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Sofa Sagas

2015-04-21 23:41:11 by nietzlawe


The Eagle Has Landed! No really, look! The Eagle has landed. It's just done a shit on the head of a Scarecrow that was Alive and well like Live and Kicking from the mid 90s and a Tech N9ne song called Questions. And a Tribe called... un fucking civilised. Let me read your civil rights while you're in the middle of a mid-life Missile Crisis. Wondering where your next meal is going to come from... The fridge, its fucking stocked up like a stocky fucker that takes steroids and drinks those protein shakes until he falls out of control and ends up being the slave of a Fraulein, on his knees crawling while Ilsa the She Wolf mutters in German phonemes. Dial Nein Nein Nein For Murder, there is no way to escape from the Purgatory of Merde! As you sway from pillow to post, rocking, knocking down shelves as they get in your way. And now you must pay the price for all the damage you caused, by having your credit cards stolen because there was a hole in your pocket. Dear Liza, Dear Liza. He's a liar! He's a liar! His credit card wasn't stolen by the Golem, he was too busy playing golf and winning majors like Jordan Spieth to even stop and take a breather. Which is more than the morbid man from Morecambe can say. He was in the right spot, the perfect place to partake in extortion. And prey on his victim's misfortune. Poor fool. After that incident he slumped into immediate Depressive Episodes that were screened live on the Sky Atlantic channel for the whole would to laugh at! He was going through the worst time of his life and people just found it funny. It was the worst kind of hell really. He felt like a modern-day Maximus Meridius. A spectacle of entertainment and ridicule. They even laughed at his new spectacles because they weren't really cool. But they did keep the sun out of his eyes... But not the alligators from chomping at his legs! Why does life have to be in cohorts with F. King and K. Rool? But it's not that nature hates ya, it's nature's role to provide any possibility and maximise uncertainty by giving you a random disorder that affects your life chronically. The only thing you can do about it is laugh comically, even though you have just been chemically castrated. Left sexually frustrated by a Safe Web Norton Trust rating. Whatever happened to your coordination? Why did your motivation slip? I'd rather lick salsa dip off Salma's toes as she spreads the juice off her soles across my lips and nose. It's better than going grape picking with Benny Hill. where there are many hills to climb just to get to the vineyard. And therein lies the problem. Constant van Distractions, energy-sapping episodes force you to collapse into nap time. Perhaps I'm, exhausted and don't know it yet. Mind moving as fast as a ragtime. From cute toddler to a snarling goblin that's sniffing dioxins, while adopting a Scott Joplin mindset. Do I have time to kill totally with the words at my disposal? Then sidestep the cynics who don't like when I'm too vocal. Too antisocial they say. But I'd rather get typecast by being the dissector of words, as long as I get shit off my chest. There's no way that I'll lose that lemon and lime zest for life, while the world's crime fest is there to slice and digest. No way I'll wobble like nine breasts all in alignment, or try to conceal my excitement, or regret what I do with my head. This fried brain is sizzling in my pan, with rind bacon and a white egg. But what about the promise you made to VGM? To pay homage, and write a blog longer than the time it takes to wait for Halley's Comet? Fuck that, I'd rather steal Hayley's comic, so she has to chase me and make me do something erotic to her like frolic in the hay, push my bollocks in her face. That's not erotic! You're right, it's old-fashioned, I'd rather eat pussy more vigorously than a last ration. Passionately locked with spright thighs that are so tightly fastened that my eyes are both hopelessly blackened. And she wont slacken her grip until her whole chasm spasms and she's burst every blood vessel in my head as I suffer a massive aneurysm. A flesh prison, nose in a river. offering no glimmer of hope to escape, her golden liquor slides down my throat so bitter. And she's squeezing so hard that I think my skull just fissured. Something fishy is going on. The pee's vapours were foul, but then she dried her pussy lips using my nose as a paper towel. Who does she think she is?! Some Goddess? Some Doggess? The subject of my doggerel? It's quite rare that I wrap my subjects up in cotton wool and protect them from the backlash of Modern Day Société. Maybe it's down to my own naiveté, my ability to be manipulated, exploited and trampled like pigeage. But this little piggy went to market, for some bacon rashers man. Maybe it was a rash decision not to get the meningitis scare checked out. But all these vaccinations, needles in the arms are needless. In fact our germs need us, emotionally, psycho-slash-mentally, spiritually. They are essentially our ally in this rally against War on Terror. Terrible fragilities like DON'T TOUCH cardboard boxes that will break and shatter at the slightest prod. Unless it's gold because Midas touched it. King Midas? My Ass was transformed into gold and a Mexican football commentator for some reason shouted GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLD. Then he took a deep breath, relaxed and ate some Tortilla, he was dining with Attila the Hun and like that guy Albert Spica, he was being a bit of a cunt... In fact he bit off a cunt during a short spell of oral copulation. But at least he performed the act with his mouth, so wasn't adding to the overpopulation. The only problem is that his teeth were rotten, in fact he didn't have a lot of them left. But who needs molars and incisors? Precisely, Nietz. It's not as bad as being blind and bipolar while being bitten by nine polar bears full of wild rage and hurt. Certainly not, Nietz. It's not as bad as being followed like GPS tracked fleets, or people in fleece jackets being tracked by the police ubiquitously and gratuitously on a pre-trial release supervision that lasts for months not weeks. Eek! It's safer on the sofa, drinking cola, alone writing solo material and not giving a single iota what's going on in the world... Zoning out, jacking off to toned female yoga fitness instructors. Boning out, a hand around the boa until you finally drown half of Noah's Ark. All those fucking animals on one boat? God broke his own commandment, 'thou shall not tell porky pies.' Neither did he watch the film Porky's, which would have offended him, even though he invented genitalia... I wonder what did it entail to create the world? Little bit of dis, Little bit of dat? A little bit of Rita and Monica... A little bit of Mambo No. 5. What about the other Mambo Jumbo? What about eating at Nandos with his Nan, Granddad and Marlon Brando. Rando -- Modnor, a Madagascan gas canister that was thrown on a lit Naga fire by the Aryans and the Mayans. You don't know which one it was do you, Ryan? I don't gnaw much except these Mars Bar cakes that lack taste. And it hasn't stopped me from stuffing my fat face with calories. Damn, I just got Deja Vu, a warm wave of pleasure just washed over me, like a full-body scanner. It made me feel alert and happy to be alive for about 4 seconds, then passed... Like the wind in my bowels, leaving a foul tinge of sadness hanging in the air. As I lounge in this chair, listening to Summer Madness by Kool and the Gang. The sound in my ear surrounding my sphere, keeping me grounded, no longer compounding my fears. Everything I hear astoundingly clear. Every thought merely an idea, that I have to write here ________, in this blank space, like Anne Frank hiding in a dark dank place for years. Paralysed. Unable to paraphrase, it's more like a paragraph race. Can someone smell the sassafras? Time to pick up the pace again, to be brazen, elevate the mood like a raisin, and leave a bad taste in your mouth. The attacks were scathing, but these letters are a wordsmith's plaything. To say things without waiting, or pussyfooting around. This is how these Sofa Sagas sew the cloak and daggers, enslaved to walking on egg yolks, balancing on the tightrope of madness at the behest of Kim Jong, being forced to play this sing song. For his entertainment. Bring on the human King Kong. To start some violence, like a Rumble in the Bronx that belongs on Tumblr, but I'd rather have a fumble in the dark under a bramble bush. Away from the onrushing traffic of graphic violence and human trafficking... Sit on the benches in parks and start a whole new train of hope. Theorise where my life went... right, for the first time I feel like me. Which is handy, because I really like to be as free as a kite, soaring, an unimpeded flight. Instead of being knee deep in shite, peeping through hotel paintings at husbands and wives at it like jackrabbits. Watching the Ra66i ragging his nagging other half before spraying his Ragu sauce into her eyes... Christ almighty! He doesn't look a day over 90! She's only 25! I Joke I Keed! Please no more! I Plead! I Plead! Its not our fault that Nietz is the Devil's man child, he's off the rails like Bad Government's Gone Wild... Wild and wet with Wendy on summer beaches or Dead or Alive 5 boobies that flop and move like it's their common duty. Even though they are just pixelated beauties... At least they are not stick-thin or conceited bigots, just explicit figures of pleasure with big measurements. Or a strange football team like Pleasure Horn from PES. Where is the pleasure in getting beat five-nil every game? You could always wait for Project CARS or The Witcher 3, but you'll still probably bitch about how it doesn't compare to Skyrim, or have some odd qualms about the fighting system, or whine about how the lighting doesn't quite sit right... You've got cynical in your old age leaving your naivety all caged up inside. Maybe you should just learn to let things slide, and let Sleeping Dogs... sit up and take notice - boards off walls so that people can't see what's happening. You're lucky, you dodged a bullet, you could have been signing up to the ballet team. Bulletin boredom. Check the fucking forums if it's so important to you. Nah, I'd rather prove my masculinity by watching August Underground Mordum, split torsos and other brutal homemade surgery... Don't take it personally man! This is just a fucking film! Don't re-enact the scene, don't copy something you extract from TV... Or be distracted by dissections... Become a great thinker, not Ray Finkle or Jay Comeaux. Start up a business through LinkedIn, anything that will bring in the thousands, use some of your pounds to support a down-syndrome charity. It'll give you some perspective and clarity on life, restore parity... You should learn Flash, create some hilarious parodies like Fancy Restaurant, and maybe then you'll be able to afford that rest you want. An early retirement. Become what you aspire to be, even if its only Dr. Bees... And if you fail, then I guess it's not to be. But at least try man, don't die man without living your life man. Raise your right hand and say, "I do solemnly swear to pursue my Dog-given gift. Whatever it is. Amen... Let's eat." Nom Nom fucking Nom, sounds of slurping and 500 pound lean meat being mauled appallingly by Pauline and Lee. Awful table manners. RESPEC' YA' FUCKIN' MEAT PAL'!! Respect everything, except fracking, forced GPS tracking, and Internet connections that are fucking lagging... Or do what VicE does, come up with some ingenious method that involves tinfoil, tin, oil, and Ben and Jerry brownies that taste of piss for some strange reason... Half-baked, you damn right it is, and urinated all over by the homeless... That's the last time I ever buy Ben and Jerrys again...... Until next week. Better make that 2 tubs! Everything tastes of stale urine. Except stale urine, which tastes of Unicorn Dust. I'm buoyed man! I haven't felt this buoyed since I discovered that buoyed had a silent U. Don't worry Nie I. Joe, there is nothing that will silence you, except bewilderment at witnessing a Bilderberg meeting for the first time ever. OMD[og]! What if the people in the conference are really just ordinary builders that work on a building site? Norwegian builders called Berg? It's not that far-fetched, like the conspiracy that the hyphen replaced a letter. Fartfetched. Something had caused a stink, and it was too hard to think with that odour moving closer to my drink... Drinka drink of Roses, a pocket full of mice, and pint-sized Russian boxers locked up in boxes, itching to escape... From their duty of pressing the Escape Key, they were S.K. apologists. Had to say sorry for pressing letters, or coming up with metaphors and similes and giving their victims a Chelsea smile using a 12-inch machete... I think getting revenge was petty. Like being sued for using Getty Images... But c'mon man! 50 fucking quid to use a single stock image?!?!?! A picture of just some random woman smiling in an office?! 50 fucking quid just to have the picture in 5034933 x 2948483 resolution?!?!?! Dat's some fucked up skinz manz! I'd rather buy a stock image of a picture that is barely legible, it's a naked picture of Tom's vegetables. Now Tom! about those comment changes... I just realised we're very close to Pico Day. But I guess it's better than Chico time and an Amigo loan. Fuck those guarantor loans. Getting other people into debt. So many scams being legalised, and satanic adverts with the evil eye. The only thing that can save me tonight is the Eagle Eye Cherry... On second thoughts, how about some Speedom with Techn9ne, speed rap to wreck minds, but I use it to train mine. Rain words, arrange rhymes, can't abstain from the strange time we live in. I'm steamed up like Boundheat, it's impossible to be downbeat, now we, have found feet. Back with grim zeal, sharper than Sonya Blade's pinwheel ready to skin peel. A scintilla of hope, a filament of light. An infinite pen to write with. Permanent ink permeates a scent, a sense of stink. Intentionally sent to cleanse your lingering doubts.

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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