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Entry #359

Exsibilation

6/16/13 by nietzlawe
Updated 6/16/13

EXSIBILATION

Grab a pen, perhaps then you'll be capable of laying these thoughts down. Ratchet up the tension, again. We have already done it once, there is no requirement for duplication. Neither should we dupe the audience into believing that the Host has a weapon down his trousers. A Lethal Weapon tucked into his Levis. Ready to say hello to my little friends. Dwarves. This is literal Dwarfare. A battle against adversity much like the struggle against illegal workfare. It aint fair if you walk far, you should just pay the train fare. I'd rather give all my hard-earned pennies to a trained man who sells WAREZ to the pool player Efren Reyes who was a legend back in the day. Damn, the woman on Embarassing Bodies has got her norks out and leaking pus from a nipple. Her boob was literally filling the screen of the TV. Ba Bom, Ba Bom, wobble wobble, there she goes again, randomly walking down a street. But where to? We shall never know, only the cameraman knows the answer to that little Miss. Tree. Do you worry about spreading an illness? God no. I worry about other people spreading it to me. I was never vaccinated against anything, and haven't died of any vaccine-related illness... Yet. Until N...... Next week, when I will definitely still be alive. Hopefully. *Pukes up blood.*

Alive and well, able-bodied and minded, able to play paintball with words from this stable paddock that I need to keep padlocked to keep away the obsessed fans. Those obsessed fans keep spinning and it would be horrible if my shit decided to hit it. I don't mean hit it like talking about pussy. "I'd hit it!" Sure you would, and also get slapped across the head with a wet towel, while an owl watches you dig a grave hole with a small trowel. He was going to die anyway, he had bowel Lancer. See the double meaning? I don't mean to be maledicent, or accidentally slice off my ice testicles. Nice testicles made out of rice paper and black pepper. I'll walk around sweating while wearing slack leather. I want to tease my cock, but lack feathers. This hot summer night, you can smell the humidity of wide boobs. Surgery humiliates humans, its objectifying, dehumanising, its electrifying! Summer lovin' had me a blast, Summer lovin' happened so fast. Fast? It took an eternity to turn interns towards the city, to chase the white-collar dream because they like dollars. Its not as bad as Nike sweatshop scholarships. You even need a Night Key in order to unlock the doors of some of those exploitive sweatshops. At least its not sweet shops. Can I have two pounds worth of midget gems please.

Everything is politically correct these days, but these words are literally exempt from such standard practice. We dare venture from the Norm, no matter how many swarms of bees give warnings. Political correctness Gone Boring, with Al Gore and a Wild Boar Gored Him, the pain floored him, the medics couldn't do anything for him... Except pray. Don't clasp your hands together like that, your wasting time. Getting professional rescue is a No-Prayner. Al Gore wouldn't hang out with regular citizens, you would never see it, neither would any political leader, and yet those strangers you have never met are making decisions that affect you and me. Society needs to go back in time and learn how to govern itself. Go VERNE TROYER, he will toy with your emotions in the foyer of a Sayers bakery and force you to listen to the cover version of Pachelbel in D that I am still in the process of making. In the Lab - Laboratory, or was it Lavatory? Did I want to throw the Tory into Lava, who cares, that's another story, for another blog, dirty linen cannot be aired in publicking. We can't help it if we have taken a disliking to this Lion King, he is the ultimate King of Lying, flat on his back. He's dead you insensitive bastard and has been for several weeks. My Bad guys, I thought he was just resting his eyes.

Enough gibber gabber, time to move on with the show, even though there are no audience members left to throw rotten vegets across the table. Why attack me with tacks dude? Its tactless, you'll have more class if you act less rude. Education, pick up the Atlas, teach yourself from scratch while you scratch your head puzzled and troubled by your own lack of knowledge. So what if you didn't go to School or College, its better to forage through the foliage, hunting for scraps, sniffing for solids, any old shit to get by, just to survive in this hectic rollercoaster we call Life. In the end We. All. Die. Its inevitable. Don't fight against the tide, swim with it, enjoy the water slide, its the best damn ride you will ever lie on. Life is calm and beautiful its your duty to be dutiful and exhibit your human soul. Each to their own, but we all need to reach into that inner core and pull out a pip from the apple. And live happily ever after on iPhone Apps. There is nothing funny about the G8 or the NSA, or an 8 page essay on the letter N. That would be tough. So Neatch and Chong, what can you tell me about the letter N? Well random voice in my head, I could tell you Nething about the letter N, Not Now though. I will tell you about when we sent out Letter N at Sea. What a shipwreck that was.

Talking of shipwrecks, my life has been a complete disaster movie, full of unfulfilled promises, yet fulfilled mistakes. Why is it so easy to fulfil shit things and so difficult to fulfil half empty glasses of water. So much Potential, its all about channeling positive energy in the right way, instead of distributing that energy in pointless endeavours. I don't want to be a devoured pint. It would be nice to cram everything good into the next 30 years, then die a sudden death, having some kind of panic attack where I can't catch my fucking breath [not even with a slugger glove]. "Dad throw me the ball!!" What the hell am I talking about? My Dad's been dead for 16 years. Who the hell can I play Baseball with now? WAHHH I WANT TO GO HOME!!!!!! "ET wanted to go home too, but he didn't cry, like a little fucking baby. Chin Up Nietz! Stiffen that upper lip... That's right, leave just enough room for me to get my cock through." -- "Ugh, oh God no! How did you get inside my house!" -- "The same way I got inside your mouth, you left the door open." -- "ARRRRGGHHHHH!" Wakes up sweating. "Phew, it was all just a dream." -- "HEY YOU PAY 50 BAHTS!" Holy shit, I should never have come to this Thai Brothel. The Thai Sisthel would have been better, or the Sistine Chapel with chapped lips.

The thyme sponsored by brother will be, 9.59.. PM... and 5 seconds. Time is sponsored? Like State Sponsored Terrorism. SST. Who the hell are these Masterminds? And why weren't they ever on the questions quiz show Mastermind? Why was Lady Gaga Born This Way? And why not another way? Why did Bill Wyman buy his stationery at Ryman and when he got it home, it wouldn't move because it was stationary. Stationed at a listening post like Harry, monitoring wave transmissions on the North Sea. Better than measuring whale emissions I guess. I hate guessing, unless its guessing how long it'll take Jo Guest to undress, but I'm sure I have her blessing. But what if Jo was really Joe Guest in disguise? I guess that's what the undressing is necess... ary. In order to determine the gender and put an end to the speculation. Man this is all nonsense gibberish, fishy lips I'm walking around dancing in gymnasiums and sport stadiums in Palladium Boots. Walk through Kensington Gardens trampling geraniums, enriching uranus by wiping it clean after a diarrhoea accident. There was nothing accidental about that bowel movement. The great Bowel Movement of the 2010s, that shit uprised and initiated a movement and released their first album entitled 'Tender Faeces.' That album took off well, like a merry fart.

Eww, the woman on the T dot V has a bony grin, a massive chin, you could use it as a ski ramp. Her name is Pauline. Yeah.. Pauline the Tramp will lamp you square in the face if you hamper her movement in any way. On any given day, within a 50 second timeframe. If you survive this initial 50 second period, you may well escape with your life intact. You'll be considered one of the lucky ones. One of the few that weren't subjected to her methods of method acting while on methanol. The intoxication helped her to become something she was not. A different side of Pauline emerged that day and it was cause for concern, an emergency. There were so many witnesses on standby, doing nothing but standing by and landing eyes on the horror hanging right in front of them. This was real life and was actually happening. Pauline the Tramp had ramped up the pressure and tension, created a whole new dimension of apprehension. And then some. Apres [after] hension. Hens were integrated into the Priory of Sion?!?!?! What a scandal. Not since Chandel broke into my house and swung on my chandeliers like a cat burgular have I witnessed such an act of criminality. I don't know why Eric had broken in for, I had already given him one of my house keys, but you know Eric, he always likes to make an entrance...

Make an entrance look absolutely smashed apart!! When are you going to pay me for these damages Eric!! See you in Court!! Sorry, I mean see you on-court. There is only one way we can resolve this issue - thissue. That's right, with a 7-set game of tennis. How's ya backhand? I lost my hands in the great house fire. Although, it wasn't that great. The burns I suffered? I can no longer hold a fucking racquet, but I can make a racket with my voice by screaming out in pain. Scars like these never heal my friend. I may not possess a wicked backhand or a lethal forehand, but I sure do possess an... ineffectual nohand.

I forfeit the game Eric. You win this round. But I will be back... To lose even more. Damn.


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VicariousEVicariousE

6/16/13

All these paragraphs are like potato chips... hope you don't mind me eating a handful and floating away, maybe even hitting the same bag twice before it's replaced with a new bag, still fresh with CO2.

6/17/13 nietzlawe responds:

COChewy. A balloon made from potato chip bags. It's genius, we will have to use that idea in order to fly out of the gulag. With a couple of gu-slags in tow, with saggy glutes hanging from our goolies and look like female Blutos. Cute hoes with blue toe syndrome. They'll need to lose those, in order to get their feet in some new-bought sandals.

You gave me an idea for my next blog. A tidbit, a visualised snapshot that captured a thousand thoughts. A thousand coats of agonising Dulux pain.