Life sucks; get yours

As many of my regular visitors and confused stumblers have realized, I have no passions, no beliefs, no advice for future visitors to this virtual gallery of indecipherable cave paintings. 

I don't particularly hate people, but I have no patience with stupidity. Like Bukowski, I feel much better when people are not around, and that includes their stupid motherfuckingly annoying pets.

I also find belief counterproductive to continued persistence of the human species upon the planet they have befouled and defliled. Ahriman is my idea of the ultimate athlete or sports franchise owner.

I'm not a teacher. I'm not a mentor. I'm not even whatever I think I might be. I know I'm nothing remotely aligned with your perceptions. Unlike Barry Manilow, whose song serves as an ironic reminder about what this site might be about if I gave a shit, I am not a marketeer, except for those who champion bringing on the bomb.

Seriously. Don't you ever wonder how insanely unpredictable your meaningless life would be if all options were on EVERYONE's table? I want my share of thermonuclear deterrence. Don't you? 

Would I let you die if you fell under my spell or care in the course of dealing with zombieland? It depends, which is not a commercially available diaper for blithering rightwingnut idiots. I think the die-hard self-exterminating assholes who are desperately seeking solutions against reason should have to petition their Lord with prayer. I have no use for them, no sense of responsibility to secure their continued existence. Fuck them.

If you support them, fuck you. Fuck your spawn. Fuck your friends and neighbors. 

It's time to nut up people and take responsibility for your life back from Republican control freaks who have convinced you that their perverse brand of injecting themselves into your private affairs is somehow less abusive than the Communist or Socialist approach which offers benefits in exchange for compromise, rather than bending over and taking it up the ass for Cheney in exchange for nothing.

The choice is yours. I don't care what choice you make. I still think that all options are on the table, and I prefer bringing on the bomb.

Fuck you and your entire gene pool.

© 1896-2009, Faustroll, Ligi, and Associates. All rights reserved.  Accept no substitutes. Sponsored by the Portland Pataphysical Outpatient Clinic, Lounge, and Laundromat, a leisure service of the Church of the Oven of Peace. Don't worry. We're happy. Legal.