Or back to Ze Lair Arkives
Article 158 (42 more) in alt.fuck.you:
how bout jamming it up your ass sideways, shred? Why don't you go write your whip-type article and then rub the last bits of your penis off with some steel wool. Why not plaster your anus shut with epoxy and rupture your colon. Why don't you get a job at a retirement home giving old ladies enimas with your mouth. Why don't you stuff someone's gangreen infested amputated arm up your ass and fuck a jar of pacante sause, you fucking farm boy piece of shit. You little shit sweeping farm boy itching to spit some chaw juice all over your little sisters pussy and make another inbred piece of shit like you. Rubbing your little wee wee all over Betsy the cow's snot covered face and imagining it to be Alice the Brady Bunch's maid where you can demand subserviance because in truth you're just as afraid of women as some gangly ass farm boy from the boons.
1) Never use my name again. Never address me. Never mention me.
To all others, my deepest regrets that I had to waste your time with this bit of negativity. I feel honored by your votes of confidence. yay.
whip
Article 159 (41 more) in alt.fuck.you:
Whip, tell me what you'd rather this sub be named.
Article 160 (40 more) in alt.fuck.you:
I think alt.fuck.me would be nice. How bout alt.evil.kanevil.anul.orgy ? How bout alt.burst.the.blister.in.my.mouth? How bout alt.splinter.head? How bout alt.fake.shit? How about alt.happy.garden.land? alt.dick.swill. Alt.lunch.fuck. alt.racoon.up.my.butt. Alt.herbal.remedy?
I dunno. well I think I'll double post..
whip
Article 161 (39 more) in alt.fuck.you:
Butch's family resteraunt. Melvin the bus boy.
IN The bathroom stall with the boss lady giving her it with a big spray bottle.
George, stupid costumer. Crawls under vinyl seat and acts dead.
Melany, waitress. Racist pig. Stuffs a roll of quarters up her ass before she leaves so she can buy a carton of cigerrettes.
Wendle, stupid costumer. Shits his pants as he watches Melany.
Roland, innocent black man. Comes in to ask for change for a twenty.
Melany, waitress. Racist pig. Assumes Roland to be a pimp. Quickly makes change.
Wendle, stupid costmuer. Notes the nervousnous of melany and shits his pants some more.
Pac Man Video Game, all knowing video game that watches from the corner. It knows everything about the people here. It is constructing legs under it's wood container so that it can stand up and kill people, SOOooon.
Rodents, under the floor boards. Eating everyone's shit.
Harry, passing fat police officer. Gripping his penis and banging it against the steering wheel as he recites over and over, "Freeze! This is the POE-Leese!" Orgasms onto the windsheild and smashes straight into the wall of butch's family resteraunt in the ecstacy.
The wall, very strong. Designed by suburban gods. Crunches the stupid cop car into wrenold's wrap. Decides however that it wants to kill the stupid man inside so it falls on him.
Boss lady, realises too late that the wall has fallen in front of her and she's naked recieving blasts of warm water up the ass.
Melvin, holding the squirt bottle. Asks for a raise.
Roland, actually a doctor who was in vietnam and works in the emergency room, rushes towards the crash.
Article 162 (38 more) in alt.fuck.you:
of course, harry gets a raise, you see. There is a big party at the town square, all the pretty girls come and dance.. I dance with them because they are beautiful, but I know that this stinking pig being promoted is a scam. I know because some scwably artist told me.
Gorje Dunes the scwably artist told me, "Look, the pig is blowing the right dicks---" he told me, with three extra dashes.
His latest painting involved a massive monkey rape of some nondescript person who is screaming out about some ailment. It is very intense. There is fingernail in the work. Gorje tells me, "To make this work I had to go into a deep acid trance for hours untill it came to me.. you know, the helplessness, can you see that the guy's anus burst? Well, the anus bursting is symbolic for an element to society.. you know, that there's always some little prick who comes along who gets gang raped by the monkies and he screams out and flails his arms... things like that."
I sense the rush of comprehension. The spectacle. Ahhh..
In walk three monkies.
"Hi, we're the wankies1!!" They scream in unison. It is important to note that they were in perfect unison. They were so unbelieveably synchronized that I immediatly picked up the fone and called a famous TV show host whose my uncle and started rambling about the synchronized wankies! He of course hung up on me immediently thinking I was making a perverted call...
Hell with them. I went out to go see some people. The worlds so full of them, why waste time with defective ones. Something I often asked myself as the keyboard clacked away.
So ALT.FUCK.YOU was spawned.. an enterprise. Damn, what if I don't know what to say? What if I'm not the person they're talking about. I could just be a drug haze waiting to disipate. Yes, that's what I am. A drug haze, dammit.
Frat row is lined with what america wants. Trophey people. Beer comercials. Flashy asses. Hey, man, come check out my flashy ass.. let me waggle it at you.
Hell, so Janice the heroine of the story was leaping out of a black helicopter with stiff nippled breasts blazing and rippling with every blast of her machine gun fire. She scares those little puney men. Those little slugs of filth that run for their mothers womb as the bullets scatter their dreams, powder.
damn, fuck
Article 163 (37 more) in alt.fuck.you:
Janice is on the strange nether planet. The dim brown murky trees claw the barren concrete colored sky. Her eyes scan, trained and precise, but she senses no movement. This is all very strange, she thought as she remembered just leaping from a helicopter being flown by Quaid, her lover. Down below the Indigo Gangs men had been running from her twisting spray of bullets. Now she was here in some bizarity of reality.
A calm in her that was the soldier broke through. She took a jittered stock of her items. She had her sub machine gun and two clips of amunition. She had a belt pack with a first aid kit and small surgury set. No food, no water.
She started to wander drearily through the landscape.
The slow gurgle of oil bubbles through thicker oil untill arch and burst.
Tracks in the marshy brown ground. Tracks with much sweep marks about them suggesting some form of dragging appendages. As far as she could discern there were two distinct foot type prints. She followed.
The trees broke into a large open expanse with a black dome in the center with sheets of light eminating from it.
"It was black!" screamed the gargoyel at the younge child, swinging his jointed arms in a frenzy, "That black temple to the greater god!" he continued now pushing the child in the manic trance.
Article 164 (36 more) in alt.fuck.you:
Those wonderful auditory hallucinations-- thought Janice as she slid Quaid's penis out from his black commando pants. She knew that she just heard that same grizzly voice through out her life again. The voice was a rasping growling in her ears that would usually scream incoherence in gutteral agony but this time it had been quite inteligible.
-You are going far away-
She remebered it all now, and her mind sat nestled on the sexual memory of her lover Quaid. It comforted her in this true emptiness.
She entered the black temple.
_-------------=
"Things are going to be a bit different around here," Said Tom 'the missing bullet.' He was speaking to jo jo one of his transvestite hookers that he was employing. Tom, or as some called him, Dingo-lo-pimp man, was as his pseudonym suggested was a leather pimp. "First, thing, darling, you and the girls all need to go buy yourselves guns and ammunition. Second, you all better find yourselves ski masks and third, you need to shave that awful mustache."
Tom, also known as Conrad Jordan to anyone who was asking, was planning to
assasinate the president.
"The profets of god!!" screamed the gargoyle adding bits of saliva to each word. He scampered about his underground urban nest. The constant clanking of pipes and metal adding sheer chorus to the madness. The child wept in her dark fear.
Article 165 (35 more) in alt.fuck.you:
The black ants lived in prosperity. Their constructions were vast as were thei stores. Newer little black ants were hatching each day. Their society was free from any form of strife. Each citizen was an artist in movement spining antenea against eachother sucreeting drug like enzymes for pleasure and communication.
But then the red ants came and they had war. Necks twisted against eachother and abdomens were peirced open gushing out fluids against enzymes against motion in frenzy.
Janice smiled at the little war below her. These were the first creatures she had seen on the planet. Their nest was sprilling out from the side of the decayng altar. Ants-- she thought.
A sliver of light came out of the alter and a pillar of blood shot upward.
At the iron maiden concert. Just bought an expensive tee-shirt which is thrown over the old Judas Priest shirt. Stand on the chair and wave some ambigious satanic hand signal. Metal makes your scrotum retract into your body.
You find a pay fone and call the police and tell them you are on drugs. You are told to wait where you are. You wait. It seems like an awful long time. You are worried. It sure seems like a long time. A real long time.
You wake up in a dirt feild. You stumble to a pay phone. You call the cops to tell them you've been beat up.
Article 166 (34 more) in alt.fuck.you:
-I'll fire my ION cannon at those guys! They can't come in here! ! NONO!!!
BLAM BLAM>1!!>!>!
Article 167 (33 more) in alt.fuck.you:
Enter Nero Graves. Reading from his journals on the events that unfolded:
I found Roger. He had held out as long as he could. This place used to be sanctuary, now it is purely dischord. He is as scattered here as the fragments of his books and relics. I will punish these wrong doers, but first I attempt to peice together his death. I try to peice it all together. I pull the peices from all sides and try and put them together.. usless. There is only all this. Damn bits of his books and peices of his anatomy peices.. like these events, a disconection, a shattered shard in my fuge. How can I chronicle this wicked evil that tumbles out before me? Better to take place with it, to harmonize and dance with it spreading out slick blades between our tissues. Oh, grey.
I walked out into what once was urban. It has lost that sense now because the wild is in firm control.
Why chronicle. What's done is done. I do sense some feeling that I am taking down this for something... bitter. inside me? My feelings seem to wander out into the galaxies, conected.
Article 168 (32 more) in alt.fuck.you:
The hero walks on graves. He is staggered, stumbling, slipping boot against dirt to boot. Eyes squirming in the horror of their knowledge. The images which flash against billboards, make shift movie madness, a blinding glare of a doctor's stethescope. Needle and skin. The knoweldge is his. He can bury it with the memories of another world.
The segment of madness. Each persons eyes twinkling with a neat private insanity. Total annihilation. A secret lust for the end of all things. The gargoyel. His glory forever after.
Article 169 (31 more) in alt.fuck.you:
She had picked up a little pamphlet. It said across it in strict lettering:
Spin kid went on to explain that the bible is a book that tells the tale of a god that came to the earth. The god claimed to be good, yet failed to free all the enslaved people on the earth, which at the time, and at the select society the god chose to come to, accounted for the majority. So here is the problem. The god, through his inaction allowed and contributed thus to the problem of slavery on the earth. Spin kid discusses the chapters of corinthians of the bible which exclusivley sanction slavery. The pamplet ended by concluding that belief in the bible was basically beleif in slavery.
There was a remote buzzing.
Article 170 (30 more) in alt.fuck.you:
I broke your back with my cadilac, I'm a texan pig gunna suck money right out of the ass I make you work to the bone, so when I go home to fuck my fat wife I can hum to the moan of all the pissants, sucking the grime off my stetson boots. No I don't sweat, I pay people to do that for me, and wipe my ass with their little kids' heads why I'll feed the poor bastards to the public welfare system where I can corn dog them again with a foolish job squeeze the puss out of their eyes, little stupids, trying to escape their involuntary }, indentured support of my luxury. Yeah, I'm a pig, baby, and you can suck the jizz out of my poodles balls if you don't like it, cuz I'll call secuirity and have you ejected or I'l greese up a few coppers and land you a night ride into the country. Good old boy, I call me, cuz I sing dixey to the master race, under god's amitey grace. I'm the man in the saddle cuz GAWD made me, and so I can do no wrong, my membership in the golf course of heaven is signed sealed and delivered. So get out of my face, rodent boy, cuz I've got lots of products to suck up and cling to, lots of pissants to piss on, lots of backs to be broken,m WHOOO-EEE!
Article 171 (29 more) in alt.fuck.you:
\Pathetic\
Yes, pathetic. That is the title of my essay. The point of my essay is not to illustrate patheticness as a whole, but to discuss something that I think is pathetic in the world at large, and especially in the board world. Shit muffin.
It's pathetic that insanity is such a desired trait by feeble people. Insanity makes the small man big, makes the dull kid witty, the ugly geek handsomely daring. No, we can't think of any examples... NOpe.
Real insanity would scare them holy screaming fuck right up eachothers asses searching for the womb. Real insanity would pull the plug on their pathetic staged personalities, the sham, the sobering bits of dull colored food in a dog bowl.
People have often comented or reasoned excussed for the things I've said and drugs and insanity are generally the most common conclusions. Bah. How pathetic that these people decide that because to them it appears that the chaos that I print is either drug induced irrationality or weird esentric insanity. It's too foreign of an idea to them to conclude that I'm simply using my IMAGINATION.
I met insanity when I was younger. Reasoned my way out of it. Insanity is merely that timeless state where you are freed from the responsibilities of living. No longer do you need to subscribe to the metamorphasis of life. Throw out your symptoms as dried mortar in your fixtures.
What a stupid paradox.
Well, that's the end of my essay and on we'll go with our regular scheduled butt load of bull shit.
Article 172 (28 more) in alt.fuck.you:
The egg man had had enough. 'Dammit, I'm the egg man,' he thought. He was razzle dazzled out in his blue body shiney body suit and his large white round helmet that resembled perfectly an egg. It was really a super dooper nice peice of modern technology with all kinds of functions from surgury with robotic hands to self destruct, the latter function which he had never used, although he had almost quite a few times in desperate encounteres with his neo-villian enemies who constantly plagued his life. On his chest was a white circle bearing his emblem: E.
MEanWHILE>>>
Across town a huge gun battle is erupting between the members of the doo doo gang and the police. Gnert, a large ox was running through the exploding glass and blood bags bursting blazzing his machine gun and screaming "This is not a joke THIS IS NOT A JOKE!!" when a random police man jammed the barrel of his gun into his mouth and blew off the back of gnert's head.
The gargoyel steps in to explain everything.
Aunt molly loved the aliens. She invited them over to her place nightly for big texas orgies. The sight was unbearable. Long fingers gropping.. oof. THen they'd all sit and shoot the shit about the meaning of life and generally reach no conclusions. About that time someone smelled the gas right before Aunt molly lit her camel cigerette.
They stored the burned bodies in a hanger in roswell.
Article 173 (27 more) in alt.fuck.you:
Sniffle sniff. Let me rub my eyes. Ok...
There was this fishin trip me and jed took up round strorie lack, see, and the weirdest gawd damned kid came up to us. He had a big blue rooster hair-doo like he thought he was some gawd damned alien. He'd prolly been out sniffin drugs in the mountinz or somethin.. well anyway, he asks us if we'z seen his friend that he'd lost. Well, I says no and he says, "thanks you fat fucks." So I shot the little fucker with my three-owt. Damned rite I did. So, I was wondering if you wouldn't mind me using your wood chipper tonight, eh bill?
The persistent reminder. In the mirror you see yourself and spin through your mind the demon paranoia. Ask someone to confirm what you think. It's useless. You are incomprehensible. You are tired.
Article 174 (26 more) in alt.fuck.you:
Here we are, fog. How are you, fog? Did you enjoy the pleasant drift along the marshes, fog?
Ok, Bill, now we jus pour these buckets in the river and that punks washed out of our hands, eh? Heh he..
Oh god, you're so dreary. Why can't you just blow open the curtains and play something light and breezy. Crap crap crap.
It really sucks when you choke on the atmosphere. When the chlorine wells up in your lungs and eyes and you deventilate. But that's life in albuquerque.
Time time time. Sound the air raid siren, they're coming home. We're all saved, and its all finally over..
Hello neighbor. Hello. Sure sure. Here you go. Good bye, neighbor.
Hello neighbor. Hi. Well, not today, you know. Sure. Ok. Good bye neighbor.
Hi mr. neighbor man. Go away and don't ever come here again or else I will turn your life into complete and total terror; good bye, neighbor.
We never have sticky rain. Pink sticky rain.
God should use more of his imagination.
Article 175 (25 more) in alt.fuck.you:
hey boy! Dont be stingey. Pass out the mustahd.
Article 176 (24 more) in alt.fuck.you:
One minus one, that's me.
I wish to convey a statment. It goes out to a concerned reader who voiced some feedback concerning this sub. It was usefull feedback, as is all feeback and that is my first part to the statment. All feedback is usefull. Otherwise it feels quite lonley in here like a monologue gone into frail bits of inpromptu decending into a ramble. But the second part of the statement would be a legend to this.
blerpk.
Article 177 (23 more) in alt.fuck.you:
Jesus had a thousand dollar cock. His world was expanding before his eyes. The glitz and sparkle. The gleam of limousines in fleet, glassy diamonds. The tin grin of the weekly sex with charming sex-profesionals. They were THE sex profesionals, who practiced to utmost precision the art of wide ranged flesh rubbing. Rubbing flesh with the hands, fingers, mouths, faces, and of course the genitalia.
Jesus arrived at Tonny Gurlantos's uptown office. The small, balding tan man hiked up his grey slacks and leaned/sat on his polished wood clear-coatted desk.
Article 178 (22 more) in alt.fuck.you:
Jesus left the party whaloped. He had drank far too much and when the grass had run dry and they started going for their crack pipes he politley left the charming company of people he was to meet and know and get along with.
Jesus made it home and into bed once again through the diligent effort of his slaves. Before his eyes clamped down and he fell into oblivion being rocked to sleep by the removal of his clothes by one of his slaves he whispered out, "bless me father for I have sinned," as he did every night.
And he went to sleep.
His dream consisted of strange objects being placed in various distances from eachother and examined in terms of perspective. He would jot down notes on a little pad and then look over to some authoritative force in his periphery for some kind of assurance. It was continual and singleminded and quite morose.
'This day will be nice,' jesus thought. He was scheduled to work with a hot new starlet named Spice. He leaped for the bathroom and began the careful and precise manicure of his body and wounds. There had to be a precise amount of agony and pleasure expressed so therefore much of the blood needed to be dabbed back so that the streams of blood were much more pronounced. He slipped into his purple loin cloth and he was ready for action.
Article 179 (21 more) in alt.fuck.you:
"Yes, baby, let me comit spiritual wrath to your naked body!" jesus uttered out another one of his famous parables. He dove into the fleshy confines of a certain Ms. Jessica Lick and set about painting his sexual mural. He was a true artist laying out a rich portrait of his patrons. The bloodied flesh canvass showed the all too familiar embracement of pleasure and pain. The viewer/participant would gaze into the bucking pictoral saga and would experience sexual enlightenment on a higher plane. The dance was perfect. Jesus and Jessica danced on, madly finging against eachother soaking themselves, the office furniture and the floor beneath them in holy sanctifying blood.
Yes, jesus had it all. The high rise, the women, the very very very powerful friends, money to wipe his ass with. The people loved him far and wide and dreamed of his monolithic sexual art. His father would have been proud of him.
"You know Iggy. I think I'm gunna buy me a winnibago and go tour america. You know, go spread my jism around."
So jesus had his producer set it up. He drove to every major city hosting huge orgies involving himself as the centerpeice. They would flop in parks, a sea of naked bodies rising up into a sexual tempest and jesus would gape in the center, a red pupil in the flesh storm. Peace flurished.
Article 180 (20 more) in alt.fuck.you:
"Have you written your step mother dear boy?" The tired submerged eyes of Helen Cagler stared down at the little boy. PINK stained eye balls sent the evil grace of the lord through the magnification of thick round crazy person glasses into the FEARING eyes of Jesus Christ.
Article 181 (19 more) in alt.fuck.you:
Letter from Tarmat, Texas to Road Ditch, Arizona:
Woman,
I'm sorry I can not be your son.
Article 182 (18 more) in alt.fuck.you:
Hampsville: The pinwill of the american dream complete with wall to wall barbecuing dads and primped housewives with cone tits that intimidate teen aged boys into willing sexual enslavement. Hampsville, where no one's personality exceeded their bumper stickers. Hampsville, wonderous, wonderful blistering town propped up for propaganda films.
Jesus and his orgy crew arrived at the park as usual and immediatly set to oiling their bodies and yelling into bull horns.
"Holy shit, you see what them hippie fucks doin out there!" Jed Coleson screamed through a gurgling mouth of tabbaco into sherif Dittlers ear. The irritable cop whiped the brown spatters of chaw from the side of his buzzed head and spun in his chair. He looked out Stoopie's Cafe window and saw his vision of true anarchy.
Jesus could hardly remember the bliss of the orgy. He was getting his ass furiously kicked cowboy style. Jesus whipped to and from the walls of a ring of rednecks who bashed him in the face when he staggered into striking distance. He took a few more blasts to the head before collapsing into fog.
"HEY BOY!! WAKE UP!! Hmmmm... spit in his face again Bill. WAKE UP!! Hmmm... need more spit... hell, I'll just give him some of that beer I was drinkin... heeere we go... whoop. here's he comes, he's coming to... yeah, drink up!"
Jesus managed to roll over and divert the urine stream into the back of his head. His brain rolled in his skull cringing for the fear of more blows.
"Ok, get up now boy.. some one pick his ass up... hey you Jed, dumb fuck, pick his ass up.. yeah no, ok, hippie boy.. you like doing it like some kind of animal in front of everyone so much, eh? Well then you'd just better go ahead and do it like some animal in front of us and we'll judge you when its over.. so have at it, do it," the sheriff ended with a smirk and turned jesus around by his hair. A large black and white milk cow stood tied to a fence pole.
So jesus performed his mastery. He had endured so much pain and had retained it all in appearance. He was the beaten pulp in sheer ecstacy delivering a domesticated farm animal into sexual oblivion. The blood pooled out across the back of the cow and across it's quivering legs. And jesus continued on and on until he screamed like a burning big foot and then slumped over the bloody cow.
When he awoke from his performance the field he was standing in was empty. Jesus found his winibago and road crew which had been returned to the park. They left quietly a stiff quiet town.
Article 183 (17 more) in alt.fuck.you:
It is important at this point to understand that jesus had ascended above the mind of man. His deeds would imprint even the most stern scorner. Hampsville was Every Town, USA. He could be nothing but a god of infinite fertility to any person, of any back ground, of any region, of anywhere.
The tour approached the end. There was a massive orgy planned for the steps of congress and the surrounding plaza. All the leaders were to come and and join the sex swarm. Jesus knew somehow that this would be his last orgy. Jesus felt a precise amount of colision in his life was to occour. He would deflect to something else, some new thing, a new medium for his art maybe.
And the orgy was explosive. It lasted for three days. The fire department sprayed their hoses over the crowd lightly before they too would discard their professions and enter the pulling and tugging and twisting. It was truly wild.
Jesus could be seen riding about apon his adepts when not in the actual process of deliverance. He would smile and wave his scepter and send shockwaves of orgasms through the mobs.
Jesus found his soul here. He met the president and exchanged a small dialogue. He knew what he really wanted to do was to work for the cia. It was in his blood, it was in the bullet wounds he had always had that never healed. They were the wounds of an assassin, he had known it since he was a child. He always had blood on his hands no more would matter. He was a death angel.
Article 184 (16 more) in alt.fuck.you:
Jesus was running through the play ground. There was a small herd of children pursuing him at close distance. They screamed and hollered in the madness of infancy which had yet to burst from these creatures. Jesus clutched a ventriloquist doll in his arms. One of his fingers controlled a chord that entered the wooden idol's neck. It caused it to speak. It was pure magic.
Jesus had opened fire in time. He had read the situation right this time he thought as he went smashing out of the parisian cafe. There was a dead man back inside the cafe slumped across a table. It would be another three minutes before the pool of blood will have grown large enough to arouse suspicion. The dead man's breifcase was on the floor, open and disarrayed.
After turning in the recovered information and debreifing jesus went home and went into seclusion. Jesus always went into seclusion and the organization accepted it as part of jesus's payment. He would stay in his hidden penthouse for weeks on end conducting extensive inner voyages.
Jesus smashed mirrors.
He never called any of his old friends. He forgot about his penis.
But much was instore for jesus.
His espianage continued for ten more years untill he had risen to the top of
And then it hit him. "I want to be president," he thought. He pushed off some corporate ambassator from his deligent slurping apon his feet.
"Scram or I'll stick you in a gas chamber," jesus demanded, "..Yeah president.." he thought as he reached for the 'dirt' file on the current comander in cheif.
Article 185 (15 more) in alt.fuck.you:
The election, like all elections in america, was rigged. Jesus simply assumed command, but they made it look very nice. He even did some minor campaigning. In either case everyone would have voted for jesus anyway, well because he was god and that definitly qualifies him to be president. But, that would be expensive and a very unpolitical way of doing it.
The former president dissapeared as did his rich sheltering tax plans, as did his drug wars, as did his sensless flauntings of american war technology on the remote sands of someone else's country. He dissapeared fearing that the folder jesus held would be used to judge him.
Jesus now was a crowned god. He held the chords of all the wooden men and women around him. His fingers pulled words out of all his little ventriloquist dolls.
Yes it was a wonderful first year in office. He had brought a miraculous peace to the world. Jesus thought to himself, 'Boy I really made it.' as he sat atop the greatest mass of love ever created on earth.
And then the soldiers came from another part of the world. Their faces were charred sand for they endured a constant strugle unlike these luxuriant americans who grow soft with cushion. Their guns bit through the lines of naked people. Their gasses sprayed out into the soft people masses and caused disorder, panic and death.
They captured jesus. They dragged him. They locked him up and then they waited.
Article 186 (14 more) in alt.fuck.you:
So here is the quandary. How could mortals capture and restrain a god? Gods can bash through walls with the flick of an eye. Why was jesus restrained?
All of jesus's associates, friends --hell, country men and women suffered horribly because of him. He had lead them through an amusement park into a slaughter house. The blood was not beautiful this time. It came out of the cows cold by barking men who beat it out with their rifle butts. Jesus had ruined their lives.
The image of jesus's degradation was eternal. It seeped into the roots of all human minds. They absorbed it so completely that it became a living breathing imortal reality. He died choking to death on his vomit and various other body fluids.
The soldiers grew massivley powerful raping the resources of america. They entered into constant agressions across the world. Finally japan unleashed the final weapon and all life was extinguished--Except for some very wealthy people who had built underground shelters and rockets that furnished large green houses and space farms that they launched into any random direction in the universe and hoped for the best. These people firmly believed that jesus was god and they meant to convince any alien form of life they should by chance meet. These people did live quite happily ever after, thanks to jesus.
el fin.
Chorus:
Article 187 (13 more) in alt.fuck.you:
when you've sold your deed, sir. When you've washed up your last winter and turned your stores to iron filing scatter them in the river, so some boy can find it, pick it up with a magnet and feel rich. Move along, sir, grazing time is over. Your last time with your name whispered over the crackled microphone is here so raise up your cartledge and wag it in the sunlight once more. Feel the warmth and then lie down with a hum, good bye.
Article 188 (12 more) in alt.fuck.you:
-Five point seven three times ten to the power of seventeen. Now now, mr. Ing, don't try to tell me that the number has no significance. That would just disappoint me, and I hate to be disapointed-
Scomtor stood over the instument panel. There lights and levers and dials which messured the dasterdly deeds that the console commited by way of long sharp robotic arms that hovered over our hero, mr. Ing, who was strapped down to a table. You know, your typical situation.
=You know scumtor, you need to be a bit more careful in this game. One of these days you're going to find yourself a very grave man=
Article 189 (11 more) in alt.fuck.you:
I'll crawl, I'll crawl into your office,
Mr. CEO, King of the network, freak.
And I'll tell you the good news,
I'll word it correctly, right off the print out,
I'll tell you how smart you are,
Article 190 (10 more) in alt.fuck.you:
Just sort of wanted to say hi to all my friends.
Good to see you all. I would like to kiss each of you and comend you on a good year. More to come. Merry hairy jubilation most graciously.
----
The exchange between two refugees.
"Twice the fun, I'll tell you. Fucked my dog last night. Hell, I don't need a wife. That old scruffy dog anus fits my needs just fine, eh Rupert?"
And one refugee made a toast to the entire bar, leaned the drink down his head, and left the murkey lounge. He became a big hollywood producer through much mangling drama and finally shot his own brains out at his uptown office.
Article 191 (9 more) in alt.fuck.you:
The dog that had been that of the refugee turned hollywood producer/psychopath survived the entire ordeal. It was adopted by an upper middle class family who ignored the shit out of it. One day it went crazy and ripped the trachia out of one of the children and was destroyed later that night when the father went mad and brutally beat the dog to death with a golf club. There was much crying. The chandelier was swaying around. Blood was all over Mr. Tanner's golf shirt and pants. He shivered a little and then decided his body had far too much active adrenaline in it. He got in the station wagon and went to go visit his mistress.
She was deciding that very minute that it was time to tell him. Her secret could not be held in any longer. She smiled confident that he would understand.
He pulled into the underground garage of her apartment building. He went up the elevator, down the hall, to her door. He used his key to open it and came in.
It was dark. He could see he sitting on the bed by the orange glow of her cigerette. If he could have seen her face clearly he would have seen lean blue eye lids and red sausage lips. He would have seen blonde tubes of hair covering her head. He would have seen her wildly huge breasts sandwiched in her pink guini sack lingerie.
"I have something to tell you jim."
Article 192 (8 more) in alt.fuck.you:
Richards Coffee Lodge, "Coffee for the Happy Traveler", Exit 37, Highway 9, Klu klux Klan front, Manager Dick Fritz, fat as death, hairy and greasy. Patrons: one Jim Tanner.
Article 193 (7 more) in alt.fuck.you:
He used to lie to his teacher. He used to smile and act stupid. She would have to diligently show him again and again untill he understood. She knew what he was up to.
BECAUSE she liked the pay off. She enjoyed the feel of silk and ejaculation. She had grown accustomed to the fancy ride on the genuine leather pommel.
Things could have been better. Her maid could have spoke english. She could have been in a rock and roll band. But she was happy enough.
Too bad somebody blowd her hed awf.
Article 194 (6 more) in alt.fuck.you:
Destruction fills my head, as I wake to this day I dread. -Neurosis
Article 195 (5 more) in alt.fuck.you:
"Thunder was always the first thing I'd hear. The crecent would rise up in our scopes and suddenly we'd be there. My fingers would panic all over the trigger and the rest was just flashes of light, motion, and malice.
Scientific fact deteriorating due to radioactively induced hyperevolution. Logorithmic slide into oblivion. Pi dies.
Article 196 (4 more) in alt.fuck.you:
All bets are off.
"Damn fuckin hippies. Always pissin in the lawn. They act like twirling savages. I sure wish I could fix them dirty sacks of shit.!," motioned/said grandpa Jones.
Across tomn in the office of Penuts Flintbisket the telepromt went mad. He gazed across the pixels which represented vital imformation. He punished the facts into a grafic structure of action. He called to his helpfull son Miles.
"Miles," the boy smiled, "I have a matter of utmost importance. I want you to help me with a very serious matter. You must get on you bicycle and ride out into the county and give them some very urgent news. I have recieved this information from officials and it must be spread very quickly and when you are done. .... ."
The first one to die was Oren Heathe, dirty repair man. Helen Gart had approached him while he read the paper on a bench. She held a double barrelled shot gun.
"You are so ugly," she said and then she sprayed two foaming holes through his newspaper and chest.
Miles had zipped up and down the streets of the county heralding unto the populace:
"All bets are off! All bets are off! IT'S OFFICIAL!! It's all over!"
Civilized behavior quickly melted away leaving people scrambling for their survival matrixes. As they ran they encounted eachother and they shit across eachother and they let streams of urine crash against eachother and then they killed eachother, solidly.
Article 197 (3 more) in alt.fuck.you:
John Wilkes Booth. He smiled at me. He said, "You filthy dictator," and then he blew my brains through my skull. I went swirling down. There was considerable screaming and comotion.
God. He smiled at me. He said, "You filthy dictator," and then he snipped a string that ran out of my spinal chord up into space. I went swirling down. There was considerable screaming and comotion.
Lucifer. He smiled at me. He said, "I could use you."
The next thing I know, I'm in a rock and roll band. Thousands of screaming fans rush across the deck like a sea storm. I stand at the mast holding the wheel screaming into the thunder. "I'm a filthy dictator, I'm a filthy dictator!" went the chorus.
Article 198 (2 more) in alt.fuck.you:
Please don't feed them this or that or this or that. A kite would do better than this peace colored malice that I have inherited. I see the conviction in all of you as you look into this and know that I have created something awful. I ask you not to feed them anything. Not your garbage hulks and carved out truths. Not that ribbon fed farse. A lot of good that junk will do you when my machine is turned on. Better to waste away against the rock than to try and stare at my crushing titan through the feeble stare of your world. The dreary stare of the the perpetually displaced human, constantly being assured in every way that you are in a safe and good system. Constant self reassurance that everything is organized for your benifit, and your benifit alone. Don't look at this through that. You may as well shed your clothes infront of my monster.
Article 199 (1 more) in alt.fuck.you:
Stingy bastids. Always touching my floppy butterfly and no extra consideration. Might as well make friends with my dentist. Might as well ask for more of that file treatment.
Article 200 in alt.fuck.you:
"Sandman. Why do you leave me here to die? What have I done to you?" so asked Ispl Strand. He was tied down to the marble dessert by the dried tounge skin of the Utowat beast. His drab green skin was chapped in the interlaced pattern typical of the sun burst planet.
And then he was aboard Mar Tarot, his lander. He was comfortably fastened into the G-chair. He finished his log on the key-in while verbally assisting the ships main computer in lift off procedure.
Back to Ze Lair Arkives
Subject: .
From: Whip
Date: Fri 24 Apr 92 12:20:06 am MST
2) Stuff ground glass up your anus.
3) You are a pathetic, insipid bowl of minced testicle that I have pissed in every day since I was four.
4) If you ever do address me or mention my name from this point on I will be forced to tell everyone about the incident you had working as janatorial staff for the special olympics, does 'shower scene' ring a bell???
5) Fuck you, you seeping puss bag.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Yes, I think that would be fun if I could have power over who has access to it.
Subject: alt.fuck.you arises
From: Beastie
Date: Fri 24 Apr 92 07:24:00 pm MST
Subject: .
From: whip
Date: Sat 25 Apr 92 04:58:41 pm MST
Subject: .
From: Whip
Date: Sat 25 Apr 92 05:17:11 pm MST
Subject: .
From: whip
Date: Tue 28 Apr 92 03:12:54 am MST
Subject: .
From: whip
Date: Fri 01 May 92 01:50:43 am MST
Her mind spun with confusion and she fell into massive paranoia and her metabolism increased. Her eyes not darted from tree to tree imagining erie metamorphasis. She felt enormous desolation.
Subject: .
From: whip
Date: Sat 02 May 92 06:05:57 pm MST
Jo jo, riddled in in his theatrical voice, "Aw stuff it muther fucker."
Subject: shit blood in a bag
From: Whip
Date: Tue 05 May 92 04:26:34 pm MST
Now you are inhaling drugs from all around you. You panic. You go to the bathrom and get in a stall and pull down your pants. You know your stoned. You hear some metal heads come in. Now you are inhaling more drugs. You run outside
A big light.
"Are you the boy who called?"
"Yes I am, sir." you are releived. Police are good people.
"What kind of drugs are you on, boy?" They step out of the car and shine their flashlights in your face.
"I don't know, sir. I inhaled it," you proudly say. These police will help you get better and the best thing for you to do is just be completley honest with them and let them do their job. You realise that they seem standoffish but that's because police have a dangerous and hard job so they are always warry. heck, you realise, with your new heavy metal tee-shirt on you almost look like a rebel so it's understandible of them you reason.
"Would you care to step over to the car?"
Certinally, you nod. "Put your hands on the car, son."
Hmmmmmmmmm.... this is bizare. They are rumaging through your clothes.
"Aha, must have meant you were smoking a little rock, eh? You little punk ass peice of shit!" One of the officers dangles a little bag containing some white chrystals in it.
"What? Hey that's not mine!" You jerk back in complete shock.
"He's on dust, billy! Take him!" Suddenly you are sprawling towards the ground. You feel massive blows to your head, and you, being the rocker nerd that you are, quickly lose consciousnous.
"Yes, two police officers beat me up," you explain to the 911 operator.
You are told to wait where you are. You wait.
In a relativly short time you are met with a bright light.
"Some kids just don't learn now do they, billy?" you hear from the fat face of one of the arriving police.
Subject: .
From: whip
Date: Mon 11 May 92 07:37:12 pm MST
Subject: .
From: whip
Date: Tue 12 May 92 01:17:08 am MST
Subject: .
From: Whip
Date: Mon 18 May 92 02:13:09 pm MST
He had met the gargoyle. It was a sensual darkness. The gargoyel had decended coming to give his love to it's cherished and he had been the head preist.
Subject: .
From: whip
Date: Wed 20 May 92 12:04:26 am MST
"Christianity: The great enslavement machine.
A little atheist propaganda
sponsered by spin kid."
She bit her lip. It was a bad thing she thought to not beleive in the bible. It had always been the definition of goodness to her being raised in society and all. She remembered the bright lights in her face and the repeated slogans blaring into her ears over loud speakers, demanding her confession, instructing her transgretions, denying her sanctuary. It all seemed so pleasant to her now. Like a beach.
Subject: .
From: Whip
Date: Fri 05 Jun 92 04:16:49 pm MST
Subject: .
From: whip
Date: Wed 10 Jun 92 03:06:46 pm MST
Insanity. It's pathetic.
Insanity. It's pathetic.
To paraphrase some unmentioned stale peice of flakey rust stain, "My moods are random and chaotic. I could be happy one moment and the next I could be breaking cinder blocks over my head. It's just best for you to keep your distance because I'll get out of my straight jacket soon and then I'll come and get you because I'm *CRAAAAZY*!!!!!!!!!!"
pathetic.
Or maybe just simply put by another, "I'm pretty wierd."
Insanity doesn't work anything like they make it out to be. They got their insanity from the movies, from seeing denis hopper and saying, "Gee, I wish I was like him. I wish I was chaotic and not typical and predictable. I wish I had a personality. I wish I was crazy." Bah.
WOW WOW WOW WOW! Stop the presses, what's this you say? Imagination, nothing else to it. Like picture pages picture pages, lets go get our picture pages. Pulling out the old crayons, and just magnify it and throw it at the big world. Isn't the important element that makes life savory? To create using our imaginations ideas and images which make us jolt and blush and make us use our imaginations all over again, do it again, again, again.
The insanity that is boasted is an admission to a lack of imagination. It speaks of pathetic desire to be interesting. Well, brethen, you are not interesting. You are the annoying mass of pretentiousnous. You get in my way with your stumbling ignorance.
In one sence I guess they are insane. They are free from the metamorphasis because they have nothing to change their typical natures. No imagination.
Subject: .
From: Whip
Date: Wed 10 Jun 92 04:04:31 pm MST
The egg man went flying flipping spin rag doll down the stairs from the spin kick he recieved from the current villain he was battling: Scumtor.
The helmet saved him once again exploding thousands of rubber bands out in every direction which latched onto everything in sight. Unfortunatly egg man was unconscious and so he merely dangled from the egg's web.
Scumtor laughed. He really laughed. He laughed the way neo-villains laugh, with their diaphrams and all, and then he quite foolishly left. BUT, he left a big bomb at the top of the steps ticking away with digital precision.. AHh... what is to become of the poor egg man?
"You see, my race is god. We created you so that you would destroy yourselves. We love your sensless and useless pain. We like to watch you do it to yourselves like a slave trained to beat himself. Love your god, slave."
And the gargoyel was gone with a wind and lots of blinking lights.
Subject: .
From: whip
Date: Sat 13 Jun 92 04:03:23 pm MST
The TV is on so you don't feel lonely. But it could care less.
Sniffle sniff. Let me rub my eyes. Ok... The trigger twinge and oblivion. The TV flickers on indifferently.
Subject: .
From: whip
Date: Sun 14 Jun 92 04:26:01 am MST
Why certainly, river. I trust your delicate meander along the curves of the lady was nice?
But of course.
It would ruin the alagory. Why add precision to this malignant surgury.
Because otherwise you'll get sucked into the video game and just beep randomly with no real patern.
Ahhh.. some evil fucker would find the patern. They make nit paterns out of chaos these days, science and technology and that lot.
Only for androids, and besides you could always move to camalot. I hear its a nice summer. The society is perfect and wonderful too.
Yes yes. As long as the atmosphere is not toxic.
Subject: .
From: whip
Date: Wed 17 Jun 92 01:34:56 am MST
Subject: .
From: oh, whip I guess.
Date: Fri 19 Jun 92 01:47:04 am MST
A legend gives a good scale for things on a map. That is precicley a part of my legend. The scale to my legend is, if I can draw it adequatley, proportionate to the entirity of earth civilization, the rise and complete fall there of. Try to draw the face of humanity with one pencil and you are left to a futile limitation of the imagination. But with the vague smeary view of words we are empowered to see a broader picture. So my scale is fuzzy at best. It is measured by interposed fragments which vaguely mesh to point at one tying conclusion. Impressionistic to a degree but even less confined. It should be free of being limited by cheap plot devices such as some archaic story. Loose but tangled in one single meaning. Well, fuck it. Schtoopid. Let's go fix the fridge, eh?
Subject: .
From: whip
Date: Sat 20 Jun 92 03:37:15 pm MST
Jesus was a mirror sunglass wearing penis hero. He was known by so many names in fame, like gandolf the wizard. He was the rodeo-boy, king thing, the blood sock, mr. P, and many many more.
So here we find jesus in his california condominium suspended within this gelatin of porno-fame. His hair was in its typical bloodied, crown of thorns that are pinching and peircing the skin with each grimace or muscle activity of the skull and bleeding profusily all over the condominium stain resistant carpet look. He was in a red terry cloth bath robe and he was thouroughly intoxicated by his recent consumption of large amounts of marginally classy champange. His bed contained a good friend and fellow worker of his named Charlet. Her blond hair was dazzling. Her teeth were white smooth glazed onions.
So jesus stood with his back turned to the bed. He was looking out the black mirrored window which formed the entire wall of his luxurious bedroom. He stared into the smog smeared lights of the city. He could almost see the lights which he beleived were his former neighborhood where he had worked as a slave carpenter. He meant to buy some binoculars at some point and look.
'I really made it. Wow.' he humbly thought. His drunken smile grew into a hideous grin. The bottle of champagne dangled in his hand. His nose and ears were supporting a pair of oversized mirrored sunglasses. His complexion was awful from all the grease makeup he had to layer his face with for his performances. He dropped his bathrobe and spun around.
"I'm the blood sock, baby, I'm the beaver breaker. Are you ready, baby?!"
Charlet blushed at the rising organ, "thought you'd never ask, jesus," she politley resigned.
"Hey there, J.C." he said from split snickered lips.
"Hi ya, Tonny," replied a humble jesus. He had worn a tan expensive suit which resembled the type of casual suit a private detective show on tv popularized. His suit was wet with blood at the sleeves and on the right side from the wounds of each respective area.
Tonny ignored jesus's offer for a handshake as he always had. He cut right into business. That was the kind of guy Tonny was.
"We gotta get you signed up on another contract, see? Here's a pen, SIGN."
The pen slipped through the wounds of jesus hands. Blood soaked the papers dark red but eventually he signed the proper documents and Tonny placed them in zip lock bags and handed them to his secretary and she filed them.
"J.C., my boy, we're going far in this business, right?"
"You bet, baby!" replied jesus in a relieved voice.
Subject: .
From: whip
Date: Sat 20 Jun 92 04:17:22 pm MST
"Take me home, you puke." jesus burst at Roger, his personal slave. Roger opened the limo door for jesus and helped him in. "Hey, roger, you're a real farm boy aren't you? You fuck the pigs eh?"
"What ever you say, sir." Roger had learned to undergo severe verbal abuse for the cause of a fat pay check.
"Yep, that's right, you fuck the pigs, roger! I bet you wish you were me, fucking the prettiest girls in the world, baby! HA HA! I'm a pig baby, come fuck me roger!!"
Roger was piloting the vehichle out of the hotel driveway, onto the on ramp, and then freeway.
Jesus forgot his torment of roger and looked out the tinted window. An average family car was next to them. It contained, of course, a typical tired american family.
"Hey you!" jesus started fumbling for the electronic window controlls, "You poor fucks! Go to work every day," the window started rolling down, "I say go to work everydayy, and come home and fuck the same old wife, and beat the same old fucking kids! Yeah, sucker! I made it with this!" Jesus lunged his pelvis up to the window and yanked furiously on his famous organ inches from the screaming faces of an average american family.
Subject: .
From: whip
Date: Mon 22 Jun 92 12:41:01 am MST
Note: Jesus took no prisoners in sex war. It was always execution.
Iggy, jesus's personal dermatologist, raised his eyebrows and very stoicly replied, "I think that I'd better make out a stronger dose on that prescription in that case."
The liquid nitrogen mist blast shot out of the end of the tube. Iggy had succefully eradicated another of a series of genital boils from jesus's penis.
"Thanks doc, you're a real stiff one, you know that?" Jesus donned his khaki jumpsuit and left.
Subject: .
From: whip
Date: Tue 23 Jun 92 10:59:32 pm MST
"No miss Cagler. I have been too busy at work to write her. I miss her very much, though."
"Well," she said assuming a shaking rage, "YOU'D GAAAAWD DAMN WELL BETTER LITTLE BOY!!!" her eyes were enormous balls of hate.
Subject: .
From: whip
Date: Wed 24 Jun 92 03:54:24 am MST
Subject: where's that white russian I ordered?
From: whip
Date: Wed 24 Jun 92 04:49:35 am MST
"It's the orgy of the century! Come on, come all and be purified!!" and other various carnal slogans.
The dozen or so associates of jesus immediatly began the mass grope. It was ritualized by this point. It was involuntary. It was mob sex.
"Jed, I want you to go round up us a committee of concerned citizens, if you know what I mean, dumb fuck."
Jesus looked into the autocratic eyes of the sheriff questioning. "Well, boy, you know how to do it like an animal don't you???" The sheriff gave a gusty push to jesus and the porno-star went sprawling to the ground in front of the cow. "COME ON, BOY! GET UP DER!" The sheriff ranted which filtered into the mob and became calls and haloos.
Subject: .
From: whip
Date: Wed 24 Jun 92 07:23:39 pm MST
Peace flourished.
Subject: .
From: whip
Date: Fri 26 Jun 92 02:03:17 am MST
So the little boy jesus commanded the little wooden man and through relevation the painted lips cried out to the crowd of children in a tin peirced squeel, "Go away! Go away! Leave me alone! Go away!"
And he ran and the jeering masses ran with him, around him and they adored the blood that ran down the talking servant and fell across their unblemished skin. They pressed in and the doll's screams became unintelligible.
Large ammounts of haluciginens would be ingested and he would fill notebook after notebook with scrawlings and scetches of his mind's eye.
It was a scale model of his killing acts. Each victim's facial expressions through out the entire sequence of events immediatly leading up to their solid demise was documented with literary precision. Along with this were intracite notes on jesus's own psychology during the killing event. He noted the metamorphasis in his attitude writting, "...The first one was a sloppy connection. I felt the true nerve align, but with time I find it to be deeper reaching inside, a heavier impulse. When I killed Sanid Dinjua today I felt the wounds of my body inhale and surge love through out my soul. When the silent bullets ripped through his eye and I saw him shiver as the blood seeped through his mind and drowned out his life I felt that nerve bristle like nothing I've ever known."
the organization. He was becoming thirty something and he was powerful. daily someone crawled into his office on all fours and sucked the corns off of his feet. Daily jesus ordered executions. Daily jesus snorted cocain.
Subject: .
From: whip
Date: Fri 26 Jun 92 02:12:44 pm MST
The cabinent would speak out in a tin peirced squeel, "Peace to all the world."
America ended hostilities inside and out. Jesus did away with all nuclear weapons. People across the world were overjoyed. Love set in across the landscape.
Jesus once again hosted orgies. This time entire cities would slide into gentle sexual harmony. Every telivision set would show the distinguished president and his dozen or so aides setting the nationwide example. Everyone would follow knowing that it was the devine path, the master plan, from god's wisdom (and the presidents!)
Buildings exploded as great mechanized war monsters rammed through them mangling people who used to live in them. The sky was littered with floppy parachutes with more sand men coming to kill more people.
Subject: Who sent you
From: whip
Date: Sat 27 Jun 92 02:00:52 am MST
Well, the answer is simple. Jesus knew that he wanted to captured. He knew that the sand men would come and they would take him and strip him bare of all he had amassed. They would smash his empire of love under their boot treads. He saw it and knew it and welcomed it.
He stared into the eyes of a cold, meticulous torturer. There was a small transistor radio blasting out gnarled feedback noises at high frequency in the room. It caused obvious discomfort to the gaurds in the room but there was no indication of irritation on the faces of either jesus or the interogator.
The voice was smooth, low, and deliberate with each word spoken by the interogator, "What shall we do with your little country. Shall we hunt everyone down and kill them? You americans have forgoten how to fight. What happened to you? Did your arms grow flabby? Eh?"
Jesus stared on passivley. He was currently in the middle of a spiritual hemorage. "I will speak through no mouth but my own," he confidently stated.
"So," the man continued, "they call you a god. You are not a god. I am a god. I hold the gun. I am god."
Jesus began to conjure lightning bolts from his eyes but he instantly stopped realizing he was just not supposed to. He contained his unworldly assualt and quietly explained, "I am god."
"Shut up," the man snapped, back-handing jesus with a flesh crack. "You are a toilet now. You will be on every channel through out this country as a toilet for our valiant soldiers of war. Not only will a dozen or so soldiers urinate and deficate on you on a stage but on every street our soldiers will releive their waste upon telivision images of you. How about that, god?"
Jesus was amazed with the news. His was crying and smiling through it. Everything had come full circle. He had brought his saga to this: The damnation of civilization.
aaaaaAAAAaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAh!!
mmmmm... least you only paid a dollar to see it. shuffle shuffle
Subject: .
From: Whip
Date: Mon 06 Jul 92 01:52:49 am MST
Subject: .
From: whip
Date: Tue 07 Jul 92 01:21:37 pm MST
-Shut up, you peig. You filthy scum peig. I do not need to hear your sophmoric quotations of shakespeare! How about a nice gash right on your fore head, mr Ing!!! HAHA!! Just try to be a free love secret service man with that awful awful scar!!-
=Ha. Scars look tough=
-Well then maybe I'll give you a hundred SCARS!! Bla ha HAHAHA a!!!
=I've got the best plastic surgeon in the world. Do your damage. You're just jealous of me, scumtor. You know that I always win. You're just scaring yourself, scumtor=
-You are wrong, mr Ing. I'm not the one bleeding. How about some sulphuric acid on your genitals?-
=You don't scare me, scumtor. You aren't man enough to touch my genitals.=
-OHhh? You really think so? Your plastic surgeon won't be able to put humpty dumpty back together again, mr Ing.-
=Then I'll become a woman. I've always known the woman inside of me. And then years from now I'll come and seduce you and murder you in a most horrible fashion. You'll live in fear of all women, doomed to an asexual life.=
-I am asexual. All super villians are. Enjoy this, I sure will.-
=Now now, scumtor. You won't get away with this. I activated a hidden beacon twenty minutes ago. Stormtroopers should be coming in here very very soon and they'll kill you!=
-Then I'd better not waste any time. AHHAHAHAHAHhahaha!!!!-
=AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIAKAAKKA!!AK AKAKKAKAK !!!! NOOOOO!! AAAAA!!=
** boom ** ##@ rat tat tat tat tat #@#@ *blam*
Subject: .
From: whip
Date: Wed 08 Jul 92 01:12:43 pm MST
I'll pin a few medals on your chest,
And then we'll be cave men in the dessert, hunched and bone rough,
And we'll stare into the fire, stare into the fire,
And I bash your head in with a rock, crush your brains,
Pound your skull into mushy fragments,
Untill the fire dies,
And then I'll move on.
Subject: .
From: whip
Date: Fri 10 Jul 92 03:33:17 am MST
"Sheew-eit!"
"Yessih, I got the trailer hitched up t'there old pick-mup, emptied my bank and I'm screwin her! This is my LAST drink between me and the future, dammit-- I'm going to HOLLYWOOD!"
"Gaww-- Gawww---"
"Thas rite, boys. I got the dawg in there, sose when I get lonley I can pick me a nice private campground and enjoy my DOME-estik Lux-yuries."
"Cheew-ie!"
"Yep, Wipe on the grease, boys. Slap it on. Be generous with that grease!"
"Ehh- ... ?"
"Hell with it, boys. I'm out of here. Plenty of convience stores between here and a cowboys wet dream!"
"Wil gawd dawn-"
"You know it, buckso. Let's ride."
Subject: .
From: whip
Date: Fri 10 Jul 92 05:56:11 pm MST
If she could have seen him she would have seen a red stained shaking man with a true instability in his eyes. She would have seen a bent golf club dangling in his right hand.
"I have somthing to get off my mind too." Jim said with a grunted edge to his words.
"Jim, wait, I must tell you this now or I'll never be able to tell you again," jim let out a very light growl, "Well, I've been drinking since three to be able to tell you and I know you'll understand in the end, the fact is I--" Jim's golf club cut her short bursting her mellon head against the head board.
Subject: .
From: whip
Date: Sat 11 Jul 92 03:04:07 pm MST
"Shit Jim what happened to you? Damn.." Fritz said somewhat nervously filling a cup of coffee. Jim sat down at the counter and drank a large gulp of the blackest coffee that side of the pacific ocean.
"Look, Fritz, just shut up. I'll be doing the fucking talking, you just go get some of that good shine you hide back there and I'll close up here."
"Jim, I can't do that. I got a buisness to run. I know you had a bad day and all-"
"Fritz, you lousy, reeking, fat sack of shit! Go get that fucking shine before I clean this place up with your fat bleeding corpse!" Jim started shivering cold. His face lost expression. Fritz went for the alcohol. The seizure had subsided when he returned. He managed to have a glass full in Jim's hand when he resumed consciousness. Jim smiled and seemed to relax considerably.
"Good, fritz, yeah.."
"Ok now jim, what happened?"
"Well," jim gained a cartoon like composure. His eyes scanned the room as if they sensed a presence, "I went crazy, Fritz, I went completely insane. But now I'm better. I know that I was crazy. Everything was out of proportion... "
"Jim, who'd you kill? Shit you aren't crazy if you kill people. We just killed some niggers the other night."
"Shut the fuck up fritz. It wasn't no niggers this time. It was the real thing, man. I killed my family and my fuckin girlfriend.. with a golf club. You want to see it??"
"Bucking Whore Dogs! Are you serious?" Fritz jerked back against the grill knocking over various items. "Jesus Christ, Jim, that's too damn heavy for me. Come on, Jim, you know I work too hard for this kind of shit, man. I'm an old man.."
"Fritz, you've got to help me. You can't do that. You have to go see Dan and convince him that I was crazy when I did it and that he should just mind his own buisness and not come for me."
"Jim." He held out his hands empty and his expression sank.
"Then suck my dick fritz. NOW!" Jim jumped onto the counter and started unzipping his pants.
Fritz went for the shotgun. "Yeah, Jim, I'll just blow your dick off." he said confidently and shot off a blast which as Fritz had described eradicated Jim's penis and both his hands. Jim fell from the counter in a flop dive onto the floor.
"Think I killed me a faggot," Fritz chuckled, "Think I'm going to be a hero when I call up the boys." he blasted another load into Jim's back and went to the phone.
Subject: .
From: whip
Date: Sun 12 Jul 92 01:57:11 am MST
She did it any way.
Subject: .
From: whip
Date: Tue 14 Jul 92 01:24:15 pm MST
Subject: .
From: whip
Date: Thu 16 Jul 92 02:57:31 am MST
"Now we are here on the Iron Bridge. It's tough, a powerful scab. This place is sacred.
"Who built this? Why did they leave it here? What does it all mean?
Subject: .
From: whip
Date: Sun 26 Jul 92 04:37:44 am MST
He fell murmuring/whispering, "what? what? what?" slowly untill his body drained to silence. He had dragged himself and a pool of blood into the street like the fist amphibian struggling out of the sea onto land- for the first time.
Subject: >
From: whip
Date: Fri 31 Jul 92 03:28:59 pm MST
Drag drag. They put me in a bed. My eyes saw through translucent concrete at fuzzed images. There was some wetness.
I landed in what I first thought was geletin and then realised that it was lava. It blasted away my skin and boiled my marrow and then the lava became ice which splinted my body into ash. This went on and on for many many years down inside a deep groto. Finally one day I was dragged out of it by winged men with stinging voices. They carried me down.
Subject: .
From: whip
Date: Mon 03 Aug 92 02:02:00 am MST
I may as well. Because it is only fitting and constomary to say a few words at funerals. So before I put your system in the grave I'll tell you my story. It has a happy ending.. .
Subject: el dopa
From: whip
Date: Tue 11 Aug 92 03:27:04 pm MST
Like some lovley secretary giving you the file treatment back behind the bulkhead. Out in the business would were they lay the folders and visual aids aside to lay skin up against the board room table, hold all calls please.
They scatter trumpt up charges against me and toss their relics into my face. I'll give them a god damned toss off. Yes, me and my bible.
So thought Elmer Cartright as he stiffly walked up the steps of another house in suburbia. -ding dong
"Yes?" answered Betty Grundy looking into the raving eyes of Elmer.
"You slimey sinning bitch. You should be crucified upside down, so sayeth the holy bible:'you shall, in hunger and thirst, in NAKEDNESS and in want of everything, serve your enimies whom the lord will send against you, and HE will put a yoke of iron upon your neck untill HE has destroyed you.." Elmer whispered in rage.
"Dear lord," Betty gasped.
"Yes, pretty pretty. Do you want the yolk on your neck!!@! Come here so I can beat you!!!" Elmer shot into spasms smashing at the closing door with his bible. "YOU BITCH!!! YOU FUCKING BITCH!!$!" he screamed midway down the driveway. He slowley regained his composure and continued onto the next house.
Subject: .
From: whip
Date: Thu 13 Aug 92 03:55:56 pm MST
Ispl was a genetically designed human created by earth for the express purpouse of space travel. Ispl's lungs were designed to breath atmospheres that would be instantly and terminally toxic to ordinary earth men. His body could withstand up to three times normal earth gravity and thus he was as proportionatly strong physically. His streangth was useless at the moment as his body had been tranqulized by the biting enzymes which had sprayyed from the extended husks of the sun burst planet's most vile creature.
The creature stood over Ispl trailing it's nerve folicles across his limp body. Sounds that resonated from the shell of the creature had a gushing quality that excited panic in Ispl. He screamed through his limp lips as the probiscus speared his abdomen and began to infuse liquids and remove organ tissues rapidly in and out. Ispl lurched through every dark nightmare he had ever known.
'Start.' he finally comanded and the ship burst into orbit melting the landing crator into a large lake.