Ride my cock, you smelly whore

Brain Spaeth (writerologist, actorism, novelista) has a fucking crazy Blog with stuff about airplanes, Saved by the Bell, and Potatoes. You should check out his funky fresh flava.

Gordon Massman has a book called The Essential Numbers. This fucker makes me jealous. He is almost as pissed off as I am. Here’s an excerpt:

Dear God: thank you for the physical beauty in the world, etc.
and get fucked. Brutality festers under veneer. Abercrombie
and Fitch and the other even-cornered orderly little boxes at-
op the cauldron of rage. I’ve read your absurd prevarications,
burning bush, parting sea, water to wine, the whole bloody
idiotic litany. What do you take me for? My son’s in jail, my
parents hate each other, and love is the biggest crock of shit
in our world. Take it up the ass mr. big. I shove it in and
squirt my ever-regenerating fascist through your anus. You
“work in mysterious ways.” Sure. Gotcha. Like multiple
sclerosis, cerebral hemorrhage, schizophrenia, ovarian can-
cer, gang rape, endless battlefield slaughter, hunger and
starvation, crack cocaine, mandatory economic survival,
family annihilation, serial killer, christmas eve, the whole
bloody genocidal mechanistic panoply of madness, dema-
goguery, power-lust, and blood papered over with The
David, Notre Dame, Starry Night, The Cello Suites, The
Divine Comedy, A Night at the Opera.

Buy the fucking book, you prick

Kek W rejected me, but said really nice things. I am not entirely useless, but it is close.

6 Comments

Comments RSS TrackBack Identifier URI