The buzz that I was hearing came from around the deep end of the bend where invisible enemies often hide out with impunity. It’s a fucking shame they haven’t been wiped out. I learned this conclusively during extra-curricular activities that were mandated from above early on. Real active enemies number in the trillions. Armed guards are standing next to operators on call at convenient hours to defend. Carrying hands, too, left and right, conclusively. Most enemies have too many arms and legs in cahoots, wipe with the wrong hand, lie down with porkers, suck hard, chew with fangs, gobble and wheeze. Hard data shows they are radically warped from dwelling in dank cellars. Don’t ask, only God knows. Faith will heal any wounds that boing up in the groin area. Also, rub vigorously with gunk that smells nice.
No evidence to disprove need apply. That can get you fucked up but good, fucker. That’s what bonfires were invented to douse. Not only bugs, toads, mites, and glitches glow in the dark. That’s a conservative figure, liberally applied, like the pallid mustard squirted on a shriveled hot dog fresh from a vat of tepid water.
No matter what and how hard the sucking, though, the bad taste might remain. According to lore, it builds character for which alms are due. Embrace it best from your knees.
If I could find one of those cockeyed varmints I’d swing for the fences with all my fucking might. I’d use a club or a bat or a racket. Fuck him up, but good, where no scars show. I’d hold up a sign with a real message and march in a straight line. I would not point a crooked finger at the other side to accuse like all the loathsome creatures do, which would be incorrect, if not intolerant, and punishable by the one and only God who demonstrates real eternal class.
All sides know it’s us against them. Pick a number, any number, then hide it behind your back, and spin. Politics, religion, fat, and/or fiber content. Slow curves and spitballs to southpaws and switch hitters boggle idle minds. Make the suckers pay the tab, that’ll work every time, sort of. I’d keep my elbows close to my trunk and swivel without touching purloined hips. Hips are not permitted below the hairy belt of temptation. Just because it never worked before is no reason to stop trying. Am I right or am I right? No doubt in my mind at all.
History conclusively proves that any side in politics not your own side is providentially the wrong side. Religion, too. All the way back to naked dinosaurs with no shame. They sure got fucked up but good. Am I right or am I right?
Any politician with an open mouth is lying. Achtung mein royal heinie apparatchiks. Lubrication required as needed. Follow what you swallow.
Any religion that used to teach that the Sun revolved around a holy rolling earth because one God said so to a righteous dude in bare feet that caused burning his ass off into his explosive dick, a real high point of enlightenment, should fall down on scabby knees and apologize profusely. Oh yeah, that’s right, that’s all religions. Never mind. Let’s fuck up some infidels, but good, instead.
If no organization is or can be spiritual, like duh, and nothing spiritual is or can be organized, like duh, do I still need to pay up the grand wazoo for the red shoes, the beanie, the beard, the sword? Can I get off of these scabby ossified knees that hurt so bad from all the twisted genuflecting that has bent my back into a caricature, crinkled my neck, misaligned my spine, and continues to gnaw at my misplaced guts that were spilled and lost along the wayside to be stepped and spat upon?
And don’t get me started on this fucking myopia that ain’t doing me much good for nothing neither?
Here’s a new religious ritual that’s guaranteed to pay off, or else. Repeat after me now and forever after: gobble, gobble, gobble, like duh, like, duh, like duh. Simmer and stew, then eat it raw.