2006-08-13 03:21:17 ET Abortion?: I've tried it once but couldn't figure out where the forceps go. Death Penalty?: The death penalty is a lot like crab meat. Yeah. Prostitution?: Hey, how else will you pay for the nursing home? Alcohol?: Fermentation is the second biggest cause of society's woes. The number one cause is Fertilization. Marijuana?: Marijuana killed Lou Gehrig. Other drugs?: If you put them together they make a nice rainbow. Eat the rainbow, see the leprechaun. Gay marriage?: Fuck no. Fags are queer. Illegal immigrants?: I've got this gig going. I get them across the border for $150 a piece and then narc on them for $150 a piece. Easy money. Smoking?: People should go easy on their lungs and employ smoke IVs. Drunk driving?: It's not drunk driving if your hands aren't on the wheel. Cloning?: They should clone JFK. They should clone LHO. Racism?: Is what people do when they're too lazy to find a real excuse for hating someone. Premarital sex?: It's not premarital sex if she's already married. Religion?: The fridge is my martyr. It empties itself for me. The war in Iraq?: Send in the clowns. Clowns make everything funny. You could gas everything and it would still be funny. Plus clowns eat children so they can't exact revenge. Bush?: Taught me all I know on the dangers of dwarfism. Downloading music?: Downloading music is like paying for sex slaves from Eastern Europe - a victimless crime. The legal drinking age?: Is irrelevant when you can ferment alcohol in your gizzard and have a stove pipe pipe out the carbon dioxide. Porn?: The scourge will leave us mitten handed and one-eyed. Suicide?: Only works once. Twice, if you're lucky. 3 comments

This is the type of random bullshit I write when bored at work.

2006-08-12 09:13:27 ET Make way for the sound of galloping hooves Make way for acrobastard Make way for the lance and chariot of doom and low low prices Prices so low they'll make your balls drop low on the ground so cold it'll make your balls go back up and turtle into your torso oh no oh yes yes yes yells acrobastard touching the cold ground cumming fingernail clippings on the pigeon stools acrobastard stands tall above all shorter than nobody walking on the tightrope of life beating off into the faces of the audience their mouths wide open with astonishment and acrobastard laughs and says Make way for the sound of galloping hooves Make way for acrobastard Make way for the lance and chariot of doom and low low prices Prices so low they'll make your balls drop low on the ground so cold it'll make your balls go back up and turtle into your torso oh no oh yes yes yes yells acrobastard touching the cold ground cumming fingernail clippings on the pigeon stools acrobastard stands tall above all shorter than nobody walking on the tightrope of life beating off into the faces of the audience their mouths wide open with astonishment and acrobastard laughs and says Make way for the sound of galloping hooves Make way for acrobastard.... 1 comment

Autobiography.

2006-08-04 04:59:16 ET He was writing the Great American Novel and failing miserably. It was all disconnected, every single paragraph a new story in and of itself. No cohesion. No planning. No story. No plot. Nothing. Nothing. His thoughts turned inward and out. Towards Cuba and electricity. Towards Hemmingway. He reached for the shotgun. And downstairs someone heard two blasts. When they found him, he was sprawled on the floor, his head - a blossomed rose - and they could see that something had erupted forth from it. They followed the bloody tracks into the bathroom. It sat there, on the toilet, cigarette between its yellow, brown, and bitter teeth. A mere meter tall and banging away on the old mechanical typewriter. The elfin homunculus had broken free from his head and finished the novel.

2006-08-04 04:58:27 ET There was fog. The sour Krauts walked naked upon the dead gray field, mustard gas bombs strapped to their chests with faded leather belts. Green tracer fire silently showered down like cold April snow in Chernobyl. It hit one of them, cutting him open, and revealing a tangled mess of parasitic worms that had taken refuge beneath his flesh. They were dying now, from exposure to the air. To the oxygen.

2006-08-04 04:58:10 ET He was a stickler for details. Why was there a poison dart sticking out his neckhole? He put his hand up to the wound. "What the fu...?" He fell and his body erupted in convulsions, muscles repulsing themselves from the bone. Organs exploding. His eyes rolled back and he saw his brain, alight in neuromagnetic fire. And then everything went... pink.

music and mustard gas.

2006-07-31 22:15:03 ET

I don't know what this is. I just wrote it.

2006-07-27 19:55:06 ET Jack didn't want to die. He lay on his back on the floor his head tilted to the wall mirror. He saw the hands of death approaching. The hands of finity, he thought. If only he could stop time. Or lengthen it. Anything to get away. It filled up the corner of his vision and slowly started filling everything in with a sort of three dimensional void filled with visual noise and then there was this loud whooshing sound that got louder and louder as it approached and a thought pushed its way into Jack's head and he realized - it's all about to change, isn't it? That's what death is. Sudden, irreversible change. Like birth. Like everything. And he was nothing. Just a speck in an infinite universe filled with infinite potential and infinite possibilities. And who was he to judge what was what? Death is as inevitable as birth. The only two things guaranteed in life. He suddenly felt somewhat content in this realization. He strained his head and looked at it. Strained his head, shut his eyes, and said "Please, God! I'll never masturbate again!" And Jack lay there on the floor. Very much alive.

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