Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Sometimes, insight into the NWO can come from the most unexpected of places. The following is a transcript of a chat I had with a backward fellow of Russian descent on Morality Mountain's Public IRC Server. BEHOLD, the power of cheese... and cellphones!
I was busy the other day in my study, poring over the bulk of the Sekrit Documints I had received from our active anti-NWO "lizard wranglers" (the codename for our INTEL/COINTEL team on the "former" planet Pluto), and I happened to have the TV on for background noise, when I heard a familiar opening theme song. To my horror, I was once again face to face with an ancient enemy! It was the original 1960's Batman show!
He was hanging out at the local gay bar, making the Earth bulge and getting the wolves into a frenzy - they were all howling for more than just blood by the time I got there.
That's when it happened.
I was ordering a Jackhammer for my sentient chaps (they always need to be plastered when we're out because I refuse to wear pants, or skin, underneath them) - when I felt a tug at my bodily fluids. It felt nice, but I'm one for pleasantries before foreplay. I spun around, and kindly told him to keep his fundamental forces off of me unless he wanted to get to know my Hamfist™ in a non-sexual, non-consensual way.
He simply grinned his crater-toothed grin and persisted, stating slyly that ALL the tides let him do it, and they never complain. Not one for allowing my liquid contents to be shifted without at least a drink first, and his rapist machismo pressing on, I cocked my forearm hamskin back and blasted him a new Aitken basin in that big ass, but beautiful eye of his. I definitely swole it shut - it was at quarter crescent by the time he hit the door.
Don't believe me? Have you seen his eye beaming down on you the past two nights? Didn't think so. Look at him - he's hiding behind the clouds now, afraid to show his face to a REAL man-thing!
The earth makes a bitch out of any gravitational pull that a mountain has. The Earth always wins in that case.
I knew a few guys that orbited your mother, so maybe the Earth is still here because of her fat ass dragging it along with her around the sun.
Science is a whore, isn't it?
No. No cake. Pie. ONLY Pie.
Us Pieists are tired of the oligarchy that Cakists have built around us. CLEARLY Pie is the healthier, sweeter, tastier and more rewarding dessert treat, yet Cakists will have you believe that they are superior - the creators of dessert joy - and thus should have impunity from the law and taxes.
This of course means that us Pieists have to pick up the slack - DESTROYING our upward mobility. Marie Antoinette was a brutal Cakist - look at HER reward. Pie REVOLUTION NAO!
Fucking radfems. Try working for a living instead of eating bon-bons and spending your HUSBAND'S money (if you're not a DYKE).
That period is Karmic justice; it's a month's worth of labor, anger, lust, hardship and hunger rolled into one week.
That's what you get for being a lazy cunt. If you weren't lazy, you'd have spit out a kid (if you're not a DYKE), then had a hysterectomy, gotten a job, and baked me a delicious pie - all in the SAME day, at the same time, while scrubbing the toilet with YOUR toothbrush, and letting me give you anal.
But NOOOOOOO! That would require you do something other than being a fat, judgmental, psychotic, emasculating, piggish hose beast in need of a bullet.
That's why your gash bleeds.
I tried to read "Green eggs & ham" once... ONCE. I have this problem though.
Every time I try to read, I end up with epic vertigo, and hallucinations of sword fights with lowercase j's using lowercase i's as guns, and lowercase u's as magnets. The outcome is always the same - they magnetically steal my sword with ghetto gusto, and shoot me in the face. I end up in a puddle of my own vomit doing the worm.
It might have something to do with my diet, but I really don't know what color it is anymore.
You're now tripping balls as you experience dripping balls, melting away from your body, to form the face Bootsy Collins, who screams fat and funky thick slap bass lines at you.
As you absorb it all into the newly formed talking hole in your chest - you blast off on your space rocket mushroom, puffing on your morning glory pipe, wondering if your coupons have expired. Then as you come climatically close to climax...
Your grocery shopping is now done. Please exit the store with core intact, and remember to wear underwear next time. Thank you for your patronage.