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I hate everything and everyone... But in a loving and caring way. Sometimes I may stray towards the variant, but such a feat must be performed in order to make the world a more hilarious spectacle. For the lolz and lulz, as well as the llamas that need our help in producing more sputum to cover our faces with Two Litres of Lita's phlegm.
Why would anyone interfere or complain? I'm only playing a piano with my words. I don't like Dubstep, but love stepping in shit that's been dubbed over... Rubbed out like an orgasm, while more gas sprays out Ze Rectalpiece... Socially awkward is better than being antisocially awkward... I'd rather light fires using oak wood then walk through the woods and brood, but secretly I'm taking a shit... "You're talking shit Nietz!" My faeces is stickier than dog shit, after eating Gosht in the same mouthful, you have a mountain to climb in order to swallow that swallow that shat on your four foreheads... We can't go back to Upper Mountain, too many happy memories make me sad and tearful, plunging 8848 foot onto the Mick Jagged rocks below. We need more than Mountain Rescue, we require cleaners to find all the guts and the rest of the innards that have scattered about, the brain matter is splattered on the paths and rocks. But it doesn't matter about finding that, it never existed in the first place.
That never happened. I'm a pathological liar. Lying is 99% of what I do... In my bed... But I could be lying about that. (in my head). What is my pathos? Am I just another cast-off? A fat rat man with Scopophilia? Am I in any way affiliated with scoping out affiliates in order to kick-start my business ventures? How can I succeed? The television is a distraction, especially when the program on the television is called Distraction. What's going to happen next? Find out next week, same bat-time, same bat-Chanel-perfume! Fuck off Nietz, its you that's bat-shit loopy. What with your cocky stride and loopholes that loop whole man-sized webs around the Earth and use the planet as a giant swing ball.
I'll tell you what you are Nietz? You're a nerd. "I'm not nerdy or geeky. I'm more a mixture of the two... Neeky... Nietzky." Needy achy loin juice. A spokesman for the masses, even though I'm dysfunctile. That's not even a word. I seek to be separated from the masses - disjunctive, destructive - verbally. Verbatim's ball ring. Jacking off with a gold finger during dinner. Would I get a woody sharing supper with Woody Allen and he has to suffer my bloody strange talent for ruining informal get togethers' and social gatherings. I prefer anti-social gaffes like ringing the doorbell and then running away, leaving a box of shit on the doorstep, while Dubstep music faintly plays in the background. Dub over STEPS music. Tragedy... Yeah it fucking was. Talking of steps, I'm only 1 step from blowing my damn head off... With a cooling fan. Its a hot summer here in Ze England, suspiciously hot. I see HAARP have been firing their giant HAARPOONS into the clouds again to disperse them... Now I'm lumbered with loons that act like the Griswolds in National Lampoon.
I'd rather walk into a saloon playing hardcore rock music and stick it to the man. "Stick what to the man?" -- "The KICK ME sticker." Kick Me stickers are not as annoying as Sticky Keys that come on while holding down SHIFT. Bleeping. I don't want to turn Sticky Keys on... In fact that's probably why they are sticky in the first place... Too much jizz on the ol' keyboard mate! I don't know why an Australian accent worked well for that line. What's your name? "Neville faaackin' Bartos mate."
A small piece of chocolate just fell into my belly button. Or Rabbit Hole as one prefers to call it. Half a finger tip deep. Springy like Lyons sponge cake. Shall we delve, dive, deep inside the mind. Too self absorbed in absent mindedness, hair follicles dying by the way, but he wouldn't want it any other way. Now he's dead, listening to 10 hours of white noise, he takes solace in the kind of sounds that would annoy others. Tuned in spiritually to the short-wave receiver. Receiving Hairline Fractures. Frottage cheese, from an age long forgot, for ten years. Time, mind boggling, but I find mine the most odd Modus Operandi, an Opus of modern fancy. An author of frantic tension. Haute, but unconventional mannerisms to grab your attention. Make you attentive, any incentive to stop you from becoming disinterested in a string of words that have you emotionally invested. Perhaps you're not interested, in this grotty vest that doesn't fit your big chest. But the less said about that, the sooner we can get back to playing Chess, even though I don't know the rules. Let's play The Game of Life or Monopolyamorous relationships, or get higher than the Nose Dive from the moon. The sooner we all wear leather sweaters in 30 degree weather, the better. Perish from heat exhaustion, like now... I'm slip sliding like those people who needed air in Total Recall. "Give these people air Cohagen!" Who cares about air? All I care about are the vibrating sounds on the Delta wavelength. Man, is it true that a scarecrow only scares crows? Who knows? Uno. Undo buttons. Stand on a plug, pluck out your chest hairs. Suck Eva Longoria's boobs for lengthy periods of time. Read Fangoria until it starts boring ya.
But I still keep on creeping through the tunnel of depravity, masturbating over the peep-toe shoes, while she deep throats fruit. Talk about knowing how to give me that ego boost, like a warrior walking around in these old boots. Old? That's probably wear and tear from the sun's heat. Scorched rubber like melted cheese topping on a thin-crust pizza... I love pizza, but not frozen pizza because I don't like picking off frozen pieces of Pepperoni before bunging that Frisbee in the oven... Where it usually ends up fucking burnt! On second thoughts I hate pizzas! Get out of my house!!!!!!
Dammit, I hate feuding with food. I hate beefing with - beef. Pork chops need a slap across the chops.