The other day, she got all mad at me over nothing, and with my paranoid, weedy ways, I became convinced that she was breaking up with me and I, well... I sort of accidently slaughtered her family. Then I guess I might have hung their heads on 16 foot long wooden posts that I tied to the stately metal of the Michigan Avenue drawbridge, in the heart of downtown and right during rush hour....
This is as bad as that time I drank all those cappucinos (like fifteen -- they were free... the vendor had been snitty with me so he was too dead to care). That time I became convinced that the FBI should check out M'.s Bin Laden connections. She did not like being snatched off the street, whisked away to some third world country that she never saw because of the hood over her body -- her only clothing in the chilly climate-- where she was drugged and beaten and interrogated for 72 hours straight. Afterwhich, she was told that if she ever talked about this, they would snatch her again and not let her walk. They were actually quite specific about what they would do, and had her sign three different pages, all too classified for her to read... the upshot of their threat was that they would keep M. alive, in a dank prison in Bogota, slowly shitting herself to death with dissentary.
Anyways... now, I knew that on a public stunt like this, the press would probably get wind of it so I needed a great disguise. I guess I actually might have called all the press, back when I thought that we were broke up. I didn't want her to miss the event, you know.
I do not think I have any fault unless it is this -- I acted too soon. My reaction itself was normal, and actually shows the dept of my love for her. That's what I'll tell her.
I had to disguise myself while I was down on the bridge putting her grandparents and parents and sisters all on the posts -- I pulled them all out of a big bag, where they had grown all juicy from the blood, shoved them on the poles, then taped them way up on high on the bridge. I had to scale a like one and half foot beam to get up there, to the hightest point of the looping metal arms of the four lane draw bridge.
I painted myself dark blue. With crayons. It hurt like hell, but it came off easy. Mostly.
My night shaded skin melded just fine with the river when I dove in to make my escape. I retrieved my self-warming scuba pelt and air canisters,and swam back up to north the 78 blocks to the beach across from my house... in like twenty minutes or less... don't like to brag, but it's probably the fastest ever.....
Oddly enough, their description of me is so far off.
I mean, this lady told the cameraman, "We all agree. It was blue guy with a tiny dick."
'Ha,' I thought when I heard this nugget, 'I will never be caught with them looking for a tiny dick.' I of course am big and I have no idea why they slander me? Probably just keeping my size back, so the general public doesn't know, only the blue nude man with the almost montrous genitilia, and this is how they will know him.
They showed cops downtown making all the bums pull their pants down to see if they had a tiny blue dicks, and a couple did,but it turned out to be just from the cold, so they were issued socks to keep their weiners in.
Now, you are probably going to hear about this on the news, unless this too is one of those things the CIA is just going to hide from you, exactly like who killed JFK.
M. will probably find out right away. I will hold my lying position as long as possible, of course-- I will tell her that I am not now, nor ever was, painted in blue crayons, and furthermore, that I do not know what happened to all of my blue crayons. I'll stand this ground until it is absurd due to her preponderance of evidence to go on with said lie (and often well past this point, into the truly pathetic). Four cops tried to notify or interrogate her or something. I had to catch them in the buildings small lobby and quietly get behind them and get a fucking garrot over their necks and decapitate them all without disturbing M., who had us watching some chick flick...
Oh, well . . .
Got blood on my hands, weed in my head, and heads on poles.. yea, life is good.
THOU SHALT NOT STEAL THE WRITINGS OF JOHN SCOTT RIDGWAY... YOU CAN EASILY GET PERMISSION FOR A NON COMMERCIAL REPRINT BY CONTACTING MY EMAIL.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
I SEEM TO BE DOING NOTHING BUT CHARITY WORK...
I beleive everyone thinks about suicide at one time or another, and that for most, this is the only time in their pathetic lives that they will flirt with having a sane, rational thought. So, once more, it is off to do some charity work for the good of all mankind, or at least to lower my own personal annoyance level... I am going out into the streets armed to the teeth to take down people who are suicidal -- most of whom do not yet realize that they are suicidal (I suspect there will also be dozens of causalties amongst those who really should be suicidal and are not only because of their own lack of taste). Charity work, thou name is Pain. First it was going down to the library and punching out Grishom readers and then it was the scientology brain wash center for general garroting and fingernail and butt related torture, and now killing off all these suicidal cowards. I am so much greater of a humanitarian than like ghandi, martin, sister teresa and snoop dog all rolled into one... not to mention jesus's big brother Nebils (he would have been the christ, but he preferred to be a 'mary'; all the Catholics secretly know this, and preists all call themselves Mary' when no one else is around (with the exceptions only of warthogs, who we we all know could hardly claim the moral high ground, since they do indeed eat their young, and not in the way the preiets do).
THOU SHALT NOT STEAL THE WRITINGS OF JOHN SCOTT RIDGWAY... YOU CAN EASILY GET PERMISSION FOR A NON COMMERCIAL REPRINT BY CONTACTING MY EMAIL.
THOU SHALT NOT STEAL THE WRITINGS OF JOHN SCOTT RIDGWAY... YOU CAN EASILY GET PERMISSION FOR A NON COMMERCIAL REPRINT BY CONTACTING MY EMAIL.
LOVE THY NEIGHBOR AS THY SELF????
Does this mean that I am biblically commanded to rub the quims of hotties who live next door to me? I mean, does this mean that god himself has decreed that I am to LOVE MY NEIGHBORS AS I LOVE MYSELF??? And if so, is it just like a couple blocks, or is it the whole city?
I mean, I think I may be required to give hand jobs to thousands of chicks... and by god if that is what it takes to save my soul then.... LOVE THEY NEIGHBOR AS YOU LOVE THYSELF... since I am something of a chronic masterbater, this is going to involve a hell of a lot dildo's and lubricants and German Sheperds trained in oral pleasuring by the ancient, chinese method that this guy Floyd who lives in a trailer at the dog track came up with. Floyd always has wine and will share it with anybody who can take his constant talk about all 'the bitches' he was 'boning' (he makes it out like he means women, but we all know he is talking about the dogs, who he buys little dresses and wigs and even make up).
Okay, I think I just had a vision from God... Yes, I did... I am commanded to love my neighbors as I do myself, and this indeed does mean that I am going to be neck deep in sweet, young things who taste like Cherry Sweet Tarts. If I am going to do this, then I have to pleasure them as many times as I have myself, so I really have a hell of a lot of catching up to do.... This could take a lot of vacuum cleaners too, not too powerful though... I won't lose any clit.'s on my watch... oh, hell no... not on my watch.
I always wondered what christians did without smokes and drinks and weed and killing whores and setting fires and fun shit? Now I know -- they are loving each other.... This explains those silly empty smiles too. And of course, now I see why now why they defend their religion despite all evidence to the contrary -- they will do anything to keep the babes believing in this whole 'love they neighbor as theyself thing...' I sure as hell wish someone had told me this years ago.
This is exactly what I needed to know to renew my faith in jesus and the super freinds. Hail Mary and heil Jesus and fly, Super man, fly like the Easter Weasel...
THOU SHALT NOT STEAL THE WRITINGS OF JOHN SCOTT RIDGWAY... YOU CAN EASILY GET PERMISSION FOR A NON COMMERCIAL REPRINT BY CONTACTING MY EMAIL.
I mean, I think I may be required to give hand jobs to thousands of chicks... and by god if that is what it takes to save my soul then.... LOVE THEY NEIGHBOR AS YOU LOVE THYSELF... since I am something of a chronic masterbater, this is going to involve a hell of a lot dildo's and lubricants and German Sheperds trained in oral pleasuring by the ancient, chinese method that this guy Floyd who lives in a trailer at the dog track came up with. Floyd always has wine and will share it with anybody who can take his constant talk about all 'the bitches' he was 'boning' (he makes it out like he means women, but we all know he is talking about the dogs, who he buys little dresses and wigs and even make up).
Okay, I think I just had a vision from God... Yes, I did... I am commanded to love my neighbors as I do myself, and this indeed does mean that I am going to be neck deep in sweet, young things who taste like Cherry Sweet Tarts. If I am going to do this, then I have to pleasure them as many times as I have myself, so I really have a hell of a lot of catching up to do.... This could take a lot of vacuum cleaners too, not too powerful though... I won't lose any clit.'s on my watch... oh, hell no... not on my watch.
I always wondered what christians did without smokes and drinks and weed and killing whores and setting fires and fun shit? Now I know -- they are loving each other.... This explains those silly empty smiles too. And of course, now I see why now why they defend their religion despite all evidence to the contrary -- they will do anything to keep the babes believing in this whole 'love they neighbor as theyself thing...' I sure as hell wish someone had told me this years ago.
This is exactly what I needed to know to renew my faith in jesus and the super freinds. Hail Mary and heil Jesus and fly, Super man, fly like the Easter Weasel...
THOU SHALT NOT STEAL THE WRITINGS OF JOHN SCOTT RIDGWAY... YOU CAN EASILY GET PERMISSION FOR A NON COMMERCIAL REPRINT BY CONTACTING MY EMAIL.
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