- Age / Gender:
- 30, Male
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I am here to make a difference, isn't that why we're all here?
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Level 38 Artist
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SPIDER IN THE BATH
When you reach 30 you need things to give you energy rather than just having it. At 40 I will probably need to be injected everyday by someone just to retain my energy. When I reach 50 I will nee..... Oh, I didn't live that long. Car crash at 46 apparently. The psychic who predicted my death weeks ago ran me down in his car. These puns just keep rolling off your tongue. Wait, they aren't puns, that's just your tongue unraveling. Stop licking the gravel, the tarmac has far-reaching consequences to your health. You can't die young son, you need a longer shelf life, you can't live shorter than a elf's height. Those heart palpitations mean nothing, ignore them, that Ginseng and Taurine will only bring you much health Mr. Lawe. Why drink energy drinks when you can drink Moet & Chandon? While watching Unsolved Mysteries and learning about the bullet that killed Brandon Lee. Seemingly so randomly. In Miss. Hysteria's Circumstances. Too many accidents happening, or too many deliberate coincidenks, whichever way you want to look at The Bigger Picture. The Bigger Picture is awesome, it fills the entire wall and makes the smaller picture feel like bursting into tears. Like small countries living under an hegemon. Or a hobo sleeping rough under your Mum's hedges. Hedgerow trim, Woodrow Wilson wouldn't know a woodwind instrument if it hit him in the face, after he faced up to the fact that he was now yesterday's news. Would today's Mr. Wilson be placed on Deaf Row waiting for a hearing aid like all the other patients? Would he stack up endless rows of wood ready for Bonfire Night with his friend Robert? And hobble along to the local Den of Decadence? Would he partake in dances for a whole decade without stopping except for some lemonade on a premonade of premonitions? Would he have ejaculated into a sock, or is that just a modern thing? Would any of these 18th Century figureheads have ever become bobblehead dolls? FOR SALE sign. Or maybe they would have had ale forced down their throat with a funnel, which would be sadnel for the victims. Victorian victiims called Victoria and Tim. Sick hysteria of the cartoon Histeria. But what about Herteria? Why was she discriminated against? Equal rights. Why fight for those when you can have Unequal Wrongs? Nobody anywhere in the world having the upper hand, no matter who you are, Royalty, Oil King, Drug Smuggler, Self-Proclaimed Nobody. Anybody can thrive, but Nietz, that was just an Old Wives Tale... But old wives didn't possess tails?! They only possess pussies which can be used to whip men into obedience. Damm Hit, this Philip Wesley song is creating such a sombre mood like Friday when I got sloshed and drank 12 shots of spirits, then puked up on my doorstep.. at least I didn't shit on my own doorstep, that would have been a really poor end to the evening. Blackburn is so Bleak, the dirty acrid rain speaks for itself. The only way to delude yourself into believing that you live in paradise is to play the Chariots of Fire theme tune, then run down the graffiti-covered, broken-streetlight, dog-shit-laden, drug-infested hellhole in slow motion like you're some kind of Olympic Athlete escaping and leaving the whole doldrum-related territory behind you. Then when you leave you can look back with a birds-eye perspective at the conditions you were living in. Like germs under a microscope, a microcosm of a long forgotten cotton mill town that's hit rock bottom.
I'd rather Rim Sky's quim while she's driving at 120 mile per hour then we end in a crash neither one of us survive in. I should have stayed at home to play Skyrim and shut the blinds so it didn't let the light in. ARGH! The sun's glare is too bright and I can't fucking see who I'm fighting. Alduin? I'm raising an army, but only to harm me and leave everyone else unaffected, unlike the people who have just bore witness to a Ben Affleck flick. They flicked over to Flickr because they are sickr having shit rammed down their throats by goats... But these GOATs are not the Greatest of all Time, hell they didn't even pass the Grey Test. And that test is like the rethomnikcuf Myers Briggs of all wig-wearing wannabees from the 1860s playing Wallaballa while ballet dancing in Indonesia, Bali... We don't want to ballet dance! We'd rather sleep on a canopy rug while using Fenopy then get therapy from a terrapin dressed in a Doctor's uniform that terrorises you and chases you for precisely 50 seconds then gives up exhausted, panting, left standing with sand in his shoes. Nietz, nobody undersand shoe. Don't label I, we are not a product, or pro-duct-tape users that productively procure duct-tape on the Black Market. Ironically black duct tape. Tucson rapist had a screw loose. A Tungsten screw... She wasn't loose, she was tight son, like yo yo' we tight' son!" Bloody hell Nietz 'Ye Write Some sick lore and yore, today, tomorrow and forever more... Vorarephilia, voraffiliated with torrents of gore downloaded on Tor. Tor Overtures. The Wild Adventures of the Unknown assailent who attacked a yachtsman while he was sailing when he was out whaling... Having a whale of a time too until that wind in his sail was taken out of him like a punch to the stomach razor blade, he was laid low, he needed AID yo, he didn't need this assailant leaving him for dead, then decide to trade boats. I'd rather grab hold of braided hair and get rope burn. So what if you're afraid it hurts, you should jump into every opportunity like you don't have a care in the world... Damn I left my gums in the tree and forgotten the life jackets. I thought it would all turn out good when I invested into the Protection Rackets. I had Ricketts and was eating Lockets at the time when I left home, and my door I had forgotten to lock it, therefore Hausen Vier. Me and him seemed to get on like a Haus en Vier. I could smell charcoal, so jumped down the Charc Hole in order to escape the fumes and found the path to another world. "I was in another world!" As said in Frontier Psychiatrist. But not with 20,000 girls though.... Awnh... 500,000 GIRLS!! All marching in sexy unison like those Chinese military ladies. Life in the Charc Hole is so much fun, you can marry horses down here, and have a stable relationship. There are Christians and Catholics sat at the same table eating in harmony, not one single argument, probably because they are stuffing their fucking faces with Turkey. There is even a Turk he---re. Chowing down before closing time, swallowing rosemary and thyme. Mary Rose from her seat, she opposed the whole banquet, one pig ignorant dissident in a room full of shared differences. Folk willing to set aside their beefs and just.. ya know... eat beef. Instead of raising fists of rage, They were eating fish and sage, topped with mayonnaise, then chocolate Lyonnais gateau. But before they could a lion came through the gate of Australia and ate it all. That lion had a staple diet consisting of foods rich in iron and protein. Raw teenage flesh. Freaky. Meat eater. Me Teats spray a litre of the good stuff said Mary Rose. Anybody got some more Coq au Vin? This broke up the awkward conversation. But the damage was already done. The wheels in motion had been set.. The cat was out of the ba.. That's fucking enough Mr. Nietz, they fucking get the picture!" -- "Shut up conscience, stop humiliating me in front of my friends. In fact, stop fucking annoying me while I'm trying to make my new Hip Hop song frenZ using FL Studio." *shameless self promotion spoken really quickly* Anddddd.. we're back in the room, continuing to construct this Mammoth Tusk of thoughts forever threatening to escalate, as I continue to dig, the excavation is underway. Tear away the underlay, so I can continue to speak things that are fun to say. This is a dangerous expedition that we are about to undertake. Make blunders, we all make mistaeks. We're only YouHimMeHerman. All frail creatures beneath the surface. Skin, meat and bone, Sissies in Disguise. Weak feeble people. Jesus wept when he overslept during the month of September. Jesus has no thesis, if anything he needs an assistant, or his sister. Stitches to cure those hand wounds.
Nietz speaking a whole 'nother lingua franca, that Frankly my Deer I didn't hit a Ram. You can't place the blame on me, like some kind of trumped up bestowment that leaves me left in the lurch fighting with Wednesday and Morticia. Bigger animosity than the Youtube+ petition. Smell the antipathy in the air. Stale... A tall tale, a tall order to tailgate stalwarts and stall them with force by putting up Advertisement Roadblocks. Human de Beings being turned into robots, consumerism prism, con sumo wrestlers into purchasing High Price salt... which just happens to be really cocaine. Mike-co-Caine smuggled this shit into the country again?! "OH MY GOD JR!" -- "Well Tazz..." Its too late to have a late night dance with spastics as a pastime when its clearly past your bedtime... Is that your best rhyme? Have you read mine? Not really, rhymes are subjective conjecture that can either kill you, or project you to the precipice of these pissed off religious folk that speak in riddles and only hear what they want to hear... La-La-La fingers in ears!! I'm not listening!! La-La-La... This sledgehammer can inflict more Bible Bashing than Little House on the Prairie, which was scairilie preachy in its religious teachings, at times. Its liberating to be an A+ Theist. Good people are all relative, we're all flawed and still scarred by old laws that keep us all scared, so ol' Lawe has to speak words that halt those from taking Advantage. Bad things happen when good people do nothing. But if the good people were doing nothing, how were they labelled good in the first place? How did they earn that good title? Bribes? Fable. A fabulous bribe to override morality? Nobody can resist a bundle of notes, give em a hundred of those and they are putty in your hyperhidrosis-coated fingers. Slip-sliding like a drunk kid driving under the influence of a frightening amount of alcohol consumption. Joy riding? Yeah.. he had fun running over Joyce Meyer. Phun on the ol' funfair that was abandoned like Russell Brand's political protests. He's trying hard, but can't do it all on his own. We humans are too thick to support each other en masse, and achieve things en masse, we just passe up the opportunity to get things done and make a messe of things. So things never change, and people get stomped on because its easier to do things without thinking and make decisions based on your immediate needs rather than looking at the bigger picture. Remember, the bigger picture is laughing at us all, its saying, 'I'm right here but y'all can't fucking see me.' Totalitarianism can only be realised if those in servitude continue to remain in a state of collective stupidity. That is how Totalitarianism thrives, by capturing the majority, to the point where they drown out the minority. The minority realise that their numbers are too small, thus most opt to join the majority.
Life in the NG Think Tank can be hectic at times, but therapeutic indeed, like a confessions box only without the paedophile priest at the other side saying "tell me everything my son." He says with one hand wrapped around his cock. The NG Lunatic Asylum is the ultimate Detox, the best place to eat Cold Turkey near to Christmas before the straitjacket eventually unlocks and you can get back to normality... But wasn't normality what got you here in the first place? The StraitTalking jacket of doom, which Jack hates wearing because they lock it too tight and his shoulders feel like they are going to dislocate because of this lock that Kate used to keep the bloody thing in place. Isn't Kate a Patron Saint of Sadism? Oh yeah Sire Bob, she sure is mo'fuckerrr. Kate runs this whole affair son! Like Terence McKenna on Mushrooms. She'll have your Guts for Garter. Its time to get started by watching Get Carter to get smarter, so we can Get Farther. But not by being parted, divided and conquered so that the mood gets even more sombre than the Blackburn Water Cycle that soaks up everybody's piss, shit and puke, then rains it back in their faces with relish... Not actual relish though, just garnish, people being forced to eat garbage like Iceland's Solyent Green. Chocolate strawberries? Chicken Casserole for one pound? That can't be great can it. Fuck it, can it. Throw it, damn it. To hell, cram it, in the already swelled up trash can. Fucking Scummy Spammy Crummy Hammy Mummy with giant Mammeries that squash the whole life on Earth. Bring on the Doom and Gloom and the Namira Rot dinners that fill up nobody but a cash cow. If anything, you'll have to catch cows to kill because everyone will be swarming toward the Food Rations with passion and stealing the potatoes so they can mash em. There will be people running after them trying to catch em. Because Dog-Eat-Dog has kicked in and that dog has just kicked him, because that dog is stick thin and needs to nick tins of beans and soup in order to thicken him up. Ragtime Wartime bones and disharmony, karma, people fighting at pharmacies while armies and the Armistice are swarming and warnings are fired so that the crowds start parting and alarm bells are warming up people's hearing. But until that day happens, lets all laugh and joke and kid and stick sellotape to our eyelids with a patch over and pretend to be pirates... Older female pirates that seduce men? Cougarrhhhh me hearties. There is nothing on Earth that gives my heart ease, nothing like the tranquility of a bit of Maeror Tri and a stack of thoughts all jockeying for position, waiting their turn to exit like sperm permeated in a sac. All waiting for the Great Sac Race 2013. But sack that race, how about slapping her face with your penis while she's lapping up the taste of the paste that has just emanated from your testes and emigrated into her face? God-Dayyyankkk! Thank you Lord for giving me this attitude when I'm bored, which can be used to put any Bitches to the Sword. Not literally. As that would be a Literal Lie. And I like to think of myself as a liberalised kind of guy, living a life sharing these random thoughts from what he sees through his mind's eye. Sometimes in hindsight I think it would have been easier if I had been born blind with my sight, left in the dark like Billy Squier. But why do that when I can set the fucking -silly bar- higher. With more overtones written over drone music.
Recent Game Medals
Total Medals Earned: 57 (From 17 different games.)