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insipid jackonanery incorporated
Honestly, I haven't the ability to tell a story in text to save my voraciously undervalued existence. To be even more precise, I find it's a waste of the bandwidth normally taken up by empowered fiction of the sort that would have Lord Dunsany quivering beneath his down comforter in fear of any continued outbursts of creativity from said hypothetical author. When we examine it more closely we recognize that it's no more than cerebral tobacco dip. Looks nasty, tastes even worse than expected and, generally, all it does is encourage other folks to spit streams of discolored saliva onto the screen at all too predictable intervals. Who in the name of fuck really needs to side-step their own arbitrarily dictated reality to such a degree that the resulting work acts as an agent of dissent upon their own initial intentions? Don't try to be. Just do and casually record what has happened (or is happening) retroactively.
Yes, I'm glad I've lost you thusfar.
The overall idea is one of extreme importance and even if it has just sped over the crown of your dome at ludicrous speed and left a reverse mohawk as evidence behind it I implore you to steal attention if necessary. All of this visual hopscotch relates to the deviously conditioned proclamations of change shouted from swivel-chair soapboxes worldwide. It's not an artificially engineered epidemic such as SARS and I seriously doubt that any threat of insidious revelation will ensue. Although, I must caution against removing your safety goggles this early in the monologue. You may do so at your own risk. Furthermore, if you're here tapping out complete and utter improvised garbage for no other reason than to see yourself on your own computer screen than you need to step away from the machine for a little while. Think of it as your first attempt at charitable philanthropy.
Someone will thank you silently somewhere along the line.
When it comes to subtly extrapolating the secrets hidden in this massive network I'd rather lie boldface to get my point across than concoct some half-witted half-cocked half-truth to prove nothing more than the capacity to do so. To free-form paraphrase the wise Coyote, a lie is the murder of the Creator's pain-staking ingenuity in assembling this particular servers dynamic appearance for you. The lie engenders quite an amazing formula that, for all intents and purposes, defies replication. It is yours and yours alone. Don't buy it? Rip the disguise off the face of the slave-driver whenever you happen to allot yourselves some free-time to kill. You may find the light of reason a bit dimmer than is popularly believed. And, therein we've witnessed the allegorical truth behind our inept social fascination with deicide and nominal hopes for freedom. Entropy cannot explain away all of our woes. Stick that scientific illumination up your ass and pray for a sloppy bout of dysentery.
We refuse to rephrase that in any more polite way.
It's imperative for you to realize that this is a medium of supernal cryptografitti. Metaphors will fail you. Analogies will only compensate for a startling lack of talent insofar as the word itself is prefixed in its entirety by the key anatomical tetraform: anal. Even rhythm will fail you. Rhetoric is important for both spoken and written forms of communication as any amateur to neuro-linguistic patterns will remind you, but even the most gifted avatar of Metatron has been beaten to the punch by Mike Patton and Curtis Jackson. Simply put, you can't compete. We shall now digress away from ridiculous collective insults. No other form of expression is connected to so many pupils in so many places all at once. What we think we see protruding from the surface of the electronic ocean is usually just a figment of plagiarized flattery or simply a parody of the ultra-elite wordsmiths. Get a paradigm to call your own and, for the love of fuck, cease the infestation of other peoples proclivities to benefit some vague image of yourselves as identified by an unconscious directive sent from the ever-zionizing culture you don't hesitate to admit you belong to. Seems almost inevitable that we stand on uneven ground.
It's a free-for-all feign or be feigned festival, friends
One thing worthy of mention, anyone who begins a paragraph with an adverb such as "honestly" should never be trusted under any circumstances for any reason or at any time. What I do or what I write won't be considered poetic by the near-sighted and even those rare far-sighted individuals with whom I share an intimate telempathic link seem to wonder where it all comes from and why I'd dare to effluence such obtuse condemnations of literacy from sentence to sentence. I'd profess that it has something to do with my pre-conscious sentience offering commands from near-earth orbiting satellites, but aside from that having far too much of a previously mentioned pun to it, I really haven't contacted the pre-conscious intellegencia in quite awhile now. Time is jogging out and my brain tissue is far too healthy these days. But, by confronting the audience and you confront the fear of death in a sort of myth-inspired ritual drama. Few masters are capable of extracting the gnosis required to fuel their own development.
Can half a million hogtied human-ites be wrong?
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