Subject: my soul

Date: 07 May 1996 00:00:00 GMT

From: nenslo@teleport.com (NENSLO)

Organization: Teleport - Portland's Public Access (503) 220-1016

Newsgroups: alt.slack, alt.satanism, alt.flack

 

 

A couple of months ago I was sitting around in my studio wondering

what in the world I had done to deserve such an incredibly perfect life, a

truly great workspace, probably the most tolerant and tolerable wife

possible, a beautiful hame (man, you ought to see the iris blossoming out

front, under the wisteria - BEAUTIFUL!} in a city which suits my needs to

perfection, and the CAT, what an incredible cat, man he's the archetype of

the good cat... anyway, then I suddenly remembered.

A few years ago I was corresponding with the publisher of a

satanist zine, BRIMSTONE, who was a pretty okay guy, and one of the things

he sent me was a form for selling my soul to satan, so I filled it out and

sent it back. I didn't put any blood or jiz on it, to seal the pact, but

my FINGERPRINTS were all over it, and that's body oil. My body oil,

physical exudations of my corpus. And the part you fill in for what you

want to get in return, I couldn't think of anything I needed, so I just

wrote "GOOD LUCK."

Welp, I'm screwed. I'm going to burn in hell forever. But that

good luck is really taking off. Nothing to do but enjoy it!

What's weird though is for the last month I've been having these

sensations in the heels of my feet and the backs of my thighs, like a

blush of warmth, almost as if a gentle flame of HELLFIRE were lightly

warming my heels, as if to say "don't forget...."

No, I'm not forgetting. I'm in for a REAL BAD ETERNITY, and

there's not a thing I can do about it, so I'm having a good time right

now.

 

Sincerely,

O Nenslo

 

--

 

 

 

Subject: Re: my soul

Date: 10 May 1996 00:00:00 GMT

From: iceknife@bif.com (Iceknife)

Organization: Blue Island Fantasies BBS - Moraga, California.

Newsgroups: alt.slack, alt.satanism, alt.flack

References: 1

 

 

nenslo@teleport.com (NENSLO) writes:

 

>

> A couple of months ago I was sitting around in my studio wondering

> what in the world I had done to deserve such an incredibly perfect life, a

> truly great workspace, probably the most tolerant and tolerable wife

> possible, a beautiful hame (man, you ought to see the iris blossoming out

> front, under the wisteria - BEAUTIFUL!} in a city which suits my needs to

> perfection, and the CAT, what an incredible cat, man he's the archetype of

> the good cat... anyway, then I suddenly remembered.

> A few years ago I was corresponding with the publisher of a

> satanist zine, BRIMSTONE, who was a pretty okay guy, and one of the things

> he sent me was a form for selling my soul to satan, so I filled it out and

> sent it back. I didn't put any blood or jiz on it, to seal the pact, but

> my FINGERPRINTS were all over it, and that's body oil. My body oil,

> physical exudations of my corpus. And the part you fill in for what you

> want to get in return, I couldn't think of anything I needed, so I just

> wrote "GOOD LUCK."

> Welp, I'm screwed. I'm going to burn in hell forever. But that

> good luck is really taking off. Nothing to do but enjoy it!

> What's weird though is for the last month I've been having these

> sensations in the heels of my feet and the backs of my thighs, like a

> blush of warmth, almost as if a gentle flame of HELLFIRE were lightly

> warming my heels, as if to say "don't forget...."

> No, I'm not forgetting. I'm in for a REAL BAD ETERNITY, and

> there's not a thing I can do about it, so I'm having a good time right

> now.

>

> Sincerely,

> O Nenslo

>

> --

 

 

FROGSHIT!!!

 

you fucking LOZE! You SIMPERING FROZEN JACKAL SHIT ON A DECORATIVE STICK!

 

The PSTENCH of your whining little POUT o' DAMNATION makes me want to hop

up and down on your headlike shoulder boil until your alleged brain is

nothing more than a series of jellied hairy footprints.

 

AS *IF* you were QUALIFIED for actual HELLTIME(TM)!!!

 

pay ATTENTION, you bloated little PUS NUGGET...

 

the MANES and LARVAE who litter the floor of HADES and dine on the turds

of STENCH KINE are LAUGHING at you!

 

They have a single joy... that YOU, you disgusting little roach stain,

are even MORE pathetic than THEY!

 

you stupid fuck, you couldn't get into Hell with Frank Sinatra and Dean

Martin and a Gold Card, much less on YOUR ptzy little sins!

 

asshole

 

 

MUTHA JONES