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Same Shit Different Daze

2015-02-22 10:07:35 by nietzlawe

SAME SHIT DIFFERENT DAZE

So until next time... Continue listening to Hypno Radio FM, and just flop in the armchair, fiddling with your hardware. A half-hearted start at watching The Departed, then give up because Leonardo DiCaprio is an annoying little cunt. DiCaprio SLAMMED! Brakes on car SLAMMED! Otherwise we would run into a Locker, and enter a whole new world of Hurt. Like selling socks and ties in Shanghai or shelling peas for the Lebanese. I'd rather get screwed over by Ebenezer Scrooge by being his stooge. Or awaken my personal dreams and get booed off stage. So I go strange and paint the place in rouge red. Declare bloody Red Moyder. Loiter with the exploited, and after 5 minutes realise that I don't enjoy this. As people keep passing, pointing and laughing. Staring in an uncaring manner. Then I realise we just sneaked into the Hammersmith Apollo, and never apologised for sneaking in without tickets to see Rich Hall and Paul Foot. To be fair, he was good, didn't put a foot wrong. And Rich Hall, well he was on song too. No complaints at all. The night was good, apart from the Mass Levels of Violence that took place. And all that remained was 50 Seconds of Grainy Footage. And the rest had to be cut out like the Elisa Lam Affair. How can you solve a case if the footage is only half there? You can't, so you have to move on with your life, knuckle down and get beaten with bare belt buckles, then forced into a cuckold relationwhip. I'm not in the mood for this Satan shit, getting beaten up in Christian Grey's basement. But I suppose its no worse than being put on a zero hours placement. I'd rather spend all day baiting the Bullmastiffs, than pull ma stiff cock masturbating. You need to exercise restraint to overcome this unexplainable phenomena, that feels phenomenal. That is until you have to wallow in Pharoahe Monch's pheromones. It'd be easier swallowing a full bottle of demerol to reduce my morale. Like Presley, who pressed the self-destruct button. Or was the sudden heart failure brought on by his glutton of assailants? We'll never know like many other unsolved mysteries and UFO visits, which is really just classified military business. So many conspiracies, not enough Columbos to follow through with ruthless efficiency. Or a conspiracy theorist that says, "not enough people listen to me." The world is one gigantic and twisted ball of yarn. It would take forever to untangle the strands that after a thousand years your hands would cramp up. And you'd no longer be able to write or post blogs, and you'd have to catalogue your thoughts in audio dialogues. Podcasts and such. Little chats about nothing, awesome. Crazy flights of fancy all spoken after being translated from Hanzi. Which is handy if you know Hanzi. Fine and Dandy like Desperate Dan and Des Troy from The Beezer and Topper, both of them travelling around the world in a chopper, exploring different cultures and eating unhealthy burgers like Man vs. Food. Adam Richman is fat. C'mon! That's Rich coming from you, man. I'm sorry, I made a poor judgement of error, instead of erring on the side of caution. Don't worry, everything's kosher, except Kosher food. You can't have the words killing, compassion and respect in the same sentence. Except for now when I've just mentioned it. Not the film, I'm sick of mentioning that too. All that is needed is a hitman called Bret to shoot you in the heart, which sounds like some kind of gay love euphemism. Better to be a hit with the ladies like Titman Tzar, he has a scar under his left nipple where the skin had ripped apart. A freak accident., like a circus dwarf falling off a tightrope. Some say it was suicide because he couldn't cope with COPD. And they said there was no hope for him anyway, which is just a copout from the doctors. The docs and pdfs were turning a blind eye to a man's deteriorating health. Totally unacceptable, like buying a Kindle Fire TV that's been set ablaze because somebody was too lazy to unplug it. Leaving the power supply in for days, while they lay dazed and confused, asleep on the sofa, eyes glazed from the Cointreau. How could they be so negligent? Like that time I left some Harry Ramsden's fish in the oven an hour too long. Still, I ate that cinderblock. Amazingly, I was able to distinguish some taste from the burntness. I decided to celebrate by listening to Celebration by Kool and the Gang. Dancing around the living room in pure euphoric bliss. But my celebrations were cut short, as I pissed myself. Not laughing of course. Urinally. I didn't really, it was a joke, a cruel, cold and calculating gag that made folk gag and retch like when they saw Stretch Armstrong being pulled from pillar to post and then roasted over an open fire to be eaten by the Rubber Cannibals. They should have just eaten candy floss and smoked cannabis rather than play Candy Crush Saga. I'd sooner have Candy crush my nuts under her vice-like heels. But what's the appeal you say? Well that's a damn good question that cannot even merit a response. I'll just shit in your white wine spritzer and spit on your Pulitzer Prize award. Then I'll listen to Fresh by Gang and the Kool, in order to inspire me into making a new song on this sleety afternnoon. Nothing else to do, except sit in a room and ponder, do what you have to do, anything but visit the Ponderosa Steakhouse. I'll stay at home and order a takeout or play nudey Breakout. Either that or take out a figurative pen and write until this brain fades to the point where I'm making subconscious statements that don't make sense until the next day. Creating-my-own-daisy-chain-while-in-a-hazy-mist-you-lazy-bitch-get-up-and-get-your-arse-to-the-store-for-some-shit. Too tired, dropping asleep, a Hobbit on heat spilling seed from the safe depository. But at least the positivity has returned and there is none of that nauseating depression eating away my thoughts and suggestions. On reflection, a fair assessment would be that the depression aided my development. As did watching Live Comedy and evading the news. Comics in bubble wrap suits. What about bubble wrap shoes? They'd be amazing. Live for the here and now and don't take things for granted. Except the 3 wishes that you were allowed. Maybe write about my mental health in The Lancet. Maybe somebody will understand it.


Walker Mitty Ambient Song
The Allure of Istra Cinematic Song
Intensity Riff #1 Experimental Song
TOS - Entering the Magnum Cinematic Song

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