THE WAKE UP CALL

The Hiatus has been extensive, but now comes the time for the beast to be ressurected from the smouldering ashes, to rise out of the molten lava, to once again wreak havoc, to take everything back, to explode back into life, the discharge has been building for too long and now is the moment to start emptying the pumps, I hereby declare business as usual. Its like being in a sleeper hold and then after almost falling unconscious, you somehow summon the strength, standing up, shaking like a stroke victim, until you find extra reserves of energy that you never thought you had, you just ripped out that bundle of joy with your bare hands, you feel alive again, the stage has been set, tirelessly by the tired, ready for the show that is about to explode any minute, its time to ratchet up the gears, we are only heading in one direction, that is the top of this mountain, despite the problems that are mounting. Against all the odds, this oddity is going to climb, every stretch of my pickaxe digging into the side of the rockface, pulling me upwards, inch-by-inch, a monumental effort, the colossal giant begins to ascend, completely in his ascendancy.

It feels great to be alive, to be able to write and think again, the one true blessing, the fact that you cannot be seperated from your thoughts and emotions. I have been telling myself to wake up for weeks, "Wake the fuck up" I yelled, sat in the pitch black darkness, in my own disfigured world, a cryptic puzzle that needed to be solved, but I remained defiant, I was never going to be one to wallow at my own plight of ignorance and depression, I was not going to show weakness, I was determined to break this rut, it almost brings tears to my eyes when I say it, but at this point, I sit proudly, proud of the fact that I didn't lose my head, my cool or mind in this insane world, this insane, fucked up, criminally-dominated, partially-safe, drug and alcohol-fuelled, disease-ridden, but beautiful planet of soil, the soil that I plunge my hands into and rub it all over my head and face, the feeling that I can appreciate what I have, that I can distance myself from the trash amidst it. I can not be taken in by the tacky society, I can only observe it and turn it into my medicine ball. I hold the whole planet to ransom with randomness, I came through those dark difficult times, The Hermit, but never a misanthrope, 'its not in my nature to hate ya', the AIR Equation taught me that, at times you will be tested, but you must be ready to fight fire with defusion, I am not a deluded fool that fears the unknown, I embrace the unknown, I turn it into my Goosebumps. Goose pimples that never go away, I can feel them tingling now on my back, its the side saddle for a writer.

The fighter, I became a Hermit and didn't deserve it, but my conscience and sanity didn't desert me, an insane person doesn't know he's going crazy, I felt like I was the only one looking at those orbs, if I was ever to bring it up in conversation, "what are those lights in the sky?" it would lead to nothing more than a shrug of the shoulders and yet those lights were, and still are, truly there, lots of them, hovering, they are not aliens, they are man-made, but why are they there? And why does nobody else care? Come to my Town and we will sit outside in the back garden with a telescope and find out what the lights are and then we will visit the library and study, we will probe until we solve this mystery, instead of ignoring it, instead of looking at something that is there and pretending that its not, pretending that it doesn't exist, when it is right there in the sky. For no reason at all.

There is no place like home, in the solitude of solace, alone in ones thoughts, sitting on a goldmine, doing what you do best, in a half state of undress under duress, willingly. Dropping thumps by the second, mix and match, pick and mix, heaven and hell intertwined, tying things that don't belong together into one ball, but deliberately leaving loose ends, the scope is endless, the world is infinite, creation and imagination is infinite, for me, this is all experimentation, infinity in its infancy, its making me smirk as I write, you really think you have seen anything yet, you have no idea how large I intend to set the scope, widen the bandwidth, we are on the radar, and being very patient, but make no mistake about it, I intend to leave something enormous for the people of the year 2100 onwards, I will leave them to sift through the pieces and maybe it will one day dawn on them, that they were not dealing with an ordinary being, they were in the presence of an alien.

Patience is a virtue, self-control and forebearance on a grand scale. No accident is this deliberate and one day that will make full sense to instinctive people. I'm patently biding, guiding this patient, my own doctor, a surreal reel of undoctored work, to see this mass of matter in a glass jar by the side of a giant document. This brain in this jar was responsible for this mass of mist and vague sentiments, is sentiment even important anymore in the 21st Century? Is it more important to linger on the graphical impressiveness of a flower, or the emotion between two characters? Is this it then? The beginning of the end of human emotion? Are we reaching the point where everything is taken at false stance? This Earth was once the pearl inside the oyster, but now Vice Versa has struck upon us. Five years ago, that realisation would have eaten me alive, but not anymore. If you poisoned a forest, would a surviving animal persevere with it? Would it allow itself to wallow in the depths of the damage? No, it would fly, it would soar high, escape from what has become of the became, it is hard to see the effects of bad decisions until further down the line, when you fail to foresee that the decision affects you too, in ways you could never imagine. I know they are trying to make the world perfect, but in doing so, you upset balance, the Earth is designed to be imperfect, there are solutions and there are crises that have existed in unison since the dawn of our species.

In 2005 I spent time in the darkest abyss that you could ever imagine, where I lost control of mind, body and soul. To put it bluntly, I was not myself, I didn't feel like myself, I couldn't get myself back, mentally and physically I was distraught and destroyed, on the brink of madness, it is fair to say that at that time period, I had no means of climbing up the ice-coated walls, it was dark dank pit of despair, it can make my stomach churn just from thinking about it, its the only time when nostalgia wasn't a bitch. 2005 was the last time I wrote a song for 2 years, a two year rut, so many thoughts, so much stress, those dark lonely nights, the howling wind, the pitch black darkness, ideas hitting me from all directions adding to the ball of yarn, wallowing in self-pity, but not putting it out there, all those wasted ideas, years. I was stupid enough to let political activism rule my fucking head, make no mistake, politics should exist only in a blind spot of one's imagination. Politics made me think differently for a long time, until I hit the political nail on the head. Woodpecker Grid, those two words can still make my blood run cold, sometimes I would belong in the woodpecker grid myself, down there in the doldrums, man o man, you have no idea! I thought I would die here.

He walks amongst us, but is not one of us. I started to embrace that opinion, turn my own flaws into my own strengths. My aim was not to become what I became, but when I look at it now, I wouldn't want it any other way, but in 2007 I broke the mould, how did I do that? I achieved it by surrounding myself with positive projections, my favourite book, my favourite tv show, my favourite song, I wouldn't just listen, read or watch once, I would analyse and dissect what was giving me this positive energy, if something was making me feel good, I wanted to know why it was making me feel good. I started to appreciate things that other people wouldn't even give a second thought about, I actually took the time to dissect, I would study everything, even subjects that didn't interest me, just to see if I could be swayed and sometimes I could. I became analytical of others, sociology without the complicated mumbo jumbo they teach you at universities. I studied others, if I walked into a music store, I would analyse the behaviour of other people, I looked to see which CDs they flocked towards, how long they took to read a cover. It was the same wherever I went, I studied the behaviour of others, instead of talking in conversations, I listened, I analysed the dialogue, I would try to work out why people were saying what they were saying to each other, there is a reason for everything, to me, this was fascinating, it made me different, I was proud to be the outcast, I started to love it, I started to think of empty shelves, and then I started to think of subjects and people as objects, to be placed on those shelves, it was like a pick and mix, I was able to just mix and match unrelated things and blend them together naturally, it was all very logical. Rather than everything be political or about anxiety and insecurity, I was more focused on the flaws of others, nobody is perfect, even the most socially popular individuals are not exempt from being flawed. Nobody is invincible, whereas once upon a time I would be intimidated by someone in a better position than me, I felt like I could hold my own, I felt that even in the face of ridicule I could shrug it off, so what, laugh at myself, I had had so many downers that I was equipped to handle disappointment.

And so the revolution was set, with all the years gone by, I was able to start spitting out ideas and concepts with more regularity than a pitbull spits out saliva. I was dissecting everything in sight, if I had a toothache, I would say the word toothache, change it a little, toothcake, then I would draw a cake with wedges made from teeth. Or if I swallowed my pride, I would write the word 'pride' in a picture of a throat. If the television advertisements came on and had a really annoying quote at the end such as a store advert saying 'why shop anywhere else!' I would mumble to myself, "because those shops are better'. Three things were transpiring, I was becoming a patience, observant and impossible to make angry, kind of person. It was like if I had something to say, I would write it down, all the shit in the world became a big ball of turd in my writing pad. If you eat and drink, all the waste comes out of your arsehole, its the same with your thoughts, they have to come out at some point sooner or later, I learned this also from studying other people. A bully will only bully because they have been affected by something themselves, nowadays I can forgive a bully, they are the product of what the world made them, what their parents made them. I just hope that ALL can see the light.

Day-by-day, I was able to collate, it was easy to think of things, I am a man of the world, trying to learn about everything that fascinates me, so its easy for me to be in touch with all generations, I don't want to become someone that loses touch with my past, start acting all grown up and old, wearing cardigans and slippers just because I have reached 50 years old. Especially where the 50 years old part has been determined by man saying there is 365 days in a year, he could easily have said "let's have 730 days in a year" and that would cut my age by half, its meaningless irrelevant mumbo jumbo. You are only as old as you feel, and I feel like I can relate to all generations, people from all walks of life, I feel like I can make an accurate judgement of anything, nothing is beyond mine or anyone else's comprehension, we can learn whatever we want to, people in their teens or twenties can be smarter than people in their forties and fifties. Someone from the roughest ghetto or estate can be cleverer than the richest businessman in the world. Wealth is not the greatest indication of intelligence, simply an indication of dominance and instinct. There are thin brittle men and women that have more power in society than me or you. But if those same brittle men and women were in the Amazonian rainforest, they would be relying on me and you to survive, they would lose their status and rely on us. The man-made world is simply that - Man Made.

When you have been into the black hole it is so easy to turn to drugs and drink. For me, even in the darkest days I never felt even the slightest urge to turn towards the drugs and drink. I realised that I was made of sterner stuff than that, but that's just me and I would never be judgemental of others, only analytical, we are all different, by being born as someone else, I am given new feelings, new thoughts, maybe it is not so easy to think for myself, I am just thankful that I am able to make decisions based on more than just instincts. In the year 2008, I was able to find Newgrounds, the vibrancy and equality of the site struck me immediately, you felt as though you were on an equal footing with everybody else and the blogging portal was just a beautiful thing. I just remember the first week or two, firing on all cylinders, just absolutely exploding every which way but loose. Not only did you get the chance to speak and be heard, you could meet some incredible characters and personalities on the portal, my life would have been much more shallower and emptier if I had never had the opportunity to meet with people. The likes of Kevan, Richie, David and Stickman [I still don't know his real name] were all REAL people, its funny how you don't know someone and then you start to pick up on their everyday lives, their personalities, it sort of integrates into your life and before you know it, its become very close-knit.

And that's it really, this place, this site, its woke me the hell up and I feel rejuvinated, and when that clock runs down to the very last tick on January 1st 2010, exactly ten years since I nearly died on the millennium night, I will be ready to set off on my journey, I am going to wreak positive havoc, all brain matter is going to break loose, because the Flash video portal is going to be hearing the name Nietzlawe for the very first time and when it does, believe me - the freight train will not stop.

SCRAWLS

There will no longer be availability slots for pissing in the wind, but feel free to book some shitting in the snow seats... If you wish to witness this brave act of Bravado with the Bravo alpha team, then sit in the front row and heckle me and throw pickles at my crestfallen pot of cress... This is crass, its like me standing half undressed under duress, in my own bedroom, this is what caffeine gives you Kathy, an adrenaline rush, it pumps you up for battle, even though nobody has turned up on the battlefield apart from some golden synthetic wind and golden hayballs...... I have to scribble scrawls, its what I do best, talk shit for a living, but is existing really classified? And is Fied really a classy individual? Siegfried some egg fried rice and it was nice, like when I rolled a five on a dice... But why would the number five be so symbolic to this shambolic alcoholic with colic disease.... I don't have a Funny Collar disorder like Harry Hill, I am as normal as the married couple, Norman and Kathy Bates... She prefers to be called Katherine, I found out the hard way, sledgehammers to the kneecaps, and to cap it all off, she destroyed my ankle bones with two mean swings of her trusty weapon... She had me bedridden writing all these blogs for months on end, I had to go days without any sleep in my comatose state, I was like Michael J. Ackson in his zombified Resident Evil form... I completed Resident E-Vile 5, the highlight was somehow breaking solid crates just by swinging a knife, I never knew such a feat was possible... But where there's Capcom there's a Cap filled with Cum and people watch it live on their Cup Cam's, its all very bitter and twisted like John Smith after falling eight storeys through a terrible novel... It was novel of that admiral to be noble and nobble along to Virginia... He was a son of a bitch, a political prisoner inside of Richie Rich's fridge....

These blogs are like fanny magnets that attract all the Magner drinking addicts to swarm like a hive of bluebottles... I saw a sign that said 'No Fly Tipping', I said, "its up to the bloody flies what they do!"... When you try to regulate the everyday lives of flies and insects, the world becomes a problem, I say we just set the Earth on fire and nobody would even have to leave the house on Bonfire Night... On a different matter, something smells funny, what could it be? A Dice Functional Smell.... almost as crazy as the Vengaboys saying "I'm going to High-Beetha" instead of "I'm going to Ibiza".... Deranged like eating a slice of Re-Heated Venge from a microwave.... But I was always taught that if the Micro Waved, you wave back, its called being polite.... Being polite is like a mild form of poverty, there are millions of people in the 21st Century that live below the Bread Line.... Mainly Dwarves, Elves, Pixies, Midgets and Leprechauns with Leprosy.... Wait! Their cheeks don't look rosy to me! They look fucking horrific, scarred to high buggery, I can already see the mental picture of a big red X being marked on their house doors as we speak... Poor Buggers those Beggars, they can't even be choosers, they are just losers coughing up phlegm and mucus holding up signs that say, 'shoot us'... We are vermin, even the rats live cushier lives than us... That's why they go out and get rat faced and rat arsed, their drunken stupors are just stupid attempts to tempt fate in tense ways by fucking like ten gays with AIDS in tents and squirting in mens faces, breaking their backs in the process.... Like I said, these are scrawls, these are snippets, but there is nothing hysterical about an hysterectomy, nothing funny about being Circumsized with a sign on your cock saying Downsize This... I used to have Fore Seperate Skins and now I have none, what happened? Where did it go? Did the doctors and nurses take them home? Maybe they were sick of asking their victims to put the lotion in the basket... Apparently they kidnapped an old lady and she had an hearing aid, she kept thinking they were asking her to put the Ocean in the basket.... That resulted in her immediate and brutal death..... From a stroke.... stroked by a younger lover.... He stroked her very gently with the tip of his knife, then dug in deeply and yanked out the guts with the steel blade.... Sorry, no entendre intended, this was a genuine knife blade, no metaphor, or saying 'I've met her before', this was an actual physical knife that was used to disembowel an elderly woman... I never met a woman that looked so genuinely gutted...

The new year is nearly upon us like a straddler, Nietzlawe is in the saddle bringing you fresh new material straight off the dome of Gooey Brainz... We are close to 2010, it will be precisely 10 years since I nearly died from drinking beer at the Millenium Party the next street up from ours... I remember falling and hitting the ground like a sack of shit, or maybe it was just the sack of shit I was carrying that hit the ground... I remember soon following, thud, lights out... Unconscious, I remember all the cuts and blood and nearly dying of Hyperactive Thermia... It could have been tragic, the margin between life and death so small, if the blow to the head and alcohol poisoning had been successful, these 194 blogs would not even exist and therefore, nobody would have batted an eyelid, not even the bats themselves.... If I had died, I would be nothing more than a decaying pile of bones incapable of forming thoughts and giving the world my opinions and bizarre outlook on everyday occurances, I would be like all the other schmucks up at the Cemetery, a cheesy ass gravestone with an Epitaph that reads, 'Here lies Nietzlawe, Died Needlessly as soon as the clock struck Midnight on January 1st 2000... Its weird to think that we all move and yet in death, our bones cannot do anything to anyone, we can't piss anyone off, it makes you see everything and everyone in a new light, fluorescent... Since that horrific Near Deaf Experience, I made a pledge in my life.... Which was to live exactly the same way, not really... I had a new Outlook.... Microsoft Outlook 2000... The Millenium Bug didn't kill anybody except for Jill Valentine and Chris Redfield.... Why would you kill Jill? You'd Kill Bill? And you'd Kill Two Jews wearing New Suits... But Jill! She's a legend, she unkillable, but you wouldn't think twice about Marrying her and jilting her at the wedding.... You'd think three times, Jill is a Fox ' ess, blink and you'll miss, if she blinks she might just avoid the cum in the eye... I am on a literally high while I pen this typed blog with pixellated ink, I hate ink that's Incorporated into this paragraph of quadralegic bisexual bystanders with bionic arms and legs and tits and sharp boobs like Madonna.... Sharp as a pin prick, playing a harp and letting out a parp while I knock down 100 Ten Pins on the Wii Bowling... This blog is an unrelenting unstoppable machine capable of delivering a fatal blow to all the poets in the Dusty Sty with Miss Springfield... I want to invite you all into my Pig Pen and join me in my Universal Prank, we are going to sabotage the sabbaths and make everyone listen to songs by ABBA... This blog is for all my fellow Underdogs, this is like striking a Low Blow to the establishment, this is where the NG Family must stand up and be counted... Or remain seated and still be counted... We need to know our numbers, our family is nubile, it is time for The New World Hors D'oeuvres to take command of this entire planet and set the whole world in panic...

You think this blog is nothing? I suggest that it is Much Ado About Something, there is more work to be done, but if this is work, why is it so much fun? To depict or dissect to differentiate, devise new ways to manipulate letters and words like an Employee with Low Self Esteem... I live for the best dream as much as the next teen, I am ambitious, I live for the next high, live to reach 30, an age barely reached by Brittany Murphy... I can't stand drugs, I've got to sit down to inject them... HAH, me! Inject drugs! Not in a million years would I take drugs, but I might give it serious consideration on the million and oneth year... It is a well documented fact that I will not live to see the year 2100, well its not documented, but its a fact... And my evidence is never dense, as I sit here writing, after experiencing the ups and downs of Boxing Day... But I didn't have to don any boxing gloves nor wear gloves endorsed by Don King.... The man that has been on the electric chair six times and lived to tell the tale to the whales and trail of broken snails snorting cocaine in a Blaine-like stunt... I am here to stay like fat people in a slimming club.... The crowd of fatties all got together in a circle and made a pledge, a pact, they said, "there comes a time when we have to step up to the plate!!!!!! And not eat what's on it!".... The speech was inspirational, all nineteen words of it.... Completely motifying... It motivated forty five forty-five year olds into masturbating and masticating with Aztec Raisins... People have been asking me, "so what has been going on lately?" and I replied, "stuff that happens at late hours" like people walking to the late night store and it closing before they get there... What a shame! Everybody deserves supplies, that's how they ply their trade with lies... Its a seedy world we live in, but the birds don't seem to mind, they love it, seeing all the sex, drugs, rock and roll, pollution, backhanders, bribes, bungs, beatings, murders, rapes, and occasional laughter! See its not all doom and gloom, like that groom that got raped with a broom on a honeymoon.... Honeymoon? You call trying to shag in a grey crater an honeymoon?

When giants collide it creates havoc in the kaleidoscope, no, not the disco we used to attend as young unds, but the telescope of colours familiar in Moby's Porcelain, some of you may recognise and offer me credence but others may be dismissive of this Mr and Mrs, Mr Terries, we like the stigma attached with enigma, as it provides vague clues as to what is really going on in the world, and not just in these big beastly paragraphs of jargon where you need sardonic juices just to get you through the obstacle course of Oracle... Fuck that though, I keep seeing Orbs in the sky, but nobody else cares, orange glowing orbs, why are they there? Why does it keep snowing really heavily in this town? Why is the atmosphere so bitter like John Smith? Rubber Johnny is a bitter soul and so is the rest of his being, which is completely unimportant in this irrelevant tale of irritance. I sit, pondering thoughts, knee deep in a pond while playing James Pond with my friend James.... Where am I going with this? To Dubai? So I can dub over the grunts and groans of Ai Sugiyama? I don't think so, that will never happen, I will let a Crimson Tide swallow me whole before I commit myself to the asylum of violence.... There is no need to panic, you have still got the Golden Touch Mr. Midas, that's why you live at Fort Knox with Barbara... There is a man on television selling beds, what has the world come to? One big giant orgasm? I am like that guy who had his tongue cut out, I am lost for words... But he could say things, such as 'kahhh' and 'gaakk', they weren't really coherent words, but they were understandable all the same... Understandable by Fellow Rejects that is... Muahaha Geddit? Oh... Never mind, my jokes are lost on people without compasses.... I told you to follow the bearing, but if you can't stay on course internally you will lose the plot....

What the hell are you gnawing on abite Sect Law? Insects have their own incest Sects during sex, that is soon cured with the pesticides, cruel I know, but what are the insects gonna do? Call their parents! Muahhhhhh!!!!!! I would probably worry a little if they did call their parents, everybody is scared of a Queen Beeyonce... "I'm a Survivor I will just bite ya, "

Some random guy or gal once said, the pen is mightier than the sword.... And what a fucking fool he was, I mean he made a big mistake to duel with that Berzerker on that battlefield.... With his little weedy pen, to be fair to him, he did manage to draw a few lines on the Berserkers face... That made the Jerking Berserker go Berserk and the man with the Pen found himself Being-Headed... Lopped off at the neck, carotid artery spraying rouge in every which way but South West....

Good times indeed. He paid the Ultimate Price did that little Pen Holder... His pain never ends, he's still shook up from jumping on the eclectic electric fence.

CHRISTMAS MESSAGE

This is short but sweet, like a sugar cane made for a midget. I promise that when the final glass of wine has been drunk, when the last piece of turkey has been swallowed and digested like a vorarephilia victim, when the final yuletide log has been squirted out of the buttcheeks in true diarrhoea fashion, when the mistletoe has pricked people in the eye when they try to kiss underneath it, when the presents have been unwrapped like a chicks clothing, when the television has stopped showing Shrek films again for the fifth year in a row, when the Christmas trees have been taken down and the lights from the house roof and the huge electricity bills have been sent, when the hangovers have worn off and we feel back to normal, when the final song plays, I promise that hell is going to freeze over, in the manner that my street has for the last four days, I promise that when all is finished, when all is over, when it is all said and done, I am going to come back with a vengeance, and the hard work begins all over again.

Because I promise that when everything is finito, when the final nails have been hammered into the coffin, when the carol singers have finished their song and I have slammed the door in their faces without giving a penny, when the snow breaks and disappears, when reality once again hits home, when the energy is replenished, the blogging will resume, bigger and better than ever before.

And your friend Nietzlawe will be back, to take it all back,
Dog Bless All
Aww Revoir

THE FOILERS OF FLYNN

Sorry I've been away so long, I didn't mean to leave you in the Lurch like that guy from Victoria Addam's Family.... But now I have resurfaced like a War Inquest, ready to dish more dirt by putting dirt on your dishes, I flirt with danger, but danger is a cruel and fleeting Mistress, like a flock of geese giving me yeast infections with the necessary remedy for my woes... I have a runny nose, it flows like my taps when they are dancing in the pale sick-face of the moon.... I came I reaped I saw, I repeated, whatever is there left to achieve for the man with no ambition? How did I end up in this position, of power, with devoted followers standing in front of me? Reciting the Nietzlawe Code of Conduct... But I don't know how to conduct electricity, nevermind myself! Don't worry Nietzlawe, we believe in you... Really robotic voice for some strange reason, maybe I hypnotised them in the sixties project known mysteriously as The Foilers of Flynn... We will never know much about them, unless we delve further into the histories of mankind being unkind... It makes me tired, but I must soldier on with my square shoulders, delving and diving, rockclimbing to Stickman91's school just to pay him a visit... Why would I turn up like the pages of a book that I no longer read, and that's my own bloody autobiography... If its automatic, it should write itself... But it wont, it needs me, and I simply don't have the cranial capacity to remember every small detail of my life... I will try my best, but understand that poetic licence is also a great thing, writing an autobiography in my twenties and I'm not even a celebrity, how the fuck does that even work? It doesn't, it sits around lounging all day, slouching off society, begging for pennies on street corners or even straight roads, makes no difference to me.... I just count the coins at the end of the day.... And realise I've made less than I started with, I fell asleep and was robbed by the Mob, they had reached Deep into my pockets, which were like the Abyss of taking the Piss.... Kidney Dial a Sissy Machines was all the rage back then in those Anger Management classes... The Wanker Management classes were tougher, a total ordeal, getting Jacked by Jill up that fucking hill, she left imprints of her hand on my cock from spanking my monkey, but personally I didn't like her spending too much time with my farm animals......

Time for the performance of my life, like when I played the board game Mouse Trap and got my finger caught in the cage and had to saw it out with what could only be described as a Saw... Writes itself this shit, no wait, it doesn't, I'm doing it, as if by magic, like when you bend a wand with a masturbation stroke... The best thing is playing the card game Snap against yourself, you can afford to relax and take it easy.... Before the living room is plunged into darkness by a lightbulb failure and you are left chasing shadows, silhouettes of debt letters that you can't read.... I'm uncorked as I write a hoarde of words designed to course through your veins like a source of life.... Every word designed to deprive you of your sanity, but the truth is, we are the sanest, they are the crazy ones, we are open minded, they see nothing like a bunch of blind kids... I'll eat you like bacon rind bitch use you as something to take my time with before I stick the knife in... You can't beat multi-internal-rhyme-wranglings or trying to wriggle into some Wranglers like a sleek slim slender chick poking her butt out at an angle.... Her ass swallowing my cock like a mangle... And this was supposed to be my first single, but I just fucked that shit off.... Wait, mangle and single doesn't rhyme.. Who cares? I'm sick of 'Who' caring, because if he didn't care, I could get away with it... And live a new life with my friend 'It'.... But my ex 'Who' still cares and is becoming obsessed at my new life of grandeur with 'It', frankly Frank, I don't like the beef the two of them having going, its unhealthy like eating three plates of salad a day while listening to fruity ballads that make you go fruity so that you have to get neutered of your ball sac nutrients, that's not worth the Hassle said Mr. Hoff who had a persistent cough, it just wouldn't give up, it was a determined soul was that little bag of throat germs.... It was rank, like a leaderboard.... I'm bored of being the leader, I think I'm going to pass the baton on to Mr Stickman91 or Kevan11Twenty7.... Wait! Its not Kevan.... Its Keven... It rhymes better, they should make a new film called the Lucky Number Keven... beats Slevin... Beats slaving over a hot stove like a Desperate Housewife, but what's so desperate about a housewife that doesn't have a hosepipe blowing in her face at an alarming pace.... She missed being peppered with Peppermint Cream, she longed and yearned for the days of graceful grace and amazement, but what could Grace offer her?

Gracias, I have a grassy ass from sitting on the field in the wet rain, on a muggy day... But I wouldn't want the experience to be any different, we need to feel adrenaline, its a mandatory ingredient in this Rollercoaster Ride we call Lif..... Kingda Ka.... Devil's Khan.... The Devil Khan't fuck with me, we have stronger weapons than pitchforks, unless he pitches me in broad daylight and we have to engage in combat and constant melees throwing melons at each other while wearing wellies, stickfighting with willies.... That is a messed up image, conception is a beautiful thing, only when the projection is beautiful, sometimes the silhouette is a depiction of sick twisted fiction, rather than fact, sometimes we need to remember that, or we'll drop dead... Not from the trauma, but the hypothermia in our unheated houses..... And they say this is 2009, the Future Is Here.... A Future where only the weak survive and the strong perish while drinking Perrier water.....

Anarexics will rule the world, we will all be slaves to their bony frames.... Make no mistake! We are doomed!

FREAKISH BANTER

I am undeterred, but determined to squeeze out the turd that has been looming, wearing me down like a Fruit of the Loom jumper.... and eye see what else sits on the horizon, well apart from Verizon.. Unwired and Unhinged like a drunk in a drinking binge... That dude could get his hair burnt by not answering his mobile phone... That reminds me, if there is an heaven and hell, why don't the deceased call via mobile phone, let us know they are fine and dandy, sucking on candy like John... And getting caned on the backside while shaking their magic wands, tis all demented dementia I tells ya, none of our hysteria makes sense, its nonsensical... Like that Intel advert that says, 'bom bom bom bom'... That is the epiphany of 'I'm sick of it', there is nothing and noone left in the room, we are all consumed by the doom and gloom of constant happiness... Knock that switch before it gets out of hand, we wouldn't want it to become unattached from the love-hate relationship of palm veins... and all those weird facial creams that don't work, like jizz... Its like Buck's Fizz, but fuck this, I'd rather suck tits than end up in the prism of pessimism and sadism.... Where else is there to run to, but the end of the world? But isn't the Earth round? Yes, so that technically means you could be a fugitive forever and ever, just as long as you were riding in a vehicle with infinite petrol or diesel... But on this patrol, we die selling cannisters of ooze that make you run fast like Roger who loved to slide down his mother's Bannister... That sounds like an entendre, unintendred, I feel unintentional tension when I write, its like when I make this make-believe, I can't even wait to breathe, I just got to keep going until the eons run out of electricity... And send us a diobolical bill that we cannot afford in this day and age of Tyrant ' acy... Is that a word? The word 'that' is...

I see a pattern emerging Mike, say what you like on that mic, but I'll just sit and play my Sega Saturn like a fat un', nothing no longer matters, I'm talking in riddles, this is needless said the drug addict's arm... But he is happy in his own world, just as we are all happy inside the comfort of our craniums being cradled by blood... I don't knead it, we don't need it, but chefs have no fucking choice.... Lollipop, Lollipop, a la-la Lollipop, this is freakish like three kids shrieking feverishly, what is life teaching me? Nothing Nada, YadaYada, I want to sit and fart on a Partizan crowd to Part them... Like a 2 part finale.... I like chewing my fleece laces, its addictive but will get me nowhere in life, or even book me a taxi to see a live concert of a musical band that I completely despise.... I wouldn't even watch it on Sky... Despite that Stephen King film being pretty decent.... But the descent of this blog must now reach new depths, like different levels of hearing... Its like a volume switch for the ears, but I am more interested in reading Foo ' Ko's Pendulum, its captured my attention like a Prisoner of War.... Book-worming aka reading, its fantastic! I suggest you jump on the bandwagon or you could well end up as another Marine Corpse.... Their slogan should read, 99% need not apply! But on the positive side, 99% wont die needlessly, in non-needle-related murder.. Cough Cough... I mean AXEidents... *Bigger More Intrusive Cough*... I mean accidents... I'm Grr'ing to myself because someone on the television is banging their head against a wall and distracting me from my thoughts, which isn't difficult in this present climate of Below Freezing Temperatures, and its making me Temperamental and Judgementalpatients... I'm impatient, we need our medication of placebos to get us through our daily regiment.... We are all trapped in our Cess Pools of Gruel, life's Cruel, especially if your name is Daniel Shittu.... Maybe in a year, the scouts will pass by and...... Laugh..... With utter.... Contempt... And then say "you're hired!" Hired to do what? Sit around and flick elastic bands at fat women that have just had the Gastric Band and still wont cut down their diets even with constant monitoring and starvation....

My fingers are itching, they say that is meant to be considered good luck.. But I think it just means that my fingers are itching.... Itching for a Bitching, sitting in the Kitchen... This aint misogyny, its only a work of fiction.... An addiction to Diction, like sniffing a Whale and having a Whale of a time by kicking a Snail out your Garden like he just ate from the forbidden tree... We have nearly reached Christmas time and when everything closes, I will bring out the big guns, not literally weaponary, just verbal gunnery for my own fun, wordplay and punnery.... Zingggg.... Zinger burger, noone has ever gone further than Frank who likes to fart in the first person.... Because if he farted in the third person, you wouldn't see the cloud of methane, you would only be taken aback from the terrible stench of peas, carrots and gravy, in its true ass form.... Where's the Garotte? Or more accurately, where is Pierrepoint? To tie that rope around your pressure point and then kill you, before going home to his pea, carrot and gravy tea.... How ironic!!!!!! I believe Irony is misinterpreted and taken out of all proportion, like a fat person's waist and in an ironic way, isn't that a waisting disease? Smarty pants, how can pants be smart, unless they grow arms and start drawing like someone ready for a Scholarship.... Getting hot under the collar bitch, or collarbone, I'll follow you home so that I can make sure that mugger doesn't bugger ya'.... This ain't funny, I command you not to laugh at my Wings.... I'm eating chicken from a dish, and Trish has just Atish ' you'd... In my weird weird way, we can say nothing and leave it at that, I can't breathe coz I'm fat, and every word is a strain as we drag on like a Dragon breathing fire.... He's not asthmatic or good at arithmetic, its a double whammy and his fucking acting is hammy, like his Triangular Sandwiches.... that got stolen by a cabalistic gang of witches.... Those bitches! Halloween has been and gone, maybe I'm hallucinating in the hallway all day watching the snow flakes fall and I end up crushed by the avalanche...

This is like a flick book you flick through, and it still makes sense somehow, must be generating its own source of income from Destination Unknown.. or Known.. The night is young, and any reader reading right now, welcome to the Pig Pen, you feel like you've stepped onto the walzer that you can't halt as I alter your mind circuit board.... Twist it around between two fingers and let out an evily devilish laugh.... Muahahahah.... Even going as far as to pronounce it with an M... and pulling a facial expression that can only be described as Dr. Evil... But I don't have evil intentions.. or cruel ones, I simply have a one-in-ten-chance-of-tension.... Or getting Detention, actually that should be a zero in Tent Shunning... Which is bizarre because hiking and camping out on the Nevada Wilderness Scheme has been a lifelong ambition of mine.... Since last week.... At the Blues bar when we played pool and I lost 2-0, but I have the rest of my life to overtake that deficit, I will certainly put it at the forefront of my plans for 2010, along with Adding up Dictions.... and watching the final ever season of LOST... It will actually be a weight off my mind when LOST ends and I find out what happened, I always worry that my television will die out on the very last episode and then the show is not released on DVD or anything.... That is Pure Suffering, Pure as the Cheese from Grandpa's sole sock... Ugh, dis-crust-ing, as I sit flushing my sick down this rusty toilet....

"You promised them banter Neat Slow!"

"Hey, this is banter! And the name is not Neat Slow... Its Nietzlawe!!!"

"Hey that's Neat! Mr Slow!...."

Slowcoach, who cares about a name, all that matters is that we provide tonight's entertainment like some sick ass Videodrome shit.... You have nothing left in the tank, this is Newgrounds, there is always plenty in the tank, we successfully beat Oldgrounds in the last world war.... What makes you think that we cannot be the strongest Family in the history of Bayer Tapestries? I want to tape her tie to my pastry, which would cause a horrible choking sensation, followed by horrendous hiccups and sneezes... Damn, how come I have to keep persevering with these lame tv programmes, the OFF button is right there, but do I possess the courage to press it? The blank screen and silence may cause a shock that may be too difficult to recover from, like a Heart-Bisexual-Pass Operation... Or realising that people who are invisible on MSN are really online.... That kind of shock can make or break a man like Frankenstein, I think its high time I headed low and went to the fridge to get myself a Yorkie bar and then come back upstairs for part 2 of this Bruce Forsyte Saga.... Bruce Forsythe playing a Sega? Never, he couldn't get to grips with it, not with his severely slippery butter fingers that keep dropping the joypad into giant vats of butter..... And then he will stutter and walk off the tv set in front of every audience member.... They laugh mercilessly and Ol' Bruce has no juice left in the tank..... Well apart from the drink he left on his dressing room table..... But that's gone warm and sour, like this blog, you are now at that point of no return.... Halfway down a cliff drop.... Said a former Cliff Richard lover... Ugh that is Disturbia like nerds being poisoned by well positioned library nebula... The Priest, He's a secular humanist that likes to upset and abuse the kids... But he made his peace with Jeez.... Which is not good, his penitence has a hollow tone to it....

Where is my water, my gums are sore, but we must keep the show on the road, even though we need a pit stop to change our tyres... This car is out of control like its been hotwired with hot wires from a burning pyre.... Manic, I'm an addicted mechanical man stuck with this habit... I take a chance and grab it, with both hands... But why can't I flip the script by scripping the flipp book, scrap it, its crap, like a victim trapped in the basement of a drag queen.... Freakish as her false cleavage, probably use two melons to make it seem its a natural D-Cup.... Brrr, shrugs off the cold biting air, let's change the topic again, as quick as we started, Marty Jannetty's cardiac heartache... He never suffered a cardiac really, and neither would I wish that misfortune on anybody, its just a slice of lemon that makes your face turn sour from a mixture of cringeism and something something, I can never remember what it was, particularly in my new state of insomnia ' ism.... Imagine that! Never being able to go asleep ever again, tired every single day, seeing those blots that look like Michael Jackson and God... The constant picking of crusty eye bogies, its a living hell, on Earth as it is in heaven, hallowed be thy pain, our daily bread... Something Something.... It was funny at school, it used to be so quiet that you could hear a pin drop and random people would just fart as we sat there on the cold hard floor, we didn't even have chairs, so when people farted, it would really vibrate against the floor and cause a wave of stifled laughter, but noone would dare to laugh, and thus it was almost like a torture session trying to hold in the laughter as more and more people farted as time elapsed...... I don't know why I need to share this story at this moment in time, but who cares.... Its the truth, the whole truth and nothing butt the farts.....

BLIND MONDAY

Its another Monday morning,
You sit up from the snoring to wonder why you're yawning,
Without it ever dawning on you,
That every day is boring.

Its another bowl of cereal,
Your eating wearily from the feeding bowl,
Too blind to see the heeding call,
And yet you wonder why your feeling low.

Your feeling cold when your leaving home,
A seeping nose that is leading to a leaking flow,
You just wish it would go, along with that itch in your throat,
Your pissed and remote, like the man who missed his boat.

Sitting alone, a work drone, that's prone to just doze,
Thinking thoughts, you're wishing you was Jacob Boehme,
But this is the life that you chose,
You've thrown away that chance on the throne.

Its all day, dreams that just don't fade,
But you sacrifice those just to pick up your pay,
The slave trade still exists even today,
Its made you a maid in a maze of self-hatred.

Every second is like an hour,
And every hour is devoured by a callous raven with talons,
So instead of feeling all great with power,
You feel so stale and sour, like a damsel trapped in the tower.

You can sit and grit your teeth, until its time to leave,
And feel for the first time again, that you can truly breathe,
Feel relieved, but don't deceive yourself with that wasting disease,
Just sit and think about what you could achieve,
If you would just summon up the courage to leave,
And be free from the shackles that impede your release.

THE GREAT MOTIVATOR

There comes a time, when every line is inclined to incite a spark inside,
Something that could save your life, Just in Thyme,
Justified, put your trust in my, judgement, let me give a little insight,
There's a thin line between death and this life, take a breath and open these eyes.

Stew over with a fine tooth comb on a lone cold day at home, alone in a head zone, sitting pretty, writing ugly, let's get it published, why are you lazy? What's stopping you? Why can't you break the rut? Go for it man! Bust your gut! Your brain is depending on you, all you have to do is start working, work away, don't let the hours get away from you, open the pipeline, don't let it get too congested, your teeth sound hollow and plastic, life is too short to not begin it! Life is the longest thing we can do, we cannot outlive ourselves, we cannot even overachieve, what's negating the energy inside you? Why can't you break the monopoly? You are teeter-tottering on the edge, you are aware that the gift is there, but you're just content to sit on it for a while more. How long is a while? You should be whiling away the hours wildly, flapping and flailing like its your last breath, if someone said you were dying now, your adrenaline would act a lot differently, you wouldn't be afraid of change and you know it has to be done, you know some of those people, they are frauds, they are handfeeding bland tasteless food, but if you stop messing around, you could give them something special, something that is constantly overlooked.

Addiction can be a pitfall, it can distract you from your life, forever. And who wants to be an outsider inside their own body? Especially now, in the 21st Century, where unoriginality is tolerated. Let's stop tolerating, let's start exhilerating.

THE SHOW MUST GO ON AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON

After listening to my friend Kevan talk about his deep rooted sadness, it has inspired me into thinking that the hard work starts here. He has reached a point where he may retire from Newgrounds, this would be truly sad, for the portal would not be the same place without him, he is one in a million, a deeply honest and conscious mind and he was the very first person to welcome me to Newgrounds, he didn't even know me, yet he sent me a kind pm and we became friends from then on. Since that moment, we have had only good times, never argued and never a moment goes by without laughter filling the air. So I hope that he stays around, but if he doesn't, then I wish him all the best in his future life and with his family and his own future family. May the Sun shine down warmly on you Kevan.

And on that sad note, we are going to raise the temperature back up in the house, we have to continue. So without further ado:

"LET THE SHOW GO FUCKING ON AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON!!!!!!"

Welcome folks to the live wake up show, today tiredness is not on the schedule, we have lots of entertainment to share, but sadly no caffeine or alcohol, but feel free to swallow your pride as I take you on a terrible journey ride through the Ghost Train that I once broke down on in Blackpool and everyone was laughing at us and yet our lives were at stake, like those Vampires... We survived luckily because one mechanic was manic enough not to panic in the heat of the moment in his ice-age room, alongside his wife who was wearing stockings, a pair of stalagtights... It was awesome like working down a t'coal mine and dying of charcoal poisoning, it wasn't poignant, in those days you couldn't watch Poirot, there were no televisions or Blogs... How did people pass the time? By simply waiting until time elapsed? By playing A Game of Life and Monopoly, that is what today's generation is missing, a few jigsaw pieces or two.... From their brains!! Muuuah... The triple U's, its like three versions of yourself, all neatly cloned, standing in a gay Charlie's Angel kind of pose for some kind of sick photoshoot so that you can become a part of a .org site.... www . giants. ogre... Playing late night strip poker and gambling your entire salary away in the hope that the bitch will take off a piece of her clothing... She doesn't, you win, but she laughs about how she's raped you of your financial savings and now you're out on the streets, begging for some scraps.. of scrap metal while listening to death metal, but how can metal be deaf? Its an inanimate object... Intimate, let's incinerate these thoughts, life is not easy, its not like a box of chocolates, its like a box of oxygen and chemical elements.... We think we know everything, and yet our species can only impress each other... Do you think that budgerigar or tiger gives a fuck that you just invented the latest high-tech mobile phone... Show it to an animal, it will just laugh in your face, is that the fucking best thing you can invent! Pahhh weak! You humans are feeble! Its like Tomorrow's World today, only with nothing but empty promises and dry dreams... The Earth is worthless, nothing but a pile of dirt and teenage squirts.. Let's just co-exist for the next million years so we can get to the next planet of the same granite, you're not going to meet your maker... Just forget it and drink your milkshake.. You don't need to know how the world was created, we don't want to tell you, so keep your nose out! Your single collective nostril...

I'm cold, my hands are turning pale white, Casper, I've got carrots on my nose like Jasper, but not Parnovik... I'm verbally carving limbs and feeding them to a gang of starving kids that are stark raving mad. Man, this blog is baloney like Mahoney Saunders sitting on a ferris wheel eating a pudding that Fatima Whitbread has had under her armpits for seventeen years, it is in quite horrific but terrific shape... Topped off by the gunk in her nape... Gunk in the trunk, that's what the elephant said to thee one afternoon while we were sitting on the grass verge with the Virginal Maree Curie... What do we scientists have in common? Is it that we like to wear white jackets and call ourselves freethinkers? We are not freethinkers, we are just frauds, frauds in disguise, in a blatantly obvious Clark Kent kind of way... Scientists are just fools with iron tits and all that mathematical mumbo jumbo, its just formulae that's forming lies, you can't save the planet with Alge's Bra... Actually you probably could use it as a safety net when jumping from a burning building... Death is a way out, its an actual exit door for some, but with no fire escape... Prepare yourself for the worst, but expect the best, sometimes you need torrents of wisdom to pull you through another day... If you feel miserable, think, "its not my day" and then go to sleep for the rest of the day... Why make yourself deliberately suffer more misfortune on your "unlucky day", you would be better evading all the booby traps that have specifically been positioned to trip you up... If you go to bed, the guy who planned to run you down in his car will think "DAMN IT! He got away!" and the woman who was going to call you an arsehole, can't do so, because you are safe and sound, dreaming away in your comfortable comfortable bed...

I feel so tired see, but your hatred only serves to inspire me, it makes my temper go fiery and I have to put it all down in my Newgrounds Diary... I share diarrhoea, so while you're here, wipe my arse with the jungle leaves... This is a bittersweet symphony that's not phoney, its like trying to write while balancing an hot water bottle on the back of your neck for no good reason... I think now is the time for us to breakdance at a breakneck speed and plant the seeds of doubt in your mind as you question everything and everyone, you become paranoid, everybody is out to get you... Even the tribes on remote islands that don't even know you or have any possible means of crossing the oceans... But they can have a damn good try... Muahhhaha... Trying is the first step towards failure, failing is the first step towards trying, but that would be a tragedy.... I feel like hallucinating and wondering outside at 3.00am so that I can jump over fences like hurdles and end up with broken Kurt Ankles facing an acute angle... Nothing cute about pain and injury, unless you love blood... In which case, feel free to spunk away at the extent of these injuries....

Dedications are a regular occurence, like checking testicles for lumps every day... But what if you are wearing a pair of steel-plated underpants? Then it becums an impossible task, like selling beans on Ebay... Who wants to have that day job? Or night, depends on your shifts... But we need to shift up a couple of gears now as I introduce the latest member to our family, his name is Stickman91... He sticks it to the man, he's a rebel, but with a cause... A bloody good cause, he just won humanitarian awards that he has placed on the shelves of his millionaire mansion.... Man I'm tired and falling apart at the seams, it seems, my dreams have been crushed by a fat bitch that sat down in the wrong place at the wrong time, during dental periodontitis treatment, it was agony beneath the saggony of her flapping flailing breasts that are not in the best condition.... So we signed a petition to have that particular woman removed from the practition... Willingly...... By force... Nah! I'm lying, we had to tie her to a pole cannibal style and carry her out, and then she got wedged in the door space, which had us there for hours with hammers and chisels.... Banging away like the Bangers we were, listening to The Bangles in the background... Dog tags swinging away, and the fat woman was just laughing as we tried to free her, free her from herself, mentally and quite possibly spiritually....

2009 has been a tiring year, an exhausting array of days in fact, but we all have our ups and downs, dark days, light days, happy days, sad days, but as long as we maintain our enthusiasm through thick and thin, it will gloss over any unhappiness... My back is sore, there are no stable chairs in this house, so I am here in a deckchair [better than a wheelchair] wondering how I can write so little and say so much... Or was that the other way around? I can never tell, I would never sell... Beans on Ebay or chewed beans on Ebare... 09' has truly been tiring, frankly a new year will do us all the world of good, we will derive energy and strength from the change in fortunes... Unfortunate people may become fortunate, fortunate people may become less fortunate, I just hope everything and everyone thrives and that the planet has enough to look after its 7 billion inhabitants... We are all in this together, and this Boat, called 'Together', is not big enough to hold all of us, while we sail through the universe......

HOME SWEET HOME

This blog is filled with tasty goodness, plenty of filling about dentists, no fucking pun intended, okay, I lie big time, every pun is intended, designed to be intensive with no pretense.. I have no need to get sentimentally defensive, or put up barriers and fences, everything I say I meant it, whether its written literally or in various tenses... Subliminal Mensa, I sense my sensai, I'm friends with these guys that like to wank to hentai, no need to sever ties and tendons... We're all flawed, humanity is one big ball of dysfunction that functions, no need to turn at that junction, let's hit that fire hydrant instead... The planet houses - houses of people drousy from their drug addictions, folks with self-asphyxiation habits, even our world leaders go home and masturbate every night... Stand in the mirror with no clothes on flexing, saying to their wives, "look at my pecs bitch!"... The Earth is home to the rich and poor, they can afford to make that bitch or whore wash that kitchen floor, without the need for kitsch...

Sitting alone like a loner, how can I build Rome when I'm flicking on my boner... The omens look bleak for me to score a fucking home run, because my energy's depleted, I'm a fatigued man defeated, repeatedly beaten with my face down in faeces and its shouting, "do you want a piece of me!"... Those blasted turds, my arse just burns from eating all those curries and I've washed them down with a few mcflurries... Its not funny, its made my shit so runny, and now I feel a sting in my tummy... Maybe that's just the peptic ulcer leaving its bloody mess all over my guts... I'm sat here with Semaphore looped, trying to think of cute metaphors, but when nothing springs to mind, I just play the strings of my emotional song collection and before you know it, the words are out flowing, I feel like I'm all-knowing, an omni-presence washes over me, and I watch the visitors form an orderly, queue to do what they do, which is to leave me a kind comment or two.... And if I'm fortunate I get three, the simplicity is worth more than any degree, we share a bond, its a contagious disease that spookily puts me at ease...

ENCORE

17 years ago, a bearded weirdo emerged from a rosebush with thorns... turns out he'd been born there and had lived on nothing more than pickled onion thin jims and beefburget nugget crisps. He didn't know any English whatsoever... but was well educated in Italian, German, French, Spanish and Dutch. How? you may ask... well the answer is simple. You see..........

CUTTTT!!!! Don't tell them... we made this three hour film, but if we want to be truly different and inspirational we should just not explain how this ancient guy managed to live in a rosebush for 36 years and be fluent in some many languages... we will just cut straight to the credits without explaining anything... and then here's the clever bit... we make a sequel film lasting 35 seconds and people have to pay £6.50 to get in and see it... its just 35 seconds, and it still doesn't give any answers, then we roll up the credits again... wait for folks to break the screen and complain... then we write a trilogy called The Man In The Rosebush That Somehow Learned Languages Somehow Somehow...

But then the folks broke the cinema screen and found a secret passage leading to The Behind.... a mysterious location where an old waster called FRED does all the cinematography and shit... but when folks try climbing in, they are sucked into a vacuum cleaner and meet a psychopath called Warren Cornea who likes to make cold calls and withhold his number or send Capital One letters endlessly... The man in the rosebush is not really alive, he is technically a shyster doing IRS work in the middle of Los Angeles.... he likes to breakdance at midnight to classical music on his own and talk to himself and suffer hissy fits and shit... He likes to visit the ATM machines in the middle of somewhere, and deliberately use the £1.50 charge ATMs... he is a loony and likes to watch repeats of Minder and The Sweeney and his best friend is The man in the rosebush who doesn't exist... he is a talkaholic and I guess a servant of many blokes who will to visit a pub after doing various greenhouse and lighthouse shifts... then they all get on a ship and go for a boat ride to Sausage Cassidy... a fictional town set in the deserts of Texas and they drink many a whiskey chaser there and get lasso'd by drunken beardie weirdos.... This is all happening in the cinema screen by the way.. by a mastermind named FRED who is an enigma and likes to write horror stories and laugh at them...

The man in the rosebush didn't like the limelight, he used to plug in vimto cassette tapes into the thorns and dance along in the midnight sun... while getting attacked by midges and moths... he remained in the rosebush without anyone seeing him for 36 fuckin years can you believe that?!?! He's a stealthy fucker... I wish he had camadarie whatever that is...

Sickening shit was happening in the town like petals were going missing and farmers animals were being slaughtered... what the fuck was going on? How would I know.