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CALM BEFORE, DURING AND AFTER THE STORM
Can you smell the Wharf Air in the sky? Or the taste of horsemeat in Quorn products? Can you sense the austerity? Can you see the cease of humanity to disease? Foreboding? Four gross misconduct cases all to solve in one day, how the fuck can I resolve them? With solvent? With Sol and Ventigar? Which would be kind of sinister, like a binrother. I swear I've never felt so vivid, so alive; so full of motivation and drive. With so much renewed vigour to live life to the fullest. It's all clicked into gear. Overdrive. Speeding fine, stabbed in the eye, shit, its all back to square one. My life is just a game of snakes and ladders, which in my opinion is just bad ass. Rancid meat, this isn't fit for purpose, its laced with blonde pubes and turpentine. Contaminatedogged. This food is soggy, not even my dog would attempt to chew up this bubblegum, but would gobble down rum goggle-eyed. I'm trapped in this rotten-arsed slum dreaming up doggerels. Godderels, Mongrels and Ministers that choke on chocolate Minstrels and its no laughing matter getting fatter and fatter.
Its weird how Nietz has become re-inspired, despite being surrounded by tired, clichéd and dire bullshit. Dull shit, I'm like Clifford Shull digging for answers and meaning in a meaningless world. I'm a Taurus in a field full of bull's shit. I want to be a tourist instead of sitting with a sore wrist, alone and morbid. Heaven forbid that I die before I'm forty. Wake up call, break bread and read books, fuck I'm hooked, on being a typecast that writes too fast that my ass doesn't even stop to read through the trivialities of Tied up Po's. Those hoes are not my type, but they are ripe for the picking. My ears are hurting from these Sony headphones. Hurting like John Hurt and blood is squirting all over this nice clean skirt... ing board. Now I'm bored because I've nailed my foot to the sword that once hung above my bed like Damocles. Damn you Cleese! Why did you have to be so funny and create funny Ponty Mython sketches while dressed in Skechers clothing?? Buying the Etch A Sketch stretched my finances more than the Lance Armstrong doll that I definitely did not purchase... Neither did it exist, like an exorcist that had cystic fibrosis... Fibs and lies, ties and tendons, my mental process is defenceless to the censors that have more money and power and bleep out words with beeps and tippex. Censorship just tips me over the edge, of the Censor Ship, it was Captain Criminal, he made me walk the plank like some kind of prank then pushed me into that fish tank... Man my life on the Censor Ship was difficult man, the navel battles I had against voluptuous belly dancers... Exotic I can tell you. Must have been down to the narcotics that we were shoving into our bodies... Captain Criminal was the ringleader in this whole circus, he started Bare knuckle Boxing Matches on the deck for no reason at all... And he made us use Bear Knuckles. Blood sprayed everywhere, gave the deck hands a red shower... Times were tough on that damn ship, the man had a damn whip. He wasn't afraid to use it... In fact he was petrified to use it. Whatcha doin' workin' on a ship old man? If you ain't got the stones to get yo' hands dirty.
Times have changed man, rusty coins no longer taste of thyme, or people's hand sweat... What is happening to the world? Who cares about Norman Parkinson? Who sympathises with the poor man's narky son? When he sparked a row after being unable to get all the millions of different species onto Noah's Ark. He can't take the flak. Noah's Ark was fucking tiny, there wasn't even any room for the giraffe's slippers... There wasn't even space for my Jaffa Cakes or Chocolate Digestives, which I found hard to digest...... Because my tract was fucked up. Even my trachea wouldn't swallow food, I quickly developed C major chord depression and fell into a deep trance, refusing to talk to anyone, punching visitors, even Mary Poppins turned up and had a go at getting me out of my stupor. It didn't work, I snapped her umbrella in two and kicked her out of the house, then put on some drone music by Maeror Tri and tried to overcome my unfathomable unhappiness using the therapy of music... Much to my surprise, it worked a treat, suddenly I felt ten times better... Ten times better than a BETA version of a broken product... I felt like Frankenstein being rebuilt, Benjamin Franklinstein. Frankly, Ben didn't give a damn whether his donuts had jam inside them... Because he didn't eat donuts, they said DO NUT TOUCH... So he touched his testicles instead to scratch a pubic lice itch that was a real bitch to scratch like sour dough... So its dour, so what? So wut? said the slangist who liked to shorten words considerably in order to send text messages quicker... C U @ 8! Fuck using text speak, use the Oxford Dictionary you lazy bastard! I'm not mad guys, I'm feeling calm, knowing Karma is just around the corner, spying, playing a Universal Prank on me again, the wanker... I'm a lonely boy like Paul Anka, so to pass time I've got to spank the - monkey... or steal the Monk's key break in and spank the Monk's fish. I'd rather listen to Magical Trevor twelve times and wear leather gear and sever the other ear of Evander Holyfield, then bury it in a field with cauliflower... Take a breath readers, we have barely even scratched the surface yet... of this coffin... bastards have buried me alive... Shit, the only way out now is by using superhuman feats of strength like strong feet. Buried alive while LIVE on TV... What a sadistic audience, how could they sink so low... like a dwarf doing the washing up...
Don't worry about me, I'll be fine... I-I-I'll... H-F-FFFFF.... D-D-Doctor!!! Can't fucking breathe!! Soon I'll be deceased!! Then bereaved!! I wont be believed!!
Then I'll be brainwashed into becoming a Belieber like Anne Frank... NOOOOOO!!!!!!