Entry #349

Even Moe Mentum Than Mr Moe Mentum

2013-03-24 05:18:49 by nietzlawe


Its hard to sleep at night when my hard penis seeps at night. It sticks to the sheets and I have to get a piece of dry tissue. "Well Nietz, I'm glad you raised this issue. For a while t've thought that there must be something amiss with you." Don't worry about me consc' I'm all good. Pardon this hardon, WikiLeakage. Its like I'm speakage a whole 'nother language, or maybe we are languishing in the Langu Age and eating Linguine for cuisine. I'm past eating pasta la Vista, baby. Pass me my Visa lady. I need to make a store purchase, rather than get chased out of the store for not paying. Now as I was saying, during my unconcerned nonchalant and Fabreezy manner, I'm an easy going man by anybody's standards. Anybody who says otherwise, is telling lies, motherfucker. I, don't care for beef, I'd rather leave you alone than tie your neck with a reef knot. On second thoughts I'll tie it with a thief or a grief knot, get Zangief to attack you with police dogs until you scream, "please stop!" There is no stopping the Nietzster, from stirring up trouble until it bubbles up, and I can see you through my Hubble Telescope. Then I'm coming at ya' with another hellish trope with relish, these words are like rope cords. Like rape swords. Slaves, Whores, Chains and War. Human paintball stains the whole of mankind in its seedy grip. But its edgy, its gripping, These tetchy rhymes are trippy. Sketchy mind matter. Leaving blood like tomato sketchup, Leaving you so far behind that's its too late to catchup, or get a girlfriend on a Dating Matchup site. "My name is Margaret, I'm 57." I'm going to stop you right there Margaret. Before I do something that I truly Mar-gret. It would truly mar me because she's not on par with me, there is no way I want her to sit under the stars with me. Not a chance in hell, Not even a chance in heaven, I'd be heaving at eating her leaven bread under the covers of my bed unless I was working undercover for the feds. Eating her mouldy pussy gives a whole new meaning to the word 'fed.' But man, I'd rather be dead, I'd rather hang myself in the corner of my shed than sleep with mouldy Margaret, I don't want to have Mar-regrets than I already have. My life's been bad enough without feeling even more rough and sad about my misfortune. But then I met her - Miss. Fortuitous, she had such a chewy tush, my tongue ate gooey mush like it was chop suey crushed and mangled. But then she strangled me, like that Boston guy. But Miss. Fortuitous wasn't from Boston, so I called her The Weigh-a-ton Strangler instead. She had thighs like tree trunks, in fact they were tree trunks, legs made of bark. Pussy juice? Turns out that was just sap. And now this crazy killer was sapping my strength, ebbing my energy, she'd drank half of my Hennessy, well there weren't any left in the bottle that I could see. Empty. All I had left was Hemp Tea, and that was fucking disgusting, there was no disguising the fact. The fact was, the fact bitch was too heavy for me to lift her dead weight. She was the weight of eight people all compiled, all compressed, all combined, all piled up on the top of my spine, causing me to become paralysed. "Don't feed me those para lies Nietz." I'm not, man, I can't move a muscle, I can only move all 640 of them. At the same time. Now it just looks like I'm permanently dancing, even when shit music starts playing. Nooo, who put YMCA on?! 'You can get yourself clean, you can have a good meal, you can do whatever you feel.' Turn that fucking shit off... wait a minute, those lyrics are quite positive, wow thanks village people [village people in inverted commas], that's inspired me to turn my life around and start new. Those village people get a bad reputation, I don't understand why they are so vilified and have to learn martial arts to defend themselves in silly fights against homophobics. Life works in mysterious ways, the human race appear to do exactly that - race.

Time flies when clocks are thrown through the air, mistreated like women with strewn hair in Straw Dogs. I'd rather throw dogs off a bridge so that I have No Dogs left and have to swim into that Emilie de Ravine to rescue them. That was my res cue to jump in and get residue all over my Resident Evil duet with Jill Valentine. It reminds me of the time I was a valet in some gay chalet in Calais doing ballet. Lies all of it, utter fallacy, maybe I drank too much Alize VSOP that night to concoct such a convincing cover story. Woke up with pre-grets the next day, now I gnaw what you're thinking [hippocampus] how can you wake up with a pre-gret 'after' its already post-gret? Well I'll explain if you give me t... I said give me time to exp..... FUCKIN' GIVE ME TIME MR TIME DEALER! I NEED TIME! I need tying up and whipping until I'm left crippled and its uploaded to instagram and I need the instant grams of Coke a Cola to forget about the whole sham. Or the pain that whore doled out which made me scream like a small vole buried in a deep snow fall. Don't believe anything this blog tells you to, its deceptive, gives you the wrong impression, its not Nietzlawe's objective to impress em, like some kind of freak showe - freakslawe. This heart is freezing cold like an old man at Christmas. Hypothetically a lot of people get hypothermia, or their hernia goes on hiatus. Maybe they break their necks swinging on the high apparatus. Nietz has got a lot of sympathy for everyone, even the most corrupted souls who just have to fulfil their obligatory bodily urges. If you were me and I were you, you'd be me and I'd be you. Which is true. Therefore, you'd be the degenerate and I'd be the perfect clean-cut citizen. Easy when you ain't got my brain or my train of thought, which is highly sought after, rightly arcane, like the arcane arts, or Lucas Art games directed by George and his brother Jett. That's also not true, but nothing is except the fact that Nico Callard lives at 361 Rue Jarry. She got burgled and must have left the door ajar it can't of been Mr. George of Stobbart. "I was burgled Jjjorrge!" Who cares about that, worry about your own life, take a leap through that Window of Opportunity, although it features a 75-foot death plunge. Window of Opportunity? They lied down at the saleroom. I had to wake them up when I got down there myself. It'll be the last time I trust a salesman, he had tits, so he was even lying when he said he was a salesman. He didn't think twice about taking my money, it took him three thinks before he thought that exploiting my inexperience would be the honourable thing to do. Honourable? He didn't know the meaning of the word, and had to ask me what it meant. I fed him a bunch of lies, with a spoon. Feeding people lies just makes them feel hungrier and more vacant than they ever were. Me, I got over the initial shock of being financially taken advantage of, but it was when he raped me that haunted me. HAHHH Just kidding, I nearly had you there didn't I? Just when you thought that things couldn't get any sadder or bleaker than the beaker of matter that pours out of my head on a regular Bassist. I could have became a bass player, in a different life that is. Nah, me, I'd rather join the HorrorPops. I don't want to become the next big thing, I'd hate to be slayed by David's slingshot, as people would stand over my dead body and sing lots of songs. Fame is not worth the hassle, neither is infamy, or bigamy, I ain't the one for marriage, people would get sick of me. I'd rather marry a sycophant, or a psychopath female who cycles past jealous women on their menstrual cycles and laugh. How about a soul mate? Until she deceives me and burns me like a soleplate. I'm just a sole Plato, a lost soul, dateless rejection, hateful reflection.

Ahhh, there is nothing quite like spacing out to Stars of the Lid, its enabled Nietz to start this next paragraph of gibber, with a. BANG! While he fritters away time like the sad little critter he is. That cool breeze opens my esophagus wide like eucalyptus and I can breathe, breathe out thoughts through these airwaves.


You must be logged in to comment on this post.


2013-03-24 07:17:06

so many...plot twists

nietzlawe responds:

Too many plots, not enough slots to store the plots in. I got to empty this drawer, its full of junk that needs to be flushed out like untitled1. That's what this blog is, a mind wipe, like when dust and pollen gets up the nasal cavity and you perform nasal irrigation to remove the irritation. That mild pest. That Wild North Westerner with the itty bitty thoughts.

Arghhh, blood clots.



2013-03-25 15:30:54

So many tossed fists!

nietzlawe responds:

Fists of Fury starring Bruce Lee.


2013-03-29 18:04:35

You're not the bruce of lee.

nietzlawe responds:

No, I'm the Sultan of Inegar.


2013-04-01 14:23:50

Oh really mr Salty Sultan. What are your policies on zombies?

(Updated ) nietzlawe responds:

My policies on zombies are to take a policy out before they attack you. That way, you can be financially compensated for neck bites, infections and heightened heart palpitations.

But you can't be compensated for your own stupidity at not taking out a policy.

So please follow my advice. Take out a policy, it'll save your life.

"Cut, print, that's a wrap!"
"Haha Nietzlawe, well done, they will all fall for that, we duped them good. They'll all be queuing up now to take out policies and we'll be right there waiting to cash in!"

*More evil laughter*


2013-04-02 21:06:19

Might as well slap 'em with honey and violently juggle flourescent light bulbs while singing the Derby Florist song.

nietzlawe responds:

Or we could eat the honey, slap 'em with flourescent light bulbs and get other people to sing our praises.