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Hit Me With Your Lunacy

Posted by nietzlawe - 2 weeks ago


We like to digest and read her Reader's Digest like that rip off competition... but we should all do wheelies over Maureen's wheelie bin and overfill it by two inches so she gets fined and shit.... and she's a fine ass chick who likes to sword fight with mental illnesses... My brain is below sea level and likes to absorb water and have a disgraceful daughter called Grace.... and she's full of shit.. and water, coz my brain lives underwater remember?"??""?"?"? Sea salt, I'm mentally unbalanced like the see that saw the saw cut through the sea and part it like the Red bundle of water it was....

I like to be alone and hide under a towel doing spasms on the floor and shout 'whoooooohhhh' and do grinders which listening to Grinder II and laugh maniacally.... even though there are a few bisexual bystanders there called Claire Standing in the ring.... we don't want to be embarrassed by shandy bass and play the race card till it backfires in our face hard.. we are not actual racual-ists... we are rational like a rash and we like to unite all cultures and communties together like knitting and sowing... seeds even though we are all brothers and sisters and all need committing to the loony bin with recycle bin and other shit like prognastic behaviour that likes to be blamed for my behalf... and I don't want to die a sudden death and be cremated with a mate who has creamed up after jacking off over a Jacket Potato... I want to live in West Brom and eat fromage and walk around the streets with a pink umbrella and do a song called Dangling In the Rain.... like some fucked up Grace Kelly type shit... but that kind of Grace is a Disgrace, dissecting my race in a humiliating way...... man this is beyond help.... or kelp fish that are selfish or a fishmonger [with a mongy face] that can't sell fish...

I was raided last night in my sleep... that bitch took my jewell.. she stole the contents of my safe, now its safe in her safe and in some respects unsafe, pregnansafe... so I'm in her back garden [with an hard on, so I switched that hard to off] I'm in a ninja suit tryna get my jism back from its prison in her house... I need to break her safe... but I don't know the combination and only her and Chief Butler know it... which is sickening... so I have to get Chief in a headlock and pretend I am Chyna... but he doesn't crack like the code itself, and dies without revealing it... so I go to the woman's bedroom and she stops me in my tracks and cleans me out again with ease and I am back to square one of the snakes and ladders game..... and her safe is a two million digit combo code that only she knows... and she is laughing at the thought of my dying sperms rotting in there.... and knowing she can take them anytime or persuade me to take rapidsquirt subscriptions forever until I'm out of funds.... the fucking bitch! How could she have the conscience to do this! HOW! She's a pre-meditated meditator Yoga expert, that expects me to spurt and squirt on her command... Fooker, luckily she's not a Hooker that drew me in Hook Line and Sinker... She's the slinky with the pot shot pinky award-winning prize slot... Its like taking candy from a fruit machine... But they are just pictures Nietzlawe! You can't win the three cherries! They are such visible aids.... What you do win is money, lots and lots of it! But I don't want money honey! Shit my nose is runny, Pinnochio is cumming again! This blog is cryptic and craptic on the brink of collapse quick... Noone will laugh at it... Even when I blab a bit...

I can't live anymore, I want to die... My hair blue.... Preferably wearing grey adidas tracksuit bottoms that have been worn since the early sixties... by veterans and vetinary folk and Peter Griffin, who has stretched them the fucker! I want to open my own shop and start selling merchandise called dice and have pubic lice and dance to miami vice and vanilla ice..... then get laughed at, smirked at, and force fed smirnoff ice with quantitys of drugs and quantum physics thrown in.. so I can time travel through a wormhole into Dina Carroll's back passage..... and live there as a pile or a hem'orr'hoid... Well if you're giving me the choice, I'd prefer to be a Hoid than a Hem.... forever and ever... like a funk cheese man made mayo maniac milked and morbidly molested.... Slapping Whores in the face with Oars fresh from a Gold-Medal winning sailing boat... I want to stand and gloat with a goatee and a goat that coats me in kisses like some Gozu shit... I am unstoppable and unflappable, like that Bluetit with broken wings.... I want to get a pet chicken and play the Xbox 360 with it and we'll order fried chicken and shit from all the finest Piss-Cum-Cabarets... That's fucked up as opposed to down, drown out my voice like syndrome... I'm hitting this drum, its my Timpani not Tim's! Who is Tim? Who is Who? What is What? But a word used to describe something thus giving it a shelf in our lives.... Shelves upon shelves stacked by elves with lots at steak...

Why do folks send christmas cards and put three x's at the end? does it represent kisses... I think so... and its shit... but don't worry about the abnormalities of my fellow white dudes.... we are unaware of our habits and traits and have spent decades trying to correct this... but we will never see it.... Sense it, we are destined to travel to exotic destinations for a holiday of a lifetime, only to end up dead and buried like that myth... This is a like a flame, that will soon draw the moths with strange coughs... It is like the plague, dental plaque, mental habitat, where does my brain hideout? Its on temporal shutdown, alert, what is the meaning of this demeaning? Even without the caffeine the hyperactive runs without its batteries... I might change my name to Tony Slattery, for no apparent reason than that was the first name that popped in my head... But it might just have been an artery....

Words dry up like mouths in the sahara and so we have to drink our own urine like Samir Yurine... and we spend eternity developing a funky band called smeg and the waistcoats... and get bored easily like waiting for something exciting that doesn't come... but don't worry, that's only because I need a piss that the lack of imagination has worn off....... Like that worm drinking Smirnoff with that Urn from Paul Bearer's garage that allows me to control the Undertaker... How come The Undertaker gets so much coverage in my blogs? Is it because he is pulling the strings? Of my bass guitar that I don't even possess.... I used to have two bass guitars, they weren't mine, I was just looking after them, giving them hospitality and how do they repay me? By sitting there inanimately, frustrating me every day by not answering my mundane line of questioning.... Its fair to say, that those guitars both ended up in the pot, with the Thyme and were entered into a prize draw competition....

You're lying Nietzlawe, that never surely happened! I'm not lying and secondly, I'm stood up... Like the frat that's dateless, if I say it happened, then it surely did... I just ripped out the most apparent fart just now, but you wont believe it, you'll believe that Haley's Comet just came past your window though wont you? Even though it was just my frisbee.... Its dark, its night, I'm high on creatine and these Onion Glasses are great for when you want to blur the scene for a fucked up blog at 1.51AM in the morning, when the whole world sleeps, apart from Las Vegas... But on NG, nobody ever sleeps, the Zero Bombers have hectic lifestyles, they prepare rigourously for their nightly zero bombing, they hunt in packs, and they deliver such an incredible shock to the recipient in the morning.... They run away laughing into the night, never to be seen again... And I mean NEVER EVER SEEN AGAIN... Not just exaggeratory 'never seen agains'... Ok, they were seen again, but not in the same light, they were hopping in and out of 40 and 70 watt bulb coverage.... Bulbs that had yet to be phased out by the State, since when did we start calling them 'The State?' Of course they are in a state, a terrible state of affairs, but that's not the point.... This right here between the brackets is the point [^]... Its sharp, silent and deadly, like women after a horrible argument in which 650 ornaments were shattered into fragments..... The remnants of the Rembrandts... I'm shattered myself, my energy has been sapped and juiced into a machine, which will be distributed evenly in third world countries.... Third World? Three Earths rolled into one giant spliff? Surely not? Surely So? I'll give you that one, but I will have the last laugh in the first built funeral parlour.... Parlor, Parlour, Color, Colour, Behaviour, Behavior, Neighbour, Neighbor.... Hey this American/English language translation malarkey is easy, where the fuck is my Green Card, I'm out of Ze England, Maine here I cum.... Just hope its not a sticky landing...

And so... He landed in Maine, where he was subsequently beaten to death with only the sturdiest of Baseball Bats, used by the finest Baseball Players on the face of the planet.... But nobody knew that there were good Baseball Players on the hair of the planet, they were still undiscovered.... But who cares, they can't afford flights, and just look at their sad little faces knowing they can't ever compete in the Major League.... hahahahahaha.... EE-VV-II-LL.... Its just a joke, not to be taken literally, which would make a good tattoo message on the human rectum......

And now we say goodbye, goodpie, until next time...

Over and out,

Aw Reservoir.

Dog Bless,