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

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A Neutered Dawn

Posted by nietzlawe - October 20th, 2020


The aim is to crack open a bottle of Coke, like bubbly, but that strange popping sound of carbon dioxide kind of troubles me. BAMMM! Lid right in the eye until torrents of Al pour out like the Heart and Soul of ass and hole. Fuck that, our heart rate is at Net Zero, so let's go all out to haul out this elephant from the Pits of Despair of tits. Let's make disparaging comments about PaRappa the Rapper, and scrap all inhumane rights, then build monuments that take a monumental effort, while burning effigies of heather in front of heathrens, brethrens and vegans, and several people with bad breath. Maybe even deepen your woe by sticking a penis deep in your throat... until the semen seeps and you choke. I Keed, this is just the season for jokes without reason... so let those soak in, as Nietzlawe frees more thoughts, plants more seeds, like trees, Sycamore thoughts. Sicker than a sophomore trainer, sniffing sophomore trainers. But in this world there isn't shock no more, in whiffing socks. The human race has jumped the shark, into Mark of the Beast, someone needs to punch its heart, into life, yet they reach to grab forks and just feast. The world has been lost, and just ceased. Succumbed to corruption, war and disease... and paternal farce which we see, now we're all part of this beast. No course for reversal. We only deserve the coarse. We're circus animals literally running in circles. So much for being careful. The world is going to pot around me and maybe that's why the people around me, go to pot. But not Pol. Except his followers, like sheep. A leader has mastered the art of herding people into hurting others for evil purposes. Time and time again we underestimate how dangerous the average person is. Even your neighbour can be a dictator, or have your daughter chained up in his basement, while listening to Jaxx, and probably off his face on crack Co-Michael Caine. CO MICHAEL! CO MICHAEL! CO MICHAEL! Chanted the cheerleaders in an almost hypnotic tone. So why wasn't the tone FULLY hypnotic I hear you ask? It's because those tones were def, and couldn't be heard within a region of 175 square kilometres. I'm not even going to pretend I understand kilometres, or even whether any of my theories hold up. Including my fear of Reece Witherspoon, which one could assume isn't really a fear at all. Just mindless and attention-grabbing jibber-jabber, and hissy fits of madness. Maybe I should listen to Madness and invite you all into my House of Fun. "Yeah? And howse that gone so far, dumb ass?" Bloomin' Marvellous! It has been a catastrophic Grade-A failure, straight off the streets of A. A. Milne. Or a P.G. film about monkeys and teabags, getting teabagged while beatboxing. So eat toxins. What a neat shock to the system, of a down.. syndrome kid with a LinnDrum sound blaring out to all listeners. "But it's not his! It's Lynn's drum! She saved up for this shit, and bought it with her own income!" Yeah right. You expect me to fall for that ol' Louie Scam'drel? No, but I expect you to fall for this grey-haired, Grade-A, Great Dane girl, age 30, on a freight train journey home from Wales to Earby. Literally fall for her, this fall, until you're crying at the discotheque. Could be worse. You could have worn a tie like Richard Gere. Talk about going through the gears! *whoooshhhhhh* Man, I'm so tired right now, it's a wonder I can still write now. Guess we're gonna find out. ZzzzzZ. What if a shire horse aspired to be even shyer? Too shy to tuck Friar in Tibet. Sweet dame she is. SusanKrose69. dat rain, near breaking my window, good job I'm indoors, while the gale winds and hailstones take hold like a Stormy Ciara Lynch... maybe my home needs more armour. "Saint Florentina I'm not sick.. it's only my penis that warrants a quarantine!" Yo, once upon a time at award shows like the Globes or Oscars they'd raise hell. Now they just raise... awareness. Meh. Next. Give me some Hellraisers... but not Gillette, who need help just to sell razors. And me, I seldomly shave, so fuck their little overpriced Mach blades. Wouldn't even use 'em to shave my sacs. As they're made by people placed in shacks... practically slaves. So call me a raving lunatic if you dare, at least I haven't hurt anybody on this Earth. Only with words. And only if they choose to be affected by references not even targets or red dots. I love everyone the same. Which is nobody at all. Ve are all Kunts and Hypocrites. Ya. There will never be bliss, but maybe it's better like this. And we don't have to live forever. So we may as well see out our time together, as I write this like a goodbye letter. Signed, Nietz. Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. P.S. Blanks! Blankety Wankstain. Harvey's distant cousin? Pardon me, I'm just rushin' this game o' Roulette, where fools let themselves fall into debt traps. And the only time they're free is when they tap into death. Fuck paying the interest, I'm going into rest mode. With no worries, no concerns, nothing. A blank slate. Thanks, great! Freedom from all Tyranny... even Richard Gere's tie'ranny. *groans* "Hey, Clive, have you seen, Claire?" "No, I'm seventy nine, my fuckin' vision's impaired!" Time to get some Speccys me thinks! *groans* Sissy Spacek in latex undies. Now there's a vision you don't want to see. And if you do, you should see an optician. An eye specialist that's definitely not heavily doped, or roped up from a beam with his throat cut. How about a throwback to when this didn't look so anachronistic? This Age is neutered coz people are slaves to their phones and computers, slaves to watching epidemics and shootings, stabbings and lootings. Bang bang bang, like Rasputin. It's time to call a death cab for cutie.

All the drama in the world just mute it.