Oh, now and again, I think about it. I think about writing a single
sentence diatribe filled with forbidden imagery, and fury. But the
truth is; I'm just too fuckin' lazy to work outside my own style.
I could, for entertainment value, and the opportunity to stretch as a
writer, not only split an infinitive to the point of rendering it
unrecognizable; but describe with loving glee how I entered a cemetary
at midnight after drinking several dozen syphyllitic Chinese whores
under the table and broom-fucked them until their pussies bled from
the splinters and repeated hammering at the cervix. I could tell you
how I left these pathetic creatures, lying unconscious in their own
vital juices for the later dismemberment and consumption by alien
space creatures who enjoy fucking their food first, because their
gastric juices are contained in their reproductive organs. I could
further describe my night's entertainment as I dug up several fresh
graves, dragged the partially rotting but thankfully rigid corpses
into a gay bar where I pretended that we'd just come from a really
boring party and my friends were bored "stiff" so that I could have a
cool drink in a dim bar and listen to europunkretroseventies disco and
watch them buttfuck the corpses til they fell apart. But that would be
futile...it's just not ME. I never kiss and tell.
The truth is, I'm just a mellow soul, and I find my greatest Slack
when I'm alone. I'd LIKE to be good and pissed off most of the time.
As scary as I am when I AM pissed off, it might get me somewhere if I
could pull it off continuously. But how pissed off can you be when
your morning consists of throwing small sticks to a grass seed and dew
covered puppy between sips of good coffee after early morning frop?
How much angry ranting can you do when you're surrounded by blue sky
and the sound of birds? I'm only a Yeti, when things are going good, I
I apologize if I take up too much of your bandwidth with my silly
observations of life as I know it, but SOMEBODY has to interject the
Rewardian point of view around here once in a while. I think of myself
as the yin to Sterno's yang (BTW Sterno, how IS your yang?), and I'm
not going to change until you beat me unconscious. Unfortunately,
enough of you have my real address to do just that. Stay away, I'm
armed...and the Sister's would eat you alive.
Now, I have some organic oatmeal to eat, another bowl of frop to
smoke, and some bodies to bury. You all have a nice day, or kill me.
Reverend Mutha Tarla Star of the Little Sisters of the Perpetually
Juicy; a Proud jism schism of the Church of the SubGenius.
Worshipping Juicy Retardo and "Connie" Dobbs since 1986.