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I am here to make a difference. Isn't that why we're all here?

35, Male


Globe of Earlobe

Joined on 7/10/08

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Everything sucks, even cess and Tess of the Lee D'alyvilles. Yet ill men will still spill seed at least 11 times in succession when under stress! During the course of me weaving this piece, but it certainly beats beating off to inbreeding. And if you're really morbid... him on the floor bleeding out! Whatever floats ya boat, and revs yer enjunn. Jen Dunne and Yennefer of Arsene Vengerberg. Still jerking off even when given a 100 year sentence in a Rehabilitation Centre. That shit ain't justified! If anything it only strengthens your resolve, you've got no motivation to solve everything with a revolver. No need to involve others and evolve the levels of suffering. Live, and Let Life ebb and flow instead of road blocks laid down by these Impotent Dinosaurs scared of shock jockeys. Time to hand over power to Simon the Sorcerer, so he can open a whole Newe Spellbooke. Get inside the book, you big fat dirty fucker!! I intend to get you fully hooked, Captain! Everything I write is apt, and when I leave you shocked it's probably with a ball zapper. All that matters is that we're all happy. What is the point being miserable and THEN dying? May as well skirt on the edge, by edging over legs in skirts, blouses and low cut shirts. Everything I say is subversive, but if you think words are dangerous then you're a dumb person. So many variants of a perversion of truth. And I'm just surfing, Boldly going where no Persil has ever gone befo' befo' befo'... *strange echo* BIG APPLE, 3AM! Turtles in Time. Some things stick, like me to these bed sheets, and the Loveshack song in my head. Fuck off B-52's! Great. Now it's been replaced by the Death Stranding theme mixed with the sound of random voices screaming in my head. YEARGH.H. Holmes. This is the Year of the Pig. This is the Year of Humans Makin' Up Some More Random Shit! Like my Mum's Star Sign saying she will open a restaurant. "What, at 69?!?!?!" Exactly. Scorpio you are full of Bull sperm. The only thing I believe are the lies, and those Tales of the Unexpected. Which in some cases were actually.. expected. "I saw the ending coming!" Said the voyeur, who was perving on that boytheur. Stick your dick in Hoisin Sauce and go to Hainan to break some fucker's hymen. Joking. You're stuck inside man. The only place you travel to is Gravel Lane just to gamble with yo' life, like Proctor and Gobshite. Something is rotten to the core, and it's not just the ISOR's we see in the back of King Street. More like 'we haven't Invested A Damn Thing, Street...' That Military Industrial Complex won't fund itself. It's one big con plex. Basically nonsense, and the only thing my nose can smell in this town is bong scent. Bleakburn is plagued man, it's like a plagueround of vice. Buzzing flies. Here nothing suffices, every fucker is suffering, and lucky to survive. Nothing surprises me no mo'. Not even en't in't tin. But loads of things are in the tin! Lost marbles, sanity pills and the milkman's condoms. And Roy Chubby Brown's helmet. Whaaa? Lots of room in that tin. And what's this? William Ramsey Investigates Compilation on VHS?

Time flies, when you're having fun! ... or miserable, or even when you're watching Les Misérables, trying to surmise what might be happening. Feel like manning out, like Bradley. The time to grow a beard and go for beers is no longer happening. It feels like I'm passing strangers - Tony Hadley. "Hey, Nie! You nearly had me there for a second. But that night out on the town is totally happening." Stop saying the word happening! This is 2019, you should be happy! Singing from the rooftops, with jukeboxes and boomboxes, watching The Boondocks, instead of this doom mongering. Bury your head in that girl's perfumed lingerie! Nothing can stop you from communing what you've got to say. Can't be locked away for musing what is locked away. Why block or act shocked? When you can stop, and back off. Don't act soft, or blow up like Mountbatten, while young boys are sat... mounting that man's baton. Pouring cream into his chocolate gateau. Then KABOOM! Goodnight Vienna! And every other capital and habitat of the world, with the only ones safe, being the ones in the rabbit holes. Rabbit Hole! Rabbit Hole! That is the clue we give, to sleuths, to seek truth, but these youths only end up roofied and brewed beautifully for the amusement of Jews. And let me just say... lungs are not waterproof. Also, you ever wondered why they're missing one of their walking shoes? In this day and age you never know who is stalking you, or on the web, who you're talking to. And you'll never see the person choking you, or the person chalking you when you're dead. Your next door neighbour Ted, could be a Red Room rapist, with bodies puree'd up in his shed. This life is as crazy as it gets, but amazing all the same. So take each day as a blessing, no matter how insane, or how depressing it gets, the day beyond, our pain may just lessen. We're all a mere day away from heaven, accidental finger slip on Wesson. Let that be our lesson not to mess around with weapons. That's the message that I send to our next generation. As I promote a positive vibe, before we get old and have fossilised dicks. Often I shit-talk and skit folk with sick jokes, but that doesn't mean I wanna see anyone end up with a slit throat. I'm in limbo, yet these words are still flexible and nimble, a sinple step, as I link up this influx of info. To build my li. They should call me Nietz Lao. Wow, he, is some kind of wizard, How's Zi even doin' it? Doing what? I just shi-talk. My surname is Walker. That thousand miles is easy. And on foot you can't get pulled for speeding, or having a glovebox full of weed. Those gunshots? ... "Wasn't me." I'm just a gentle soul that's fallen into a mental hole. Not resentful at all. I just let the pencil scrawl. To capture every event, in all its glory. I was sent to tell a story. No other calling. Except to jerk to Jolene Hexx and Jean Bardot. Beats being ballbusted by Goldust while you're trussed up and forced to listen to Russell Brand poetry. But just know that I don't want to see Russell banned, or muzzled. Everything should be taken with a pinch of salt and the minimum of fuss. Failing that, a minidad holding a minigun firing at silly cunts. I haven't been this creeped out since the name Ethan Rom, and the term 'veganism.' Fuck giving up chicken. If we are what we eat, then I'm.. CLUCK CLUCK! Figuratively and physically. A COWard. A yellow-belly fell-walker that fell, walking. Meh. I'm just telling porkies. Eating Yorkies is what my sport is. Fuck the sortie, I'd like to see the other side of 40. Why risk life and limb and fight violence? When we get lines in our skin. Go blind, lose our minds then die to the sound of a line of violins, that play live for five minutes. As you lie supine, in your new pine box. Man, the world got fucked! And now it's on a downward spiral, like a backward Hebrew bible.

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