CRUMBS OF MISCHIEF
Beam me up, Jimmy. Free sunglasses? What? When did sunglasses get jail time? That's terrible, like a hunk of meat being thrown on a bunk bed and beaten up by 10 guys who just want to nut semen in his butt. See man? Fucked. And he can suck, like he's slobbering on hockey pucks. Why not lobby for change? By stopping hobos looking for change in the lobbies? Some people have strange hobbies, like strangling prozzies, then attracting rozzers and bobbies. And then you get copycat killers who just wanna chop dem bodies up and eat them with bottles of Hop House lager, and put what's left in the larder. They can't be stopped like Novak Djok, but everybody knows that. And when Roger's in trouble, he can't even call the Feds. But at least the hunger is still there to play Run and gun games on Little James island. w00t w00t? I'd rather eat Highland Toffee, Jawbreakers, Eye Poppers and Wham bars all at the exact same time until my mouth has been overtaken by blood and tooth decay. But it takes a decade for this dickhead to decimate his whole bottom set. Leaving his up's set. That was terror ball, like Ferrero Rochers being eaten by David Ferrer. "They were supposed to be for her!!" What about using this Madeira cake as a substitute to give to Alain's prostitutes? He never visited hookers! ... They came to him! Literally. WHAT A FOO-KIN' TWIST, SON! Didn't need to sprain his wrist, son! Why take the risk, son? Better to get frisk searched and sell sex merch and liquor to shadowy underworld figurines into Wicca. Some of this shit is too hot to handle, like Figeroa diptyque candles. Imagine trying to learn Mandarin and the mandolin at the same time, while putting up with a man doling out punishment to your body, or a woman rolling a bowling ball into your nuts before rollin' on the floor laughin' her mother's fuckin' ass off. Yeah, it's real funny that. Causing serious testicle destruction before advertising a Personal Trainer App. thane.tv.. whadda load of crap, and everyone knows that the P&P is OTT. Then there's fuckin' VAT! I mean big fuck off vats of acid being stirred like your Grandma's classic spud pie stew. Bubbling. Smell wafting. Hell I have to dip my fingers in the pot now! But my Gran is no longer here, except in thought... but not sexy thoughts! I just have muddled up hectic thoughts with too much peptic acid puddled around my bloated gut. But aside from that, everything is o.k... except the Corral. My morale is low but what the hell. And don't get me started on my rationale... or fashion sense! If I still had a fraction of sense left, I'd be gaining traction and strength, and wouldn't need to rest this long before I attempt to slog and sell the next senseless blog. The only thing that will get me up, is if I pee the bed or leave a log. Life's too short to be depressed, unless you're a Uyghur being repressed. For now, I just need to be de-clogged. Slowly dwindle, letting all this shit just fall out, simple. Like there's a hole gaping, vacant soul, in a world where people are all faking. Honestly I'm jaded, feel like I'm living in a geometry, a matrix. Trade autonomy for electronic bracelets. I'm just glad I'm 36. Not a birdie living trapped behind some bricks, chewing the tips off endless carrots and sticks. Gimme a comedy gig. Which is something the commies never did. They'd rather censor humans than have a sense of humour. And they call themselves a Central Kingdom? Must be something I'm missing, or maybe I'm just pissing in the wind while some pissheads are passing Go. Too drunk to collect the £200 fine. "Fine. I'll pay it. I did piss in public after all." That wind grassed me up. By blowing grass on me. Could have been worse. Could have been glass. I could quite easily have been buried under a ton of it, with live music performers dinning out my pleas for help. Cut to ribbons I was. Left to bleed to death I was. Why am I talking like a 1900's English paperboy? Extra Extra read all about it. More like Extra Extra Paramedics, you cunts should have done something about it! Luckily the incident never occurred, but only because it just occurred to me that it didn't. I wouldn't have remembered otherwise. I switch off quicker than Manhattan. Lights out like when Mayweather fought Hatton and beat him to the ground, giving no more than a pat on the back after leaving him sat on the canvas. In this life, I want answers to the mysteries. I'm a cynic at heart, regarding our heart clinics. Has Artemis been firing darts in it? Nietzlawe has started, so he'll finish, kirjoittamalla seuraava rivi suomeksi. What's cooking? I guess it's Marina Abramovic's spirit. And it's Hillary that's crooked. "Siri, who's that rapist? The one with an ass for a facelift?" And her other half, the one who evaded Lady Justice? Hey, speak if thou must, but who can you now trust? If you want to know how sincere somebody is. Wait until enough time has passed. Or get them to drink 209 strawberry and lime Kopparbergs. Until what comes out of their mouths aren't even proper words. In A Gadda Da Vida, Eva Was A Sacca Da Ada's Peena. Four of Joe Biden's Fruitcakes were polished off the same night. What would happen if Lorena Bobbitt met Throbbing Gristle? Probably a pair of loppers. Who even needs a rape whistle? Back then it was probably an ape whistle. Now we're Homo Ludens, living in a culture of stabbings and shootings. People over-prescribed on Statins, and shooting up. Is the answer execution? To put 'em on chairs and electrocute the cunts? I don't believe in the Death Penalty. But I believe in penalties for those that make us deaf. "Ehhh?" What about a death metal fret penal colony? With strange blue and white striped columns with bottomless pits to swallow kids? Who is allowing this shit? Which human on Earth has actually grown to maturity? I don't think there is such a thing. The Swamp is viscous and rancid like Sid Vicious and Nancy kissing in the Ninth Cocytus of Dante. Life is shit man, now they've put steviol glycosides in cans of shandy. So I've canned those. They've even fucked up the Tango! And mango Rubicon. Now I need a new hangover cure. Something a little more pure. Like virgin cola. "Are you gonna drink that? Or is it just something you like jerkin' over?" "Either way, it's nice to see that your cock is in good working order!" I Joke I Keed I am No Paed! I write this shit for laughs. I aint no Robert Kraft! I aint no robber baron! I ain't no Lockheed bomber! I don't bleed our country like the Monarch! Everything is bollocks... and spin... and propaganda. Even this ganja which was supposed to be proper is gantin. "What ganja?" See. Already having its effect! This is real, like a vision of McCoys smoky chilli chicken that's making my heartbeat quicken. "That'll be the fat you see." "Fuck off conscience! If I want to walk past the psychopaths on the canal boated up outside the triple 6 building that's my choice!!!" True Story. Like I said, who can you trust in this modern Stasi? Your Ex, Stacy? "Nah." Who is next in line to wreck this crazy crime-fuelled slime pit? And they say that the stars are aligned? Shit! You'd be better off taking a line to prevent you from going off your mind. A hit is all you have left in this world. A high to mask your lows, a mask to hide your eyes and nose. Or is that to cover your shyness and slight lisp? "You do know this makes you a flight risk?" I'll wear what I like, bitch! It's not as if we might kiss! Meh. Fuck all that. I just want peace and quiet, not screeching noises and diet advice. Maybe I should re-detach, disconnect, and go back to vinyl and cassette. Right now I feel like it's vital I reset and pull myself out from this idle stretch. The buzz has gone. Don't worry I'll walk as it's not fuss I want. But I still want to cuss at that bus driver! ... "Fuck it, I can put it in this cipher." Should I flip a switch and go hyper? Or pull back and do neither? Squash the hype before it even gets flight and unlocks some Jekyll and Hyde shit. David Icke, and Tina. Put that in your conspiracy pipe and preach it. Or smoke E-Cigs. I don't care. You can even eat those cigs, and wash 'em down with some zero drinks. Whatever this weirdo thinks. If you don't like you can kiss my rear hole. It's too late in the day to start changing. You can't teach an old dog new tricks. Only throw him a few sticks. I just idle back and forth, lacking any inherent ambitious cores. That happy place has gone, and the only place I'm happy now is when I'm cupping puppies. Culpable? This is an important study! A Highly Regarded Research Paper by a slightly retarded person. And this is just a taste of things to come. I think we need to keep you chaste you crazy cunt! Scumbag! Find a way to cage those aching cum sacs. Cut the brakes and stop you in your tracks. Call off the comeback. This is the umpteenth comeback to date! But cut me some slack.