fucking with you and your stuff and your destiny morning noon and night.
   But when you work in retail long enough you come to realize there is no Acme Assplug company. There are only Acme Assplug employees.
   The difference between Acme Assplug employees and public servants however is that Acme Assplug employees have to actually sell something. Assplugs. The Department of Transportation on the other hand doesn't have to do shit. Except keep telling you relentlessly that your tax dollars are at work creating a "temporary" traffic jam to replace the perennial traffic jam when they are not working on the road, while they build another inadequate road to replace the inadequate road you are already on. If there was an Acme Roads Company you would at least have the opportunity to test their wares and maybe not use the Department of Traffic's road. And if there was also a Podunk Roads Company and a Buford's Road company you would have even more opportunities to choose and select which road just might have the least tie ups and the least accidents. And you would use that product.
   But the DOT is an imaginary entity with no product at all other than a lackluster disguise proclaiming to be a "transportation" entity even though they build no cars or trains or busses or planes or even bicycles. Which are actual transportation devices. A badly built inadequate road that you can access for "free" is not transportation. It is traffic and accidents. As the constant 50,000 deaths a year on American roads - which doesn't bother anyone - will attest. You shoot up a grammar school and kill 50 people all fucking hell breaks loose to punish everyone not responsible. You build a road system that kills 50,000 people a year - many of them grammar school children - everyone just shrugs and gets on with their life. For some reason it doesn't concern them. 50 strangers dead in Connecticutt, oh dear, let us all have a month of prayer and fasting, an American Ramadan, to assuage our collective guilt.
   You are being fucked with, shithead.
   When you work in retail it dawns on you - if you are a good employee, which most employees are not - that it's only individuals who matter. It's not the CEO who matters if the janitor at the company is the one actually pulling the strings. You eventually figure this shit out. You eventually figure out that human beings are who are fucking you, people with families and carbuncles on their ass, not departments and agencies and committees and companies and governments and laws. All these other things are words used to hide from you what is really happening to you: which is that Jack Cuntnose is fucking with you and making your life hell on earth using the sociopathic reason "It's my job." Hey, Jack, your job sucks dick. Just like you do.
   There is no "United States." There are only cops with a lot of different titles and names other than cops but who are just cops - a judge is a cop: the truant officer is a cop. The clerk at the assessor's office is a cop; a senator is a cop; an assemblyman is a cop; the mayor is a cop; every employee of a public sector entity is a potential cop because you have to fucking obey him the instant he decides to order you to obey him.  There are only these people claiming to represent the mythical non existent fairyland called the United States. They are the "country" - the public employees: not you.
   Every country on earth is one of these fairylands claiming to be something real and majestic and wonderful - all of them filled with cops ordering people around. And when these get tired of being ordered around they become the cops and order the former cops around and anyone new who shows up.
   When you are in retail for a while you come to see all of this crap. You see it's all just smoke and mirrors and orders and threats. That's America; smoke and mirrors and orders and threats. And of course a whopping dossage of punishment and fines and confiscations and detentions and executions and orders to go to war with other private citizens from a different "country." You come to realize that it's individuals you are dealing with: not countries or states or counties or cities or departments or companies or the most fairyland and vaguest and mythical entity of all,  The Law. Some of these actual, real, breathing, walking around, 3D individuals are nice, some are not, some you can deal with, some you cant.
   Which is why retail people make lousy jurors: they can see all the assholes in the room and the guy on trial is usually the only normal guy in the building. You can talk to him and get some sort of reality-based answer. Which is one reason, incidentally, why a juror is not allowed to talk to the guy on trial. Have a fucking clue, stupid. Have you noticed this? can't talk to the bad guy yourself: a bunch of paid liars, most of them on your dime, only can talk to him. Your job is just to sit there and not even decide if he's a shithead or not: you just decide if he violated the statute that put him there. The statute created out of the thin air of Fairyland's ass by one of the paid liars you are providing with a pension.
   Retail people figure all this out eventually. No one else ever does. Except the people in the public sector. They figured it out even before the retail people did. They figured it out the first day on the job. And started laughing with joy and happiness at your stupidity. Because you think you need them. Because you're stupid. And I hear you cant fix that. Become a waitress for ten years. You'll find out you can fix stupid.  You just need to deal with enough assholes for a while on a one to one basis. Your stupid circuit will straighten itself right out, pal.


   I saw this picture posted on facebook with the commentary that this - the petrified zombie above - is a great American.
   This is not a great American. This is a fool and a buffoon and a naive little unambitious dolt who knows he is destined for the Presidency because his dad was president and was in charge of the CIA for a hundred years and so knows what buttons to push to make it happen. This is the guy who praised Islam a week after 9-11 and who one instant after 9-11 transported the Arabian royal family relatives out of America, where they were organizing new attacks and celebrating victory, in order to keep them safe from what he imagined would be a monumental anti-Islamic uprising. Turns out the American people had elected a President just as stupid as themselves since no anti-Islamic uprising was in the works then or now and apparently will never be in the works. This is a guy who cannot pronounce nuclear. Because it would be just too much trouble. This is a guy who thinks the earth is 6000 years old because his preacher told him it was and he believed it. Because he's stupid. And if he's American then he must hate the military because he sent them - as did his dad - to go get killed for no reason. They weren't even allowed to drink beer in Persia because it would upset the enemy. This is a guy who - like the Nigger In Chief - thinks Islam is "a great religion." As did that fantastic military genius Dwight Eisenhower who would be unable to spot an enemy if you threw him into a pit filled with Romulans. This is the guy whose dad singlehandedly engineered the influx of illegal Mexicans into the country and then began the propaganda campaign that they are good for the economy because they wreck everything and it all has to be replaced, but that's not the way he put it. He just said they do the jobs Americans won't. In my universe this is called "explaining why you are a traitor." I mean, it's nice that you're doing it, and making a confession, and all,  but you're still a traitor.
   George Bush is not a great American anything. He is a pretty good Muslim, though. And a very loyal Mexican.

Thursday, December 27, 2012


Traveling through Texas is the most mind-expanding thing you can do if you are an American; because you think back on all the boasts that Texans make about Texas and you realize clearly that all Texans are retarded. Because there is nothing to brag about in Texas. I'm not saying Texas is a bad place. I'm just saying there is nothing there to brag about. In fact, Texans should just stay the nice quiet friendly people they are and never actually mention their State, and if they do mention it they should do so quietly and with no fanfare. No one will say anything about it. Because Texas is a desolation of not only emptiness: it's unscenic, uninviting emptiness. Which explains why Texas is so big. No other State wanted to have anything to do with that terrain. The dirt is ugly, the trees are ugly, the rocks are ugly and the cactus - already the ugly prickly pear kind - is only one "leaf" high and covers the ground like hellish grass. Texas would piss off a fucking goat.
   And yet these people brag about the "size" of their State. Have they ever explored it? Probably not. That would explain the abundance of saloons to hide in and the abundance of barbecues to bury yourself in smoke with.
    If there is even one river in Texas I need someone to point it out to me. There are no rivers, there are no mountains, there are no lakes, there are no forests, there are no animals, there are no birds, there are no cities, there are only trucks with steel plates on the front to pulverize peccaries into mist with at 80 miles an hour. which is the speed limit there.
   Traveling at 80 helps you get out of the State quick. At 65 or 70 you would just give up, being unable to look another diseased goat or ghastly tree in the eye.
   The "border patroll" which is located 100 miles inside the border so that they dont embarassingly encounter illegal aliens which would result in getting fired by the nigger in chief who is dead-set on corrupting America into a third world pest hold filed with Mayans and Muslims and any other primitive prehistoric ape he can round up  - the border patrol in Texas is really really determined that not only will Texas remain the beautiful State it is, you will be arrested if you dare try to bring in anything that would improve things. Such as drugs, which might open the minds of the deluded, bragging inhabitants to the wilderness of hopelessness they lovingly call home. True, they routinely ask all the white, clearly American travelers "Are you a citizen of the UNited States?" If you say yes they let you through. If you say no - but who would say no when saying yes will get you through. No one.
   Texas: why it's a State at all is anybody's guess. There had to be more at the Alamo worth fighting for than what I saw there. Which was MEXICANS!!!!!!!

Tuesday, December 25, 2012

Jury Duty

      I got another jury duty notice on Christmas Eve. Beelzebub came to call with his "it's a privilege and a duty" summons. I have decided to stop voting if that will put a stop to this nonsense that never does me any good. Voting does me no good and jury duty does me no good. Nothing government does does me any good, except of course the roads, which are fantastic and safe and well maintained.
   I am scheduled to start making phone calls on Feb 4th. You do this for five days. At the other end of the call is a machine that tells you if your "group number" has been selected via another machine. If after 5 days of calling, starting on a Monday, if by Friday your group number has not been selected you are done with jury privilegeduty. If your group number has been selected the next morning you are expected to show up, in my case, 30 miles away, in a very depressing huge building with really nice floors and walls made of marble and wood and glass built in the 20's.
   The huge building is always packed more dense than a Greyhound bus going from Chula Vista to Bakersfield.
   The stupidest and grubbiest people are the public defenders. These guys are truly the bottom of the human barrel as far as intelligence and grooming and awareness of anything at all.
   The meanest, most evil and ruthless people are the prosecutors. They all look like they can't wait to get to the Senate in Washington and start fucking with people Big Time.
   The most calm and complacent people in the building are the judges. They all know that when their personal courts come to order they each have more personal and immediate power than any bureaucrat in the United States System of Bureaucrats, including the President and the Secretary of War and the Chief of Staff at the Pentagon.
   The most intelligent and honest looking people are the jury fodder. They are intelligent but they are unlearned and uneducated. They think that all these other people - who they are paying - and who ordered them to be there - they think these parasites are all noble beings "keeping things from becoming chaotic."
   The most interesting people in the building are the "criminals." The people you are there to pass judgement upon even though you never met a-one of them in your life. And if you ever did meet one of them you would be disqualified from judging him. And God forbid the person on trial did something to you personally or committed the crime for which he is on trial, he committed it on you. Oh dear, you cannot judge him. The fact that you actually have a dog in the fight bars you from doing anything but sitting on the sidelines, assuming they would even let you into the courtroom, having a stake in the matter as you would.
   The reason the criminals are the most interesting is because these are the ones that the people you are paying to order you into court, these people are on the verge of being ordered into prison. They all have ghastly expressions and demeanors and looks of fear. Except for the people who like prison because it's a good life if you are a deranged human and if you have the soul of a sociopath and opt not to go into politics or law enforcement, which are the roads offered by government for sociopaths to follow who want to use their noggins and can see the other side of the criminal coin - law enforcement -  instead of using their natural instincts for illegal crime rather than the more rewarding legal crime, which law enforcement is, legal crime.
   All life in the United States is life in a prison thanks to the Constitution which drew up the plans for universal prison and managed to convince everyone it was a guarantee of freedom and liberty. On the streets this is called "a confidence scheme." The nature of the prison changes as you look down the line of them. Roughly, it starts with school - which you are ordered to attend - marriage - which you are enticed to attend via the vagina and which immediately after the ceremony becomes a State Prison - the military during times of the Draft, which you must attend or be sent to the final prison, the concrete same-sex prison where you are turned into something even the animal kingdom would find foul and unuseable and worthy of extinction.
   Somewhere in the middle of these prisons is the jury duty prison. Some others are the tax prison in which you never own your property and funds, and the continual-registration prison in which you never own your car, and the licensing prison in which you never own your business. If you defy the mailed summons of the jury duty prison, and if the stars are aligned not in your favor that day and a bureaucrat decides to follow through on all the threats spelled-out in the will go to jail or be fined a large amount of money. Or both. This will be very sad and troubling to you because you of course have been brought up since infancy to believe that jury duty is a blessing. To be punished for not complying with your civic responsibility to the people you are paying to order you around would make no sense. It would be wrong. you, of course, being the wrongdoer.
   So you go.
   You try to get out of it.
   People with any sense at all try to get out of it. In fact there are conditions itemized which, if you can claim one or more of them, you can avoid jury privelgefunobligationparty.
   The problem comes if you lie and they find out about it. Then you have committed something known as perjury. You have lied to someone forcing you to do something not only against your will but which is inherently evil. I know this will come as a shock to most law abiding Christian American gun toting nigger-hating Americans that jury duty is evil but it is. Good luck to me trying to convince you of it.
   So you have lied on one of the excuses and you have been found out. that is perjury, or "lying to God." the god of course varies depending on the era, and the god of the "oath" is never defined, but I can assure you it is one of the pretender gods because the Actual God said "swearing oaths is evil in itself, forget about who you are swearing to, I ain't even got to that."Or words to that effect.
   So you are now hanging onto the edge of a 4 year prison term with sadistic Muslims and white hating Negors and ruthless Mexicans and a few other ilks who have nothing to lose by killing you since they are all going to be in prison for their entire lives.
  Welcome to jury dutyfundeathkillprivilege.
   None of this so far even has anything remotely connected to the additionally horrific experience of actually getting selected to serve at a trial.
   Which is a separate pile of relentless shit all its own.

Christmas Day, 2012

   Merry Christmas. Fuck Allah. May the bones of Mohammed feed the Jews in their soup. May the balls of Mohammed be used by Christians as urinals. Fuck the Koran: may its pages be used as toilet paper by the infidel to clean the shit from his ass. Fuck Islam, may it be eradicated with its faggot adherents and all its boy loving and girl-slicing homosexually perverted followers. Fuck all the imams, may their anuses be rooted-through by the snouts of pigs, may they all be dumped into the troughs of the swine and sows of Christian pig farmers all over the world. May all Muslims burst into flame for marshmallow parties among the Christians, assuming the Christians ever get some courage into their government-worshipping gonads. Which does not seem to be happening. Amen. Thank you. Fuck you. Happy New Year.

Monday, December 24, 2012

State-To-State Travel

   Just so you know, traveling State to State you run the risk of arrest and imprisonment and the fucking-up of not only your trip but your life via search and seizures - including seizures of you - if you are the owner of anything the Constitutional Authorities of any State and eventually every State decree you are not allowed to own as permitted by the US Constitution most of you are so enchanted with. The "border" checkpoint ruse a hundred miles east of El Paso is especially brutal, with very friendly, incredibly talented dogs happily pulling at the leashes of the very low IQ extremely sadistic uniformed "men" and "women" who will immediately take ownership of you and all of your stuff if they find anything - which can change from day to day, or if they just don't like the way you are looking at them - if they find anything they don't think you should have. Eventually this will include your wife and daughters and sons who these uniformed subhuman monstrosities would I am sure love to fuck until the fuckee is dead. Cartel bodyguards are more on-the-ball and look more civilized than these Obama hand-picked Muslim wannabees. Just a heads up, my fellow Americans. State-to-State travel will eventually be by permit only. You heard it here first. And good luck getting a permit if you are not a public employee.

Sunday, December 23, 2012

Question Of The Day

   How come pro gun people don't have a problem with other people owning guns but pro gun people often have a problem with other people owning drugs.

Chelsea Dykler

   I notice Chelsea Handler is doing anti-Pope schtick. Hopefully her career will tank as fast as that other dyke, Sinead Oconnor's, did when she started picking on the fucking Pope. Chelsea Handler isn't even a Catholic, she's a fucking atheist Jew, the worst kind. She's getting as big and sturdy as a fucking Abrams tank and looks about as armored. Her show is filled with fags and lesbians, none of whom are remotely funny and all she does is call them names and embarrass them. They must need the abuse. She fucks niggers too. Dykes always fuck a few niggers before they make the announcement that they are dykes. White dykes don't consider nigger males to be human. It's like fucking a horse. They fuck a few horses and then after they get beat up a few times - which is fine, getting kicked by a horse is not abuse, it's just a dumb animal that doesn't know its own strength - after they get beat up a few times they make a big public announcement which only they think is news to anyone that they are queer. Lesbians hate the Pope for some reason. Who knows why, lesbians are all wiccan pagan Nothings so I don't know why they even pay attention to the fucking Pope but they all do. I guess he just pisses them off for some reason. He is white with a penis, and that's usually enough to do it.

Jesus Came Out Of A Twat

   In these hours before Chrstmas I think we should take a moment to remind ourselves what Christmas is really all about: Jesus coming out of a twat. Our Christian Deity emerged from a pussy, as did we all. And yet even at Christmas time pussy is declared anathema to the Christian: thou shall not say pussy, thous shall not look at pussy, thou shall not touch pussy, thou shall not lick pussy, thou shall not fuck pussy, thou shall not subject thine pussy to the vibrating device to do so numbers you AMONG THE DAM-ED, THOU ACCURST!!!
   I say, enough of that. To us is born from a pussy - probably a hot 14 year old one at at -  a savior and redeemer and payer of the price of our rebellion. What does it all mean? It means drink up, motherfucker, and stick your middle finger up a twat and think of Jesus. Amen. Merry Christmas. Oh, and, fuck you. And the horse you jacked off when you got here. Thank you.

Masons And The Paranoids

   You don't have to be paranoid to see that the Federal government and the Constitution and the Bill of "Rights" and all the crap the goes with it is Satanic. The difference between a paranoid and someone just having their eyes open regarding DC and all it's fucking paraphernalia is that the paranoids think there is some "hidden awesome power and magic and voodoo that actually works" "running" things and that you should live in fear and terror like the paranoids do. Paranoids, even if they are dead-on-target only help the target. They don't obliterate it. They make the target stronger. Because, like the "forces" they think they are fighting, they are actually in the same grip.
   That's where I come in. Because, you see, unlike the paranoids, I don't give a crap if I convince you of anything. All I am required to do is keep opening my yap about what I see. And then I go look at porn and stare at Carli Banks' or Lanni Barbi's or Black Angelica's excellent white pussies and ejaculate onto the floor. Which I much prefer doing to going on and on and on about how stupid you are. Although calling you stupid never really does get old. In case you were wondering.

Token Niggers

   White people have to put niggers in their movies because niggers are incapable of starting their own movie studios. Now you would THINK that any self respecting nigger would take offense that he was being hired just because the government - made up of white people - ordered the studio - made up of white people - to hire the nigger just because he was a nigger - made up ob black people. But niggers have no problem with that. Because they are not white. They are niggers. It's a black think not having any pride in themselves. I know what you are thinking, they originated "black pride." Black pride means "be proud that you have whitey on the fucking run and scared shitless of you going Chimpout Crazy and burning everything down in a tantrum fury of asshole rage." That's what Black Pride actually means. It has nothing to do with actual pride. In Niggerese pride is defined as "having no pride."  Niggers are not good with words. If they were Shakespeare would have been a nigger.

Saturday, December 22, 2012

Christmas Poem

Friday, December 21, 2012

The Republican Muslim In Chief

   The nigger ain't the first Muslim to inhabit the White House. His predecessor was basically imam-friendly too.
   George Akbar Bush gave this little chat 6 days after the Islamic attack on America.

Dec 21

   It's December 21 and the world didn't end like the reetards said the Mayans - who stacked stones and murdered children - usually their own - said it would. I was at least hoping for a meteorite coming through the atmosphere at 25,000 miles per hour to impact into George Lopez's skull.

Disney Buys Lucas: Episode 20 - Walt Disney, Wernher Von Braun, And Me

   Walt Disney, not being a Communist, had no problem at all hiring Wernher Von Braun, and neither did Hitler. At the time I was a Mouseketeer and to this day, I consider Adolph Hitler and Walt Disney to be the two most artistically creative forces of the 20th Century. They were like a Sith and a Jedi. If they could have come to some philosophical accord and worked together - which of course would be impossible, Hitler was a socialist and Disney was a Capitalist, mortal enemies to the last drop of blood, although the Capitalists haven't figured this out yet but the Socialists have - this would be a much more interesting and advanced world. Certainly the American military would be better dressed and not looking like renegade castro-ites who just left from a day of shopping at the JC Penny's Kiddie Camo Dept.
   Von Braun was often on the property and I knew who he was from earlier Disney productions and movie short subjects that featured Von Braun discussing the conquest of the Solar System. Those Nazis: always on the go.
   I knew the Nazis killed the Jews but I didn't care. My attitude then - like it is now - was if someone tells you ten years ahead of time that if he ever takes over he is going to kill you and you not only don't believe him but when he actually starts doing it you still don't believe him...then I guess you are going to die and basically good riddance, your compliant and timid DNA is better off out of the gene pool. I notice the Christians have the same attitude today about the Muslims: the Muslims are warning them they will have to convert or die and the Christians are pretending that they either don't mean it or that they don't really mean it. And no, I didn't write that wrong. I won't feel bad about those dead Christians either, anymore than I feel bad about the dead Jews.
   So I would see Von Braun on the property from time to time and one time I went up to him and asked him "Did you really see Hitler?" He said he did. I said "Can we really go into space someday?" He said we can go into space now. I had enough scientific knowledge and understanding of the language at 12 to say "You mean we have the ability it's just that we haven't done it." He said "Oh, no, we've actually done it." I gasped and said "What???" He laughed a laugh Germans always seem to laugh when they are preparing to not tell you something and he said, "Maybe I will explain it all to you sometime when you are older." When you are 12 you don't interrogate an adult German Nazi high on Hitler's likeability list. Just hearing a German accent being used toward me made me almost weak with happiness. I was a very big fan of the German War Machine even as a lad. My attitude as a child was the same as the one I later learned was Patton's: we were fighting the wrong people in WW2. I still have that opinion. If there are Anglophiles I am a Hunophile. In my opinion the Germans are the only people in Europe, maybe on the planet, with any fucking life in them. Ironic that they enjoy killing so much. Just one of life's many paradoxes and anomalies I guess.
   A few days later someone in a suit who didn't exactly look like a Disney employee intercepted me somewhere and asked me point blank, "Did you talk to Wernher Von Braun last week during the day?" I said yeah. "What did he tell you."
   You do not come under the tutelage of Benedetto Solari and some of his cronies at 6 thru - so far - 12 and not smell a cop or a fed or an asshole looking to fuck things up in the name of something else and not already have a well developed and trained ability and almost a desire to fuck him up even more than he wants to fuck you up.
   "Well, he told me he really likes the Mouseketeers. I asked him who was his favorite. He said 'Why, you, of course!' I sure hope he meant it, he's really smart, he makes rockets! He said someday we will all live on the Moon!"
   My little retarded-child fairy tale totally got absorbed into his psychotic bureaucratic noggin and he  smiled and said "I've been hoping to meet him too but I never get the chance for some reason. But I thought I saw him talking to you and I just wanted to know if he was really nice."
   I was really tempted to respond "Well, sir, he's nice, but I don't think he's so nice he would allow you to fuck him in the ass like I am sure you, being a cop of some sort, would really like to do, being a faggot, and everything, as you all are."
   Instead what I said was, "Oh, yes, he is very nice. I hope to be on a rocket some day!!!"
   He made all the usual motions and movements people do when they are about to blow you off. "Well stay in school and study hard and I am sure you will!"
   And off he went, his idiot remark still hanging in the air and ringing stupidly in my ears.

Thursday, December 20, 2012

Disney Buys Lucas: Episode 19 - The Unconsolable Mouseketeer Andy

   This is not really a picture of Mouseketeer Andy. But if it was it would be complimentary.
   Erratic skin growth and bone growth is only erratic if you decide to call it that. Your own skin and bones are erratic growths. We think of them as normal because these are the erratic growths that aid rather than impede survival for the species - of all the millions that there are - that we were born into.
   Why anything should grow at all is really and actually more than the human mind - which is itself an erratic growth, just not of skin and bone - why anything should grow at all is more than the human mind can really cope with. We accept it as magic. It's easier that way. In fact we accept so many unmagical things as magic due to our primitive IQ's that accepting the existence of Actual magic is not a big leap, especially if you are stupid, because it's actually a leap backwards.
   Can we move on?
   Mouseketeer Andy was not only a grotesque abortion of all that is conducive to sanity-friendly apparitions and sights, he was also an angry grotesque abortion of all things that are conducive to sanity-friendly apparitions and sights.
   It was a pretty safe assumption that when Andy auditioned he must have had parents. All the rest of us certainly did. How it was they had not reported their son missing is mysterious unless you hypothesize that he was not missing, that they knew where he was.
   My own theory is that he ate them. That it was he that should have been reporting his parents as missing. Not the other way around.
   He was certainly capable of eating them, I once had some fellows I know in the meat packing business bring him a live, fully testicled bull, just to see what he would do with it. Me and the other two men had electrical cattle prods that within a very short time not only had the untethered bull become convinced that moving our direction would be repeatedly painful and annoying, the smell wafting off of Andy was also convincing the bull that something was not as it should be in the other direction either.
   At the moment Andy was in darkness. The "meeting halls," as I call them, under the Burbank surface and that comprise and house electrical and flood control and a few other things, one of them being Andy, are very large spaces, acres in volume, and having a concrete roofs 12 feet high. If you like the smell of eternal concrete mold at 56 degrees it is heaven to someone like me. However it was jail to someone like Andy.
   Hearing the clatter, Andy, who was slow and reluctant to respond to stimuli and yet would on occasion respond to it in the most heinous ways imaginable and with great fury, slid out from his dark section of the Meeting Room and began to ease his way into the unwarm illumination of the pallid 60 watt reinforced light bulbs in the dungeon.
   The two men - who were both professional murderers - went into combat mode even though neither of them had guns, which amounted to bouncing to defensive positions and yelling at me - who wasnt doing anything - "What the fuck is that!!!"
   I told them it was Mouseketeer Andy.
   Mouseketeer Andy was undulating, or maybe crabbing, or maybe scratching, more and more into view.
   The untesticled bull, while not seeing Andy clearly, being a bull and in poor artificial light, was sensing menace-aplenty coming from Andy's vicinity. Well from more than from Andy's vicinity actually, it was coming from Andy himself.
   Bulls with their testicles intact have one response to what they consider menace, especially if the menace is also inducing fear: and that is to gore violently and mightily after their charging horizontal powerful attack is brought to a halt by contact with the fear-inducing thing. The fear-inducing thing in this case being Andy.
   Bulls do not run on cement well, but this one did himself proud on his first - and last - charge. Which were the same charge. He handled the concrete like Sonya Henie handled ice. He hit Andy hard and solid in one of Andy's many midsections and had just begun to hook his horns into whatever God might send their way, when the bull suddenly was squeezed in the center by two pressing tubes coming together, and in an instant writhed its head and contorted its face like, I swear, something off the canvas of Guernica, and didn't even utter a howl when it burst into two fountains of bull-innards, one from its jaws and the other from its rectum. As the bull disappeared from the shape of a bull, and reappeared in the shape of two eruptions of guts, the only sound to monopolize the entire event was the now-apparent
very loud slapping of heavy bull-innards onto the greenish algae'd ichor of the large cement room, that sounded like vomit splashing into the street from a nauseated choir of a thousand drunks.
   The volume of exposed bull viscera actually was warming the air out of its dungeon coolness. The heated air off the cooling bull added a level of 4th dimensional reality to this - to the two butchers - nightmare that I was dealing with with a lot more calmness. I'd seen Andy in action before. Just not with something this huge.
   "What the fuck is that," they more or less both said again only this time with a lot less volume and with a lot more readiness; I guess they figured they were next.
   I walked toward Andy and saved the interview with the butchers for later and told Andy aloud that I had brought the bull just to see what Andy would do with it.
   Andy responded to me telepathically. Andy could send - and maybe receive - thoughts, but he was never able to receive mine. I had to speak to him. He never answered audibly but I could always hear his responses, not as a voice, but as knowledge. This was mysterious but not scary. In fact communications from Andy - even though anguished - in the receiver they triggered some sort of calmative hormone that nullified fear and any angst, or blocked it, or camouflaged it. I suspect this is how the "good apparitions" of the Bible communicated to humans, usually with the accompanying admonitions "Do not be afraid." Except I never heard Andy say do not be afraid. It's just that his intrusions into my head never caused fear. It was like the fear was over-ridden. I dunno. And I don't really much care, actually.
   Andy communicated his annoyance with my little games clearly and I reminded him that other than silverfish and worms, I was the closest thing to company he would ever have and that I was going to take advantage of it, since Andy was pretty much what you would call a goldmine of interest and potential entertainment.
   Andy was a fellow Mouseketeer, if nothing else, and childhood show business forms bonds of, while not friendship, a sort of hostility-marked camaraderie of the similarly wounded. I was always reminding Andy that he should count his blessing that he didn't end up as a suicidal drug addict working in a supermarket for 50 years and then killing himself after hearing for the millionth time "How come you never did anything after the Mouseketeers, loser?"
   Andy never appreciated the wisdom of this heartfelt and selfless advice and almost resented the fact that I - basically normal, at least compared to him - visited him at all. But it was either me or just the worms.
   Andy had personally killed 27 electricians and other city workers. He never left witnesses. All anyone on the municipal payroll knew was if you go into section 14 WRT near Griffith Park you were never heard from again. Once in a while the chief of police of either Los Angeles or Burbank or Glendale would send small two-man teams of heavily-armed officers into section 14 WRT of the underground city that housed the grid and the other flows of material and they were never heard from again. Since this was infallibly the result,  the decision to just go balls-out and send a division of Marines into section 14 bureaucrat could bring himself to make that call.
   One thing you learn about life in the USA if you pay any attention at all, which nobody does, is that a "cover up" is not the exception. It is the normal mode of government operation. They are experts at it because the job itself is a coverup. No one really needs a bureaucrat in his life. But everyone thinks he does. This is because of a coverup. The coverup being "You need us!" People on the public payroll see this clearly. They see it so clearly that if any department of anything is threatened with dissolvement the response is "You get rid of us and we will burn down the city." Everyone in government knows this. So nothing gets  shut down. Unless its something that plays on the heartstrings and fears of the idiot public. "We have no more money and you won't let us raise taxes so you can't go to Yosemite and if you call a cop he won't come." Big deal. You can't go to Yosemite when its wide open for business anyway, it's so fucking fucked up,  and a cop never comes when you call him anyway, and he sure is never there to prevent trouble from happening. A cop's way of preventing trouble is to put you into prison.
   So nobody came to deal with Andy, or whatever the mystery of section 14 WRT was. Why bother. If  nobody disappeared as long as nobody was sent there, ok, that's good enough for us, thank you, everyone back to your naps, we gut a good thing going here, why make noise, no one liked Workman Garcia or Officer Melendez or Electrician Sanchez anyway, they wern't even citizens, why bring attention to them now that they are gone from us? "Aye-aye, sir! Not a problem, sir!"
   Besides, Griffith Park has a reputation for being haunted and cursed anyway. This can be researched on Google and Wikipedia. It even looks haunted and cursed at night, a big pitch black lightless void in the night embedded into the entire southern sector of the San Fernando Valley. Bats don't even go in there. It's an anomaly that defies correction or explanation. You want to get scared?...take Zoo Drive off the 134 at three in the morning and park your car in one of the parking lots and turn off the lights and open the windows and just sit there. You will last about 2 seconds before you fucking freak and roar your car to life and screech the fuck away. You will think you are in a pit of empty hell. You will feel entities coming over you like a fucking black thick blanket. And yet you are actually in the dead center of the biggest metropolis on earth, mother fucker!! "What is your problem, mang? Hey, my pren, me miho pren, ess ju esairedycat??? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA"  Fact is, I guess, yeah. I'm scared. What of it, Mexican. In fact go in there and bring some guns. Bring some grenades. Bring the fucking Hells Angels. See if that changes anything. The Hells Angels will leave before you do.

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Disney Buys Lucas; Episode 18 - Ub Iwerks And Me

   When I was a Mouseketeer a lot of famous people would come by the sets to watch the filmings. Usually they were just milling around behind the lights and camera without any fanfare. It is very likely they all wanted to see Annette, but now that I am speaking as an adult, watching the season I was on on videos - which I do not do very often - I can see clearly that the asses of all the girls were deducible from common eyesight based on the design of the blue plaited skirts the girls wore. And looking at Doreen's or Annette's or Cheryl's or Sharon's ass was probably extremely high on the priority list of any famous male with a Screen Actors Guild card who was making in the hundreds of thousands of dollars a year. My own ass was very likely a draw for faggots, I have to say, based on what I can see of its big black ass proportions on the videos of me at 12. It's almost as though from my new perspective as a grown depraved adult that the handmade tailoring of the boys' trousers in no way attempted to shroud or disguise the flowing, curvy, tight proportions of those young teen male asses. The famous people who showed up may not have been all there to look at the girls' asses at all.
   One day Ub Iwerks showed up. The reason I know is because we were all - the ones who were shooting that day - were brought over to a portion of the sound stage that had a door slightly open to let in some light and sitting quietly and unassumingly on a stool was Ub Iwerks. I know it was him because we were told, "I want you all to meet Ub Iwerks," the presenter said to us. There was a solemn silent perplexity from all the other Mouseketeeers in the troop, except for myself. I, who rarely piped up on the set, blurted "YOU DID FLIP THE FROG AND WILLIE WHOPPER!!!!" The slouching tired-looking man suddenly came to life to some extent and looked at me and seemed to be trying to smile. "Yes. That's correct." All the other Mouseketers in the pack - some of them feral cunning pushy self-absorbed mini-sovereigns - immediately pretended to be on top of all things Iwerks-related. "Yes! Flip The Frog!! Ooooooo! Hi, Mr....... Works."  "You can just call me Ub." "Ummm....what?...." "Ub is his first name," I told the others with a smidgeon of annoyance. I used to watch Flip The Frog cartoons and Willy Whopper cartoons on various cartoon shows and was always impressed with the excellence of the animation for the Iwerks cartoons compared to the other cartoons that were born in the early days. Meeting Ub Iwerks was like meeting someone who actually mattered. Meeting the President would have meant nothing, the President was nothing to me then and is nothing to me now. Cartoons and comics and video games are more important than any politician to me even now. More so now.
   So anyway the other Mouseketeers swarmed Ub Iwerks to be his pal and pretend they knew all about him and I just watched the proceedings and lost myself in the realization that I was actually meeting Ub Iwerks, a cartoon king, a creator of the cartoon phenomenon. I did not know at the time that he helped Walt Disney get started and probably created Mickey Mouse. If I had known he had created Mickey Mouse I would not have liked him as much because I never thought Mickey Mouse was anything but a piece of shit as a cartoon character.
   Anyway I met Ub Iwerks and I knew who he was and he noticed that I knew.

   One day I was called into Walt Disney's office. This actually made me nervous because I considered it my duty to avoid Walt Disney because talking to him would be like talking to the creator of the universe. I was pretty non-chalant around "fame" and "celebrity" festooned people, even the Queen of England would have more or less been of no interest to me - unlike Audie Murphey who I would have bowed down to, or Adolph Hitler who I would have enjoyed meeting and telling him I thought his officers were very well dressed - but meeting Walt Disney - the king of American magic and happiness and all that is the Stars and Stripes....that was more than I could handle without making a total blubbering drooling stammering fool of myself. He was more awesome than Fess Parker!
   I was let in and he was sitting at a desk and looked over and grinned and got up. I was relieved that I was not in trouble. I was constantly in some minor mischief that was considered "unprofessional" by the other lifer-showbiz kids on the show. But I could see that this was a nice guy. At least to kids, fair to say.
   He went and got a chair from near a wall and set it by his desk and sat back down, inviting me to the chair. I sat in it and he said "Ub Iwerks tells me you were excited to see him. That you knew who he was just by hearing his name."
   "He did Willie Whopper!!"
   Walt Disney smiled and chuckled. "Why do you like Willie Whopper?"
   "Who makes a cartoon about a kid who is a devoted liar??!!!" I damn near added, "Willie Whopper is everything Mickey Mouse is not!! Mickey Mouse is a god damn afternoon nap!! No personality, no temper, no humor, no abilities other than talking like a spaded and neutered puppy. And Morty and Ferdie? FERDIE???  Nigger please." Or words to that effect.
   What I actually said was "Willie Whopper lies. Who makes a cartoon about a liar?" (Not you, Mr. Cautious.) "Willie Whopper is a real boy; always in trouble with adults and having to talk his way out of trouble. That's his whole role in life: lying. It's a lot more interesting than the dog knocking over the lamp." This was a reference to Pluto, another cartoon character I fucking detested.
   After a moment Walt Disney said "Ub was very happy to know that someone age 12 in 1956 knew who he was. He asked me to tell you how much it meant to him."
   I said sure, no problem, i was excited to meet him. Disney said yes, he knew that and thanked me again. Then he told me to go back to work, in a friendly sort of way, and a door opened and a woman was waiting to escort me out. I waved bye and went back to work. On the way to the outer door the woman said "The other Mouseketeers do not need to know about this meeting. They will all want to come up here and Mr. Disney is very busy. Mr. Disney and Mr. Iwerks merely wanted you to know they appreciated your appreciation of Mr Iwerks. Mr Iwerks was especially happy you knew who he was. Mr Disney and Mr. Iwerks are old friends, they started in the animation business together, Mr Iwerks was very influential in Mr Disney's success. This has nothing to do with the Mouseketeers. This is separate from your job here as a Mouseketeer. This was like a personal meeting. You should be very
honored by this. This is more important than being a Mouseketeer. It's like three friends." She put her hand on my shoulder and looked right at me, like an agent would, and like agents had in the past and like a few of Benedetto's buddies had also done. She looked intently into my eyes, which were gazing back at her in a kind of dejavu concentration, like something more was going on than was going on. "Mr Disney and Mr. Iwerks would be very happy if you kept this personal moment that has made Mr. Iwerks very happy...if you would keep it to yourself. Just the three of you will know: you; Walt Disney; and Ub Iwerks."
   When you are a child in hollywood and "grow up in the system" - which I did not - you learn as if by osmosis that there are certain protocols that must be obeyed even though no one ever talks about them or admits they exist. For example, you show up on time if you are going before the cameras. You show up when you are told to show up and if you dont - you will be fired. They will find a reason. Hundreds of people are waiting to film you - which is always complicated - and there are time limits and if you are late you piss off a lot of people all at once, most of whom don't even know you, they just know that they can't get started untill you show up because YOU are the reason all the others are there, because YOU are going to be the one being filmed. And it is a film studio. Something has to be filmed. And if it's you - you better be there when you are scheduled.
   But this is never talked about. Showing up on time is merely one of the quiet corridors a child star or any other kind of film actor climbing up the ranks moves on to the next step by doing. Movie making is not about your fucking face or your fucking talent: it's about your fucking face and your fucking talent having the ability to show up on time. Show up on time and maybe we will promote you. Cause we can rely on you to show up on time.
   There are other protocols never talked about but that exist. This is just one example.
   So this personal secretary - or whoever she was - bending down at me with one hand on my shoulder telling me that Walt Disney and Ub Iwerks - and I guess her -  would appreciate it if I kept this among the four of us: sure. I guess this is a protocol. Not a problem. That's show business, I figured.

The Christmas Letters

   The Christmas Letters are coming in. These are letters written by women in the third person as though they are queens of England or aloof deities floating through the cosmos and looking down at themselves as they go about their astoundingly boring Past Year. And then they tell you about it. Like as though you give a shit about their hysterectomy. Or their cats' progress on Prozac. "Fluffycunts doesnt piss on the computer keyboard anymore like she used to since we took him to Dr. 'Mengele For Cats' in Sonoroa, Mexico. I love the mariachi music!" Nothing is connected, nothing makes much sense, it's all a borefest of almost hurricane-level ferocity "Our daughter Mildred just completed ass-wiping courses in Madrid and is now demonstrating fecal-identification to the orphan children of Borneo. We are so proud of her!!" Borneo will never be the same, yup, that's for sure, thanks to the selfless ass-dedication of your daughter who I am sure could not manage to get a fucking for herself on the Isle of Lesbos during the full moon while lying on the Altar of Vagina Delights naked and with her legs spread and surrounded by strap-on-girded Amazons, their bellies filled with Spanish fly.
   If there were only men on the earth Christmas would consist of handing a buddy a cigar and a beer and standing on the back porch in the woods and looking at the stars and thinking about Jesus and what if anything it all means and talking pleasantly about pussy and rifles and what the roads are like these days in Texas. There would be no presents and decorations and there certainly would be no fucking Christmas Letters.
   Except of course in West Hollywood and on Fire Island.
   And in the dilapidated minds and lives of actual females, not just the faggot imitations of them.

Collectivism In One Lesson

   America - and all the world, actually - operates on the "collectivist principle," which is "all humans are part of the family of Man." Man is not a family. Man is an aberration of Nature. You are not a part of someone you never fucking met. If you were they would all be calling you whenever you got into trouble to help you out. It's more likely it was one or more members of the "family of Man" that got you into the trouble in the first place, why the fuck would they help you out of it. Being part of "the family of Man" is being a part of herd of savage apes. The "family of Man" would not have lights if it wasnt for one or two people. The "family of Man" did not discover E=MC2. The "family of Man" did not build a railroad empire. The "family of Man" did, however, confiscate it, in the name of "fairness." The "family of Man" is a knuckle-dragging global horde of gluttons and thieves. It's nothing for anyone with a personal identity to be "beautifully involved with." The fuckhead that said "no man is an island" never got caught in a snowstorm going over the Ridge Route at 3 AM.

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Little Miss Sunshine

   Cecily is watching Little Miss Sunshine. I want everyone in the family in this movie to die.


   That was the most Jew-infested Jewfest in history. Jews and their analysis of Gentile American life. But the fucking Gentiles seem to fucking love it. Cecily is still going-on about how very very good it was. I have always suspected she was at least half Jew if not 100%. And they all become beautifully entwined at the end even though they were all at each others' throats at the beginning. THANK YOU DEAD GRAMPA WHO COMMITTED SUICIDE!! YOU ARE SO BEAUTIFUL!! Jesus tap dancing Christ. Give me a fucking puke bucket so I can vomit all my blood into it.

The Indians Of The West

   Having just returned from a two week pilgrimage from Los Angeles to Austin I am prepared to claim without hesitation that the indigenous blob of worthlessness known as "the American Indian" is pretty lucky to have wound-up on a desolate reservation instead in the stomachs of the crows and buzzards of the desert and the great plains.
   If there is a duller, more asleep, less ambitious, less aware, more witless, less interested, fatter, dumber, stupider race of people on the earth, then they are all at Walmart, blocking the aisles with their big blob-filled asses.
   The Indians didnt even have horses until the Europeans brought them over, they had no weapons that anyone could possibly kill anything with, and until the theft of the rifle, or more likely they bartered their ugly 12 year old girls to white arms dealers for them, they then very likely eradicated the buffalo herds themselves rather than the white man eradicating them, or at worst it was likely a neck-and-neck adventure. In the 400 years they have been exposed to Western Civilization they have made no effort to adapt, with the possible exception of the Iroquois who I hear are all steel workers on the East coast. As for the Indians on the Western side of the country, most of them have probably never even been inside a skyscraper, forget about fucking building one.
   There is some mythical seance-like braindead delusional blood-clog inside the heads of a very weird variety of "biker" that sees in the "indian" some sort of soaring spirit of life that breaks the bonds of what passes for knowledge and understanding and reaches into the magical realms of metaphysical superscience wherein all things are possible due to a transformation into a godlike state of omnipotence which the fucking Indians - those guys over there laying on the sidewalk drenched in their own piss - reach and achieve frequently and on a routine basis. This vision or belief is called "a deranged hallucination" by the medical profession. Indians are not wise, Indians are not smart, Indians are not usually employed, Indians are not creative, Indians are not sensible, Indians are not at home in a cement and concrete environment, Indians do not do anything on their own, Indians are eternal wards of the State, just like a whopping load of niggers and Mexicans, and they like it that way, and if they can take your stuff personally and spare the government the middleman task of collecting your taxes - they will.
   The only thing more obtuse and bewildered looking than the infant offspring of an American negro is the infant offspring of an American redskin. At least the bugeyed ugly Negro baby looks scared, staring at the modern world around him where he does not belong. The Indian baby, however, looks drugged. And it very likely is not. It just has inherited a Paleolithic brain from its Paleolithic parents, and it has just enough intelligence to pick a berry and maybe but not likely shit away from the central compound of dust and bugs where the rest of the tribe lives.

America's Defense

   America is defended by the President - usually a lawyer -  who is advised by the Congress - usually inhabited exclusively by lawyers - who determine what is needed to defend you; someone no one in the Congress or the White House ever met or heard of. So lawyers, members of the only profession Jesus cursed, are who you are placing your trust in. And how is that working out for you so far, Sparkie?

The Purpose Of School

   The purpose of school is to teach you how to land a job from someone who probably never went to school.

Oil And Dinosaurs

   It's far more likely that dinosaurs came from oil than the other way around. The story that oil came from dinosaurs was probably concocted by Harry Reid, who was around when the dinosaurs were, and he did it to remind everyone to conserve because as we all know there was a finite number of dinosaurs and we will never get any more so let's not just have drilling willynilly, let's partition and regulate progress lest business surpass government in popularity and usefulness and ten thousand useless bureaucrats are revealed to be actually useless, rather than the indispensable cogs in the wheels of peace and justice and order that they proclaim themselves to be and that everyone believes for some reason. The fact that just the opposite of the oil-comes-from-dinosaurs is more likely the case is amusing because it shows Congress - who likely created this fable - to be not just evil but having a special nugget of extra blackness in their souls that delights not only in lying but in making the lie perfectly distorted to be the exact opposite of the truth and not just a partially erroneous version of it. However as Ayn Rand said if you believe a liar the fault is as much yours as it is his, if you are all that stupid not to question everything you are told to try and actually nail down the facts.

Question Of The Day

   Congress doesn't make-up the rules for baseball, why do they make-up the rules for real life? Isn't baseball a good way to sort of get the feel of things when it comes to rule-making? Why jump right in on the life and death stuff without any training? Senators and Representatives and the various agencies and the New Edict Maker the president himself should spend at least a few years making up new rules for football and basketball and hockey before making up new rules that actually can get you arrested if you violate them, where the penalty box is fucking depressing as hell and the fines can leave you living in a goat field in western Texas where all hope is forever unwelcome.

DWITS Interplanetary

   Dancing With The Stars, Covenant style: for when you decide to become really serious about the paso doble'.

Complaints From Commenters

   I hear that blogger makes it impossible to comment because the thing you have to read is so fucked up it looks like Arabic. HAHA it probably IS Arabic, because Blogger, like everything else, is likely owned by the muslim sandnigger headhunter boyfucker islamic faction of 21st Century earth.

Road Trip

   We took a two week road trip to Austin that ended 2 days ago.
   Government really needs to get out of the roads business because they fucking suck at it.
   Want to die? Drive a State or Municipal or Federal road. The Federal roads are by far the worst. The bigger the government the shittier the roads. Governments don't really want people to be accommodated or satisfied. Governments want people dead or in prison or in a slave labor camp: doing work for the government.
   Apart from learning how bad President Roads And Bridges You Didn't Do That is at putting up roads and bridges, you also learn first hand - if you have two eyes and do not have the Implant...which everyone but me seems to have... that the idea that human activity is affecting the climate is a lying crock of shit designed to get everyone to get used to government-provided and government-caused shortages. When you leave the environs of Los Angeles, you will drive through 400 miles of fucking empty desolate, scenic, barren, lifeless, death-to-all-mammals, waterless, cloudless hell before you reach the next blob of human-swarming, which is Phoenix. And if the freeway is empty you can drive through the borders of Phoenix in ten minutes if you go 100 miles an hour.  So you go through, say, 25 miles of then drive another hundred miles of desolation before you get to Tucson. Then you drive through ONE THOUSAND MOTHER FUCKING MILES OF ROCK RUBBLE, CACTUS, AND GOAT DROPPINGS before you get to the next blob of humanity which is Austin.
   Now keep in mind that all this desolation you drive through is merely what you can see FROM THE ROAD! Beyond the vistas available from your steering wheel is unseen, undiscovered, uninhabited emptyness that is no more affected by your little microwave than Paris Hilton's pussy is presently being affected by my cock.
   Human activity affects the weather like my hard-on affects Jamie Pressly's desire to suck on it: and that would be zero affect.
   Now, the motels of the land, as I have found out, have been quick to use your stupidity to their advantage: all the hotel and motel rooms in Idiot America are now festooned with signs that say "We love the earth and so do you. We must protect Mother Gaia. We must be good stewards. We must conserve precious resources. So therefore use your towels for your entire stay here so we don't have to fucking spend money on soap and laundry services, oh and turn out the precious lights so that we will have a lower fucking electricity bill, oh dear, I mean so that we do not waste precious resources, and when you wipe your ass with our toilet paper, don't flush it, use it blow your nose in to save our precious forests. Oh and when you drop your pants so that we can fuck you hard in the ass please lube yourself first from your own Vaseline jar so that we won't have to be bothered doing it ourselves and we can just get right to the assfucking which apparently you cannot get enough of, you gullible, lazy-brained piece of American shit."

we took over 7000 pictures. i am good now at using the A6-10 out the windshield and the driver's window without looking. so i had something to do for the 3000 fucking miles i drove. they are not national geographic quality but they are good enough to really make you recall meaningless moments of the ride. its better than videos because you look at the picture and the video plays in your head. PLUS........a remarkable number of the out-the-window-while-driving pics are pretty good. on the same day we both almost died because of a snowstorm that roared through ruidoso springs while we  were climbing the summit when we by a series of miracles got down to alamagordo just at late afternoon we were privvy to probably the best cloud and sun arrangement to ever hit white sands. it was blowing a freezing wind but the skies were so great we almost didnt care. some fucks making a music video used us and our car to stop and make believe we were going to give the hitchiking beauty bitch who was very hot a ride. i dont know who they were making a video of because i was so fucking cold all i wanted to do was live not do interviews.

  we got snowed-in while driving and i had to get off the road but that was impossible without being in even more danger than moving because you were a target for the semi's behind you and the navajos in pickup trucks. the clouds had looked ominous from carlsbad but i was assuming that new mexico was a harmless hotland and i did not remember this range of highway we had to traverse as being what you would call snow country. this was an error. the rain once we hit the upgrades increased and then i noticed something was hitting the windshield but it never seemed to fill up with anything and at some point i realized i was driving through frozen cloud particles. then it started snowing. i was now in a mental panic wondering what was going to happen, no way i could drive an accord through a fucking snowstorm. the road got slushier and more filled with frozen mud slops. i was now feeling actual fear. it was getting grimmer. trucks were behind me and i dared not stop because the car would never get going again but i dared not speed into a crash just to accomodate some assfuck behind me anxious to see me off the road so he could die later. i was stressing at the max. cecily said "i remember there is a casino coming." i said what? from 4 years ago you memorized this road? she said yes there is a casino up ahead we have to get there!!  the good dear lord in heaven who created all that we see made a casino appear!! i pulled in sliding sideways and somehow effortlessly got into a parking slot as the snow raged even though the casino terrain had not been smashed by tons of traffic as the road crap had been to some extent. there was no way a honda could drive in that. even though i had never driven a car sideways before, after some sliding perpendicular to the way the car was supposed to be aimed, a giant invisible hand put the car into a slot next to another car. we went into the indian casino and depressed as i was the magical sounds of casino machines somewhat soothed me. the road was already officially closed. my desert-shod feet were freezing. the casino was small and had a convenience store attached. there was nowhere to go. i was in new fucking mexico. how long do snowstorms last in new mexican mountains? would we live out our lives there? where would we sleep: we would die in the car. cecily is an old lady: she cant sit on a slot machine chair overnight. i stressed and paced and for once did not freak out or rage like i do at the slightest thing. i held it together. i knew this was some serious shit with a ton of question marks. mostly i was concerned about how i was going to keep my feet dry and warm in brooks hiking shoes which have a lot of breathability. which means COME ON IN SNOW AND RAIN AND SLUSH THERE IS PLENTY OF ACCESS MY FRIENDS!! after a half hour i looked out the casino and the snow had stopped. a plow had roared up the mountain. the summit was i didnt know how many miles away. two or three miles back was a motel 6 undoubtedly already full. one thing i have always been able to do is make a decision even if its wrong, i dont care if its wrong what i care about is not making a decision at all. i saw the snow had stopped. i saw a car or two continuing up the highway 70 toward the glorious dry desert far away. doing nothing was not an option. i slogged through the snow in the parking lot and went to the highway and looked up it. more cars were going along. i got cecily and we got in and for a half hour she had been saying "we need to go back to the motel 6" to which i had not been responding. still reeling with the ten years of aging i had already done in the past hour i made it out onto the highway through slush that should have bogged me down and cecily screams WHAT ARE YOU DOING??? WE CANT GO ON!! WE HAVE TO GO BACK TO THE MOTEL!! i said calmly we're going on. i had noticed that it had stopped snowing for about ten minutes. i reasoned if the snow plow was just on here the road would be travelable until the next roar of snowfall and these mountains are not that thick, we can do this. after a while of me going 20 in relatively un ice'd roadway there ahead was the inevitable traffic jam. i then rather than screaming and ranting like i traditionally do in a traffic jam i had to force myself to examine things. we were all stopped but a line of cars was coming our way. that meant someone was controlling things ahead. still not snowing we rolled slowly and with many stoppings of the engine to some unseen destination, embraced front and back by semis and once in a while some ass in a pickup truck drove along the shoulder to i guess eventually beg or demand his way back into the line down the way. still no snowfalls. i was sweating and silent as a cartoon in mad magazine of a scared guy. up ahead was a jack knifed rig. it was being dealt with. we got our turn. i was now in motion on a plowed road at 30 miles an hour. within two or three minutes i saw the glorious summit sign, 7500 feet. i go shit no wonder its snowing, we're on fucking everest in late december in a rainstorm from alaska. that means snow at 7500 feet. going downhill finally i felt hope, the lower you go the less snow you get, this is a law of nature. no fucking way there would be snowfall in alamagordo and once i get below 5000 feet it should just be rain, these aint the fucking himalayas. it happened that way. as the sun was setting and i was roaring toward white sands i said to cecily, well ya know, that storm was a blessing in disguise, it showed you what a terrified douchebag you are married to and she said NO YOU SAVED US!! WE WOULD STILL BE BACK THERE WITHOUT YOUR BRAVE DECISION!! i said yeah my brave decision to get us both killed. you should arrest me for granny endangerment. so far she hasnt done it though.    

Lying Las Vegas

   One of these pictures is the picture used in the ad to entice you to stay at the Signature hotel in Las Vegas.  The other picture is what you will actually see if you walk up to the Signature hotel in Las Vegas.
   Now the average unfucked, un-implantened, mind would conclude "If they are telling this whopper about the appearance of the outside, what the fuck can I expect to find rotting inside the mattress?" Well, I don't know, I have never stayed there. And I never will stay there, just based on their advertising philosophy, which looks like it's "Hey, who gives a fuck if we're lying, do you? Me needer, tell Monica to get over here, I need a blowjob." Apparently the important thing about the Signature was to build the crappiest-looking triad of buildings in the State, put them on the Strip to really fuck-up the view of the MGM Grand and fuck anyone who has a fucking problem with it.
   And speaking of fucking up the view of the MGM Grand, you'll notice they had the balls to include the Hotel they fucked up into their own misleading photo-ad, which is some Big Whopper Jew Gonads right there, lemmee tellya. But I guess no one gives a shit. What's new.

How To Know If You're Fucked Up

   You know you are fucked up if you think Woody Allen's movies are good. If you watch a Woody Allen movie and when it's done you walk around in a kind of transcendental stupor muttering "That was SO good!"..........then you are fucked up. It means that your judgement about everything from candy to cryptography is basically worthless as a guide or an advisory to others. That's one of the reasons why you can know without even reading the other posts that this blog is fucking fantastic and a guidepost to behavior and action for normal humans; because I know that Woody Allen's movies are piles of unending shit about dumbass Jews complaining that everyone else isn't a dumbass Jew like themselves and yet wishing they could be something other than a dumbass Jew, and whining while eating shitfood all day because they think they have to, and need to go to a psychiatrist if they eat a fucking boiled duck or lick a pussy or God forbid admit that Jesus is their Messiah.
   It's astounding how many gentiles regard Woody Allen's movies as lights into the darkness. Gentiles, running to the wisdom of the fucked-up Jews for guidance and deliverance from ignorance and coming out of the theater after watching a Woody Allen movie and in a big fucking hurry to tell someone else about it - which itself is stupid, admitting you sat through one of his trainwreck debris-piles of crap - and then swooning with ardor whilst telling another of your folly and topping it all off with praise for Woody Allen's "genius."
   If you do ANY of this then you are fucked up and probably lay on your back with your legs above your face and over your head and urinate by pissing into your mouth. That's how fucked up you are.

Monday, December 17, 2012

The Nigger's Tears

   I hear someone shot a bunch of school kids. Everything is being blamed except compulsory education where everyones' children are herded into a State Indoctrination Center to learn how a bill becomes a law and learns why multiculturalism is what America is all about as long as one of the cultures isn't White Christian Capitalist Free Enterprise. I hear the nigger in charge of everything cried real faggot tears and called the White House Christmas tree the holiday tree. I hate that cunt like I hate cloaca shit on my eggs.

Fag Tester

   This picture is a faggotism tester. If you do not start leaking fuck lube or at least start thinking about playing with your cock while looking at this then you are a faggot. It's just that simple. Hey, I'm not saying that's good or bad. All I'm saying is that you are a faggot. If you think being a faggot is good, then you go, girl!!! I think it's kinda fucked up, but then I think pro sports is fucked up, and of course it isnt.

Jesus' Mom

   According to the Catholics, Jesus' mom showed three children from Fatima, Portugal, a glimpse of hell. It sort of explains why of the three recorded times of Jesus talking to his mother, on two of those times he was yelling at her and on the third time he was giving her orders. I mean, I smell sheer exasperation here, on Jesus' part. It could be she's a loose cannon.

Banned Again

   Returning from two weeks on a road trip i find that I have been banned again from Fuckbook, even though I have not been on the computer for two weeks. This means Blogger gets all of my attention because, let's face it, someone or something needs to get all my attention when I don't have my hand on my dick. Or on someone else's. Hey, ha ha, really, calm down, that was just a joke, a harmless innocent joke. I am watching a football game right now so you can bet I am all man. Because there is nothing gay about football. And of there is, it's the ok kind.