Savor small victories against this filthy tool of the rich. Spurious convoluted logic
Sickening hypocrisy perversely peddled as decency. A mind trek and subconscious safari. Travel incognito into your cavernous labyrinthine cranial vessel. Snap some photographs of your odyssey. You are compared to Columbus. The traveler, the discoverer, a psychotic Columbus at large. You have so many mental glitches. You seemed spaced out though you were actually sober. Your thoughts are like sheets of paper soaked in absinthe. You are young and think heavily about Peter Pan. You actually thought that you're Peter Pan while heavily addled with absinthe and that makes you the 'absinthe besotted Peter Pan'�
Your eyes manifests a gaze of an institutionalized social reject made to apprentice in a local pharmaceutical depot staring at wary onlookers' deadpan spitting sanguinary mucus and sour splash pointblank. You are an agent who rages against the sage page of minimum wage. A word gets incarcerated inside your mouth and couldn't find its way out. For some words, the mouth is a metaphorical penal complex. During verbal incarceration, the word gets trapped. This is aptly called the 'speechless moment'� it happens during first dates and public talks. Playing with plasticine watching the internecine strife on the mezzanine television. Penicillin cuisine on my cousin's magazine basin. My medicine sauntered with niacin tartrazine and choline causing maudlin morphine, heroin and gelatin cretin formations. A head on no survivor collision between a septic tank and an Ammonia vessel precipitates an ammonium pandemonium. An alcohol school trains young juvenile derelicts on the finer points of Vodka imbibing along other by products of the vineyard.
But where am I now? My god look at my body, I turned into an E.coli in the primordial soup ready to be consumed by a gourmet panhandler slurrrpp! There you go man, I am plying his trachea going trough the esophagus and down the big intestine. This is where I am going to wreak havoc because I am the fucking E.COLI virus! Fucking E.coli Virus! You heard that? Huh? I am the goddamned E.Coli virus! Now I can feel this panhandler's twitching I can hear his grunts and groans. Oh my god there it goes, a gush of strong wind coming from up above. He was trying to puke me out. I am going to resist but the torrent was so strong powerful than I ever imagined one two three and there! I was out into the grey pavement along with the carrots, egg and other mélange of vegetables in the primordial soup. I was no match to this gaunt panhandler. Iron gut and rubber stomach. Now I am transformed into a metal pinion of society's machinery. Society thinks I am hilarious because I am not a fancy pinion I am grey and reeks of grease and tar. They are expecting a very colorful pinion. A pink pinion. A faggot looking Pinion. But fell short of their expectations they think that the grease and tar are just my aberrations from their social norm. Pinions are cool and they are not supposed to look like pink colored pederasts. Pinions are supposed to look really fucking industrial. They got to be gray greased and metal. A pinion made of wood is a fake pinion. A poseur and those that were made out of plastics are considered gay. Fuck the pinion for chrissakes. Let it go and join the machine where it is supposed to belong. A party, a gathering, an orgy, a wild bacchanalian fete done on top of the dissecting table reeking with the blood of decapitated frogs and komodo dragons. The band is playing with instruments made out of calcified human feces. No wonder the color of the instruments are either dark monotone brown and subtle earthly green hues. Sounds like pipe dream huh? Sodomy fiends and scat devouring pederasts will take delight of gargantuan proportions at such a panoramic musical demonstration. Provisions were distributed and among the victuals were loads of Chinese chocolate bars fit only for extraterrestrial consumption. They were specifically given to the greenhorn posse learning the trade of retorting to fiber optic audio transmissions coming from patrons of a foreign kingdom. They collected their lagniappe with much gusto and aplomb greedily consuming it with a glutton's appetite notwithstanding the fetid skunk stench emanating from each bar.Nostradamus has an idiot brother named Nostradumbass and he writes really cool prophecies. Don't cut off trees because you might tickle the ire of the Sylvan god with the pick axe and it will cause you tachycardia. His anger not expressed but motives though tacit can be effortlessly deciphered. Subliminal subconscious augury and foreboding tells me that this piece will face hordes of impugners but I am going to be there and fight with impunity. These impugners would not be coming from the Orthodox Church or Vatican either. They'll be from normal, ordinary, run of the mill members of society not ready or doesn't have the cranial facility to appreciate such beautiful and pulchritudinous avant-garde opus. These are just mumbo-jumbo and pseudo-psycho-babble gobbledygook gibberish they would say. Hell yeah if they think that way they will not be mistaken. But even the most deranged and unintelligible looking literary work requires at least an iota of genius. I found a deer's carcass bleeding like a stabbed hemophiliac and tears flowed from my eyes. My melancholic heart felt a wave of altruistic pity. The deer with its branch like antlers and calcified hooves and sinewy hind legs. Magnificent stance and beautiful gait. Who killed him? Took away his prolific life in the woods. Was it the sylvan god? No I don't think so. The sylvan god loves the creatures of the forest. He is not capable of such nefarious and heinous deed. He is not a murderer, a slayer manning the abattoir. He is not. But who? Kitsch loving anarchists who wants his blood for their paint? Or is it a famous culinary superstar who wants the deer meat for his next culinary showcase? Or the western kid who wants to know the taste of deer patty. It's anyone's guess. But don't beat your brains out. You don't need to because I am the one who murdered the deer. I want it for breakfast fresh deer flesh for my burning embers. Lightly seasoned with iron filings. The remaining parts would be served at the nocturnal troglodyte fete. There will be a gabfest, a night of dancing and bacchanalian merrymaking. Everyone is a cog in the degenerate machinery called society. We all have our share for the world's blunders because humans are square pegs in non-Euclidean holes capable of becoming termites in society's crutches kicking the happy dog on the carcass of preconceptions. The malignant degenerate cultural gangrene is eating its way through our aesthetic affinities replacing the sweet floral scent with fetid rancid stench. Humans and animals convene and become convivial thus will be called the soiree of man and beast. If they procreate it would be hailed as bestiality nonetheless sodomy. Stiff human phallus grinding through a beastly fecal hole is the sum of all pederasts' delight and an antithesis to heterosexuality. I am neither a nihilist nor an anarchist. What is this really? This is not the sum of my personality for I can declare with a monarch's aplomb that I am still in clutches of sanity. I really flexed my cerebellum to the point of catatonia to produce this spectacular outcrop of mundane, marshaled and rigidly organized intellectual effort while pushing the envelope of depravity into the wide blue yonder. Civilization reached unprecedented heights in industrial aesthetics that the secular and simple art of rose garden cultivation was interred into the vast bowels of oblivion. Why? A rose garden is so beautiful to look at. Bloody red petals and thorny stems suggest the paradox of life and death. Blood brings life but drawing blood from a human being using a weapon can cause cessation of one's existence. The skunk passed out some reeking soporific inert gas from its prosthetic gaping crevice. I laughed like the merry prankster of the new millennium I inhaled the gas and came down into a deep profound slumber. I woke up sweating like a somnambulist. I went straight to the fridge and suit myself a cone of sci-fi wasabi'� it tastes freaking awful but I love it I took a second serving. There was a knock on the door, I opted to crack it open only to get flabbergasted by the sight of the uninvited visitor. Alas! A giant donkey robot Santa Claus clad in a very comely but preposterous habiliment. He was carrying a huge sack of gifts, trifling presents for the pure of heart. Interesting enough was that he was looking for me to hand over his present. It was a book, a piece of literature containing vital information and instructions on how to amuse a sappy pathetic recalcitrant obstinately pig headed curious and intellectually deranged lackadaisically sluggard indolent lethargically slothful gluttonous lustful catatonic inebriated cacophonic canine. Whew! What a way to describe a freaking dog. I accepted the present but I am not ready to bring the ideas of the book into fruition. I mean what the fuck there's no way I am going to amuse a dog soon. But the topics are interesting enough for postprandial colloquy with a horde of hell-bent masochistic leather loving sexagenarians. I am going to hold my pompous oratory on top of a yellow watchtower because I want to scare the holiest living shit out of these freaks. These senile geezers are all acrophobic cry babies. Damn I got them seated and they were staring at me like a murdered the village clown or something. I did a dry run, tested the microphone to see if it is working. I said: 'test mic, this is a test, hello assholes, good morning to all of you morons!'�. Holy crap I must have tickled their ire for after I uttered those pleasant words they abruptly pulled out their guns. I never though they have guns, I mean how in the depraved world could they pass through my tight- like-a-virgin security frisking. Obviously my people were not doing their jobs. I said ok! Fellas calm down (while feigning the most cherubic visage on the face of bugged out heaven) I am sorry and I really apologize for my words. I didn't mean it. I didn't mean to tell you the truth. You guys are the most wonderful and interesting gathering of creatures that I've ever met in my whole life. Everybody hushed while others near the promenade was sobbing into tears. They went up to the stage teary eyed arms extended and offering me a hug. Ok enough of this maudlin saturnalia I said. Victuals and libations will be served and we are going to start off with the most appetizing appetizer from Japan. Please give a round of applause for the Sci-fi Wasabi'� clap!clap!clap!clap! the geezers clapped their hands out in bacchanalian orgiastic frenzy. The band started to play some vicious party music. Everybody danced to the Latin tune of La Cucaracha while devouring huge gargantuan mouthfuls of the Sci-fi Wasabi'�. It was a jovial scene. All of them were enjoying the sumptuous feast. I was so happy flashing off my wide toothy grimace. Time to serve the main entrée: The genetically engineered 1 ton marsupial bred and raised in a subterranean Biological engineering laboratory underneath the world famous Ayers rock. Hear ye hear ye! I yelled. I am pleased to present to all of you people of taste and culture a concatenation of different scientific fields. The envy of all culinary connoisseurs and aficionados all over the milky way and andromeda galaxy. The vice of the king of Uranus. Served for your delectation and sheer palate bliss. Please pull out your knives and fork and lets commence the consumption of this aesthetic culinary marvel. You can still smother it with the Sci-fi Wasabi'�. We still have at least a dozen cylindrical vessel of those. The stupid geezers pulled out their knives and fork and started the butcher of the already dead stuffed marsupial. Butcher would be the best way word to describe it because of the vicious homicidal brutal looks on their visage while participating in the gastronomic carnival. Everyone was chewing like it was the last meat that they are going to devour in this planet. Well, I thought, why not, I mean the product is really a superb scientific and gastronomic marvel worthy of aristocratic consumption though ironically the reverse is what was unfolding. It was being consumed by a bunch of low life nincompoops. Today I am thinking of my pet peeves first one, it really tickles my ire if I hear people ranting and raving about how overweight and obese they are wherein fact they are not and actually on the verge of plummeting headfirst down into the labyrinthine anorexia abyss. That fires me up fanning the flames of my wrath's dying embers. But where is the donkey?

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