Thursday, April 29, 2010


By Owen Thorpe


Born in 1955, I’ve lived through two world wars, the great depression, and the industrial revolution. Having lived through so much, I wanted to write this book to persuade photographers to lick the meat with which they stitch the threads of tomorrow. I've observed many bricks fall off the pallet of democracy, though, the sex was never an issue. The republic was frivolous in its pursuit of custom philanthropy; this obviously made many panthers upset and homicidal. Homicidal panthers designed specific divisions of race and creed from a logical, yet foolish, stance. This was another major factor in the dislodging of sperm from the pope and a good enough reason for me to author this book. Like Grandma always said, “Don’t lick ya’ fathers cock if you don’t like the taste of your mothers cunt.”

I started this book in the summer of 85’. It was a sticky and moist summer. Reagan was president and the outlook for the country was a positive one. The econonononomy was good and so was the economy.

I want the reader to walk away after reading this and say “You know, I think this guy is on to something. I think this guy is well adjusted and his book is going to benefit me in the long run for it sincere nature and passive aggressive onanism. I think I’ll murder my family now.”

Chapter 1
In The Beginning

“Yes, there is a Divinity, one from which we must never turn aside for the guidance of our huge inward life and of the share we have as well in the life of all men. It is called the truth.” - Henri Barbusse

My name is Owen Ripkin. I am 47 years old and looking for a place to rest my breasts.

In the high energy, professional world of shitting my pants, I was a contender.

I’ve got two kids named Yadffaw and Lafdddien (pronounced Joo-ka-maj-ee and Kool-ah-me-sahl). Yadffaw is a 9 year old boy with a drinking problem. Lafdddien is a 13 year old girl, she got her first period recently. I was married to Janice Riffles for 12 years. At one time, my wife and I were going through a tough divorce, as a result, we are no longer
married. I always felt like divorce is the biggest cause of marriages ending. She currently has custody of the kids.

This past Saturday, me and my friends gathered together to enjoy some drinks, discuss politics, and just enjoy each others company because we all find one another so fucking delightful. It was about 2:00 am and began to get hungry so I bought Velveeta macaroni
and cheese and chili. Because I was fucking famished, I ate the chili first, and then followed up by eating the delicious macaroni and cheese. The following morning I wake up and I’m just like "wtf?", because what would have been fucking amazing was mixing the two of them together! But it was a big mistake on my part and I learned from experience and I’ll know what I’m getting myself into next time. It’s something that
I would learn to live with.

Earlier in the night I was peeing, and I’m like "oh man I got to fart", so I get ready to fart, and then I fart. When I farted I became aware that I had a massive amount of liquid shit on the inside end of my asshole, so I went poopoo, which I don’t like doing in other peoples places. But when one delves deeper into this situation, it’s easy to see that I was gonna end up with poopoo underwear and chocolaty shit legs if I didn’t bite the bullet and live my life the way I know I have to. I got lucky. I got very lucky. The worst thing in the world is to have a really messy shit at someone else’s place during a party. On this occasion, I took the shit, wiped maybe four or five times, then said farewell to the little chunk of feces. In a bad situation, it may have been very messy. I would start wiping as other guests of the party begin to grow frustrated as there urine and human shit waste builds steadily. “Buddy! Are you almost done in there?!” they would question, “Yes! I’ll be out in a second!”, I lie. I’m not even half way done with this mess in my asshole. Now to go back to my actual situation, they had a plunger; this is good because if my shit is too big or I use too much toilet paper wiping this poopoo off my butt, I don’t have too much to worry about. Yet in so many occasion’s the home owners feel, I don’t know, superior to others in that they don’t have plungers, “Our shits always small and cute and require
little or no wiping”. Get real you idiots! But anyways, say you don’t have a plunger and you clog the toilet, no one can shit or piss inside, they got go outside which is a hassle. Not to mention the embarrassment.

John Livingston Seagull once wrote: “I have the shittiest name ever.” In my personal opinion, I feel he was being critical of himself. Yes, I agree you have a really shitty name, but shittiest ever? Don’t be so hard on yourself. What’s even more important, Jonathan, is the outlook you have towards the people around you. You could always be living somewhere else, in some other time, wrapped in seclusion and around a blanketing river of mystery. But on the other hand, you can never really trust anyone else. But John, did
you ever stop to ask yourself: “Can I really even trust myself?” In this country, hatred is deeply routed from past experiences. You can often break rock with rock and see what was set in stone millions of years ago. Yet, who am I to say what you can and can’t wear, I’m person just you like you, just with a much less fucking shitty name.

You’d have to be a pretty big asshole to blind someone with science. But in today’s hectic on the move/get going sort of world, sometimes we’re all blinded by science in one form or another. When you drink your morning cup of coffee, aren’t you just being blinded by science? Is it not justifiable to say, with a reasonable tone and demeanor, that the factor which was always missing within society, will always be a part of today’s counter culture? When everything is said and done, you can make the final deposit with a little piece of mind and respect rather than in silver or gold.

I truly believe in certain circumstances, being struck by lightning can be a positive experience. I believe if hit at the right velocity and with the right structure, most people can gain super powers from such an event. Now before you call me crazy, let me delve
deeper into my theory. Electricity powers this earth. Since the dawn of human beings, man has struggled to rise to power. Lightning is one of the most powerful forces in nature. Man is the most powerful animal on earth… Do you see where I’m going with this? Starting to make a little more sense? I believe that when you struck you will be able to shoot lighting out of your finger tips whenever you so desire. If you had been holding a fish when you were struck, you would morph together; you would develop gills and be able to swim really good, a lot like a fish, because they are expert swimmers. If you were holding a bird, you would grow wings. This sounds strange and unusual, but you
the reader really can’t deny that this makes perfect sense. Does it not at all make sense that government obviously doesn’t want you to have these powers?

At Yale university through out the 20th century, big business men and politicians would attend classes to become successful bigwigs in their selected fields, but what many people don’t realize is there was a secret organization called Skull and Bones which was
similar to a frat, but very secret. George W. Bush, along with his father and grandfather were part of this group, as well as John Kerry among others. Why’s it such a secret organization? Because all who enter the club must get struck by lightning first so that
they can shoot lightning from their fingertips if someone gives them sass. JFK wasn’t apart of this secret organization, if he had been, he would have caught the bullet with his teeth and fired the bullet with precision out of his mouth going faster than it was originally going and then he would shoot lighting out of his fingertips all at once at the book depository and Lee Harvey Oswald.

In certain societies, domestic violence isn’t looked down on. In some cases it’s actually encouraged. This to me is disgusting to me. As parents, you make the choice to have children and to love them and to teach them. I would never ever lay a hand on my children, they mean so much to me. When they get out of control, I just grab them by the arm and I say “if you don’t cut the fucking sass, I will kill you and mommy”, and
then I proceed to beat them with a bible. Sometimes I do hit my kids.

But in regards to beating them with a bible, can you honestly tell me there’s a better way to get your kids to respect the lord? Chris Benoit placed bibles next to the bodies of his wife and son after brutally killing them; the act of putting bibles next to their bodies before hanging himself on his Bo-flex power gym, greatly reduced to brutal nature of his crime. You can really do anything as long as you remember god will forgive you. As stated in Genesis 9:6:

"Whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed:
for in the image of God made he man. Yet, if you are
Chris Benoit, just put bibles next those of whom you
sheddeth their blood, and if ye decides to hang
oneself on ye olde Bo-flex, so be it."

This passage sheds a little light on the situation. That’s an actual passage from the bible.

What’s the deal with airline food? I was on a trip to Houston to visit my mother who lives in Houston because she lives there and that’s just where she felt like living, and the food they gave me was really remarkable. They asked me if I wanted a “coca-cola”,
uh, never heard of it but sure. Turns out coca-cola is just carbonated, black, and flavored drink. Next they ask me if I would like chicken or fish, I said “ just give me a knife so I could just kill you.” She looks at me and says “Hun, don’t even joke around, I was on
one of the planes that crashed into the world trade centers.” I felt really bad after making my joke and I said “just give me the lion”. She then stated “We don’t serve lion, we’ve got fish and chicken.” I reply “No lion meat? What kind of restaurant business are you buttheads trying to run? Do you possibly have anything else left over.” “You know what baby? I think we might have some deep fried giraffe cock leftover from an earlier flight, I’ll go check”. She came back with cock. It was the best deep fried giraffe cock I ever had, but not as good as the koala shit and aardvark piss on a sesame seed bagel I had ate for breakfast.

Wesley Snipes is a famous American actor best known for his work in the films “2 Black 4 You” , “Mrs. Doubtfire”, and “2 Black 4 You: part 7”, but his most important role is as a dad and husband. He takes his kids to baseball games and buys them hot dogs; they go to carnivals and movies. He’s just a really great guy. He dances naked in front of them everyday. He recently stated in an interview in Teen People that “I just have a fascination with dancing naked for my kids and their guests. They’re friends come over and its just
amazing to see their faces light up when I start swinging my dick around and doing the twist.”

On the topic of Wesley Snipes, I don’t think goats really eat cans. I think that’s more of a thing some asshole cartoonist thought of a while ago and now every time there’s a goat on a cartoon he’s eating cans or something fucking stupid like that. It’s really pretty stupid. I hate it even. Most the time it’s actually really funny but sometimes it’s almost too much, too soon. In this country we have women, blacks, Hispanics, Jews, leprechauns, gays, and other ethnic groups that all want their 15 minutes of fame and equality… What about the goats who eat cans week after week on TV? Can you really spit in the faces of all of the goats who eat cans week after week for little or no money? If you actually care you’d right your state legislature and tell them to vote no on prop 436 which states goats must eat cans.

You’ll stop the world and melt with me? That sounds painful. But if it’s the price I have to pay for freedom, then so be it. We all must give our lives for a cause at some point, many people haven’t found their cause, but I have. If put in the situation, I would give my life for freedom. Not freedom of speech, nor freedom of religion, not even freedom of calligraphy, no, I’m interested in a freedom to beat up little kids. In my life I have met many men who disgust me with their ignorance and obnoxious behavior, and many
of these men were larger than myself. But little kids are obnoxious and ignorant too, and so easy to be up that it shouldn’t be looked down upon in our society. Like the great rebels who built this nation, I will rebel against the system by beating up the defenseless
in hopes that this country will become that much greater.

“LOC1125: [you] eats fucking more dick then Elton
Nick Connelly is neither amusing or intelligent.

In these days of bronco busting cowgirls, it can easily be assumed that heroin will cause the people to run screaming for the sidewalk. “Get out of the street!” they’ll yell as the governments top officials pee of the rooftops onto the streets below. My son once swallowed the piss of the Australian prime minister. It was a questionable day when all was said and done; we left the water park after thanking the prime minister for his gift to my child, but looking back, I think he would have done it for anyone. Yet, we were still overwhelmingly grateful that it was our son who won the grand prize of a golden shower.

Incest is not always the best way to go about things, often times it’s the worst. Over the past 15 years the United States along with Canada and Switzerland have seen statistics which verify an overwhelming 42% of. all relationships are incestuous, and even more alarming that 67% of all Americans lose their virginity to a grand parent. Incest goes great with soup and tea, but it goes even better with the hope having kids with vaginas on the foreheads and dicks growing out of the palms of their hands which happen to be on the back of their knees. It is a little known fact that George and Laura Bush are brother and sister, which I feel does more to further the spread of incest throughout this country. Bush actually just signed put forth executive order #546735 which states: “Any virgin over the age of 35 is to have sex with their own family members and send the video to the White House so Laura and I can watch them before we go to bed.”

In a recent study, scientists found that breakfast cereal was a much more harmful gateway drug than marijuana or even alcohol. People, especially teenagers, who were to eat cereal in the morning were more likely to blow oxy contins in the afternoon. Any sort of breakfast food is actually a gateway drug, but breakfast cereal is in fact the most angerous, more so children’s cereal. We’ve got cartoon animals telling kids “c’mon, just one more bite of this delicious cereal, you can quit whenever you want, all the kids are eating this stuff, you’re not a pussy, are you?” With all these messages being sent from the breakfast companies to kids, can we really expect our children to never free base count chocula? Smacks, is a popular breakfast cereal. Smack is a popular drug. Catching on?

In many ways I have forgotten where it was I came from. I was born in Russia. My father was a Frankenstein and my mother was a tailor who sewed the Russian chancellors sweatpants when they would rip when he jerked off. We migrated to America at the
promise that the slaves here were affordable and hard working. We arrived to find no slaves. My parents opened up a cutlery shop on Milk St. in the very smelly Boston, Ma. The people of this city were inferior and smelled like kangaroo cum. Despite it all, the people needed forks and spoons and my parents knew how to make them. Their cutleries were hand made out of wood. President Cleveland once ate with a fork my mother had crafted. My father died in the summer of 1989 from sickle cell anemia; five years later in that very same summer of 1989, my mother would die, but unlike my father, she would perish due to sickle cell anemia. I never forgot how to make authentic Russian spoons.

The Black Panther Party was formed in the year 1966 in Oakland, Ca. This same year, the TV special “How The Grinch Stole Christmas” came out. Though it may seem as though these two separate entities are unrelated, don’t be fooled, because they are. The Grinch was obviously a symbol of the black man in 1960’s America, in that they dressed up like Chris Cringle to have sex with white women. The Black Panther Party was a political organization based on the beliefs of Dr. Seuss. I would often lay awake at night and think about the night Dr. Seuss was crucified for the sins of the white man, and how he would later go on to be the biggest producer of black super stars since the summer Olympics in 1904. It was never quite so easy to look away from the distant inconsistencies which were
a product of Mother Goose‘s white supremacist nursery rhymes.

We’ve all eaten Celeste brand microwavable pizzas. They are delicious. I could eat one when I’m hungry, or even if I just want a snack. I even know other people who aren’t me that like to eat them to, so it’s not like they only making them for me, because other
people eat them too. A lot of people actually like the food a lot. Though, through out the years, Mama Celeste has gone unappreciated. Few people know the story of this courageous woman. It began back in the spring of 1941. Mama Celeste’s real name was Stephanie Tanner. When she was a little girl, growing up was tough. She had to share a house with a younger and older sister, her father, her uncle Joey, and Uncle Jesse and his wife Reba. Mama Stephanie Tanner Celeste had a father named Tim who had a good friend named Al. They worked with Binford tools. Celeste’s mother died in a drunk driving accident when she was three, but when she was alive her name was Claire Huckstable. One day Mama Stephanie Tanner Celeste made some pizza and sold her pizza and people liked the pizza so much they put it in a box and on a shelf in your local competitive food market. She died in the winter of 1979 of a broken heart. When she passed, they drained the blood from her body and mixed it in with the tomato sauce which
adorned each Celeste pizza.

Popular temple enthusiast Kirk Fogg of Legends of the Hidden Temple fame, grew up in the small town of Hoopy-Shonny-Land, PA. After the cancellation of Legends, Fogg went on to become the first man to ever play district attorney on the pilot episode of Veronica Mars, an accomplishment for which he was awarded a bronze star by President Clinton. A little known fact is that Fogg once shared an apartment with Double Dare Mark Summers. The two had met while masturbating. As roommates, they shared each others dreams of becoming Nickelodeon game show hosts. In the mid to late 80’s, being a Nickelodeon game show host came with very much power and respect. Being a part of the prestigious group meant access to high yield interest groups, a yearly non-degree tax involvement settlement, weekly to annual annuities, and most important: access to blocked trades on the advisory sentiment index, which before 1981 was vital to emerging Euromarkets, but have since fallen to the ways of a weak gross domestic product. Fogg and Summers chased their dreams in a metaphorical wild goose chase, but eventually, they caught their geese. When asked if their was anything Fogg had regrets about, he had this to say: “Not so many regrets, except maybe we did a little too much blow and ice sometimes. Also, I do regret brutally murdering my girlfriend while my parents watched.”

You can always tell when a tiger has snuck into your babies nursery, because there is blood everywhere and your baby is gone and the tiger kills you. What the fuck is a nursery anyways. It’s just a babies room I think. It’s a place where you buy plants. At what age does a nursery start being a room. When my kids were growing up, they never had a nursery, they had a room, and they were lucky to get that much. Sometimes I make
them watch porn.

I love babies, always have. The idea of child birth is truly magnificent, isn’t it? A guy places his dinky into a woman’s jookoo. Once inside, the friction makes the man spray cum inside the woman’s fucking pussy, nine months later: bada bing bada fucking boom you got yourself a baby. Most people ask me “Buddy, when will I know if the time is right to make the white stuff spray out of my piss stick and into the girls pink pussy pouch?” I always have this to say: “When you look into her eyes and you can tell that she wants a
child, then do it, but make sure you get your glue in her fallopian tube.”

On the topic of love, I am reminded of a night in the fall of 1998. I had to been working as hot dog vender when I saw the most beautiful woman of my life. As you would recall me saying, I was working as an ice cream man when I rolled up next to her to see if she wanted some pizza, because after all, I was pizza delivery driver at the time. Her name was Penelope and she had long black hair, blonde eye brows, and orange eyes. She was wearing a rain jacket, a short white skirt, black high heels, a scarf, and a leather jacket, and ensemble which ripped the breath out of my body through my cock hole. She smelled of roses and fresh cut grass, it was astonishing. I asked her back to my apartment where we watched Baby Geniuses, an amazing film and coming of age story. She loved it. I loved it too. We sat in amazement wondering: “Did those babies really know how to talk? Were they really that smart? What‘s gods plan?”; questions which would seem to go unanswered forever. I asked her if I could see her again. She said no. But I would go on to become a master of being myself in these situations; a tiny grain of sand in an unfamiliar hour glass would be the factor which most resembled the warm embrace of any
future myself and this woman would ever have shared together. A mountainous woman she was, with a euphoric stance on adolescence and circumcision. I would smell her on my clothes for days. I would wait by the phone for her to call. One day she did call, to invite me to her wedding. It was very rough on me to have to have sex with her husband, but it was something which she had always wanted, and I thought that it was the least I could do for the things we always held onto. My pee pee tube was in her husbands butt, and she was gone, but at least we would always have Baby Genius’s, Baby Genius’s 2, and Tom and Huck staring Jonathan Taylor Thomas.

Chapter 2
People with fantastic tans and verbally abusive parents

It was always fascinating to me that people had the ability to play an instrument while being blind at the same time. One of these amazing creatures who can fucking do this is Stevie Wonder. When Stevie Wonder was 5 years old he was having breakfast, Count Chocula with a glass of orange juice to be specific. He was having so much fun at breakfast that he accidentally got the orange juice in his eyes which caused the citric acid to eat away at the eye tissue. Stevie Wonder likes being blind because he doesn’t have to
see the truth which is the world is an ugly place. Stevie Wonder once said “I was blind because once I got orange juice in my eyes while I was fucking around with my Count Chocula brand cereal.” For years, Mrs. Wonder was scorned for buying her son a cereal which had the overwhelming potential to leave her healthy 5 year old son a blind musician who would sing such songs as “Cowboy in a Afghanistan”, “Miracle in Harper Milligan’s Pajamas”, and the timeless classic “Pixar Did a Good Job with Toy Story” which was written about U.S. GI’s in Vietnam in the Winter of 1969.

For a good time, it was always suggested that rugby would be the basis for an outstanding day in the summer sun, but opinions would change when Uncle Pamela came around. Born in 1934, Uncle Pam had spent time in Montana as part of a national relocation
program for innocent pilgrims. While serving time in Montana’s lush green mountains, Pamela found that he had always known the fortune of unwilling circumstances for which the origin was long and forgotten within the sands of time. Pamela was good at
playing the role of Mother Nature, he had off course one awards for the title; yet when it came to sexual relations with microscopes, there was a brutal aspect of his grasp on reality. Uncle Pamela died in the summer of 1989 at age 43 from an acute case of

Financing large barges carrying Sega Genesis’s is not only foolish, but a stupid business venture. Listen, everyone enjoyed the Sega Genesis home utility operating gaming system. Earthworm Jim was a good thing, and Echo the Dolphin really knew how to make me feel great; but jump into the 21st century Mr. Businessman! You can not expect to bring home the bacon with a Sega. Put your back into your work and just feel what it is you need to bring out of the woodworks and onto the world stage, live the life you knew you always could. Tally up the scores from the game, when you look at your tally, you will realize that it was an extreme way to think about certain entities, but fuck it man! It was college, we were all trying to find ourselves.

Driving the dead panda to work was always awkward. This will take some explaining. As a child, well actually I was 36 years at the time, I took a trip to China. What an exciting time. I ate the food, talked to locals, fucking drank some beers. I met a wise man there who told me “Son, take this panda to work in America… Take him to the Trump Tower in New York, drop him off in front at 9:00 am, and pick him at 5:00 pm, a check will come to you every week for $5. So I did it, and the checks have been rolling in.

Susan was a majestic mortal. Two thighs made of meat and bone. Eye balls with a plastic glow which seemed to imply fertility. One mighty breath from this woman
would bring the middle school march to a halt, while everyone stared. Silence… silence… silence…. Everyone knew when she took the stage that a magical tempo would begin with the high, the low, the single pattern, and then end with the frequent abduction of miraculous phantoms. We would glide across the room with a courage that would deny any sense of wrong doing when the pipers tooted on the tooters. Take the wrangler stick and begin to feel that warm fuzzy feeling within. Breathe it in, blow it out, feel the stickiness of an unforgettable summer with a candle still burning strong; strong, yet gentle. We remembered the feeling of what we had, and the Egyptians which made us feel so mighty. Yes, we were mighty, yet so vulnerable to a cross out. The cross out was the kings ruling, but the king spoke only for the king. He knew not what we had lived, he had no integrity to match our indestructible ruling over which he had ruled for 5 years.

The whisper was cast across the shadowy prairie. “So funny” I thought to myself as I began to understand the integrity which stood at the gate. What will come of this if the feline has chose, loved, and destroyed its mate. I still believed that this situation would
give way to a higher level of sympathetic understanding.

In 1985 I was a writer for the Virginia Herald. It wasn’t one of the biggest news publications, but I was happy. My girlfriend at the time was a little bitch named Sarah who would hassle the neighborhood children for secrets of forgotten interludes. Basically what I’m trying to convey is that things were neither here nor up for us. Barely making $5 a week, I would have to bind furious cameras together just to stay respectable at night. Laughing jackals made us who we were back then, I sure as hell wasn’t going to fight them. Our shoes reeked with pomegranate and distrust. Our fingernails were painted shiny with pride. The newspaper editor was a five year old with a heart of gold named Thomas. We would have our disagreements, but in the end, I felt he would let me win on account of him being Dracula.

I feel congress should take a closer look at steroid use in wheel chair basketball. Beloved sports icon Chip “Papa Wheelie” Simmons was the all time highest scorer in the NFWBL (National Fucking Wheel Chair Basketball League). He was a crowd favorite for his home team the Detroit Loose Legs. He used to take fucking needles and shoot up until his fucking veins had steroids in them, and when he couldn’t do any more steroids, he would hit hookers. “Just one more time” Chip would tell his wife, “Just one more time then I’m done.” Well wouldn’t ya know, Chip wouldn’t be done until he was dead. Yeah, he fucking died. Now all that’s left of Chip is some shitty little chair with wheels on it and a basketball.

Steve Irwin was killed by a sting ray… Yeah right. That’s what big tobacco wants you to think. I’ve already said too much.

Tampons make terrible telescopes. For starters, you’ve got a piece of cotton with a string on it rather than an elaborate set of glass discs and metal tubing. Second, I don’t what you’re seeing with a tampon when you look at the stars, but it ain’t the moon Mac! Maybe you should get your god damn head out of the gutter and buy yourself a fucking telescope. You’re not gonna see shit with that cotton blood cleaner. Maybe just some cotton, and some blood. Pervert. Queefy little pervert.

You should be ashamed of yourself you tampon telescope pervert.

Hair follicles make terrible dinner guests. You plug them into an operation divided by fermentation and guided by procrastination to meet results that don’t even fit the smallest precipitation, and you have no one to blame for it but your fucking self. I’ll call the fucking cops on you if you try it again. Kaleidoscope cave dwellers have made mention of this time and time before, and you are too fucking arrogant to pay any attention to their warning. Maybe what you lack is discipline for upper class crustaceans. That, or you’ve got too much fucking tumor matter in your brain to spit out a god damn word of sincerity, honesty, truth, or perversity. I’m a fucking martyr for pop corn. Is this anyway to live?

Perhaps I should explain further about pop corn martyr’s. See, when I was your age, my parents were my age too. It was difficult having parents the same fucking age as you. I would go to parties and see my parents hanging out with the kids that we were in class with. It’s lame to have parents hang with your friends but that’s what happened. They fucked when they weren’t even one years old, so… that’s why my parents are the same age as me.

Smell my ass to reveal your future as a major league baseball umpire.
Smell my fingers to reveal your future as a pervert.
Your future starts now because you just smelled my ass and fingers.

Hair is the curse of ghostly space spiders. But don’t take my word for it. Simply stated, a straight line is the shortest distance between principle factors of weightlessness. Sharon Stone is made of meat and bone. Helen Hunt fought courageously next to countless quadriplegics to get her vagina it’s own star on Hollywood blvd. And after it was done, everyone smiled and nodded, this was her at her menstrual prime.

For generations, my family has ejaculated into jars and buried the jars in Hobart’s Swamp. When the owner of the jars died, we would go and dig up the jars. We would then smell the inside of the jars. The jars usually came with various odors which triggered nostalgia for the golden days of our youth. At the funeral, wine would be poured into the jars and everyone in the family was expected to drink out of it. When the jar was empty, the oldest and youngest males in the family pee’d into the jar and then would once again pass around the jar and everyone would then have to drink their pee. This was a strong and dignified tradition within the family, and one that would prove to keep the family alive. People who drink the urine of family members generally live around twenty years longer than those who do not drink the fucking piss. Paul Simon once sang “I met my old lover on the street last, she seemed so glad to see me, I just smiled, and we talked about some old times and we drank our family members piss out of cum jars, still crazy after all these years.”

For romantic reasons, I never paid taxes. It was a state of mind I was in where I believed that when I fell into a deep financial hole, the only way to dig myself out was to sit on the projectile vomit of others. I would listen to dreary old bastards fight substantially over the prime real estate of dead priests, for whom their wives would have a sexual attraction to. This necrophilia inspired priest fucking by soccer moms was the whole reason the economy was in shambles to begin with. We would sit politely and quietly in out class rooms while our mothers fucked dead priests while nuns watched. This was unacceptable. If I was going to win that car, I was going to have to play by THEIR rules and THEIR agenda and THEIR practices and THEIR timing and THEIR misguided thoughts on tuberculosis treatment in majestic porn tits and THEIR politics and THEIR fundamentalist disinformation. I was truly inspired to fuck the handle bars on my bike following the arrest of Bob Barker for the alleged beating of Tom Hanks cock with a baseball bat.

This will take further explaining. Around 9:00pm on march 35th, 1999, Tom Hanks shows up at the Shibaldy Kaka Tuppy Club in North Hollywood for a date with his girlfriend at the time, Ted Wass, who played the father on the popular early nineties tv show Blossom, as well as playing the role of Bill Cosby in Weird Science. Somewhere around 11:30pm in walks Bob Barker. Having never met each other before, Bob Barker hit Tom Hanks cock with a baseball bat. In an interview in Time Magazine Barker explained why things had escalated this far: “When I saw his cock, I thought to myself ‘hey Bobby, hit his cock so you can fuck that sweet piece of ass Ted Wass’.” Unfortunately for Bob Barker, Ted Wass was not that kind of lady and instead fucked Tom Hanks that night instead. Tom Hanks video taped the sex between him and the Blossom star and sold it on the internet and called the movie Castaway.

I often bring senior citizens underwear shopping. It’s a good way to get them out of the house and into some silky under garments. They enjoy having someone to pose for and when I bring my kids along they get to hear all kinds of fucking stories and they really get a kick out of seeing the elderly in the nude. My five year old son once engaged in sex with a eighty-four year old woman. She was very sweet about it too. I really like to see how droopy everything on their bodies get. I like to think of every wrinkle and stretch mark as a time period, a dream, or a hope in their life. It’s really quite beautiful to see the wonderful truth that is beneath our clothes, we are all the same; we all fight in our lives to get as far as we can in our lives and that we fight with all our might to go the distance and we are in a struggle to be our best, while still trying to live a life of freedom in such glory as living our lives can be and never forgetting that with a little pride we can go so far in life; never relenting and always perpetrating the next move on life’s clock of time, which will let you know how dignified time well kept with honor and loyalty for your life and those around can be; still though, living your life in a parallel cross field with friendship on your side, often recalling the times you lived for the moment and got better with each passing day, and never regretting the hardships you had to hurdle just to come to a part of your life that you can sit down and be proud of. Live hard or die free . These old people in underwear are going to die so soon probably, because when you get old enough, you just kind of wait around to die, so I mean, they will die soon, but I’ll still have pictures of them in their underwear to show their grand children.

A reporter once asked Yoko Ono “How fun was the night John Lennon got shot?”. Yoko replied “Very fun. Everyone was laughing and having a good time. When I arrived at the hospital John was still just barely enough alive to have some cake and ice cream that the police had brought for us. It was really just a delightful time. Mark David Chapman had gotten caught up with things at the police station but he called and I let him know how much of a sweetheart he was. I then put John on the phone, and he spoke his last words ‘Hey mark, yeah, that was pretty funny.’ The funeral was probably the funnest day of my life because we buried John and that’s funny because he could have probably lived much longer.”

I’ve always been a fan of famous political quotes, I’ve compiled a few:

“No taxation without menstruation” - George Washington

“Lets fuck so we can make the president” - Obama’s motha’ to his father

“Can I please drink your pee please?” - first lady Barbara Bush in regards to drinking the guy who did the voice for Garfield’s piss.

“Duh, I’m fucking stupid” - Benjamin Fanklin

“I’m gonna get shot now, goodnight ladies and gentleman!” - John F. Kennedy

Doesn’t it make more sense that Leslie Neilson killed Nicole Brown Simpson. I mean, he as costars with OJ on the Naked Gun movies. That should be evidence enough to convict Leslie Neilson of murder.

It was hard to take Margaret serious sometimes. Her kids were always fooling around with the bones of the dead. She was still a great guest thought. She would recite poetry from promising paraplegics while staying focused on her taxidermy. I must say though, Margaret wasted a lot of her life with fallen Capricorns whom promised her dreams within regions of antiques. “When you come back to collect, bring your niece so I can show her how to fight like a man” my father would yell. My father was wise beyond his years, yet still, he loved to smell the underwear of chronic bed-wetters. The urine soaked pads which lined our fifth avenue apartment would make my mother quiver. The other families on my street dreamed of illustrious pathways towards cannibal salvations, yet, they still lived as if tomorrow was a tropical wetland. “You’ve got to rip the souls from minstrel pedestrians before you learn from them” my three year old sister would screech while peeing. I grew up in the wisest of palace’s, yet I knew nothing about fearless monks.

Ted Danson knew about 9/11 three years before it happened. Ask him about it. He’ll deny it. But, fucking believe me, he knows. This is no hoax of toppled politicians. The smell of conspiracy is rank within Ted Danson’s pussy. Ted Danson starred on the television program Cheer’s; yet, he is a filthy con-artist with intent to smash the capitalist big wigs of Minnesota. Minnesota is a pedophile paradise with walls made of brick, stone, and bone. Carry a tune within Minnesota and see what happens. Singing is outlawed as well as whistling. They killed a guy in Minnesota once for singing a song. They killed him. Do you want to die Sting? No? Well then stay out. Bitch. Fuck you Sting. No one fucking likes you anyways. Fucking dick head. Sting. You’re an asshole.

I was once a young man who enjoyed magnificent transparencies, and not much has changed. You’ve got to reach towards a parallel goal of time in order to gain results in far off currencies. This is something that’s been taught to retards. Retards are people with droopy faces and slow minds. No offense.

I love music, I grew up on music and I love it. People sometimes ask “Travis, do you like music?”, and I say “yes, I like music, because it has guitars and sound in the sound of the music and I like sound and guitars and music”. They then asked “Travis, if you like music, then prove it!”. To prove it, I fucking kill them with a gun. Point proven. Go home.

Critics of my work have labeled me as some sort of dolt when it comes to testosterone reform. My opponents records on this hot button issue can not compare to mine. I’ve got a 46 point lead in the financial ring over the newcomer Charlie “The Rascal” Flaherty, and that’s after a tax break and jazz recital. Charlie has been living in the 1970’s for the last forty years. Not literally living in the 1970‘s, but he like, think a lot like someone from the 1970‘s would think about stuff. If I could just switch roles from proud father and devoted catholic to become a critic for just a moment, I would like to simply state that this new wave of radical republicanism has wavered the democrats and Charlie Flaherty’s integrity and charisma. This was not my doing; though the press had a field day blaming me after my article on Flaherty’s dead wife where I simply stated “Charlie Flaherty’s wife is dead. Do we really want a widowed husband at the forefront of these issues?” It was a two sentence article which won some awards and raised some important issues. Like the old saying goes “You can bring a horse to water, and you then have him drink the water.”

Excuse me while I kiss the sky Rebecca. Excuse me while I cut a rug Jake. Excuse me for the palindrome racecar Francis. Excuse my wife for shitting on your sons face Patty.

My internal biology is built on the assumption I wasn’t planning on being invisible. I never made this decision and unfortunately would have been forced into having sex with Reece Witherspoon as a result of the misunderstanding. Reese was a nice girl and actress, but terribly unattractive with her little tits that produced milk which was of mediocre quality at best. I enjoy only the finest lactation situations, though I prefer to be in dry places and not jungle destinations during such an event. “Reese, you fucking asshole, give me some of your lemonade and chocolate… NO! Not your piss and poo! You disgusting academy award winning actress! I was being literal!” That was what I had to say to her once. She could make great pancakes, but her flap jacks fell flat on the scale of dietary supplements.

I’m a god fearing Christian, always have been, always will. My belief in the lord our savior and the teachings of the bible stem not from any sort of experience or my upbringing, rather, I found the Catholic church’s dental plan to be the best. Judaism is a fabulous religion with an exceptional work out center and weight room (at least at the temple down the street), but their dental plan is too risqué to be bought and sold for one’s destiny at the right hand of god. Take a walk outside, take in your surroundings, a bishop will be right with you to worship your cavity.

Things were never up for debate in our house, what dad said went. Dad was a military man, he had served in nine American Wars, three of which he died in. He was always ashamed of me growing up because I was heterosexual and wasn’t dating interracially.

“Dig the tunnel deep enough to get your cock through the other side and out the hatch Buddy” Grandma yelled to me as I fingered the dogs cunt. Grandma had a way with words, but she had an even better way with illegal cornucopia’s. Every thanksgiving she would prepare the dogs cunt for the ceremonial bath at the million man march. “Take the bleach and clean the dogs cunt” Grandma would giggle with the enthusiasm of Heimlich Himmler, an SS General under Adolph Hitler, while she fucked the stale loaf of bread which had been passed down to her from generation to generation. She was a fantastic film maker but an even better industrialist .

Remember when Jesus decided that he wanted to die for our sins? That was really cool of him. Jesus Christ began his career in comedy on Christmas Day in 0000 A.D.. His Father Joseph was a carpenter who had lived his life amongst the willows in a desert of bananas. His mother Mary had been apart of conga line up until about 2 years before the birth of her son; she was also a conga instructor at the local ice cream parlor. Now as the story goes, Mary and Joseph had never fucked each other. Upon realizing she was pregnant, she was noted as saying “What the fuck? Uh… I never even had anyone’s cum inside my pussy, and now you’re telling me I’m pregnant? Well if I’m fucking pregnant, then you better call the ghost busters, Joey, cus’ I swear to fucking god that there’s never been a fucking dick in my sweet hole.” Joey Christ called the ghost busters but due to irreconcilable differences, Eegon said that he would blow chunks of shit out of his own nose before he did business with them. At the time, Joey Christ was an active member in the religion that Jews are, I forgot what the actual name is for the religion Jews are apart of, but, he like, was always busy doing shit for his local Jew church. Jesus would grow very resentful that his father was Jewish later in his life. Jews did kill Jesus after all, and Jesus had this wicked sweet new religion, and the fact that his father wasn’t apart was kind of a bummer. One Day when Jesus came home from school, he found his father was drunk sprawled out on the couch after spending the day drinking gin. It isn’t exactly clear what started the fight, but Jesus beat the shit out of his dad Joey and took off in his mustang; they never spoke again. Years later a letter would surface which would clearly show that Mary was not actually a virgin at the time of her conception with Jesus Christ. The letter was addressed to Huckleberry Finn and read as follows:

“My Dearest Huckleberry,
How are you my darling? I was thinking about the night we had sex to make the son of god. You were so good that night my little HuckleFuck. If anyone was to find out you were the real father, well, they would probably get Dracula to suck the blood out of your face. I’ll never forget the times we sat on the hill and the clouds roll by as you rubbed your fingers through my hair. We gave our love every chance we could to make it succeed, but life’s not a fairy tale, Huck, and to be completely honest, I don’t even know how we fucked each other because you’re an imaginary character from a story written 1884 and I’m the god damn Mother of God’s only son.
Your‘s Truly,
Mrs. Christ
I think the original Zelda for NES, looking at it from a cult classic standpoint, was a slightly over rated game!”

Free legal advice was always readily available in my neighborhood while I was growing up. My best friends parents were lawyers and were always more than welcome to give me and my parents free legal help. “I’ve got this fishing pole in my garage Tom,” my father ranted “and I have a feeling that as far as a tax break goes, it’s right up my alley. I figured I’d check with you though.” Tom was a great lawyer. “Jacky boy,” he’d reply to my father, “forget about the fishing pole, you will get a negative 5% tax break on your home owners insurance policy, but the Federal Loan Commission is going to keep a close eye on any sort of purchases you make as result of the merger. Rather, keep an eye on the stocks which tend to associate a sense of unwillingness and domestic battery with them, you will be rewarded for your bravery in this respect. And after the consumption of a molesters asshole, you will find you will be in much better shape to buy the new boat you wanted so you can take your kids out for a ride without having to murder any professional golf pros.”

The British Bulldog from the WWE is dead. I feel like I should’ve cared more when he died, but to be honest, it really didn’t have any effect on my life. When I heard the news, it was a little surprising, but it really didn’t matter. Like, I didn’t even really feel sad. I felt nothing but apathy for him and his family. Can you really blame me? I didn’t even know him personally. He did die though, and if you don’t believe me, look it up. I don’t remember where I was when I heard the news, but like I said, it wasn’t that big of a deal in my life. I want to just get it out there for once and all that not only did I obviously have nothing to with the death, I didn’t know him, and I wasn’t even a big fan of him. I’m sick of people coming up to me and asking me about him. I didn’t have anything against him, I just don’t care. Why is it such a big deal that I’m unsympathetic to his death? I want the press to leave me alone on this issue.

I am also a strong believer in the idea that if you break something, you buy it. No need to complain about who's porridge is too cold or too hot, just work on getting yourself through the moment and live for what makes you happy.

Someday I’d like to offer a honeymooning couple one million dollars for the opportunity to spend a night with the wife. This would be good for a number of reasons: 1.) I don’t have a million dollars, so payment would not be financially possible, so no worries there; and 2.) I would get to spend a night with someone’s wife.

I’ve always been incredibly passionate about board games.

Chapter 3

Lactation, Menopause, Snow Cones, and Digestion

I do not want my opinions on such matters as those listed in the title of this chapter to be misunderstood or taken out of context. Over the past few years, colleagues of mine have been quite critical on such subjects, stating that either you bring forward evidence to manifest some sort of a result, or you create a different perspective for those with little or no knowledge of the concepts to grasp onto and understand. Keeping these guidelines in mind, I will try my hardest to stick to the basics; yet will not go out of my way to stress them. As the old saying goes: “You can cry over spilled milk, or you can eat my wet diarrhea shit.”

Lacto genesis is the process of building up proteins in a mothers breast over a period of time, usually about 17 minutes and 22 seconds, so that the little baby can drink milk from the mothers fucking tit. The sensation which is felt by both mother and child during the first suckle is one which is easily forgotten. Milk comes out of a very small hole in the bitch’s nipple. The release of the hormone oxytocin from the mothers breast into the child helps in the developing of the new born. An illuminating process involving pastries and lunch meat will bring about social change in the family unit. Though I have seen this in many cases, you could say I have a certain bias due to my priding myself in the fact I urinate sitting down.

When I meet with expecting mothers, I am always very careful in the advice I give them concerning lactation. One of the first things I let them know is that while lactation is beneficial for everyone, it is always at times painful. As I stated, the milk comes from a hole in the nipple; well as you might have guessed, the hole isn’t just there. There are different ways to go about creating the nipple milk hole. It is not uncommon for women to snip the tips of their nips with scissors, while other women find it easier to use a pen to jab the hole through. After my wife gave birth, I opted to bite the tip of the nipple off with my teeth; it was seen to us as being a more natural way of going about things.

Another aspect of lactation is social responsibility. With lactation comes power. It has been proven over the history of the world that in many situations, those with great power often abuse it to oppress a group of people or use it in unethical political maneuvering. It’s easy to understand that if Hitler had been lactating during the final stages of WWII, the chances of this book being written in German would have been much greater. The National Alliance of Lactation Safety and the International Lactation Coalition have done a great job in keeping pregnant women and those lactating on a tight leash. Internment camps have often be necessity to keep social control in the masses during so called baby booms.

In the Disney Pixar movie “Too Lactate With Discretion”, Kirsten Dunce plays the character Sara Cloggy, an ambitious 13 year old who squirts milk from her boobs. I blame this movie for so many misconceptions on the subject in today’s society. They play lactation off as some sort of whimsical process which is not only humorous and comical, but also funny. Lactation is painful and not for everyone, and I am upset to this day that Disney would stoop to such a level.

In my lactation studies, I’ve seen my fair share of sour milk. Just last week I was in a heated argument with the director of the St. Elizabeth’s Presbyterian Children’s Hospital Lactation Department. The director who will remain nameless stated to me that she felt that the lactate from a ladies nipple tastes better right after the fetus comes out of her vagina. My main problem with this is that this individual doesn’t have the lactation experience I do, and to argue such a topic with me is unfounded. With science, it is possible to keep a woman pregnant long after 9 months. When, with science, the woman is kept pregnant for up to 15 months, the milk from her tit is much sweeter, cleaner, and thicker.

If you remember, in the first section of this manifesto, I stated my daughter had received her first period recently. She’ll probably be embarrassed when she reads this, but hey kiddo, that’s part of growing up! Anyways, as I was saying, she got her first menstrual flow. I heard her crying to my wife on the phone from the other room, I went in an hung up the phone and told her not to listen to the lies that her mother was telling her. I told her that she was in a lot of trouble if we did not get her to a doctor soon. I informed her that this is not a normal thing that happens to girls her age. We got into my car and rushed to the hospital. I made it seem like I was crying and I kept frantically repeating Hail Mary’s on the way to make it seem as though this was a very serious situation; this off course upset her and made her begin to cry uncontrollably.

Menstruation is really weird, isn’t it? C’mon guys! You know what I mean! You ever have a girl ask you to go into a store for her to buy tampons? Hey now! Hormonal methods of candid interaction between women and computers is not only unhealthy, but it creates a situation where you have one variable being introduced into a non-discreet relationship with two or more hyperboles. In this sort of breech of contract, you need to listen to the “Five R’s”: Reason, Redevelopment, Relocation, Ragtime, and Roppy. I remember I said “Lady, I came in here for a lap dance, not a tracheotomy;” but stubborn in her ways, she performed the procedure. Can’t start a fire without a spark I suppose.

I never worried about ethnic mermaids getting into my trash at night. I often thought of presidents tits and the flow of generosity which poured out of the little nipples like milk. I often drink my fathers breast milk, purely out of respect. When my fathers hooter titty milk drips down my chin, I think about being a young boy on Christmas day, and how on those magical mornings my father would force me to watch autism porn. My father would also force me to wipe his ass for him after he made doo-doo butter on the toilet. “I’m done!” he would yell, and I would have to wipe his ass for him. I started wiping my father’s asshole when I was five. My father was a respected doctor and pastor in the community.

Abortions are hilarious. Now, don’t get me wrong, I am a strong supporter of the pro-life movement; yet, I can’t help but laugh whenever I pass a clinic. I think to myself “Hey now! Look at that place! Kookamunga!” Nothing against the Doctors at these clinics, but I’ll be the one vandalizing the fetuses in my wife’s slit from now on.

Processing gorilla pussies is like riding a bike, you never forget how to do it. Bill Pullman once fashioned a pair of jeans out of bones he found on the set of Independence Day. His mother often made him wear dresses as a child.

Protecting sprockets from ungrateful veterans is like shooting fish in a barrel.

I’m not sure when it was Tamara lost her charm, but something tells me it was back in the June of 95’. She was always molesting furious nuns for being lonely. The loneliness was brought on from a misinterpretation of colonial past times which included knitting cum condoms and making wax.

I’ve never been opposed to shitting my pants.

Chapter 4
Stephen Hawking Is A Bad Wittle Boy

Stephen Hawking is part machine. He will never lactate. He does however have scars on his cunt from being raped. Steven Hawking was always dressing like a little slut when he went out and he was asking for it. “Get back upstairs, wipe that make up off your face, put on some more clothes” Hawking’s father would yell; “NO DAD! I’M NOT A LITTLE ASTROPHYSICIST ANYMORE! I’M GOING OUT!” shouted Hawking. “With who? That scum bag Tommy from down the street? He’s a loser! He’s going no where and so will you if you go out with him!” proclaimed Mr. Hawking with piss dripping out of his mouth after sucking the pee out of his wife’s flesh crevice. “I DON’T CARE, I’M 54 AND I’M GOING OUT!” as Stephen Hawking slammed the door.

Outside waited Tommy in his 1965 Ford Thunderbird. Tommy was a bit of a greaser. He was the leader of a local biker gang called the “Frivolous Frappy Pants.” He didn’t have a great home life but he had a heart of gold and a dick that wouldn’t quit.

“Thanks for picking me up Tommy, you’re so sweet” swooned Hawking starring at Tommy with a twinkle in his eye. “Listen babe, I’d do anything for you. I think about you all the time. When I’m in the shower, when I’m driving, and when I’m dreaming. You are the light of my life babe” is what Tommy fucking said. “Oh Tommy, I can’t wait to kiss you on the lips with my mouth”
“Why wait?”
“Tommy, I…”

Tommy leaned and kissed the blushing little treasure. Stephen Hawking then stuck out his tongue and let Tommy lick it with his tongue. They were French kissing like little lovers. They loved each other because they used tongue kissing when they kissed. Stephen had begun to rub Tommy’s face when Tommy started to speak “listen babe, I think we’re moving to fast”. “I know Tommy, but it feels so right” Stephen Hawking the respected and award winning theoretical astrophysicist said, “just hold me until the sun comes up Tommy, just fucking hold me.”
“I’ll hold you until the day I die babe, ‘til the day I die.”

The next day, Stephen had to give a presentation on the density matrix within the universe in regards to gamma ray emissions to board of top NASA officials, but all he could think about was Tommy’s soft lips.

It was as if cupid had flown down and hit Stephen Hawking in the fucking pussy.

Later that day Tommy picked up Stephen. Not literally picked him up, but in the sense that he went over to Stephen’s work and picked up Stephen Hawking in his fucking car.
“Stevie cutie, we need to talk about something.”
“What is it Tommy?”
“I’ve got a question to ask, and I don’t want you to get upset, but it’s something that’s been on my mind”
“Just ask me Tommy, you know I love you.”

“I need you to run away with me” Tommy said after sucking his dads dick. “Tommy, I…” Stephen Hawking had to fucking think about this one. “I can’t go, I’m sorry.”

Rage filled Tommy like Barak Obama’s cock filling and cumming in Michelle Obamas pussy. “I’m gonna rape you” proclaimed Tommy. And so Tommy, the 1950’s lower-middle-class American Teenager raped Stephen Hawking, the world renowned British theoretical astrophysicist.

It’s a true story. Faggot.

Chapter 5
Invest in Probable Opossums

Could it be the psyche of American politics that drive foreign markets to create industrial catalysts in more frivolous ventures such as houseboat financing and what I like to call “Harpy Tuffy” trading, or is it the stimulant rush of economic balancing within wall street that drives markets to juggle bank finances like government cock docks. Now, I could tell you about some supplemental government benefits that can be provided through certain institutions and tapestries, but it comes with a lot of tap dancing through paper work and ends up costing you an arm and a leg in divorce court. If you want I’ll just come over and fuck you up.

I recently signed onto a two year compound interest plan through my high budget bond account. I invest 2.5% apr into different programs which over time, I theorize, will end in buy outs of smaller entities such as MMR direct and associates, a low level firm group which specializes in advanced pharmacology in the Midwestern United States. Certain federal regulators have stated that with an income status on the border of high and short, you can possess middle of the road stakes in a loose economic threshold. 59% of all Americans are at risk of a loan cleavage. You can’t make these fucking numbers up. Mother Fucker.

The federal reserve commission act like they are on the side of the consumer, but in reality they take their orders from loan-docking lobbyists in the public arena. I’ve got some tax quotes in response to my outstanding equity that would make even the leanest economist fuck their pets. High interest money funds and social structures are built to resist the very thing they are purposed for: top dollar fraud protection. The frugality of the consumer is a response to a social upheaval in the market place. As Grandma always said, “Ya’ just can’t fuck without a cock, and you can’t redistribute wealth into large level interest plans without a biased tax system which is built on the foundation of sturdy equity from investment firms.”

So much of this loan balancing revolves around health care progression. For example, a family with a net income of $75,000 per year can go to their local physician and get a check up; while lower income families can only go to their physician and get a check up. There has been so much fucking around with pencil tip finances lately, especially in the NASDAQ and frankly, I’ve had it up to fucking here with it. Health care securitization is like a bowl of apples, you’ve got the wooden bowl (health care) casing the fruit (incest) and in almost every case, whether its health care or fruit, you’re gonna end up with your brother kissing your neck. It’s at this point that you’ve got to talk to Jack Tatum, the director of national taxation and equity solutions inc., and say “Hey Jack, get me outta’ here, what these people are doing is ridiculous.” Investors want to have passionate sex with their wives, not their brothers. Underwriting social campaigns based on living wages and marked investments brings more trouble than it’s worth. Sometimes it’s best to clean your penis with gas and then light it on fire until your dick fucking burns off than to get involved with independent loan offices hoping for fair taxed passable wages with small annual annuity options.

So you might be asking “How the fuck do I keep Uncle Sam out of my pockets.” Well that’s easy; do you have a gun? Only joking off course! No but really, get a gun and shoot an important politician. Most financial firms will advise you to put your eggs in the senseless violence basket rather than saving, investing, and beneficial government loan programs. For example, Lee Harvey Oswald dreamt big, and never paid taxes again, and that’s the truth.


Chapter 6
Taking care of your body, mind, and soul. Faggot.

Lets face it people, we only get to go around this crazy merry go round called life once, so treat yourself good! With that being said, go fuck yourself.

I like to start my day by waking my son up, having him piss and shit in a cup and then drinking his shit and piss. Most Doctors will tell you this is great. I am a Doctor and I advise you all to shit and piss into a cup or mug and drink it. This cleanses the system of the toxins left by fruits and vegetables. Next part of my daily routine is sticking myself and my family with dirty needles. Where do I get these needles you ask? From ya’ fuckin’ motha’. Mind ya’ own fuckin’ business you fuckin’ goombah.

It’s important for proper piss stick maintenance to always slam your dick in car doors. Slamming your little pee wand in car doors is a great way to get the blood flowing to other parts of the body. In yoga, you are taught to stretch the dick out by tying it to a sturdy foundation and then putting as much distance between it and your cock as fast as possible. This may cause your dick to bleed a bit, or come unattached to the rest of your body, do not worry, this is normal. When your dick comes off there will be a brief moment of shock, this is soon replaced with an overwhelming feeling of satisfaction. If you’re lucky, cum will come fucking shooting out all over the place. This is a great way to impress women. Women like a man in control, and removing your cock by tying barb wire around your cock and then tying it off to a tree and then running really fast so that your cock comes off with the barb wire is a great way to show them you’re a charismatic alpha male with positive moral values.

Being in control of your physical well being isn’t as easy as taking a pill; it takes a lot of work. If going on a diet, get a friend to go on it with you! Its much easier to let a persons shit slide slowly out of their assholes and into your mouth then it is to do it yourself. I like to call it the “ultimate hot meal”. Because it comes from another human being, feces is completely natural. Having a juicy hot shit in your mouth before its completely left your friends bung is a great feeling. You will feel like a million bucks after swallowing fucking shit. And you can get creative with it. Ask them to eat food dyes so you can eat green and red shit. Let their ass and shit be your oyster!

I’ve always puked and drank my own puke. If the consistency called for chewing, I would do so. I was never too picky when it came to eating my own puke. It’s quite audacious and arrogant to be selective when dining on your own barf cuisine. Sometimes the acidity of your puke hurts your throat when you consume it; this only means it’s doing its job. You’re going to want to eat your vomit all the time because of its health benefits. I remember being 5 years old and eating my puke. I often eat the puke of others to obtain the vitamins and minerals. Sometimes I request my friends to drink (or eat) my barf, then I give them $5 to barf so I can eat my barf that they barfed up. If you’re going to hurl, better hurl into the mouth of a friend than in a toilet.

Chapter 7

Robin Williams can suck his own dick.

I’ve held a long distance relationship with pornography for three years. Licking ink on paper is just like any other profession. I’ve always said you have to want to fail at milking ya’ motha’s tits to not be able to do it, for it’s so easy. Greasy bones with kaleidoscope eyes will always impose judgment on you and your little slut wife. You tell her to leave my kids alone or the authorities will get involved. I’m an impeachable sexual deviant with a heart of gold, so to deny my children of a proper Christian molesting is undeniably unjustified. Take a good look at yourself when you wake up and you can tell me why the fuck you’re so important and why I’m just little crust shits on your ass. If I catch your wife sleeping with my kids again I’ll kill her.

Predetermining unforeseeable camera angles will set you free when the monarchy asks for a prenuptial agreement. Give allegiance or give paraplegics. I won’t try and hide my history of hunting down and prosecuting people with erectile dysfunction, but I’m not going to advertise it on a billboard like some of my opponents. I’ll kill the first person to look at my lawn funny. I’ll lick the sweat from my own ass before I let your son take my daughter to the prom. Mechanical sexual organs were the norm for certain neighborhoods I knew of, but in my neighborhood we did the old “in-out” with our cock rods and not some gear and bolt mechanical bullshit. I pray I see the day when you and your wife foreclose on that pretty new trailer home.

Thanksgiving dinner in my house always consisted of placenta and a cornucopia of dead insects. Even though I have a weight problem, I can still read the writing on the wall. Creating a balanced diet of musical wizardry and aids was easy for me to do in my youth because of all the tennis I was playing back then. My father would force me to fight the older kids in my neighborhood; this is something that taught me to be humble in my later days. Pregnancy is a sexual offense in the eye of god. Are you willing to spit in the face of god? You’ve really let me down. I guess I’ll have to be anonymous with my sperm from now on.

Kent Hack, my barber of 35 moon years, liked to cut my hair. He would save my unwanted hair for his personal use. Besides the obvious uses for cut hair (masturbation, guitar strings, candy), Kent would use the hair to bribe the local police. Though Kent was a local hero for his car washing monopoly, he was also well known for his terrorism. Most people would overlook his carelessness when washing their children’s faces with the pee of their forefathers, but the terrorism thing was looked down on.

Mocky Looky, Peninsula salad hat cunt. Flop tits like simple zits, contribute $1,500,000 to our fucking economy every year. Limpy flimpy doo doo? Cancer cock unlike Spock’s cock is like pussy piss. Hairy asshole soup tastes like testicle sauce. I was omitted to the children’s hospital when it was discovered I had cut my hand harming a small child. I had punched a 7 year old in the face, as hard as I fucking could, and I had cut my hand on his tooth. Serves him right. I had discovered he was planning on sleeping with my wife. My foot fungus was always very popular at my children’s show and tell but would drive their teachers into a sexual frenzy.

You’re getting older. I can tell because my feet smell like condoms. I can always harm your pussy with acid if the price is right, but I’ve never felt the victimization of Capricorn candy corns were worth the price of a mammogram.

I’m going be forced to punish your pussy, faggot.

Overweight women have always had faith in my ability to create masterful kitchen creations. I’ve been given the gift of mindful, ground-based, and cancerous cuisine preparation. Give me the laughter of children and I’ll cook something truly inappropriate and delicious. I’ll give your kids some candy if I see them walking alone on the street. Sorry, but I’m above that pedophilia shit, and I’m going to get close to your kids. Very Close.

What is it that fascinates women about stranded computers? Can’t they just get a healthcare system that supplies them with cunt pills and an adequate pussy-care system. They call it a gynecologist, I call it a pussy lah lah fuckah, you know, because they get all fucking sexy with your pussy. That’s why you have to get sassy. Lah lah fuck cunt. Mustard pussy. Cunty fuck puss. I know a girl who likes to get her pussy hit with a hammer. I can understand this. Why wouldn’t you want your pussy fucking hit with a hammer in this day and age? Obviously the best way to live is to get fucking hit so hard in your fucking pussy with a hammer.

Old people are the hazardous waste of today’s society.

Should I try and explain my sexual exploits to my bosses wife? A question I’ve wrestled with for the past week. I recently landed a job a well respected law firm, and on my second day I met my bosses overweight wife. I would really like to tell her how I would love for her to wear boots and kick me as hard as she can in my testicles. I feel so strongly about this, and after meeting her twice, I feel I should tell her. I think my boss would respect my honesty in this situation. I may even get a promotion for telling my boss with sincerity that I’d like his fat wife to kick me in the fucking nuts with a hard boot. Like me, he seems like a straight shooter. I think with a little honesty, I’ll go far in this company.

Give a man a fish, he’ll eat for a day. Teach a man to fish, he’ll sexually molest your dick.

Through a strange mix up at the hospital on the day I was born, I was born with John Travolta as a penis. My penis was the main character in such films as Grease, Face-Off, and some other shitty movies. It was somewhat beyond my control. My dick is very popular in Hollywood, only because of the fact that my fucking cock is John Travolta. My dick is the actual actor John Travolta. When I pull down my pants to piss, the piss comes out of John Travolta’s mouth, because he is my dick. John Travolta was offered Leonardo Decaprio’s role in Titanic but had to decline because I was busy that week. Sorry John, but I’ve got shit to do, and just because you are my fucking penis doesn’t mean I’ll drop everything for you. Sorry. Faggot.

Overweight women are fucking disgusting. Overweight men have every right to be overweight. They’ve earned it for being in all those wars.

Forgetting once again the deal I made with Ted Danson to keep my fucking mouth shut on the topic of foreign affairs, I must say that to switch from a progressive anal tits compromise to an aggressive shit affair is like calling the 1967 Homeless Fart Bill (calling for more cunts to swatch faggots) a milking of tits exposé of obsessive figurative of speech butt holes. It’s easy to propose the idea of fucking parrots for money, and it makes sense on a legislative level, but you must first smell your mothers farts and watch you’re father while he masturbates. If it bleeds when you write it a letter, it’s probably because you’re faggot cousin sucked on a stink tit. I’ve been the head speaker of the house of representatives for a long fucking time, and I’ve seen a fucking thing or two, and if you wanna fuck with me, that’s fine, but you better bring a fucking gun because I swear to god I’ll fuck a parrot.

They say money talks, but, all mine says is “goodbye”. That was a joke. The joke stems from the state of the economy. The popular phrase “Money Talks” mixed with the idea of it saying “Goodbye” is funny because people don’t have enough money. It’s less funny for me because I have plenty of money from sucking so many dicks. I suck dicks more than humanly possible. When I come home I have to puke up so much cum from sucking so much fucking cock. When you go to the store and are waiting in line behind some guy, odds are that I sucked the fuck out of his fucking prick. Congress had to pass a bill adding an extra hour to the clock because of all the dick I’ve been sucking. I once sucked a dick that wasn’t even there, and it came on my belly. When I suck dick you better believe I’m sucking dick. One time I held onto a flux capacitor and sucked dick so fast that I went through time and had to get my parents back together, but in order to do so I had to suck my fathers dick. Then I sucked Biffs’ cock. And then I sucked Doc Browns fucking dick. Another time I sucked Freddy Krueger’s brunt burnt cock. Yet another time I was on the set of a home improvement show with a charismatic yet clumsy host, his name was Tim Taylor and I sucked on his fucking Binford dick. Then he said he wanted “more power rgghh rgghh rrggh” so he put a hot rod engine in my mouth and I sucked his dick. I’m not gay. I can suck my own dick. One time I touched a vagina, I fucking puked up so much fucking sperm. I’m not gay.

I would love for someone to take my place as a disabled pussy prosecutor. Making promises for better living situations would be ideal, but for my pussy I’ve got some changes to make. I’ve given abstinence a chance and it fucked me. I’ve given micro analyzing a chance and it fucked my cock. Lesbian cannibals will be a great babysitter for paranormal Eskimos, but for me, I’ll take good old fashioned bestiality. Put a cigarette out on my face and give into my sweet embrace. Put a fish in my asshole and smell the stench of my piss pole. I could never be the type of man that would lick laxative hookers, but for a laxative hooker to smell my dick and give into a forbidden orgy of nuns, I’ll roll the dice. 25% of all guaranteed queef fucky’s will bring home the bacon.

Harboring ill will towards cannabis melons is worth a dime or two, but I’ll let you explain it to the cops when they get here. Clay antiques were once the norm, but now they have trouble explaining extramarital affairs to tourists. Give it a chance, that is, give muscle building Chinese immigrants a chance to fucking explain themselves. Worship what you want, but don’t expect me to listen, because I’ll write you off like that. Michelle Obama is a virgin, but has claimed to have sex with people in Niagara Falls. She’s really a virgin but was afraid to let Judd Nelson know in front of Molly Ringwald. Where did the Obama kids come from? That’s a good question, I guess best left to the idea of pussy magic. Pussy magic is when funny stuff happens to fucking pussies when there is no other explanation. Give it a chance. I’ll forget about unlivable park palaces if you just give into the fact that you’re a philanthropist with no class.

Making presidential candidates cum is what I do best, but don’t take my word for it, ask the guys (and gal) what they think of my magic dick. Take a rub of my little prick and I’ll make your dick turn into a hot cum stick. Smell the cum. Smelling cum is synonymous with cum tasting.

I personify stereophonic rape. Lathering my fathers chest with soap was the best part of my youth. I could always smell my fathers piss early in the morning when he would piss. I’ve got big titties, they are sexy ta-ta's. Give us this day our daily tits and forgive us our hooters, for melons and breasts. My tits smell like spaghetti. Sometimes when I eat spaghetti it falls down my chest and I forget its there, so my tits are spaghetti breasts.

It’s like Grandma always said to me when I was a very small child, “Don’t suck ya’ fatha’s cock if you don’t like the taste of ya’ motha’s pussy.”

While the press has made it clear that Bill Clinton, at times, has come off as somewhat of a womanizer, what the press fails to relay to the public is that he is quite the family man. When I say family man, I don’t mean he’s nice and supportive for his family, I mean he has sex with them all. Everyone. Not just Hilary. Bill Clinton liked to get fucked by his daughter. But hey, when in Rome!!!! He also loved to get down on all fours and walk behind his dog, just sniffing his little asshole as farts came out of the little puppy bung. Bill would sniff his dogs fucking farts and then lick his dogs balls. The whole Monica Lewinsky thing was her fault; he didn’t want anything to do with it. You think good ol’ Bill “Where’s my mother so I can fuck her” Clinton would want to let some hussy suck his dinky? Wrong! He’d much rather inappropriately fuck one of his family members or lick a dogs balls. Or drink bodily fluid from a shark. Bill Clinton loves drinking shark piss and eating shark shit. It’s how he stays so youthful. Hilary Clinton has a dusty pussy because Bill won’t touch it. Bill comes home drunk sometimes and spits in her face and she just sits there and takes it and then brings him a beer. Sorry Hilary, you fucking bitch. Get some better tits and maybe Bill will stop licking your dogs balls and fucking Chelsea.

This summer, winter is gonna look like a pussy. Banana cum is synonymous with monkey sex. Butterball vagina stench listens to sweet ocean sways. Saving farts in jars is what kept the pilgrims alive the year they landed on Plymouth Rock. My father used to hold my penis while I dreamt of Leslie Nielsen’s creamy cock. Laugh while you can.

Kurt Cobain put his shit in a hotdog bun and ate a chocolate hotdog before fatally wounding himself with a shotgun. It’s just the truth.

Phil Hartman’s wife must have been on her fucking period when she shot him. Women get crazy when they are on they’re period. It’s just the truth.

I sometimes wonder what Abraham Lincoln was thinking right before he was shot in the back of the head by John Wilkes Booth. I assume it was something along the lines of “Wow, this fucking play is fucking sick dude. I‘ll come back and see it again fucking hammered.” He didn’t though.

I’d build a palace made of junky syringes if it meant being truly happy for the rest of my life. It seems like something that would make me quite happy, but would I really be satisfied? Probably not. What I really want is a new sexually transmitted disease every night. Fucking a dumpster wouldn’t give you the sexually transmitted diseases you would acquire from one night with Helen Hunt. Helen Hunt has a funny cunt.

No comments:

Post a Comment