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HOPE AND MIND.. DEAD
Warehouse clearance, everything must go! They had that yesterday, and the day before.. and the day before... 365 days a year in fact... So they are selling their shite 365 days a year.. I have better things to do with my time than buy shoddy goods, like maek typso... And rape rhinos while apes watch hypo, and this mob take pictures from the side of the road... Better than being side of the burn... ing wreckage. It makes me uncomfortable like nervous wreckage... I'm quite tired right now, writing through blocked eyelids. Can't see a thing, except the colour black, some may say I lack vision... But being blind didn't disrupt my precision... I'm still a skilled surgeon performing the most fucked up incisions you've ever read... Use these horrific excerpts as your bedtime story... "I can't sleep!" - Fuck off, whinging and whining about it wont help, close your eyes and shut the MacFook up. Also shut the macbook up, you've been spending too much time on that... You're getting distracted, getting dissed by this attractive girl, she's pissed about your proactive attitude... She's complaining at the time I spend on my macbook, but what about her?! She's just a fat fuck.. wont stop eating to save her life. Wont stop eating to save the wear and tear in her kitchen knife... Sad lives, both of us, we're too of a kind, kindhearted but just wind each other up, till its like "don't get me started!"... We're both too smart to embark on this relationship, none of us have the time for any of this patient shit... I joke man I joke, just to provoke a coke addict to stop and become a dictionary addict... I don't want a single person feeling pain, there isn't any reason to stick those needles in veins... If I want to pretend I'm high I just play on Weebl games. Or watch Magical Trevor sever a tendon, and they have to send for an ambulance... Magical Trevor, some of the things he does, are really not clever. Like tickling his nuts with the tip of a feather. Nah, he's a good lad is our Trev, we always go to the bar and have a couple of pints, see who can drink them down the fastest and not faint... Then we break into repetitively catchy song and dance, and the loop just goes on and on and on, but none of us want it to come to an end. We want to live to be 115 years old like Jiroemon Kimura, who nowadays seems to spend all his time in bed. YOU LAZY BUGGER GET UP! C'MON MAN, WE'VE GOT A FUN RUN TO DO!" I'd hate to be 115 years old, I wonder if people flatter him in speeches by saying, "and a big round of applause for Jiroemon, who today turned 115 years... young!" -- "Would you like to come on stage Jiroemon and say a few words?" -- "Jiroemon? Jiroemon? Right, call a doctor he's passed out again." I don't want to live to be really old and be unable to write these blogs, every word would be a slog, and I wouldn't have the foggiest idea what I was saying... A bit like nowadays really. Aging is horrible, I wish there was a setting to just turn it off... Not sexually of course, that happens automatically... Dramatically like reading the Encyclopedia Dramatica on the edge of a Tibetan mountain... Sweating just climbing up the thousand steps, just to realise that the temples were closed for the New Yearrrgh. What is so agonising about the New Year you ask? 2013 for one, a horrible number which doesn't appease people with OCD. But people with OCD need to calm down and live their lives surrounded by untidy atmospheres... Or visit kitchens where all the food labels are facing completely in random directions... The only OCD I've got is an Outkast CD, Aquemini is a gem of an album. Not just because I'm a social outcast who has been cast out of society like some shamed shaolin monk. I'd rather watch the tv series Monk and spray spunk while praying to a fake God... Then sneak into Crete with a fake ID and secretly secrete secretions... in public! I'd rather worm my way into people's affections, while my worm itself catches infections from the vast quantities of sexual... daydreams. Don't knock dreams, down... I remember when I sleepwalked into Noun Town and stole an owl statue. Exercising my statutory rights and exercising my legs too... As did the museum alarm which played the Benny Hill theme tune.
I never did get away from this beat I'm making, that's so fucking catchy even my feet are aching... Every waking moment I'm an occupied piper, in the lab, trying to grab every minute I can, like its my last... Reignited an old flame. Its bin' a while since I made a tune, which quashes the retirement rumours. Old flame, a fire that I've kept lit for 5000 years and watched over it, kept it lit by throwing on Kindle... An Amazon Kindle. Fuck! That was a mistake, get it off quick! Wouuf! Wouuf! That's me attempting to blow the fire off the kindle like a human windmill, not an attempt at a dog impression. Now is not the time to make an impression, I've got to save this Kindle before it becomes charcoal, and the only thing I could read it on then would be ash and burnt plastic. Kindle Fire is an inappropriate name right now, I'm so sad... not because of the grieving process I'm going through... I just mean in general I'm a sad bastard, a bad sastard, with nothing better to do than pet a wild animal while I feel mild and amicable. This isn't scary, this isn't the Amityville Horror. I don't emit vile signals, even though I write sick stuff like kicking pigs in the balls, you can picture them all rolling on the floor, but not with laughter. Nothing funny about a kick in the bollocks... Except for the bystanders, who stood by and watched while letting that little episode of animal abuse take place... That's my stance on By Standers. I'll cut their heads off like Highlander, involved in a bigger scuffle than a fight with cancer. In hospital awaiting test results, frightened of the answer. The best way to overcome anything in life is to fight fire with fire, which usually ends in a draw and you have to pick water to win the game, pick paper however and you are fucked like a hockey puck that you have just struck into a stocky fucker's lips and they've puckered up, his name is John Tucker and this is how he must die. Romeo must die too, dye Juliet's hair. All these films and their hidden innuendo, I'd rather watch River Monsters with a monster sat beside me and beside himself with worry because he's run out of money... Maybe he just needs the new Apple iChing, or a packet of itching powder, now he's bitching because he's broke, complaining about the things I wrote about him. But I don't care, which only incurs his wrath even more until he's on the warpath, a footpath designed specifically for battle. It shouldn't be, but that's how the cookie has crumbled and broke into a thousand pieces and fed the five thousand hungry Hungarians who deserve to eat food. Talking of food, its time for me to have food.