nietzlawe
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I am here to make a difference, isn't that why we're all here?

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The Ten Minute Ramble

2017-07-12 20:05:01 by nietzlawe

THE TEN MINUTE RAMBLE

One way to end dead quick is to be famous, and go the same way that ol' Kurt Cobain's brains were spread. But on the plus side, they might find Janus! (Utopia joke.) Now we don't write just to provoke, only to choke the life out of those that stalk and troll, I'll make you walk the plank with rope around your throat, and lol to myself when the plank you walk takes it toll. SNAP! Cackle and Plop. Contro Ver Sea Hole. You might spot a seal when your fate gets sealed. You write but there's no appeal, you thought that people would pay through the nose to see this naughty spiel get brought to heel... A little w-tish and forced to kneel. Nietz-a-Lawe - Master of Trollotics circa '08... "Oh wait, its really a circus." Just a constant circle of turgid remarks, kind of retarded yet remarkable in a way, whirlwind of words, off-the-cuff, certainly not predetermined. And we are determined to keep it that way, irreversible for the near or foreseeable future. Right before you have your peehole neutered rather than breathed into like a Neumann mic. Numerous dykes choking on their own sputum, that doesn't seem right?! But if you didn't give a blowjob you'd have no job at all, said the Porn Site Operator, secretly operating from some place in Kuwait. He'll keep you waiting, until you're as old and jaded as Jade subjected to bukkake degradation. So many ladies waiting to become Sex Operators they're gonna need some extra stations. What would you rather see on ITV at night? Nightscreen or some live stream of a lithe teen lightly teasing some guy's weiner with her knife-like nice white teeth. Carpe Diem - Seize Ya Cock and get ready to rock, and just as you are about to bust get locked out of the station by a paywall! And it changes to Mayweather v McGregor, and you bust out of shock. And people think you've gone gay for a super featherweight? "I always knew it! You were never straight! Now you'll never get inside Heaven's gates." -- "Is that another fucking euphemism?" Fuck this psychological resilience! tonight the human psyche and spirit decides it wants to write brilliance, in the face of this everlasting adversity and excursive journey we're on, soul searching for truth in a world of perfidy. Gotta keep smiling, thumbs up, like a Pip Boy, in tip top form, just won't pipe down, no time to think as we move at this breakneck pace. Screw the paycheck, just check the pages! An existential pisstake. Perennial chunks for cunts to read long after my burial plot, with lots of mistakes. But at least risks are taken, instead of being wrist chained. History in the making as King May takes over from Rocky Marciano... this May! "Um, the fight's in August." Look of dismay on this kid's face as he realises that there is nothing real about lies... in golf club bunkers. Super Mutants and Hunters and an other assortment of cunts all infected, all waiting to give you radiation poisoning. North Career, no career left, like Nordberg from Naked Gun. That gun wasn't naked, it was holstered and not used to bolster my chances in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. FUCKER! Go to war with twerps on Spice all twerking and doing a disturbing Zombie Dance through Manchester town centre. Slot in me headphones and get ready to launch a musical nuke of ma own... Lost in that beautiful zone, playing like its an old Arcade game, as archaic as charades, or one of these old blogs from back in the days... Now we're just dazed and confused like a date with Tom Cruise... and Ron L. Cupboard. I mean Closet. We don't wanna revisit that chapter. Close it. And so the book snapped shut like alligator jaws closing on a gay man's toes. Great man? No. There isn't such thing as a great man, only men that grate on your nerves by using nerve gas on people with anxiety disorders. Enough to get everybody in a panic and close up borders... until we're living in a Fort Knox like fortress. Must somehow reach my distress signals, or failing that, this dress that signals attention if its pink... I think we're losing the plot, and what about that mucus lodged in your epiglottis? What about it motherfucka! You gots ta take ya chances, Olive. Live longer that way. AGAGAGAGAG-Reflex. Do an acid reflux Redux Remix, it would be sick... like pieces of Kellogg's brain in a bowl of milk. I think we'll stick to Pepsi and epileptic fits, of laughter, that's canned, like baked beans. We'll only be disappointed if she takes all our shiitakes... Why? Because she wants to sell shiitakes on the Shii Shore. Bitchhhhhh!!!!!! Don't know why a long cry of despair was necessary for something that never even happened. "So how musch thes blogs basted on truht?" said one of the people who wrote in to the show. Wrote in where? To a show called The Naughty Step? We prefer the No Coffee Step. "THE FLOOR IS LAVA!!" -- "No its fuckin' not you retard. Quite clearly the floor hasn't changed at all. Was this some kind of plot to get me to kill myself by improvising a really dangerous thing to stand on?" The only thing in close proximity was the Gravy Train filled with proximity sensors and a virgin holding a poxy version of epoxy in this toxic wasteland. All around spray paint faces and degeneracy. Yeah? But at least those faces are happy. Happy to be a part of this out of control mine cart filled with nine cartels holding rifles and lime darts. And here was me thinking the world was made of Roses! I did reflect on whether it was justified to call Winny Churchill a twat in a hat. My intuition says he was an evil man. Our very own Jebediah Springfield. Just giving you my two cents. To Tencent, China, when it should really be going to the kid with spina bifida. Spiffing cause, Squire! I Spit On Your Grave. "What? My grave specifically?" Why would you walk all the way across to the other side of the cemetery, just so you can hock up a big phlegmy on my headstone. Bastard! I believe in Karma, or failing that, grab your worst enemy and throw him in harm's way. Swarm's busting Wheyyy harder than Custard, then get taken into custody by Lieutenant Lou who is actually your tenant. But obviously not David Tennant because then he'd be your Doctor. Or he might be the Liu Tenant - Mr. David Ten Cent, China. What kina sick humour is this?!?!?! The kind that we specialise in - Absolute Retardism at its finest. The ol' Gang, wandering the goddamn streets, rooting through trash cans for old copies of Road Rash Mega Drive cartridges. Kids of today: "Cartridges.. pffttthahahahaha!!" Oi! Don't mock ya elders! Its not funny, like when I had to play Broken Sword: Shadow of the Templars in a freezing cold bedroom. And if you wanted a cheat or a walkthrough, you couldn't just Google it up, you had to go in an ACTUAL shop and write it out of a computer magazine. Of course if any of the store staff saw you they'd say, "Hey! Its not a library, put that magazine down!" And that was just the magazine rounds for my gun! I Joke I Joke I Keed I Keed! All we had back in the day were slingshots and toy lazer guns. Twas a time to be alive! We were all twats, but it was all good... Almost as twatty as Winny the Twat Churchill... The ol' Bulldog Spirit!! A bullshitter drinking spirits more like. "Hick. Lez youuse alll dis chemkal gass on millnions of peeples, lol... hick." He'd have got fuckin' hammered on Twitter for saying that. Could have been worse, Hitler might have had his own Facebook, Twitter and Instagram pages. Or he might have used WhatsApp - Hitler is Typing... A. Grenade A. Cunt.


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