- Age / Gender:
- 32, 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 44 Artist
Ranked as Private
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AT LIFE'S DOOR
My Outlook has changed.. literally McBeal, since Hotmail signed a deal with the Devil and pedalled to the metal like Tech Nina. And Anna Williams from Tekken, as she was tekkun our civil Sons of liberties and libershirts, like the crazy Libertine she was... Lesbi honest, she enjoyed kissing the lips of Tina more than a big fat penis... Tulips like Tulisa, Monad, sucking gonads for a living... To Tease a Meatus. Licking and lapping and fapping, yet somehow nothing is happening? Happenising? An appertising form of hypnotising rohypnol. Polyps on my pistol... Eating this shit like a Monte Cristo while squeezing the life out of my Monty Python... The last thing she needs is to be blighted with my knighthood with the lights on... But at least she can read her Enid Blyton book. Fuck that! Who cares about Enid? Ineed my life and Outlook to change, Instead of being a downcast outcast with a subnormal personality... The negativity of only having a Sega Mega Drive as an activity... While eating Activia yogurts, which are actually quite decent... Unlike recent times which has just seen degen.. eracy sky rocket like actual Sky Rockets that plummet and nose dive quicker than a pussy addict... Meanwhile outside the wind is growling harder than a bowel movement. The New Age Bowel Movement! The latest craze to hit the Internet... Amongst all the other crazes of Razor Ramon who spent 27 years eating ramen, which gave Razor the edge. Unlike Heath who forgot to write about his death in his ledger... And he would keep hold of it and not let you touch it... That Ledger was edgy as fuck, full of mind blowing humour that the world wasn't ready for... Nobody is ready for anything. I'm not ready for Jury Service yet it is my duty to serve this, state, which is dirty as fuck where the laws are perverted. Even the Nietzlawes are perverted but at least I'm not a converted Christian subverting nature or using techniques to change your morality... You is Who You Be, and ain't nobody can tell you differently... Self-censorship is the most dangerous form of censorship. SHUT YOUR TRAP! "Shit I'm trapped." In this subnormal abnormal poor excuse for a home where mere mortals do reside... The Earthly green that has been distorted and the only escape is cyanide. "Ryan, hide! From the Nazis or any other cult that have got a screw loose." I'm thinking of opening The Church of Atheism. It'll be a place where we can all go and pray... Pray to *name obscured for some strange reason* And this divine being shall protect us all from ourselves. It is ourselves. The Atheist church has a giant mirror. We are the Gods. That's the twist! The only thing that atheists are good at, are planning heists and bank robberies... Stealing gold bullion by bullying bank vault guards before vaulting over the yard's high wall fence... While hiring Jeff Sitar to crack those safes... Safe? Nobody can stop Jeff Sitar, its his art. Cracking safes, Katy Perrys boobs have the same effect... COZ ONCE YOU'RE MINE! ONCE YOU'RE MINE! THERE'S NO GOING BACK! No going back where? Back to the dayes of ye olde, before the dayes of Prism and Man Made Jism and Mayo Clinics offering medical advice in order to cure sebaceous cysts... Or ways to help people die, assisted dying. No matter how shitty life gets, I want to see it out to the bitter end, even if I have to run through the streets completely naked and be riddled with bullets by the Militias of Melissa. Just an entire Army of women called Melissa with big fuck off guns and rocket launchers just blowing shit up... I choose either that death, or some kind of HAARP-inspired acid rain pouring from the sky. ARGGHHHH! While listening to Acid Music and psychedelic rhythms that CyberDevil and me have written some improvisations for... Its time to bring this Party to the Streets and reunite the Family again... The colour of sound and wonderful rites of passage, hidden subliminal massage. Her hands were rubbing my back. In theory. Kneading my dough until I spray the flour. "Thank you flower. Thank you petal!" Not sure how a woman is flattered by being called petal... Its fucking patronising as fuck, yet Pat and Ron got married that year, and I was singing at their wedding. Funny how things turn out, Like lights that break of their own accord. Or fail eventually like Concorde flights, or conk out like Ronkel toys. Spark plugs and Spankwire. Static shocks that are finger tingling good. Like fingering Ting Ling or at least on the fringes of the opening. This mind has gone haywire, like Mallory Kane, but trained in anarchy and Salad Finger type pain. Alas I must linger on this Earth continuously thinking of words to tinker with, sinking into further depths of absurdity, subliminally drinking myself into oblivion... and Skyrim. Look in the mirror, what do I see? My twin looking at me. Eyes drawn, my clone. the loner is no longer at home, its like he is becoming mentally more dronelike.
You are trying to deter something that is abhorrent, by using something that is abhorrent as the deterent. You have got to seize the hull by the Jason Bournes and figure out how to change the whole landscape. Das Battlefield. Where will I be when the smoke and bombs start flying? Crawling underneath it yelling 'dear Dog dear Dog!" Expletives that are deemed too offensive for me to redeem my character... I'll just be burnt, a charred actor amongst the Carnival of Carnage... Before I start coughing up lungs, kidneys and other internal organs like accordions and cellos until I reach the state of telos. Haunted by the loss of life despite 90% not giving a toss or putting up a fight... Maybe I should retire my duty, hang up the pen if my message can't get through, its like I'm venting through a vent. Its hard to speak to or reach the soul of meek individuals and teach them the principals of overthrowing the invincible people. But I'm going to say everything that needs to be said. No Holds Barred. No bars held, except for a can of Irn-Bru, as Ryan brews up a storm... a whole new swarm of words that you should be warned away from... The Radar of Drama - RADA practice... The kind of shit you wait all day for. And you go, "pfft! this wasn't worth staying awake for!" Like watching a late night tennis match at 4 in the morning, even though you have to get up early the next day. Glutton for punishment, like femdom smut you must just nut to. You'd be a fool not to relieve your rock hard cock to a cutie's hot little booty. Its your Call of Duty to divulge the bulge and shoot all over the wall then ooze out all that drool while oohing and ahhing... This shit is only just starting to kick off, like a lit wick, sick wit, this lit was writ this quick a misfit in a cockpit seat, drop bombs and rock boats with words on old notes of paper. Its too late to save you from making a great change, especially when you have to wait ages to create pages of creative gibber gabber to leave the flabby bastards flabbergasted or angry when they broke Jacob's Ladder for being too fatty, and those deposits weren't being deposited into healthy food... Just unhealthy feuds with themselves, "like just sell me the damn sugar, Ray!" Leonard Took over the Reins of Roman and the omens looked good for the world to change for the better. That was until the drones dawned on us and slaughtered most of the people. But you can't spell slaughter without Laughter. The mass loss of life came after that small comedic segway. Right before we were All turned into the next magick sex slaves... Get ebola from infected cola, in fact maybe it was the Kia Ora... Clearly its not easy to know what brought this Perfect Storm on - Hurricane Barney didn't cause the parley... I don't care what's going on, I'd rather worship hot Indian women in their saris. Or a tsunami army of Chinese women threatening to disarm me. Maybe I'm barmy, but I'm at my calmest when I'm diplomatic, pacified... No need to be erratic in the face of lunatics waving automatic rifles in my face. I'm not frightened to be pushed into that dark black space of death. Everyone else will follow in time and be reborn on the other side of the chain-link fence, separated instead of linking arms and hands. Swarms that plague this Earth, unaware that there's another way than war. Another way to waste our lives that's far worse than whoring our bodies. Any one of us can die at any time of anything. Its just better to live and let live and try to sweat buckets on a trip to Phuket then puke all over Cool Hand Luke's breakfast. Some of it landed on Luke's hands... And he didn't play it Kool, and neither did his Gang, they just looked the other way, turned the other cheek at double the speed. Pull the wool over one eye like Pudsey the bear from Children in Need. Yet most of today's children are smoking weed and growing up quicker than need be. Those PG ratings don't mean shit. And to top that off, this world certainly doesn't need me! With my frowned upon ammo rounds that go beyond the average word-count-a-thon. Devilment for the betterment of strangers, this is in Man's Kind nature... Until he rips out your throat, and the bloke you thought was your friend sends you towards a sticky end... Because he's a porn star! Sticky notes spread across the wall outlining future ambitions to eat Ham while its all broken in bits. On my hands and knees crawling along the carpet looking for fragments of shrapnel from the Fallout of 4 Ham Massacre... Like I'm a damn masochist. Seeking out ways to dole out self-infliction, like signing on the dole... You haven't yet got the conviction to change your condition... You're just conditioned to sign Change.org petitions for here and evermore. The Raven... enslavement. Jerk off to that statement of self-harm. Jerk off to The Jerk with Steve Martin. Jerk off to all the female work out videos in the world, which ironically is a kind of work out video.
A talented brain, but born in a slum, dumb as fuck, and stupid according to Groundpwndr... What can I say to dispute that? Nothing, there isn't enough ink in the world to defend my oil interests. Don't have anything, no assets, no ISAs, no premium bonds. No premium bondage membership accounts. No money to stay at a Premier Inn. No insurance saved to pay for a burial in the Pleasington cemetery. Isn't that a pleasant thought? Life of a pauper, meanwhile the Pope lives the life of a fraudster... I say make the most of the days you have left, and don't conform to shit, especially when that shit is illusionary rather than illuminating. But if we have 6 billion people in the room who hate the illuminati, we have a typhoon ready to make this movement very powerful to give those few men a headache. My eardrums are dying to hear some fearsome music... Megadeth, let the years of suppression manifest itself through these protests. Progress is made. No deaths... No chains. Just the wonderment of change that we have all waited to see coming. No more running away, we are all awake and at one. Our stream of consciousness no longer AWOL.
Recent Game Medals
Total Medals Earned: 79 (From 24 different games.)