Sorry for the delay man, I had to stray man, that's what kept me away man, but now I'm back to play man, and here to stay man, until the next delay. For now, let's just head for the speedway and start that relay race.
Hopefully it's not scarier than a Sophia Floersch accident action replay. That's all I have to say for today man, the rest I'll save for a rainy day man. Oh wait... it's pouring the fuck down outside. Okay, we continue.
Hey Nietz! It would be interesting to hear about your high points and low points. It's tough trying to fight the high seas and beat the currents sitting on little more than a dinghy. Did you join the college course? or was it too coarse? Of course it was. I hope you managed to ride those rough waves and beat the odds, or spent time fapping the odds. Everything is odd in this life, even all the even things, which just happen to be uneven and unjust from time to time. Even though you are a pacifist, you can't spell pacifist without fist. Paci fists may have already risen in anger.
Ahhh, the sound of that rain! You can't beat the Great Outdoors, everything that is immaculate about this world is outside of buildings, nothing good can come by being surrounded by four walls. The air, the sound of birds, the sunlight, the blue sky, all things we take for granted and in most cases 'grow to hate' in a modern world. You can completely cleanse your entire system by being outside. We humans lost our sense of humanity when we started erecting (not in that way) buildings. But maybe that is true, maybe our erections are keeping buildings from falling over and will collapse if we ever become flaccid. If you can somehow become erect again while flaccid, you could prevent buildings from collapsing, or it'd be like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, or the Leaning Tower of Visa and Mastercards, or should I say Masturcards. I'd rather slap my Hey Monkey.
I thought it'd be funky to split these paragraphs for a change, instead of big blocks of raps that could collapse, like a stock exchange. You'd sooner collapse if you sniffed my socks!
Scary times.. was the headline.. in.. ironically.. a newspaper called... The Scary Times.
en garde, motherfucker... even when times are hard, motherfucker, and minds are soft to other opinions. Get ya pinny on pipsqueak, and be ready to lip-read, as I lay on something so heavy it'll make your lips bleed. Maybe at this speed it'll be easily understandable, if not... I guess that's understandable too. I'd rather whittle the crowd down to a few. I think we've got Newgrounds down to a tee. People are bound to see us drown in this sea, of words they sit around us to read. How can we ever thank and praise those that came out, when we once again just stank the whole place out? Truthful, but brutal. A fall from grace, even though I thought the former place was a greater hole - and more a grave. A crater fit for a creator. The Kratos of wordplay.
Ask yourself whether this enormous waste of potential may potentially one day come to be fulfilled eventually. But I'm still lazy, mentally. It sucks to be capable but have no structure or stability, and silly to not unleash these playful abilities. There is nothing crazier than that plague inside your cranium in which the brain is placed within. It plays, teases, enrages. Why can't we break it in and discover what makes it tick, so we can make it work, instead of hurting and playing these dirty tricks? But me, I'm borderline 36, morbid mind, bored of life, sick, but still get high endorphins from writing shit. I've never been more divi-ded. Never could deny this. But I shy away as I lie awake at night, and cry myself to sleep, hide inside for weeks... suicidal, weak, as I try to find a fix.
The road is long and winding, and I find the hope is grinding me down... stringing me along, denying. Am I just blind? It's an exhaustive, expensive journey. One that's taking its toll. Maybe I should bite my tongue, and swallow my pride. Follow my gut, shut the sorrow down and ride it out. But I doubt tomorrow will be better. From now until forever, a steady decline, even though I thought I was ready to climb, but this headache is mind-numbing, until on Newgrounds I dump something more foul than the entrails of Donald Trump's bum.
Hey man, whatever happens, it promises to be interesting. But not as internally resting as Hey Man's contentment now that his life support machine has been switched off by his family. Now he can finally rest in peace, but I have a feeling that those zealous Hollywood script-writers will dig him back up and turn him into a shadow of his former self.. which is quite ironic as he was cremated. So he already 'is' a shadow of his former self, so they might have to bring him back as The Ash Man that sells hashish to people who press hash keys or use the hash keys to open up the hashish cabinets. Ste Pusher sells Kush.
Ads are scary, I can imagine Ad Rapes occuring on a mass scale. Being fucked by ads is one thing, but being anally fucked by ads is even scarier. Especially if the ad is advertising dildos. What about remote tribes who live in the middle of nowhere? I wonder if ads will one day develop wings and the ability to fly to these dense jungles and totally annihilate a whole tribalism with hair care products and toothpaste. Or will the Sentinelese just fend it off with bow and arrows?
Nah, they're too busy stripping John Allen Chau for bone marrow.
I'm definitely not looking forward to milking Hey Man dry. Can't his wife 'Hey Woman' do it? What about making a Hey Man porn film - Hey Man Rolls in the Hay, Man! I want the Hey Man series to become bigger than anything that has ever happened in the whole of history. Everybody wants to know his story. It would be great to know that we took him from a humble down-to-earth headline and turned him into a global star. But not a literal global star, that can be viewed from any country in the world. Pfft. too unrealistic! The Hey Man series, it can be something churned out like the Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles. Obviously, everything will have to be shot on a shoestring, low budget, really amateurish actors that don't give a shit what kind of performances they put in, as long as they are earning the cash, oh yeah baby, they'll keep on turning up every single week, on time, ready and energised to start work on another utterly crappy episode of Hey Man.
But somehow, the series will attract a fanbase of 7 million people. Loyalists who say things like, 'stick with it, it'll get better.' Right before FOX jumps out of nowhere and cancels it after six episodes. Leaving people in the dark, literally as halfway through Episode 6, the screen just closes down and goes blank and people will be wondering what the hell happened to Hey Man (played by Bruce Willis) and his perilous end, did he or didn't he perish in that coma? Who cares? I'll tell you who, seven million die hard fans.. and I don't mean fans of the film Die Hard. Although it is possible to like both.
Trust me, I'll get back to my SAS (super-active-status) again very soon and we will be able to back and forth with alarming regularity, which will see so many Hey Man sequels get churned out, the fans will be sending hate mail and begging me to stop with the shallow-money-making-film. Nobody wants to see Saw 17, where Jigsaw tortures his victims in 5 more different ways!
But what about a Saw reboot? ...... Argh, go on then, give us two tickets!
There is only so much slumping that a slumper can slump in. It's only a matter of time before we are back on our feet jumping... That is until we find a lump in...... our respective testes. *The word chemotherapy sang in strong opera voice, then a long awkward silence............ followed by successful testicle surgery*
I don't feel full of vitality just yet, but it's certainly vital that I should feel vitality in order to give myself a platform for success. I'm going to try my damndest to return in a full capacity. It has been too long a vacation in the doldrums, encompassed by flames, and also encompassed by 'cum passes' which give me the privilege of being able to orgasm as many times as I want during the course of a day. I feel sorry for the people who don't have cum passes and cannot release their creative juices.
Sorry, I haven't been on the portal for a little while. Elvis is back in the building now though... and so am I.
Slumps can be horrible as they are very difficult to get out of when stuck in one. The main thing for now is just to keep active. Just got to keep on top of yourself (if that is possible from a contortionist aspect) and don't let yourself become demotivated. Climb Climb Climb until we are at the very top... of a 30 foot ladder... just before it topples.
There was a phrase I heard the other day and I thought it was brilliant. It goes, 'ability, is a poor man's wealth.' I'll let you soak up the meaning of that one yourself.
What the fuck happened to VicariousE? If he was 21 and male, my first instinct would have been "check the rivers!" But he's older, wiser, bolder, fatter. And too cool to disappear for this length of time. If you're out there V, reach out brother.
Two thousand and eighteen has been an emotional rollercoaster. There has been drama, there has been upheaval, there has been death; many tears were shed, there have been decisions that had to be made during the crossroads. Do I walk? Or do I don't walk? Those traffic lights can get pretty graphic when trying to cross roads, misleading sometimes. If it's hard for me to understand, then fuck knows how the pigeons cope with the evolution of road stress, unless they shit on the windscreen and fly off at the last minute laughing while the driver careers off the road into a steel barrier and has to be pulled from the burning wreckage at the last minute.
Actually, I'm here to talk about something entirely different, it's called ambition, it's called drive, it's called Don't Live In A Determinism Prison. It's called You Only Live Once, it's called Coca Cola, original taste. The real deal, as opposed to the fake deal where that golden handshake means nothing more than two people who have pissed on their hands beforehand. That's the ultimate exaggeration and compliment of all time, referring to urine as golden. If urine is golden, then shit is bronzen. Charles Bronzen.
Honestly, we live in a disgusting world, some days I just sit and think 'fucking hell, that's horrendous'. But I'm infatuated by the world, swimming in it - saturated fats. I have a satire fascination; I'm 99.35% sure.
Everything is so crass, I'll just have to try and let that moment pass, or use it to try and impress the gore fanats, that are so adDICKed to their sexplosions. I wonder if mobile phones and laptops can also be erotically charged? It would bring fresh credence to the saying, 'I've no juice left on my phone because my girlfriend has had it in her hand all day long. "This phone is a bit sticky and smells suspiciously bleachy!" -- Now that's what I call phone sex.
All we had in my day were LiveJasmin! That's a lie, Jasmin, you bitch and you know it! You were never live. Everything was pre-recorded. The mock blowjobs. The sitting with a keyboard in your lap. Mmmm, you really know how to get me in the mood! You really know how to tantalise my nerve endings.
But you know what they say, with every nerve ending, there must be a nerve beginning. So like nettle roots, they just keep coming back for more. There was a story once about a gardener who was lawn mowing, his name was probably Jim. But when the blades of the mower were moving over the blades of grass, he heard the grass screaming and pleading. I think the episode was in one of those weird tv series you see, like Tales of the Unexpected or Twilight Zone. I'd love to torture grass, think about it, it's a victimless crime, nobody can hear it screaming but yourself, "Nobody's gon' hear you grass, it's just you and me now!" -- "NOOOOOO!!" That's quite harrowing actually, maybe I wouldn't torture grass, what if when I went to sleep and woke up, the grass had grown extremely long, up to my bedroom window. Then when I went outside and fell in the grass, it started attacking me, giving me lots of paper cut lacerations and inflicting a bloody revenge.
Killer grass. You heard it here first.
The extremely nearby future is here, it's queer, get used to it.
It's hard to imagine what is actually involved in a female masturbation transplant? Does it involve some kind of genital castration where all the pleasurable nerve endings are simply transferred to a transvesite wearing a tight vest via a transit lorry? What about Thought Transplants? Or should I say, what are your thoughts on plants that have become transexuals?
And now... I go back to whatever it is I do. Hibernating, Procrastinating, Masturbating.