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