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Entry #362

Ad Infinitum

6/19/13 by nietzlawe

AD INFINITUM

Bah Humbug, you bum slugs like an animalistic cum slut, all during your stay on Shutter Island, in a psychiatric facility trying on your mother's eyeliner. You live in a bubble of delusion, you dabble with Gillette Fusion razor blades and use them to cut wikkle patterns in your wrists during foolish confusion.

Oh Mayaaan. These blogs really are forever. An eternal curse, an unrehearsed version of hell. Ad Infinitummy ache, a permanent permit to a hermit's paradise. You're feeling weak, paralysed, perhaps you don't even realise the difference between a dream and real life. Do you have any idea what I feel like inside? You don't realise I'm fully realised when I'm relapsing, releasing slapstick, it's fucking relaxing in real life. Every sinew active, each line reflective, reflecting, deflecting shells, the inflection is infectious. The greatest pandemic is being self-academical. Step on the Merry-go-Round and never step off. Never go down, forever so proud to be who you are. However you are.

New Wave R-tistic, an optimal optimist-no-time to piss around. The pact is signed - de facto. Do you got the X Facto? I don't have the exact credentials you judges seek, and judge week-by-week. I'm a free spirit, and a freak with it. You can't tweak my empirical nature. It's too late to reverse at this point, I've already disappointed you with these disjointed perceptions and opinions. These thoughts are Ad Infinitum, anecdotes I don't even finish them. Go to dreamland with the sound of Anchor State Part 3 to help me with the blank slates during writers block. The music calms my brain and something inside my head unlocks, and all of a sudden, I'm shocked at how many thoughts I've overstocked.

Discharge, I'm Overclocked. Overcooked... Overrated, Overlooked. An invisible Anthology of miseries. Dormant Doormat stepped on in order to get to the Audio, Game and Movie Portals. A porthole with an eye patch. This mere mortal can offer nothing but a mere chuckle or a chortle. But even still, these words remain Ad Infinitum, detox; a deep box that needs locking and throwing to the bottom of the deep blue sea. To stop you from seeing me at my lowest ebb. Ashamed of such a mentally battered frame, but the show goes on all the same. By the end, a withered soul. I'd rather lie by the side of a lithe soul diva. On a divan, relaxing all cool, shooting my spunk load outside of her jewel. I saw a couple of guys who were up to no good, they started pressing fingers on her clit hood. I got in one little fight and the girl got scared, she said, 'you're going to eat my pussy and Get no Air.' I whistled for a cab... Nah I didn't. I just stayed schtum. Didn't say a word, never whistled, just lay there until I woke up from the dream.

Is this blog still going? If you have read this far, well done. Have a lollipop. Or a lmaoipop. Laughs are a rare occurrence like hanging out with the World's Strictest Parents. Fucking killjoys, I'll kill Joyce for being a bad Mother and not letting go and bringing a little fun into the lives of her family. Television is boring me, The Cleveland Show is the biggest pile of dung since Carl Jung took a dump on my doorstep. Not true, he died before my time. There are no great thinkers these days except Karl Pilkington. Mr Dilkington himself. Valued customer my arse, more like a generic template letter written up by some stupid office lackey who lacks key skills and cannot unlock doors. I smell an Escape Room ' esque scenario. Okay, open the drawer, right... found the wire cutters! Ooh, now I have to solve some kind of complicated clock puzzle to open it's sliding door! Now then, I have to connect up some electric wires to the right circuits in order to create power to give me my next item! And voila, I have the key that opens my apartment door!

All that fucking trouble just to find my key. Next time I'm going to get a spare one cut and keep it in my wallet. Also, what if you live in a bungalow? Why can't you just climb out of the window? Oh, it's covered with nailed wood is it? How fucking convenient! Who the hell came into my apartment and took the time to nail wood over the window? As well as hide a bunch of illogical items all around the room? Only someone like Jigsaw the serial killer would be so sadistic. Want to play a little game? Yeah I do, it's called stay the fuck out of my house Tobin Bell, with your random and unpredictable nature. You're more unexpected that the game Tetris being made in the Soviet Union. Never saw that one coming, and neither did he when I fired the harpoon into his forehead, and he died in cartoonish fashion. Animated clothing. The man who created Tetris was Alexey Pajitnov, which was the kind of name that Microsoft Word would put red lines under if you attempted to type it out. 'Alexey-what-the-who-the-fuck?!?!'

Da-dum-dum-dum-da-da-dum... Sorry got carried away there humming out the Tetris theme tune. Not literally carried away, unless I was seized by the KGB and put into a cage as a (GB) PoW. Prisoner of Wa... it a minute, I didn't do it! I'm innocent I tells ya! In fact I'm in the middle of a sentence right now. In a sense, tense. Anxious, stressed to the eyeballs, dressed to the nines carrying eight cans of 7UP at 6 o'clock for 5 hours, 4 minutes and 3 seconds 2 a place where 1 man was waiting to buy the drinks from me. I had become everything I'd ever hated, a Soft Drink Mule. Delivering Guava Rubicon across the Rubicon. Creating some kind of paradox which made my head explode into green goo. Then I had to fight in the battle of Goose Green and do mean and harsh things to blameless Argentineans. War is never ending, like Ad Infinitum. Continuous like the words in this news post where readers are committing suicide in droves by using that noose post, situated right over there, by the side of the two Thai Hens that tie the ends of the rope.

Suicide is the cowards way out. Face your fears and demons, drink a sea monster's semen in Yemen, then shout 'yea man! I did it!' You shouldn't be proud of eating delicacies like slug antennas and World War I rations. In fact it was rather irrational to eat the 1910s passion fruit. Foodstuffs, this food's tough, stupid bastard ration. My fucking chocolate has turned white! It can happen. "Nietz, that WAS white chocolate to begin with." Oh. It must have been terrible to be alive during the two World Wars. Fighting against a short brown-haired man who wanted to create a blonde-hair blue-eyed race of identical freaks. Variety is the spice of life, fat, thin, tall, small, blonde, brunette, green, brown, blue, black, white, American, European, Asian. A world of blue-eyed blondes would be so boring. I'd rather live next door to the bubbly obese woman and a brown-haired bearded freak. Different flavours is what makes the world enjoyable. We don't desire a one-world Government and a one-way system of doing things. Variety breeds creativity.

What the fuck happened? The last thing I remember was talking about Shutter Island. Man I've just lost years of my life and I want it back. I feel like Harold Bishop when he got amnesia. Amnietzsia.

Frigg Mountain.
Awww.Revoir.org/ladies and gentlemen...
Ditzy blondes but sexy ditzy blondes... Happy Endings.


Comments

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Faster and faster, faster-faster-faster!

I'm obnoxious. Respectlessly stubborn.

7/16/13 nietzlawe responds:

All this hard work and danger, and the Lost Piece of Cake was at the bottom of our rucksack beneath the rations.

You know what they say, 'it's always in the last place you look.' And it's true. It's just a shame that we're both hospitalised now from the trauma of our ordeal.

Those North Korean women were pretty lethal with those bamboo shoots...

Never again, will we agree to become judges on North Korea's Got Talent.


Cake?
Cake, cake, cake, cake. cake-cake-cake-cake. cakecakecakecake!

7/15/13 nietzlawe responds:

Nobody said that this challenge to find The Lost Piece of Cake would be a cakewalk.

Sigh.. Pack your bags Dr. Chandel, it looks like we've got another expedition - Immediately Upcoming. This one might be our toughest adventure yet.

We will be passing through inhospitable territories, uncharted forests, uncrossable rivers, impassable mountains. But before we worry about any of that..

Just how the fuck do we get past the one-way system! The traffic on these roads is fucking terrible. I never thought it'd be so difficult to get out of Maine. Too many Main Roads.


Let there be peace.

7/14/13 nietzlawe responds:

Let there be pieces of cake left at our party for us to eat. If there isn't, we're eating scraps Eric. Scraps for fuck sake man!

I don't want to eat scraps, you can't make me.

You'll never take me alive.


SinitechSinitech

7/12/13

I'm now listening to the Tetris theme.

You need to work on your da-dum-dum skills.

7/12/13 nietzlawe responds:

It was a bit of a risk humming out the Tetris tune when writing this blog.

No, in fact, it was a Tetrisk.


Welcome to the land of the BEES!!!

7/12/13 nietzlawe responds:

A place where a man can, and will get stung. Bees are cool? Not in this heat they are not. I watched them collecting pollen, visiting each flower in turn, then going back to their lair where they had plans to build a giant Pollen Bomb.

A bomb big enough and strong enough to destroy a whole!!...!!...!!

Bees nest.

Oh.


What would you do if you saw a sign that said, "Do not read"

There's no winning in this world.

7/5/13 nietzlawe responds:

I'd I'd I'd...

Too late I've already read it.


Don't do the daring delight.

7/4/13 nietzlawe responds:

There are no guarantees, just as there are no guarantees I wont spell garantee without a U. Silent U, it's not required, like the services of unrequited love, like that button that says Do Not Touch. You touch it don't you? because it says you shouldn't. The sign should read Do Touch, then people would say I had better not touch that button, or bad things will happen. Terrible atrocious things. Things you don't want to see.

Dare you press the button which opens the gateway to the Daring Delight.

Y / N ?


I've been drinking lime aide and shellac.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Y4f_zuGs3A

If I'm a time traveler that makes you a laserhawk.

6/27/13 nietzlawe responds:

A laserhawk with a lazy-cut mohican. A beacon filled with hopeless rhyme and reason. I live my life like Eric, and time travel through the seasons.


My child was born in the future, a future I'll never know. A future that's in the past, the past that I've remembered to forget. Dig deeper my friend, your so close to discovering the mystery.

6/27/13 nietzlawe responds:

I feel close, but then this bottle of brandy keeps me sat at my desk, pondering, fighting depression. In fact, I have no idea why they put me on the case in the first place, I'm not cut out to solve all these paradoxal time travelling mysteries. I only got the job because I lied on my resume.

Literally lying on my resume, this brandy is stronger than I thought. It won a weightlifting contest. BAHHH got ya!!!

Okay.. so your child was born in the future, a future that you'll never know... Which means that the child can't belong to you... But wait, you said the future was in the past? Now if the future is in the past, that means the child could belong to you... But you didn't want to remember the pas...... Wait a minute, have you been drinking too?!?!?!


VicariousEVicariousE

6/20/13

Didn't get any real world lollies, but this post certainly hit a few chords, that were played recently. I won't specify which ones, for fear of further word fiddlings.

6/22/13 (Updated 6/29/13) nietzlawe responds:

There is nothing to fear, but fear itself.

There is nothing to fear, but a 'FEAR HITS SELF' newspaper headline.

Fear hits self? Stop hitting yourself fear! Stop hitting yourself!!