Now they government doesn't want the beat them to piss and twitches hamster army.

They would have been shipping out to Iraq today, like the W, said when we talked on the phone. I can't write much about this matter, and you will see why if you read on...

This morning I get this very strange call from some educated white sounding guy. He said he was with 'the administration,' though he would not tell me his name. He said that he was following up on all the people W. had contacted during his binge and given away national security secrets. That's what they said, at least.
"Do you know what would happen if people knew about the presidents consumption of drinkee poos, as he calls them. you gotta love that jokester.... Anyways, if you violate this mandate, we will haul your ass in under the Patriot Act and leave you strapped to a cot, laying in your own excrement, going crazier and crazier, until you forget who you fucking are... Or should I say, used to be? Because you will be a worthless shit after this, scared of everything and everyone, wandering the goddamn streets getting your ass kicked by drunken, communist leaning teenagers... In fact, the only way you will find satisfaction will be to inflict harm on others, to be honest.. Well, you'll find out about all that on your own, when you are in the federal house of corrections, I suppose. The US government is counting on you, man, so do not fuck this up. The war effort itself could be in jeopardy. We thought about killing you, by the way. Almost did. Shit, you would be dead by now. Oh, well..."

"Is there any money involved in this?"
"You get what is quite a nice little toaster."
"A toaster," I asked. "I have a goddamned toaster."
"Do it to keep from getting strapped to a cot. It will break your mind, your thoughts will be like jagged pieces of glass cutting into your deepest selves."
"Wow."
"That's from my book."
"Oh." I tremble in fear at the thought of him lecturing me on his book. Luckily, he finally cuts to the chase... Turns out, they don't want anyone to say the W. Is still getting drunk -- or at least has numerous times since his alleged vow at 40 to get rid of his frathouse demeanor and 'act' like a man. (my source is The Bush Dyslexicon -- radicalized ones thinking in a very productive manner).

I guess I should write more about the call from the W. We didn't just talk about weapons and shit, though he did go on about that stuff like some guys discuss pussy, I must say...
First thing he did was tell m, "Some goddamn shrink thinks he calls up average citizens to boost my ego. But hell no, that ain't it. What's your goddamn name? Oh, never the hell mind, I won't keep ahold of nothing about now... You know, when I make these here calls, I sometimes touch myself. Only while talking to the girls. Ha, got you man." These are fawning women, man, and they take orders sometimes from this old commander and chief... I sin into what has become a fairly stiff hankerchef. Keep that bastard hid behind my desk drawer, where the maid can't take it and try to sell it to someone to clone my highly electible ass. I keep a lot of nice stuff in that drawer... got my very most favorite marbles and a religious coloring book. I can honestly say, that while I can't quite stay in the lines, this colorable book tells the kind of story that I honestly understand and can damn well grow from into some nice thing... Yea, some very, very nice thing. Oh, what the hell am I talking about?"

I told him, "Look, dude, I do not feel comfortable hearing about your jiz rag..." I suddenly had this cold feeling run down my spine as I realized that the psycho I was talking to had secret police and entire goddamn armies to fuck with people. So I added, "Not that that matters much. Sorry if my stupid fear of jizz rags made me say that to our commander and cheig. I gotta say, too, that your honest view on the topic of coloring books is genius, sheer genius... in fact, in your sharp and wily mind, I believe there is a warrior, poet, genius."

"Well, hell yes, my momma done told me that so many times... You know goddamn well what? All those damn reporters that write about me like I am some dum, psychopedillwhip, or something... They are actually saying that my Mom, who has known about my genius since before I was born. She could tell, she said. Everyone in my damn family is a genius, and Mom can tell. She said Steven Hawkins was a genius, and he is too... man, when I found that I out I called Mom and... Shit, the dog just pissed on the goddamn bed. I'm laying here in some room with a damn name I can't ever pronounce (sic) all right and such, and the dog pissess... Goddamn it. I was watching a little porn, then when it was break time, I called people. What the hell are we talking about?"
"Oh, we were done sir, just ready to hang up.
He immediately called back. I didn't pick up the phone, and he called again and again. Finally I picked up the phone.

"Are you alright little buddy? You had a goddamn heart attack from the sheer joy of being in my presence. I always thought this would happen. Yea, doggie... Anyhoo, I have an ambulance on the way... No, I told them they had to use a helicopter, because they are a trip to ride in, man. A fucking trip."

Then I had to tell all these damn people to go away... The helicopter sucked the coffees I was taking to them up in the air and spit the hot java into the faces of some paramedic -- who used the ambulance to get his extensive facial burns looked at.

I'm really not supposed to write about what we talked about next, but since nobody in their right mind would read down this far in this entry, let me just add for you twisted folk that one united states president was very excited about my idea about training hamsters to replace our human troops. He especially liked how much money the government will save by making the small hamster armies. He told me, "You could make like about thirty seven, maybe thirty six and a half, outfits for hamsters from just one goddamn humans cloths."

This and other advantages of using hamsters were discussed, but I shouldn't write anymore, just in case... I am suddenly nervous and jumpy -- I do not want to be strapped to a couch encased in my own excrement.


Suddenly he changed the subject back to himself, and started telling me about all the kills in Iraq, which he considered his own psychopathic kills. I really wanted to hang up on him, but you just never know... He could have me killed just like that and my whole life and work could be disappeared (saw it on x files, choose to believe it for the hell of it)He went on until someone came in to clean up the piss and then he just hung up without so much as a goodbye. I hung up my own phone and for some reason, now I feel kind of used and ashamed of myself... Don't know why?


May you have a day that reminds you of guantamano bay so well that you will need plastic surgery to make your mangled genitilia recognizable as a sex organ.


(*about this ending.. I used to put on all my entries a blurb wishing people very nasty days. I did this mostly for kicks, I admit, but I also feel deeply for the people trapped in that prison, and the torturing of American prisoner has to be fessed up to and confronted--the majority must decide how nasty they want the carriers of their name to be. And don't fool yourself, just being anti-bush will not change how much the world hates us right now.


I guess I should write more about the call from the W. We didn't just talk about weapons and shit, though he did go on about that stuff like some guys discuss pussy, I must say...
First thing he did was tell m, "Some goddamn shrink thinks he calls up average citizens to boost my ego. But hell no, that ain't it. What's your goddamn name? Oh, never the hell mind, I won't keep ahold of nothing about now... You know, when I make these here calls, I sometimes touch myself. Only while talking to the girls. Ha, got you man." These are fawning women, man, and they take orders sometimes from this old commander and chief... I sin into what has become a fairly stiff hankerchef. Keep that bastard hid behind my desk drawer, where the maid can't take it and try to sell it to someone to clone my highly electible ass. I keep a lot of nice stuff in that drawer... got my very most favorite marbles and a religious coloring book. I can honestly say, that while I can't quite stay in the lines, this colorable book tells the kind of story that I honestly understand and can damn well grow from into some nice thing... Yea, some very, very nice thing. Oh, what the hell am I talking about?"




I told him, "Look, dude, I do not feel comfortable hearing about your jiz rag..." I suddenly had this cold feeling run down my spine as I realized that the psycho I was talking to had secret police and entire goddamn armies to fuck with people. So I added, "Not that that matters much. Sorry if my stupid fear of jizz rags made me say that to our commander and cheig. I gotta say, too, that your honest view on the topic of coloring books is genius, sheer genius... in fact, in your sharp and wily mind, I believe there is a warrior, poet, genius."




"Well, hell yes, my momma done told me that so many times... You know goddamn well what? All those damn reporters that write about me like I am some dum, psychopedillwhip, or something... They are actually saying that my Mom, who has known about my genius since before I was born. She could tell, she said. Everyone in my damn family is a genius, and Mom can tell. She said Steven Hawkins was a genius, and he is too... man, when I found that I out I called Mom and... Shit, the dog just pissed on the goddamn bed. I'm laying here in some room with a damn name I can't ever pronounce (sic) all right and such, and the dog pissess... Goddamn it. I was watching a little porn, then when it was break time, I called people. What the hell are we talking about?"
"Oh, we were done sir, just ready to hang up.
He immediately called back. I didn't pick up the phone, and he called again and again. Finally I picked up the phone.




"Are you alright little buddy? You had a goddamn heart attack from the sheer joy of being in my presence. I always thought this would happen. Yea, doggie... Anyhoo, I have an ambulance on the way... No, I told them they had to use a helicopter, because they are a trip to ride in, man. A fucking trip."




Then I had to tell all these damn people to go away... The helicopter sucked the coffees I was taking to them up in the air and spit the hot java into the faces of some paramedic -- who used the ambulance to get his extensive facial burns looked at.




I'm really not supposed to write about what we talked about next, but since nobody in their right mind would read down this far in this entry, let me just add for you twisted folk that one united states president was very excited about my idea about training hamsters to replace our human troops. He especially liked how much money the government will save by making the small hamster armies. He told me, "You could make like about thirty seven, maybe thirty six and a half, outfits for hamsters from just one goddamn humans cloths."




This and other advantages of using hamsters were discussed, but I shouldn't write anymore, just in case... I am suddenly nervous and jumpy -- I do not want to be strapped to a couch encased in my own excrement.





Suddenly he changed the subject back to himself, and started telling me about all the kills in Iraq, which he considered his own psychopathic kills. I really wanted to hang up on him, but you just never know... He could have me killed just like that and my whole life and work could be disappeared (saw it on x files, choose to believe it for the hell of it)He went on until someone came in to clean up the piss and then he just hung up without so much as a goodbye. I hung up my own phone and for some reason, now I feel kind of used and ashamed of myself... Don't know why?





May you have a day that reminds you of guantamano bay so well that you will need plastic surgery to make your mangled genitilia recognizable as a sex organ.





(*about this ending.. I used to put on all my entries a blurb wishing people very nasty days. I did this mostly for kicks, I admit, but I also feel deeply for the people trapped in that prison, and the torturing of American prisoner has to be fessed up to and confronted--the majority must decide how nasty they want the carriers of their name to be. And don't fool yourself, just being anti-bush will not change how much the world hates us right now.







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