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SUFFER FOR YOUR ART
Buzzzzzz! Do you read me? Are you listening? Pick up your damn walkie,.. That's an order!
You say order, I say Hors D'oeuvre. Pimps say, whore's there! Its like a Knock Knock joke. Boo Hoo... Wah! don't mock my jokes, I have other rhymes and anecdotes, manic thoughts. Major depression. The majorly deeply rooted impression that I know about Major League Baseball. Hold up, face the wall, brace yourself for the backlash, use a moustache as a seesaw. What does he see? Awe-inspiring things, that you just know will inquire him to think, outside the box. Peak through the peep hole like its a keyhole and you'll see that the norm isn't the be all and end all of bell ends and peeholes. The greatest gratification isn't self-aggrandizing. I need sanitising if I end up damaged by writing a muse that isn't truthfully analysing these situations that we sometimes find ourselves tied in.
I feel lost without words. Words Case Scenario, you wake up souped, but no hands, mute, no glands, And you puke up from a punch in the gonads, by your own Dad! WHAT A TWISTTTTTT!!!!!! Who would think that your own Popa would rupture your testicles? That's not very mature Dad, you've burst the blood vessels. Varicocele, I say check your balls for lumps, but I reckon you're going too far when you're checking your pool balls and the cue ball, just in incase. No need to fear cancer, we sincerely have no answer to cure your abdominal cramp pain. Your doctor if like mine will just laugh it off and prescribe antibiotics. What sort of fucked up Skinz is that mans? You mean this is the end for me? I'm going to spend my last days being eaten by fungus? That's not fun Gus [the name of my doctor].
You said you would suffer for your art Nietz, how far are you willing to go? Before you write your Will using indigo ink. How far ahead will you think before you lose your head and you sink. I'd rather have my corpse wrapped in shrink wrap then rap in front of my shrink, then sink back six drinks that make me think that I'm losing the plot, but really I'm not, I just think back to all those great memories of when I would brain haemorrhage, piss on my best friends then share a beverage with all my worst enemies. For teh lulz, puhl trigghrz at full figured women and watch the bullets bounce straight back after rebounding off the D-Cup with a resounding BOIIINNGGGG! Very springy like Jerry jumping up and down on a new mattress with his new Mistress, eliciting a little stiffness.
Now we're heading inland, time to leave you entrapped like a fat man stuck in the entrance. Now we're heading inwards, straitjackets locked, restrained, this anything but plain and defect brain can't go against the grain without being attacked by a bunch of insane hens. Hensane. Its a new word, look it up, its just as legit as any other word they have put inside a book. Buck Rogers. What for? Speeding. That's unfair, the man's a legend. So was Ledge Zeppelin. I don't see what he is getting done for. You wouldn't pull that shit on a guy like Aynsley Dunbar. I'm impartial to Martians that know Martial Arts and want to probe Marshall's Arse. We have nothing to fear from Extraterrestrials with extratesticles. Its all those shitty extra channels on terrestrial television we should be worried about.
Me worried? Feeling hurried enough to scurry to a burrow crying for Mummy? Nah, c'mon folk, we've already survived 500 imaginary Raptures. So give yourself a rapturous round of applause for surviving an implausible disaster that everybody knows wont happen and is the cause of all this doom-mongering crap that captures your attention and imagination for half a second. Until somebody wakes you up, slaps ya, traps ya by wrapping you up, keeps your body as scrap and eats your gams and hamstrings with a glass of Schnapps. Wowzers! Painful, like Vic-E who had kid-knees made out of stone. New surgical ac-cess-ory, But like Donatella Versace probably said, "Oh my god you've-made-a-total-mess-of-me!" Botox, no lines, no signs you were even smiling. Its called Botox because you Bought a Toxic smile. Brought that foxy smile to the after party. But now your face looks like the afterbirth of an ass shitting out worms. Look on the bright side... because the other side is paralysed.
If you feel offended, tough. Animals die to feed us and clothe us without sympathy. What do you want soldier? A pat on the shoulder? Depths of despair indeed, you know nothing, yet know everything. Reading between the lines, not the words, don't worry its fine, more a sign that your vision is impaired. Your sight is scared to see the truth. Its time to purge you of those deficiencies and Open Your Mind to the improbable possibilities, Animal cruelty is not amicable or cool. Shooting or hunting them with foxes is worse than a school kid experimenting with a drug culture. Vivisections make me livid, ripping open insides injecting viscous liquids, wicked times we live in. Citizens of Planet Earth always on the lookout for aliens. WE my friends are the aliens.
Anyways, something a bit random, Gee Tee Hay 5 was released yesterday... From jail, Wowzers! Trevor, what a legend, Balding and dishevelled, true hero. That guy really knows how to suffer for his art, or make other people suffer for his art. Fictional suffering is fine. Its educational. Hell-for-Trevor I say. Trev revels in severing ties like tendons, but doing that shit was enough to earn him a lifetime sentence in one of Joe Arpaio's tents. Tense times indeed. You'll pee yourself in these pink t-shirts. Surrounded by idiots with idiotsyncrasies... Did you mean idiosyncrasies? No I fucking didn't, shut the fuck up spellchecker. Would you sell a Czech hooker to a fat sweaty Illuminati motherfucker? Does it bother you in the slightest that the Elite eat e-lite cheese and de-light in these scenes of torment?
Not to worry, despite the brutal oppression and mesh wire fences. Humanity is not totally defenceless against these cages and sensors.
Language is Mind Control, wait its not yours... its mine to control.
HAR HAR HAR.