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Entry #336

Short and Sweet

12/8/12 by nietzlawe

SHORT AND SWEET

I feel like penning a blog, but without the actual usage of a pen... Pens are for wimps who eat Wimpy burgers and wear crampons while scaling up Daddy Mountain... Dad D. Mountain, perished when he fell off the precipice because he was pissed and urinating off the edge of the Keith Ledger... Sentries were dotted about the place offering sundries like pepper spray to squirt into this cunt's eyes... Arghhh now eye can't see, and that's how I starred in the film Saving Pirate Ryan... Harrr. Me Hearties... Sat there eating Racy Pies wearing Lacy ties and trying to seduce me like Stacey who lately has tried to place me between her amazing thighs... I'm seduced and juiced like shoes treading through ten foot of rain... I'm not lying when I say I'm lying here with a bottle of Jeremiah Springfield Weed. Guzzle Guzzle getting sentimental, open-minded, thoughts come thick and fast like sucking my dick in a high speed plane crash... The plane crash was anything but plain... Drinking this bottle of root beer got my creative juices flowing, it enabled me to get to the roots of my psychological problems, the trauma, the scars, the misery, the unbearable and the... laughter! Always with the laughter, well I have ta' as nobody else will give me a prescripsandbloodstion of pills to cure my ills. I'm not ill, other people are ill, their illnesses spread and made me ill, I'm just a victim of my environment. Maybe I have bipolar like Lord Byronment. Or suffer from manic depression because the game Manic Miner looks so shit graphically these days, but that's only a minor gripe... I'm losing my grip on life, I'm fading like Fagan, blind like I've been sprayed in the face with some chemical agent. I'm an impatient bunny, Cunny on thehun.com used to make my cum runny, don't laugh its not funny, some of it landed on the middle of my tummy... Life used to get me down, now it gets me up like an alarm clock, attacking me like a woman in an orgy surrounded by a swarm of cocks... My life is on the Rocks, but I plugged the leak before I could sink, now when I think I pen it in ink, or binary ones and zeros. Couldn't imagine Charles Dickens wrote his masterpieces in binary, but he would if computers had existed... He was too busy with his dick in Catherine. I want to become a Workhorse and knock out a blog or two even on my death bed, even if its just a few words -- ""Argghh more morphine please!!" Wiser words were never spoken.. while drugged up. In fact I don't want more morphine, I just want more phine, but hope that people don't bring in Josephine Cox novels for me to read as I will get bored... Then when I'm getting better instead of dying, I can write -- "I'm feeling phine." Then I'll suffer a setback and they'll rush me to the intensive care unit, next to the inelevensive care unit. I don't care which care they put me in, as long as the care I actually receive is good. But in Queens Park Hospital, the odds of survival don't look good, I'm not looking as I should and my body is losing blood. Rapidly like a Rapidgator account that snapped at me for not getting a premium account. The teeth marks left me bleeding heavily and fighting for my life. I thought it was unfair to make me fight for my life while I was dying, putting me into a boxing ring only caused me to lose more blood. I was eventually hooked up to a life support machine, I'd have felt better being hooked to a wazzsupport machine. Humour is the best cure, laugh, your cancer will then get pissed off and fade away. Or grow bigger and dominate your entire body like a horror film tree. Then it'll hit home that your body is just a collection of bacteria and atoms rather than one important being. But that doesn't worry me, neither will it hurry me into putting planks of wood across the door like a zombie outbreak. I'm going to remain a Workhorse before I become a remain. I'm going to demonstrate my prowess by taking my lowest ebb and stress, then turn it into poetry. Until the end of time, I'm gonna climb to the peak of this highest clock and chime, then twist all these words of mine into a ball of twine. I haven't even peaked, I've creeped into your bedroom and leaked my jizz on your sheets. Man this shit is vulgar like your face it twists when I feed you sulphur.


Comments

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Oh... I thought that was your Deckard Cain impression.

12/18/12 nietzlawe responds:

Impressions are not my forte, but my age will be in eleven years time.


Short statements are Nietzelawe's only weakness.

12/17/12 nietzlawe responds:

That and Sean Connery impressions.

Nyetsh Lauw.

Arghh, you got me started!!


Stickman91Stickman91

12/16/12

Untruthfully.

12/16/12 nietzlawe responds:

I have to break the curse of all these one-word comments ending in Y. If I don't break the curse, then the curse will break me, which will hurt and I will curse and cuss and eat couscous subconsciously until something untoward breaks my concentration level and I'm hurtled head-first back into the real world, where I have to rob banks and steal pearls just to make ends meet. But why should I make ends meet? They are not interested in having any kind of relationship.


Hypothetically.

12/11/12 nietzlawe responds:

Literally.


Jizz on my sheets? <3

12/9/12 nietzlawe responds:

Figuratively.


Wiser words..... never spoken....

12/9/12 nietzlawe responds:

Until today!