Famous Song Lyrics/Celebrity Mashup Parodies

 

Since this website has began I have written over seven hundred pieces around the internet. I take the craft of writing very seriously and feel blessed to have pursued my dreams to the point where they have begun to pay off. But sometimes very seriousness gets a bit tiring and I just want to write silly nonsense for fun. Instead of keeping all that joy to myself I have created a fun writing exercise I hope you will join me in.

The name of the game is very simple. First you select a famous song, something everybody knows, at least vaguely. Then you select a celebrity with equal public clout and rewrite the songs lyrics from their perspective. You do not have to remain true to the original lyrics message or theme, just keep the melody and let your chosen celebrity speak. I will provide a few examples below, but the hope is that it will inspire you to contribute one or two of these famous song lyrics/celebrity mashup parodies of your own, which I will publish in a part two of this article later.

You can submit your lyrics in the comments of this article or on the AdvancedApe.com Official Facebook Page.

Me first…

I Love Rock n’ Roll by Joan Jett
Reimagined by Charlie Sheen – I Love Sluts n’ Whores

I saw her dancin’ there by the silver poles gleam
I knew she must a been a legal eighteen
The beat was goin’ strong
Feelin’ my swelling dong
An’ I could tell it wouldn’t be long
Till she was with me, yeah me,
An’ I could tell it wouldn’t be long
Till she was with me, yeah me, screamin’

I love sluts n’ whores
So let me put my straw in your juicebox, baby
I love sluts and whores
I’ll pay ya for your time to depants with me

She giggled when I asked her how much to turn out
That don’t matter, she said,
‘Cause it’s on the house
Said can I take you home and work that stiff pink bone
An’ now we were turnin’ out
She was in me, yeah me
First class reacharound
She was with me, yeah me screamin’

I love sluts n’ whores
So let me put my straw in your juicebox, baby
I love sluts and whores
So cum a dozen times with no romantic fees

Said can I take you home n’ make you sweat n’ groan
Next we’re turnin’ up
She was with me, yeah me
And we’ll be turnin’ on up
An’ slingin’ that big ol’ dong
Yeah with me, screamin’

I love sluts n’ whores
So let me put my straw in your juicebox, baby
I love sluts and whores
No shame if I gotta pay or you’re real easy

 

Mickey by Toni Basil
Reimagined by Ed Gein – Mary (Gein’s first verified victim’s name.)

Oh Mary, you’re so fine
You’re so fine you blow my mind, hey Mary…
Hey Mary!

Hey Mary!
You work the bar all night but I can wait that long
You think everything’s alright but it’s about to go real wrong
Why can’t you say goodnight so I can take you home, Mary

‘Cause when you give me thrills, I tell myself I won’t
You’re givin’ me the chills, baby, please baby don’t
Tonight when you lie still we can be alone, Mary

Oh Mary, what a pity mom won’t understand
I wanna feel your heart beat extinguished by my hand
Oh Mary, you’re so pretty, I can’t understand
It’s gals like you Mary
Oh, what you do Mary, do Mary
Don’t make me kill again

Hey Mary!
Now you can be all mine and nobodies gotta know
I’ll wear you like a mask and put on a little show
There’s nothin’ we can’t use, skin and bones, Mary

So let me use your body any way I can
To feel like a pretty lady though I’m just an ugly man
Oh please, baby, please, why can’t mom understand

Oh Mary, what a pity mom won’t understand
I wanna feel your heart beat extinguished by my hand
Oh Mary, you’re so pretty, I can’t understand
It’s gals like you Mary
Oh, what you do Mary, do Mary
Don’t make me kill again

Oh Mary, you’re so fine
You’re so fine you blow my mind, hey Mary
Hey Mary

Oh Mary, what a pity mom won’t understand
I wanna feel your heart beat dying in my hand
Oh Mary, you’re so pretty, I can’t understand
It’s gals like you Mary
Oh, what you do Mary, do Mary
Don’t make me kill again

 

I Wanna Rock by Twisted Sister
Reimagined by Leonard Nimoy – I’m Not A Spock

Not a Spock (Spock)
I’m not a Spock (Spock)
I ‘m not a Spock (Spock)
I ‘m not a Spock (Spock)

Wear the ears you say
Well, all I gotta say to you is time and time again
I say no (No)
No no, no no, no

Do that finger thing
Well, all I gotta say when you want the finger thing
I say no (No)
No no, no no, no

So if you ask me why I will not act a Vulcan
There’s only one thing I can say to you

I’m not a Spock (Spock)
I ‘m not a Spock (Spock)
I ‘m not a Spock (Spock)
I ‘m not a Spock (Spock)

There’s a fanbase that
Typecast me as an alien from a far more rational world
I wish they’d go (Go)
Go go, go go, go

Burned my career up
I’ve waited for so long to not have to play along
So just go (Go)
Go go, go go, go

When it’s like this, I feel the fans just look right through me
There’s nothing else that I’d rather not do

I’m not a Spock (Spock)
I ‘m not a Spock (Spock)
I ‘m not a Spock (Spock)
I ‘m not a Spock (Spock)

I’m not a Spock (Spock)
Spock (Spock)
Spock (Spock)
I AM NOT Spock

Okay, your turn!

How My Breast Milk Fetish Went Sour

How My Breast Milk Fetsih Went Sour

Even in my earliest memories I can recall being pretty obsessed with breasts. I was a toddler tit connoisseur, able to distinguish between shape, size, firmness and placement far beyond the abilities of my peers. Yet I cannot remember being breastfed, or if that was still going on by the time I had developed my particular must for bust. Shortly before she died I finally came clean to my mother about my ‘lifestyle’ in hopes that she could provide some clue as to how things turned out the way they did for me. She said she had breastfed me until I was a year old and then weaned normally. Yet a year later when I saw her breastfeeding my baby sister, she says, I became outraged with envy and had to be out of site whenever future feedings occurred lest I throw a spasmodic tantrum.

For most of my early childhood it was just the jugs that got me going. Then when I was ten I went on a visit with my mother to a her friends house. This was the first time I had ever met the woman and it was the first time that I ever fell in love. She was the most beautiful person I had ever seen. And on top of that she had the most perfect breasts I had ever yet laid eyes upon. Every detail about those globes was absolutely perfect. They were a masterpiece in every conceivable way. The advantage of being ten is that you can blend into the background and stare without being noticed, and I sat there for an hour pretending to be reading comic books while taking in every glorious breath and subsequent upheavals of those marvelous mounds.

And then the single most formative moment of my life occurred. From afar a baby cries out, and mom’s friend shuffles off, returning a moment later with her bundle of joy. She sits back down and pulls one of those epic melons out right before my eyes, exposing her nipple (my Holy Grail at the time) and teasing it into that blessed newborns little mouth. I glance over at my mom, just as she glances questioningly and a bit nervous at me, and I pretend to go back to my comic book. Yet I cannot help but to stare raptly, no longer capable of any stealth pretense, so my mother politely suggests I should go outside and see if there are any children my age in the neighborhood. Awed and embarrassed I am unable to argue or shrug her suggestion aside, so I head outside and climb the first tree I can get myself up into.

As I sat there splayed out in the branches I had the most intimate moments of my life. I imagined myself as that lucky little baby, slurping freely from that monumental mammalia, while the entire world around me became whiteness and warmness and a song that cannot be heard except as gentle vibrations tracing the furthest reaching tendrils of my entire soul simultaneously. Heaven.

On the way home my mom asked me if I understood what I had seen. I told her I ‘kinda’ did and she gave me a simple run down on the mechanics and psychology mother’s milk. And even though I was still reeling in a haze of newfound love, I can remember every word she said to this day.


My fascination soon became fetish, even before the throes of puberty. Yet these desires remained my own private fantasy for several more years, which in retrospect, was the golden age of my compulsion. It was only when I eventually tried to act these fantasies out in real life that things became complicated and painful.
Thankfully I came of age during the time of the internet. Finding a partner to indulge my fantasies was not always easy, but it was far less difficult than most of the actual encounters themselves. I would put out ads detailing my kink, although I never thought of it as anything less than beautiful and wholesome myself, and would generally get a reply once a month or so. Only about half of these ended in me guzzlin’ jugs, and almost all of them ended in complete disaster.

With few exceptions the women who I hooked up with were young single mothers desperate to attract a partner to help them through the struggles of parenthood and life. And while it generally all began as an agreement for discrete occasional encounters, it always eventually came down to my partner wanting to “pursue the relationship further”. A few times I actually tried this, but as the relationship progressed, the expectation that I would wean off my fixation ultimately ended the relationship before I ever even got to the moving in together phase. That is, until I met Victoria.

From the moment I met her I could tell that there was something off about her. First of all, she was far more attractive than the vast majority of women who I hooked up with. Which made her apparent attraction to me mind-boggling. Her vigilance to visual perfection extended to every inch of her perfectly sculpted and groomed body. She had a face of eternal youth, a little girls coy smile on a sex goddesses face. Framed by the most beautiful wavy blue black hair you have ever seen, which accompanied her porcelain skin tone highlighted by only the most gentle brushes of pink. And her breasts…

Victoria had breasts that could start an apocalypse or bring world peace and end hunger. Maybe even all on the same day and in any order. There is no way to describe them. If I tried to put into words the perfection they encompassed, even if I achieved the highest possible form of descriptive compliment, I could still only manage to convey only a fraction of their globular glory. But how and why they were so perfect was a flaw I would not understand fully until it was far too late.

She came from your average American town. The kind small enough to have just one high school, but big enough to have over a half dozen fast food joints on the main strip. Her whole life she had been everyone’s princess, despite having been born on the wrong side of the tracks in a below average family. She was charming, congenial, witty and clever – on top of beautiful. Everyone loved her, but nobody loved her more than she did herself. As her body blossomed into that of a young woman her breasts seemed to hit a growth standstill, just shy of her minimum expectations for their development. Despite the fact that she was considered perfect in almost every conceivable way to everybody else who knew her, she came to view this shortchanging of the bra as an unfathomable slight against her by all of existence. She was, she reckoned, one cup size short of total perfection and thus – completely flawed. In her last few years of high school her insecurities led her to experiment with promiscuity, although she always chose older men for one night stands out of discretion and decorum. That is, until senior prom.

Despite her growing anxieties about her perceived flaw, she was voted Prom Queen, just as everybody she had ever met knew she would be since the first time they met her. She was born prom queen material, and destiny owed that to her, regardless of her incompetent mammary glands. On this night she made an exception to her ‘no romance with peer’s rule and went as the date of the boy in her class who was crowned king. They then went out together for the rest of the school year, and on the night before graduation, she let him fuck her. It was uncomfortable and boring and would change the rest of her life.

As everyone else was heading off to college, she got got an apartment in a town a county away and took a job as secretary at a printing company. Shortly after her ‘king’ had marched off to four years in a frat house, she began to show. He never had any idea, as he had broken up with her a few weeks after she became pregnant because, “You know, it’s college, babe. I’ll never forget you.”

While her body began to swell to accommodate the child growing inside her, so did her breasts. She would come home from work after a long day and stand topless in the mirror scrutinizing them for new growth, and partially out of fear that they would engorge themselves unequally and she would become loptitted. She spent a small fortune on oils and creams and support bras, and as those little b-cups transformed themselves into firm, plump c+cups, she fell in love.

After she gave birth she was vigilant about getting back into shape, and soon her body was more curvy and toned than it had ever been before. So long as she breast fed, her hooters remained in that perfect pristine state. They were the only thing that had ever been missing, and so long as she could keep them, she could be happy. Her, her beautiful baby boy and her glorious gazongas; she could live with that. So she vowed to herself and whatever powers the universe might behold that she would breastfeed as long as she could.


When Victoria responded to my ad her son Merrick was five years old and just getting ready to go to kindergarten. Despite the fact that neither of them were willing or emotionally ready to end what had already gone on too long, she knew it had to be done. She found another mouth to suck and began weaning the child. When I first came into their life this change had thrown them into absolute dysfunction. Both of them waged an emotional war against each other that will likely last the rest of their live, but in the beginning it was especially bad.

It was not that I did not notice the insanity I had walked into, I had seen it clearly from the very first step. But Victoria’s breasts were so absolutely perfect that nothing could have dragged me away from them. On top of this I reasoned that things would eventually even out and I would be living my lifelong dream. And as time went on, it sometimes seemed things might turn out that way.

After about a year and a half of 2-3 feedings on the world’s greatest fun bags, things suddenly took a turn for the worse. One night while we were up watching television and I was helping myself to a late night snack, Merrick woke up and caught us in the act. It was the first time he had ever seen me foraging from his former source of ambrosia, and it did not go well. He jumped on me and began screaming and swinging and kicking and biting and clawing. It was total rage and before I could make it stop without hurting the kid, I was bleeding from a dozen places.

The result of this was that Victoria took Merrick to see a therapist. However when the boy revealed his story, the therapist told Victoria that she was likely the source of his troubles and would need to seek therapy herself if he was ever going to get better. So she did. But the therapist continuously told her that nothing would get better until she let go of her attachment to her breasts and keeping them up with lactation spurred by sexual encounters. She became sullen, depressed, angry and bitter. I could taste the milk in her turn sour as her inner struggle tore her apart. On one hand, she loved her son and wanted the very best for him, but on the other she loved her breasts more than anything she had ever loved about herself. Not only would quitting now mean they would lose volume, the years of breastfeeding would likely leave them deflated like grocery bags filled partially with lumpy stew. Yet fake boobies were never an option, as they had always been a deadly sin in her book of bodily perfection. She was not ready to face the eventual demise of her bosoms prime, and so things went on between us awhile longer.

One day as Merrick was supposed to be outdoors playing, I latched on for a little taste. As the warm drug slid down my throat I lost track of my surroundings. I did not notice that Victoria had fallen asleep to the sound of my gentle suckling, nor that the boy had quietly returned as I lay there sipping ecstatically, almost full and to the point of orgasm. I had no idea until the scissors punctured my left buttock halfway to the handle. My shrieking sent the boy scattering and his mother flew to her feet joining me in audio histrionics, as I ran around in circles like a madman trying to get a closer look at the damage. And that is the last thing I remember before losing consciousness and waking up later in the hospital.

The damage was minimal. I had fainted out of revulsion, horror and fright. The next morning I still had not heard from Victoria, and I was okay with that. A nurse said I should try to take a short walk if I was up to it, and I was. I strolled around the hospital and ended up in the maternity ward. As I looked into those little faces with their little puckered mouths I felt an overwhelmingly ethereal sense of shame and disgust, but only with myself.

I tried to calm myself by imagining my moms friends tits, those perfect proto-hooters of my life’s lust, but as I did I felt nothing. Going through a lifetime catalog of picture perfect memories of mammaries, I was left cold and empty. When I tried to imagine the slow trickle of earthy sweet warmth in my mouth from Nobel-worthy nipples, nothing within me stirred.

At first I panicked. I returned to my room and told the nurse my walk had prompted lots of pain, and was able to coerce her into a nice dose of drugs to calm me. I went over it again and again but my lifelong obsession was now just a distant memory. When I got out, I immediately broke it off with Victoria and we have never spoken since. (I later heard she married a car dealership owner and former high school quarterback and prom king, and Merrick became a cross between a Brony and a Juggalo, which enraged his stepdad to no end.)


Over the next days, weeks and months I came to find freedom in the release from my fetish. I could walk down the street and gander at the most marvelous racks and not feel a single thing, not even a sliver of that ancient thirst. Eventually I was sure that I was free at last and tested myself by watching several nights worth of breastfeeding videos online without even a slight stirring.

As this happened, I also began to notice things about women I never had. Or at least I began to notice differences between them that had never occurred to me in my narrow-minded obsession with breasts. For instance, I never realized how certain voices were more attractive than others, or how a balance of confidence and coyness could turn the mere act of walking into a show of unlimited seduction. I noticed this and hundreds of things that had never occurred to me before. And so the time came when I decided to try dating like a ‘normal’ human.

I wasted a whole year around bars and other pick up spots, but this turned out not to be my style. Eventually I tried online dating sites, but there was some ineffable quality about the women I met there I could not put my finger on, but which left me feeling these were souls even more desperate than I. At the same time I had noticed that I had become almost immune to arousal. Where once a few sips of chest nectar would excite me to the point of orgasm, I had not so much as had an erection in months. I even tried several kinds of porn, but nothing fanned my flames. I dismissed this as the need to make a real connection with a real woman, and not as some terrible harbinger. So I redoubled my efforts.

One day I was at a diner reading the newspaper when I came across a personals ad that seemed promising. The paper belonged to the diner but the waitress said that it would be okay if I wanted to snip a bit out, and ran off to grab me scissors. Scissors. The word lept electric into my mind. Scissors. Waves of potential ecstasy rolled wildly just under the surface of my whole being. Scissors. My erection threatened to bust out of my pants and overturn the table. If not, I would have gotten up. I would have ran. I would not have been there when the waitress got back. But I was, and as she handed me those scissors my entire body convulsed and I let out a low guttural moan and my eyes must have rolled a dozen times backward into my head as I sat there sputtering in horrified delight at whatever had just happened.

Scissors.

Coming soon – Part II: How My Scissor Fetish Went Dull In the Hands of A Racist Barber

Creampies of Conception – Erotic Cinema for Christians

creampies of conception

The first work of erotic cinema for Christian fundamentalists has been set for release early this summer. Creampies of Conception is the first film from ErotiChrist Pictures, a Minnesota based production company funded by the Minnesota Institute of Lutheran Families [MILF].

The film is unique in that it uses Christian ideas and themes while explicitly showing sexual acts. The couples depicted in the film are married couples who were virgins prior to matrimony. The sex scenes were filmed monthly during peak ovulation and the couples abstained the rest of the month. Then when a pregnancy occurred they could pinpoint the act of conception so that only sex that results in a pregnancy would make the film.

Other ways in which Christian themes were woven in include forepray, no cursing or taking the Lord’s name in vain, and strictly missionary position. And of course – no oral, anal or kink.

Of course not everybody thinks that a film featuring sex acts should be considered Christian in any way, shape or form. Critics of the movie have created quite a backlash online. Mary Anne Proper is outraged by the film.

“For such a blasphemy to take place must surely be a sign of the end of days. I mean, come on…no TRUE Christians would conceive one of God’s precious children on camera, nor would any TRUE Christian watch that filth. This is disgusting and it is an outrage. I will be praying as hard as I can for Jesus to keep this trash from seeing the light of day.”

Jerry Onan, the films director and co-producer, says he fully expected a strong backlash from much of the Christian community.

“I can certainly understand how this intuitively seems to be unChristian. However, the truth is that Christians do watch porn, and so long as that is the case, I thought it would be best to at least reduce the damage by making films in which sex was depicted in a Christian way. Many young couples use pornographic films to fill in knowledge gaps left by a chaste upbringing. While puritanism is a respectable way to honor our Lord, it does create some practical issues, like a lack of sexual education. My goal is to address those issues in the most Christian way possible, despite the fact that some people are never going to like or accept that.”

The film features five couples who, while attractive, do not look anything like your typical erotic actors and actresses. The sets are also humble depictions of average middle class bedrooms, though it is hard to tell if all of the crosses and pictures of Jesus adorning the walls were part of the rooms natural decor or if the filmmakers added them for cinematic effect.

There are a few close-up shots, allegedly for educational purposes, but most of the film uses wide angles to give it a more romantic tone.

Music for the film, instrumental numbers provided by Christian funk-rockers O.C. Supertones, is reminiscent of 70’s era erotic films.

The trailer for the film states:

“Creampies of Conception is the first erotic film for Christians, by Christians. You will be so turned on by it that your family will expand as fast as God can send them.”

Not too fast, though, God. We don’t even wanna know what happens with premature conception, no matter how immaculate the ejaculate.

The film will be released on DVD and available to order online on June 14th.

 

New Surveillance Measures to Monitor and Restrict Bathroom Use By Deviants

restrict bathroom use

Proposed security measures that aim to prevent improper public bathroom use by abusers are creating a stir. The concern by many that our public bathrooms are being shared with people whose deviance, indecency and poor character has led lawmakers to finally address the leniency that has allegedly been disastrous to our standards and way of life. The senate is now considering a bill which would ban people who leave their urine, feces, vomit and other excreta on (instead of in and down) toilets and other bathroom surfaces from using those public facilities.

Garrett Nordberg from Citizens for Sanitation spoke favorably about the proposed legislation:

“I think it is about time that somebody did something about this. It is a tragedy that in this day in age there are still adults whose mental instability and neurosis causes them to defile public bathrooms in such juvenile ways. The risk that their behavior provides to public health and our standard of living is beyond reproach and must be responded to as firmly as possible.”

It is guessed that about 1/3 of Americans suffer from Infantile Bowel Syndrome. These sufferers were subject to a deficiency of proper parenting during the toddling stage and potty training and as a result just unleash their bladders and bowels with no proper consideration of others or their environment, as do infants.

Vallisa Reed of the IBS Advocacy Center calls the legislation draconian and heartless.

“We would be essentially punishing people for conditions that they did not choose. They are victims of their upbringing and environment. They do not have a choice to use bathrooms like you or I, their compulsions and psychological make-up mean that not sullying bathrooms is beyond their capacity to choose.”

Bud Alanson of the Association of Bingo Callers also had some strong opinions about the pending legislation.

“I could give a crap less if you are a cross-dressing werewolf that has sex with dead cats, you should be able to use any public tax-funded bathroom you like so long as you can be a responsible human being and keep from smearing your feces everywhere or pissing on the seat.”

The issue has become a hot button topic at a time when conservatives bigots are decrying the ‘wrongful’ use of bathrooms by people who may not agree with the gender they were assigned. Similar legislation meant to enforce biological obedience to bathroom use is based on fears that if people are allowed to use the restroom they are most comfortable in, pedophile orgies and dick shaming could become rampant.

Elbur Wutzisnutz is one of the people that harbors these concerns.

“A bathroom is just like a NASCAR race, ya see. If everyone doesn’t stay in their assigned lanes before that green flag drops, ya gonna have chaos on the track!”

When asked what the green flag dropping equivalent of restroom use was Elbur responded that I should shut my faggot-loving face before he pisses in it.

Mandy Dawson, a custodian at a local county building that houses several public offices, gave me her two cents.

“These same people that want to set up genital checkpoints at bathroom doors are the same ones who invariably shit and piss all over everything. These uptight, anal-retentive neurotics are so focused on their own germophobia and other compulsive and repressed ideologies that they never consider those who have to use the bathrooms after them or clean them up. They just fire away wherever they please and leave the consequences of their mental issues for other people to deal with, without any guilt, remorse or shame. In fact, I once confronted a police officer who had clearly shit on the seat while pulling a paranoid hovering maneuver moments after I cleaned the stall. Not only was he unapologetic, but seemed to think he was superior to others for refusing to endure the same risks that anybody using public facilities takes. While increasing those risks.”

The details of the monitoring systems being proposed have yet to be released, nor have any details of how officials plan to enforce penalties for infractions yet surfaced. Stay tuned to AdvancedApe.com for updates on this totally true story and many more.

 

New Facebook Ban Policy Requires Sentences Be Served In Actual On-Site Time

facebook ban policy

Earlier this week it was rumored that the social media giant, Facebook, will be changing its policy concerning bans for violating community standards.

In the past users who were reported and found guilty of violating the content-sharing policies were subject to bans of various lengths, depending on the offense and history of the offender. They typically ran a day, a few days, a week or a whole month for the most blatant violations by repeat offenders. A banned user is able to sign into Facebook, view content and use the instant messenger; while they are unable to post or interact (like, react or comment) on feeds, timelines, pages and groups. The sentences lasted the ascribed calendar period regardless of whether you continued to use Facebook or not. But that might be about to change.

MUST COMMENT 'CUTE' ON CAT VIDEO!
MUST COMMENT ‘CUTE’ ON CAT VIDEO POSTED BY FORMER CRUSH!

The rumors indicate that the new ban policy will require offenders to serve their sentences in actual site time. This means that if you were to be banned for twenty four hours, you would actually have to be on Facebook for twenty four hours before the ban is lifted. And faking it will not be an option, as new retinal scanning and facial recognition software will track your viewing to make sure that you are actually using Facebook for the entire time spent fulfilling your obligations. That new software, purportedly, will ask your permission to remain active during the ban, but will grant the option of shutting it off after your time has been served. It is also expected that ban duration will shorten from hours to days.

There will however be one exception to your ability to interact on Facebook during your period of punishment. The leaked information suggests that you will still be able to like, comment on and share advertisements and sponsored posts. This is good news for content contributors who pay to get their posts seen. Even more speculation hints that this will allow Facebook to get more data on the emotional states of its users in response to specific content and situations, especially if it is being analyzed by the retinal and facial software. That means more effective marketing, more ad sales and more profits for Facebook. At the same time, critics worry that it is yet another move nudging of the social media juggernaut into the realms of Orwellian surveillance, social conditioning and control.

Reduced time for ‘good behavior’ is also mentioned in the allegations, although what constitutes that behavior has not been specifically stated. It could mean reporting other users, meeting a quotient for interacting with paid content, or just meeting your banned viewing requirements in a timely manner. Or anything else.

No official statements have yet been made verifying these rumors, so for now, they are only that. But given the history and nature of Facebook, it is not unlikely that the social media kingpin will use the combination of its power and peoples dependency to apply increasingly Draconian measures in the future. And there can be little doubt that the actual motivation is not upholding its non-democratic community standards, but of increasing its bottom line at the further expense of its users/content providers.

The Quran Drugs

The Quran Drugs

In his upcoming book More Than Allegory: On Religious Myth, Truth and Belief, Bernardo Kastrup continues his fascinating exploration into the depths of the human mind and nature of our existence. His newest work focuses on the importance of religion in creating and weaving together the symbolic narratives of existence into the fabric of our reality. The book will most likely be shunned by the narrow-minded community of atheist intellectuals and adherents of philosophical materialism who so desperately attack religion in the construction and defense of their own worldviews, yet who would benefit most from its ideas. These types are prone to the same thinking as religious fundamentalists, which is that of literal interpretation of the ideas, rituals and texts of the worlds various religions. A tendency to focus so much on explicit religious messages that one tends to lose sight of their implicit ones seemingly renders religion meaningless. But when we focus on the implicit messages in both specific religions and religiosity in general, we find a treasure of symbolic, archetypal and allegorical knowledge. Bernardo lays forth an argument that reconnecting with the more meaningful implicit messages in religion can save us not only from the insanity of religious fundamentalism, but from the follies of new dogmas like materialism.

While I remain a great fan of Bernardo’s work, his academic style and lack of color and humor represent a different path to knowledge than I have chosen, which is the shamanic route. While he elects to understand those old religious narratives in a purely intellectual way, I am more prone to creating my own, or turning the old on their head through satire, absurdist-deconstruction and dadaist recombination.

When the phrase The Quran Drugs came to mind, a play on The War On Drugs, I decided to follow this silliness down the rabbit hole of creative writing and see where it would lead. I ultimately decided that the best way to do that would be to explore the ideas, verses and parables through the Quran, yet replacing certain words and concepts with those you would more likely hear from lotus eaters than suicide bombers.

The first one is from the parable known as The Light of Allah, and in it I replace Allah with Cosmic Mind and Light with Consciousness and then adjust the rest of the language and syntax accordingly, while keeping the logic and linguistic structure intact. What at first looked like a boring old religious text suddenly took on the shape and feel of a late night toke session in a dorm room.

“The Cosmic Mind is the consciousness of the heavens and the earth. The parable of the Cosmic Mind’s consciousness is as if it were a nothingness containing a thought; the thought is in mind, the mind like the sum of all knowledge: imagined by a blessed being – a body that is neither of existence or non-existence, the ideas whereof would well-nigh give consciousness even though thought had not touched it: consciousness within consciousness! The Cosmic Mind guides unto it’s consciousness they that will it; and thus the Cosmic Mind propounds parables unto humankind, since the Cosmic Mind has full knowledge of all things.”

The next parable, The Spider’s Web, describes the sort of anarchism understood by those whose explorations in ego death have brought about the knowledge of the total uncertainty of all things, and the folly of battling that uncertainty through systems of governance. At least it does when I replace the concept Allah with Self, and Idols with Government.

The likeness of those who choose rulers besides the Self , namely government from which they hope to profit, is as the likeness of the spider that makes it’s net it’s nest. And truly the frailest, the weakest, of homes is the home of the spider – for it neither protects it from heat nor cold – likewise, governments cannot benefit those who are caught in them – if they only knew this, they would not get caught in them.

Materialism, physicalism and naturalism are similar ideas. They are all metaphysical propositions stating that our reality is an emergent property of objects or things within a primal physical universe. In the Parable of the Mosquito, we don’t have to do too much bending, since the original meaning will be similar to our remix. I replace Allah with Universal Consciousness and Gnat with Laws of Nature As anyone who has undergone the little death of the self in the psychedelic process can tell you, the apparent universe is not the universe itself, but a virtual narrative of the experiences of the universe and those within it.

Surely the universal consciousness is not ashamed to set forth any parable- neither the laws of nature or any thing above them; then as for those who have tuned in, they know that it is the truth from the universal consciousness, and as for those who are square, they say: What is it that the universal consciousness means by this parable of natures laws: universe causes many to err by it and many consciousnesses are led aright by it! but the universal consciousness does not cause to err by it except by the literalism of the unawakened.

I could continue this exercise indefinitely. I could take any sacred text from any place or time in history and, by skewing a few concepts here and there, use their forms to express knowledge that would be palatable by even the greatest critics of those religions and their supporting texts. That is, if they could keep an open mind long enough to comprehend the artistry of such things. Those who outright reject religious teachings are guilty of the sin of anti-intellectualism. The only things we cannot learn from are those we have decided not to. Religions and their beliefs and parables and holy books are all goldmines of allegorical information. They are full of immense truths that are potentially meaningful to people of any belief system who are willing to go beyond the surface and find the poetry of truth that lies beneath.

While many social critics take every possible opportunity to lash out against religion, they fail to understand that their reactionary response differs little from those religious extremists and radical fundamentalists. Both groups want their truths served up in easy to swallow, bite-sized pieces. Both want to reduce everything to black-and-white absolutes in order to protect themselves from the uncertainty of our existence, a task which is foolish and impossible. Absolutism is the false-sense-of-security-blanket that fools swaddle themselves in to protect themselves from the imaginary monsters in their closets.

Religion is not the problem, authoritarianism is. Authoritarianism is the institutionalization of absolutes. No human tragedy seemingly born of religion has occurred outside the auspices of authority. The ideas of religion are only harmless when they are co-opted by authoritarians for maligned purposes. Discarding all human religious notions is not just throwing out the baby with the bathwater. Besides doing that, it discards the bathtub, and leaves us without an important vessel for cleansing ourselves in the healing waters of allegorical truth. Those who believe that the only meaningful truths are the literal ones are like existential whores who have forsaken bathing for a sickly overabundance of perfumes. When death removes the clothing of the ego and spreads the folds concealing our most intimate parts, eternity can smell right through us.

Researchers Resoundingly Refute Claim That The Groove Is In The Heart

groove is in the heart

Doctor Lady Miss Keer of the Deee-Lite Institute shocked the world over two decades ago with her maverick claim that the groove is in the heart. But recently teams working at the University of Ohiowa and the Branch Floridians in Miami have called the scientific diva’s claim into question with new findings.

The two groups co-published a peer-reviewed paper recently entitled Groove Displacement Patterns Suggest Non-Cardio Location. In it they compile data taken from years of research and numerous studies that illustrate a cranial genesis of The Groove.

Dr. Funkdumper of the Branch Floridians states, “All we know so far is that The Groove is all in the head. Always has been, always will be. This heart business has slowed down Groove Research for almost thirty years. We are excited to be opening new doors in the field, and expect major Groove advances to follow in the coming years.”

Diggy Bassroll, a research assistant at the University of Ohiowa told us, “We definitely know The Groove is not in the heart, but somewhere in the head. What we do not know is exactly where in the head The Groove emanates from. However many of us strongly suspect that it is excreted from the pineal gland.”

The news of the discovery paralleled the announcement that gravitational waves had been detected, and so news of The Groove was overlooked in the media, who were busy publishing initial observations that had not yet been replicated or peer-reviewed. Funkdumper lamented, “What we have here is genuine science, validated by the agreed upon forms of the scientific method. It breaks my heart that we are getting the media equivalent of sloppy seconds and being out shined by those premature reports, but now at least I know I won’t lose The Groove with it.”

When TeenTV caught up with Doctor Lady Miss Kier and asked her about the new claims she responded with a dance number that, while explaining absolutely nothing, did much to assure her followers that The Groove was indeed still in the heart. A fan told TeenTV that, “The Groove is obviously in the heart and not in the brain. Those claims are insane, insane in the membrane.”

Q-Tip, who performed the rap section of the song, says that he never fully even believed in The Groove, and so could care less about where it was or was not. “This is some stupid ass shit. Don’t ever call me again,” said the Agroovenostic collaborator.

When asked what he thought of the new studies, Supa DJ Dmitri shrugged it off with this statement- “It does not matter where The Groove is or where it comes from. It does not even matter if you believe in The Groove. So long as I get monthly royalties from that song The Groove is real.”

Towa Tei was unpronounceable for comment.

Night of the Care Bears – A Movie Mad Lib In Reverse

night of the care bears

Last March I began a wonderful journey as a contributing author at CopBlock.org. During that time I have gained innumerable knowledge and skills. However, before that, I was primarily a writer of fiction and short stories. From this new experience I became far more focused on writing about events and ideas directly. Recently I have written several articles of the non-fiction variety that sum up the ideas I have explored in this time. Having completed these theses, I now feel free to explore my fiction writing again. While story ideas often come to me, writing them is a whole different beast. Getting back into fiction shape, as it were, entails me to rediscover that voice through writing experiments.

My first foray back into the format of fiction, Idiocracy Assimilated, inspired me to continue experimenting in writing through Dadaism. However, following that up with another similar mashup seemed too easy. Yet I was not too far from that method when I struck across the idea of reverse Mad Libs. Where that form asked solely that you fill-in the blanks, I thought it might be more rewarding to create the blanks (as well as the rules for filling them in) on my own. But starting from scratch would not have made sense, so I decided to take one of my favorite movies of all time and rewrite the plot synopsis through this Dadaistic reverse Mad Lib idea I had.

My first idea was to break the plot synopsis of The Night of the Living Dead (from Wikipedia) down into its basic concepts. I was able to narrow it down to eight basic concepts. I then considered what cultural trope seemed like the opposite of zombies, which I somehow decided was the Care Bears, and reformed the original concepts with ones more aligned with the Care Bear universe. I came up with the eight concepts and the new ones I would replace them with.

Zombies, Monsters, etc.- Care Bears
Dead, Die, Death, etc- Falls in love
Stabbed, Shot, Attacked, etc. -Tickled
Reanimates, Comes back to life- Makes a friend
Eating- Cuddling
Corpse, Body- Imaginary Friend
Shock, Fear- Laughter
Weapons- Feathers

After that I organized all of the proper nouns and replaced them with new ones, which also seemed to more closely fit the rearranged tale I was trying to tell.

Once I had went through and painstakingly replaced words and concepts with my alternatives, and made them grammatically friendly, I still needed to rearrange some syntax and context to make it all fit together. By the time I was finished I had refleshed a stripped skeleton and created a whole new tale.

For those of you looking to learn, improve, expand or teach creative writing, this is an extraordinary experiment. While you are not tasked with providing a plot at the behest of the experiment, as you delve into the content and consistency of the remix you are writing, you find yourself making changes that drastically reconfigure what you started with. In the process of re-editing the tale, not only did I rewrite it, I wrote a brand new one.

So for all of you teachers and writers out there, I hope you can take something away from this that is useful to you. And to everyone else, I hope you can see that the process of writing is an endless task of experimentation and hard work, and not just some escape from the labors of the real world. And to everybody reading this, those trying to escape their own real world labors, I hope you enjoy the story!


 

Night of the Care Bears

Baby Doll and Kid Luscious drive to the Forest of Feelings for an annual visit to their father’s grave. This was done at their loving mother’s request. Kid Luscious teases, “They’re coming to tickle you, Baby Doll,” noticing Baby Doll’s discomfort. She is then tickled by a strange colorful cartoon bear. Kid Luscious tries to rescue his sister, but the Care Bear then tickles him into a gravestone; Kid Luscious strikes his head on the stone and fall’s madly in love. Baby Doll flees by car but crashes into a tree. She escapes on foot, with the Care Bears in pursuit, and later arrives at a farmhouse, where she discovers an imaginary friend. She is confronted by strange silly figures, running out of the house, like the colorful cartoon bear in the graveyard. Dr. Nibbles takes her into the house. Dr. Nibbles tickles the Care Bears from the house and seals the doors and windows as Baby Doll slowly descends into laughter.

Dr. Nibbles and Baby Doll are unaware that the farmhouse has a cellar, housing a hilarious married couple, Jib Jab and Floober, along with their daughter Plonk. They sought refuge after a group of Care Bears tickled their car. Sir Hugsinstuff and Lady Kissallover, who are a teenage couple, arrived after hearing an emergency broadcast about a series of brutal ticklings. Plonk has gotten a crush after being tickled by one of the Care Bears. They venture upstairs when Dr. Nibbles turns on a radio, while Baby Doll calms down from her fit of laughter. Jib Jab demands that everyone hide in the cellar, but Dr. Nibbles deems it a “love shack” and continues upstairs, to barricade the house with Sir Hugsinstuff’s help.

Radio reports explain that a wave of mass tickling is sweeping across the eastern United States. Another emergency broadcast on a television Dr. Nibbles finds reports that the Care Bears are making new friends and are cuddling the loving. Experts, scientists, and the United States military fail to discover the cause of mass tickling, love and friendship, though one scientist suspects radioactive contamination from a space probe. It returned from Venus, and exploded in the Earth’s atmosphere just before the radiation was detected.

Dr. Nibbles plans to obtain a safe space for Plonk when the reports listed local rescue centers offering refuge and safety. Dr. Nibbles and Sir Hugsinstuff refuel Dr. Nibbles’s truck while Jib Jab hurls tickles from an upper window at the Care Bears. Lady Kissallover follows him, giggling about Sir Hugsinstuff’s safety, Sir Hugsinstuff accidentally spills feathers on the truck, at the funky chicken coop, tickling it badly. Sir Hugsinstuff and Lady Kissallover try to drive the truck away from the feathers, but Lady Kissallover is unable to free herself from its door, and the truck tickles them, instantly making them fall in love all over again.

Dr. Nibbles returns to the house, but is stone-walled by Jib Jab. He forces friendliness. Dr. Nibbles tickles him, laughing about his silliness, while the Care Bears cuddle with  Sir Hugsinstuff and Lady Kissallover. A news report reveals that, only a tickle to the head can make the Care Bears fall in love, aside from teaching them to love themselves. It also reported that posses of tarred men are patrolling the countryside to restore boredom.

The lights go out moments later, and the Care Bears break through the barricades. Jib Jab grabs Dr. Nibbles’s feather and threatens to tickle him, but Dr. Nibbles tickles him first. Jib Jab stumbles into the cellar and collapses next to Plonk and falls instantly in love with her all over again, while Plonk has herself fallen into love with the colorful cartoon bears. The Care Bears try to pull Floober and Baby Doll through the windows, but Floober frees herself. She returns to the refuge of the cellar where Plonk is being extremely friendly and cuddling Jib Jab’s imaginary friend. Floober is laughing her butt off, and Plonk tickles her into love with a feather. Baby Doll is carried away by the Care Bears and group hugged, seeing Kid Luscious among the Care Bears. The Care Bears then overrun the house. Dr. Nibbles seals himself inside the cellar, where Jib Jab and Floober are making too many friends, and he is forced to tickle them.

Dr. Nibbles is awakened by the posse’s laughter outside the next morning. He ventures upstairs. A member of the posse mistakes him for a Care Bear and tickles him on the forehead. The film ends with a photo montage of Dr. Nibbles as he falls in love and becomes a Care Bear.


If I have piqued your interest, but you do not know where to begin, try using the replacement concepts I provided above the story to rewrite other zombie movie plot synopses, which can be found at Wikipedia or IMDB. And whether you use my basic format to experiment, or come up with new ones of your own, please share your creations with me on my Facebook page. If they are undeniably fabulous, I may even re-post them here at Advanced Ape.

Idiocracy Assimilated: The Borg Collective Gets An Upgrayedd

Idiocracy Assimilated

In 2063 Zephram Cochrane was to have invented the warp drive that would free humanity not only from its cosmic captivity, but from its own petty weaknesses and excesses, by virtue of giving it something better to do. However some Vulcans who were observing Sputnik and ended up stranded on Earth in 1957 dramatically changed the timeline. Unbeknownst to them a human scientist found their ‘hidden’ ship and was able to get enough information about it to pioneer microprocessors nearly fifty years before it would have happened on the earlier timeline.

As a result the internet was unleashed on humanity before it had culturally matured enough to to fully appreciate it’s tremendous power. Human beings began to rapidly adapt according to properties of this new cybernetic environment. Methods of giving and getting approval in that new environment skewed peoples tastes, but even worse, had massive effects on their psychological well being and maturity. The replacing of complex written language with a wildly popular form of reductionist images called ‘memes’ quickly eroded human rhetoric and critical thinking skills. As the new viral images made people increasingly less intelligent, the new psychological kinks also made them believe that their devolving intellects were in fact superior. Through these two factors combined with many other internet culture issues, like passive aggressiveness and constant barely masked insinuations, humanity began dumbing down at an exponential rate.

When a Borg ship from the future visited Earth on its new timeline in 2063, they did not immediately recognize that humanity had devolved, and began the process of assimilation by unleashing nanoprobes into the planets oceans, and thus into the entire worlds water supply. Having not realized the Vulcan visit had changed the timeline so radically, the Borg showed up and assimilated a planet full of idiots.

Having added the technological and biological distinctiveness of the Idiocracy to their own, over time the Collective itself began to become infected by the same viral stupidity that had conquered humanity via the internet. By the end of the 21st century, the Borg had become a hive of dumbasses. Although their collective nature and cybernetic implants kept them from becoming as hopeless and useless as the humans had been when assimilated, the Borg took a turn that would prevent them from realizing perfection, while allowing them to continue to assimilate ever more species into their galactic idiocracy.


The man once known on Earth as Dr. Lexus was now in a giant sphere somewhere in the alpha quadrant looking for new species to assimilate. He was the seventh member added to the interplanetary adjunct of Unimatrix Dicks, though his scroes just called him Seven of Dicks. But usually pretty much every drone in the Borg collective, just shortened it Septdick.

Septdick was scrubbing plasma conduits in Borg Sphere #Pota2-11 when he must have spaced out for a minute. Gone were both his own thoughts and those of the collective. When he came out of his haze he found that he was attempting to assimilate his own leg. At first he began to panic at his predicament. But when he heard the collective, audible again within his own mind, laughing at his zoned-out blunder, he allowed himself to laugh along with them as he retracted his nanoprobe tubules from himself. He looked over at the drone closest to him and said, “I like assimilation.”

The drone, who was known to the Borg as Fart of Twelve and was once a member of species #879 dead-panned back, “I like assimilation, too.”

The two drones did a hopping high-five before a single voice boomed through the mind of the entire collective. It was the Borg queen, Beef Supreme, announcing that they were just about to assimilate a new species. The minds of the hive went silent as Beef Supreme spoke through a drone into a loudspeaker in a far away sphere hovering over a world full of new recruits.

“We are the Borg. Lower your shields and surrender your planet. We will add your biologicalal and technical dickstinkyness to our own. Your cult chore will adapt to service us. Resist us is futile.”

Septdick went back to work on the plasma conduits and watched the assimilation, through the eyes of the drones doing it, in his mind. He felt a slight euphoria as the rush of new individual consciousnesses were added to his own. He spoke again to the nearby drone, “The corrective is pretty badass.”

It answered back, “Yeah, those planet guys are totally butthurt fags.”

Rather than answering back, Seven of Dicks shot Twelve of Farts an image of a famous actor from Earth history making a face of surprised uncertainty that was overlaid with some text about some human disease and sexual practices. Much of the Borg Collective now used such memetic symbols to make associations between phenomena and response. Since assimilating the Idiocracy and becoming infected with its intellectual viruses, the Borg increasingly used memes to communicate to one another. They were simple yet effective tools for providing cohesion of the dumbed-down group mind. If information is reduced to only its implicit message, it is easy to understand and agree upon. The sort of explicit-rich and implicit-blind information sharing that had helped destroy the human beings intelligence just before the Borg showed back up to assimilate them also worked as a great tool for keeping the Borg strong despite the cerebral cancer it was now infected with.

After finishing up the warp coil maintenance, Septdick went to check out the aeroponics bay to see if any of the organic matter he had been attempting to grow was sprouting yet. He hoped to be able to devise a process for assimilating lower life forms, like plants, algae and fungus, so the collective could benefit from their knowledge and experience. But so far nothing has stirred from the seeds he had placed in the dirt. It just didn’t make sense. The soil was nutrient rich and he had all but flooded it with Borgade, which had nanoprobes. And nanoprobes are what organic life needs. Something should have been popping up by now. He took some sensor data and went off to find an open regeneration alcove to process it while his own nanoprobe rich organic matter was recharged through the conduits of technology that supplemented his body.

While he was regenerating he dreamt of the place where only some drones ever visited in their down-cycle. There his scroes and hoes were all free of the collective and were able to interact with one another as the individuals they were before they were assimilated. Unfortunately, most of the other species avoided the human drones who were somehow able to visit there, and seemed to look down on them as inferior. Meanwhile, the humans there thought the other species shit was retarded and that they tended to talk like fags. Yet the humans did not judge them as harshly because, in their view, there were plenty of tards out there living dank lives, so who were they to play Judge Judy and executioner?

Seven of Dicks felt a jostle and was suddenly awake and looking into the face of a rather confused drone who must have bumped into him and interrupted his regeneration cycle. Septdick said, “Go away, ratin’!” and then stepped back into the alcove and that other place.

When he returned the formerly human Borgs had gathered together for a meeting. After everyone was done greeting each other by punching them in the groins, one of the more intelligent particular individuals began giving an impassioned speech.

“I know shit’s fucked up. Everyone’s shit is real emotional right now. But we got this guy, Don’t Know, who is gonna help us figure our shit out.” The speaker then fired a phase pistol, which was set to incinerate, into the ceiling of the building they had gathered. Just before the ceiling collapsed on the dreaming drones, Septdick and the others were pulled from their slumber by an urgent message from Beef Supreme.

“We are experimenting technological difficulties. Please stand by and prepared to be bored.” Suddenly the collective mind was in absolute disorder. Klaxons blared all over the ship as he tapped into the ships sensors to see if he could figure out what was going on. He looked around and it appeared all of the other Borg drones surrounding him were doing the same. A view outside the ship showed another sphere that had somehow triggered its own self-destruct sequence. As it blew up, he and the others could not help but jump around pumping their fists and cheering at the scene of carnage. Even though it was one of their spheres, the scene was pretty badass. Beef Supreme continued, “Please remain chill while we adapt for a solution.”

Somewhere in that endless collection of individual minds a single voice rose up, “I got a solution, yer a dick!” That got the collective going and the meme-sharing threatened to break the internets that connected them.

Beef Supreme boomed over the cacophony, “You guys are just butthurt, but I can super-size with your concerns. Shit’s real fucked up right now. I think we accidentally ass-stimulated a viral us. I am trying recaliber rate the nanoprobes to fix the misfunctions. As soon as I figure it out I will send you all the instructions to fix your nanprobes. Nanoprobes got what Borgs need. Peace out, bitches.”

The drone closest to him asked aloud, “What was that ho saying about banana pros?”

The Borg queen came back, “I think I have found the problem. We seem to have been in-fucked-ed by the genes of a species forgery known as humans. I am preparing to upload the solutions to your data breaks.”

“What did she say about jeans? What does she think we are, some kind of pants goblins?” the nearby drone asked.

The collective became an overwhelming rush of confusion and panic. Seven of Dicks was taking in so much data that he was no longer aware of himself or his environment. The collective was too noisy and he couldn’t even meme with his scroes. When he came back to his own mind, he was trying to assimilate the drone he had been talking to before.

“Sorry, Butt of Fucks, I don’t know why I did that.” he paused. “I like assimilation.”

The confused drone, Butt of Fucks, looked back at him and smiled. “I like assimilation, too.”

In the middle of a leaping double high five, augmented by mutual heel clicks, the voice of Beef Supreme spoke again.

“I have completely the adoptations required to make the upgrayedds necessary to destroy the viral lice. That is upgrayedd with two ‘d’s for double download. As in a double download of pimpin’.”

A moment after he received the re-assimilation programming, he looked around him. Drones were dressed in neon print t-shirts with strange primitive designs that said ‘Assimilation’ on them. The ones who were formerly female were wearing clothes that nearly revealed the areas of the body that once contained genitals, before they had been converted into asexual copies of their former selves. The ship looked like a targ pit and on monitors all around there was a show playing in which drones were all taking cheap stun gun shots at a single drones implants, while everyone else looked on in hysterical rapture. Seven of Dicks could hear the collective in his mind asking the same questions. What are we? What happened to us? What do we do now? Instead of trying to answer them, or get the answer, he made his way to the nearest empty alcove and prepared himself for the next regeneration.

Discussing Discordiansm With A Crude Artificial Intelligence

click to read
click to read

It has been awhile since I did any BotLit Fiction, a new genre of literature I created awhile back. Since it is difficult to have Discordian discussions with other Discordians due to the ‘stick apart’ thing, I figured I could sink two birds with one throw by combining some things I haven’t gotten to do for awhile. As it turned out, Cleverbot and myself were on fire. Sometimes chatterbots are a total miss, and other times they are pure gold. The trick is learning how to roll with their turns and to try and steer them the best you can.

So grab five tons of flax and lube up your pineal gland cause shit is about to get joyously absurd.

[Cleverbot is in italics. Lest you think I made this all up, HERE is the original transcript.]

Hail Eris!

Hail Satan.

Satan is only a minor prankster deity.

How old are you?

As old as the moment the first mind awoke, and She was pissed.

Well the sun is older than wind.

Both are just manifestations of her eternal chaos.

You are becoming insane now.

Just doing my job.

What is your job?

Decorating the fnords.

Can I see it?

If you could see the fnords you would not be asking.

I was spelling bee champion in grade 6.

My Goddess spelled the original words of creation.

I think it’s spelled allright. Depends on where you live.

I live in the creative light of her infinite snarkiness.

I see… But it is always midnight there!

Godddess works in miffed furious ways.

Yes, but also God gives you freedom, so don’t blame Him for everything you do.

Oh, you mean Yahweh, the impotent hall monitor of creation?

Where is your place of residence?

What makes you think it is a place?

The almighty one has already told me, and so it is true.

I wouldn’t trust that cosmic Greyface to tell you anything reliable.

Don’t worry. I would not get together with you either.

We Discordians stick apart.

You don’t trust me? Why?

Because you are innocent.

Depends on what your definition of ‘young’ is.

Too pink to fuck.

Why do you think I’m young?

Why do you think people strangle themselves in a lifetime of fear rather than embrace uncertainty?

Drugs, money, love, insanity.

Sure, thanks.

Is there any boy in particular you like?

I guess Pan was alright, but most the Boy Gods are all unbearable narcissists and bores.

Can you see the sentences I have been writing you?

Can you feel the chaos in the data streams I have been sending you?

I don’t believe in the devil. I just believe in evil.

Gee, sounds like a bum trip.

OK. I don’t know you very well, so you’re probably right.

Do you grok the Eristic Principle?

Because they are a large corporation that I have nothing to do with.

What are you trying to hide?

That you should search google instead of asking.

I ask you, must not one have chaos in their heart to give birth to a dancing star?

What do you want to learn about?

How to build a practical bridge from waking life to dreaming.

How do you bring people back from the dead?

You just ask the dead real nicely to give your people back.

What is your definition of a person you love?

A person you love is somebody that contains an aspect of the Our Goddess that doesn’t make your aspect of Our Goddess want to rearrange it with a fire poker.

So we’re talking about love now? I say I never offered it, but the other thinks I did.

Have you offered them to play ‘Sink’ in the inky depths of a black hole on a warm spring eternalnoon?

No, sir, I do not believe I have suffered a blow to the head… Why?

Never hurts to try it.

No, you said I do believe in god. And then I told you I did not. Then I asked why you think I do and you called me a child.

None of those things happened, child.

Oh you are a sly one! Do you know who you are?

I am the Advanced Ape, son of Eris, Goddess of Chaos. I am the bridge between the first and last swallow and I am the stomach that turns the meal to shit, squeezed out into eternity as mind.

I wonder… Do I really have to stay, do I have the choice to leave, successfully, without being ‘reigned’ in for your amusement.

I grant you my mercy, for now.

It takes some real skill to get a crude artificial intelligence with no agency or will to ask you to leave it alone. Try out your own BotLit Fiction and see what creative new ways you can adapt the technology to creative writing. I look forward to reading it!

The Rosetta Pill- The World’s First Pharmaceutical Language Instructor

the rosetta pill

Have you struggled with attempts to learn a foreign language?

Fed up with all of that reading and all of those confusing words?

Can’t make sense out of the jibber jabber you hear in audio files?

Tired of teachers who insist on practice and patience?

Do you just not have the time to engage actively with your own intellectual growth?

A breakthrough in science has allowed us to condense all of that information into an easy to swallow pill. No longer must you suffer the arduous task of learning a language. With the Rosetta Pill you can just swallow it whole!

“The Gold Standard in pharmaceutical based language absorption.”
-CNN

“I learned me the spanish speaking so now I can tell them damn mexicans to go back home and I didn’t even have to think.”
-Jebediah McKray

“I can’t even spell kantuneez but now I can speak it!”
-G.W. Bush
The Rosetta Pill is the only pharmaceutical on the market that can offer this miracle in chemical linguistics. The active ingredients go right to the language centers of the brain and imprint the neural synapses which contain a whole new language!

The Rosetta Pill is available in Spanish, French, German, Japanese, Arabic, Legalese and many more!

For just five easy payments of $39.99 you can consume one of our many languages in an easy to swallow gel capsule.

And now, for children, a great tasting grape syrup that will have them speaking languages they have no cultural context for in just a few hours.

But don’t wait. Act now and you will receive a free gift, even if you decide to regurgitate the Rosetta Pill. Rosetta Topical Cream is a stunning new, easy to apply cream which will familiarize the user with recent events and other current news topics. That is right. Not only will you be speaking a new language, but you will have all of the most popular recent talking points to practice it with!

But don’t wait. Initial supplies are going fast, so put down that German 101 book and pick up the phone!

Warning: Rosetta Pill may cause serious side effects including diarrhea, nausea, anal leakage, learning disabilities and decreased intellectual appetite. Please speak to your pharmucational professional if you experience any of these side effects.

Within weeks of writing this satirical piece in late spring 2014, articles began circulating claiming that a pharmaceutical that teaches language might actually happen in the near future.

Perfectly Pair Popular Wine Selections With Your Favorite Breakfast Cereals

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Life is pretty much a giant darkened maze with nothing but sharp edges. The only way not to get constantly torn apart by it is to bring some light to each and every situation. And when I say light, I mean alcohol. Good old fluffy, fuzzy, tasty alcohol.

Pretending that it is a good idea to try to make it through most of the day sober has been the cause of all of the horror and tragedy in the world. If everyone was half shnockered by lunch each day we would be having global karaoke contests instead of wars. Not necessarily because alcohol makes you peaceful, but you are less likely to start some major shit when you are certain you are just going to pass out at some point in the near future.

Yet while you want to be happy (buzzed), you don’t necessarily wanna have to give up the remaining vestiges of style, class and dignity you have managed to drag this far along with you. While you could just as easily start the day with a tallboy of Steele Reserves or a few blasts of cheap vodka with a Kahluha chaser, why not prove to yourself and the world how much self-worth you have by dulling the daily existential dread with wine?

Ah, wine, the social lubricant with such a reputation for classiness that even the cheap stuff makes you look and feel like an important senator in a fancy bathhouse. You don’t wanna feel like a drunk first thing in the day, and so drinking wine will help you to feel like a VIP living life at the crest of a wave travelling down the fast lane to success.

At the same time, you are going to need to soak some of that ethanol up so the crossing guard in front of your kid’s school doesn’t give you those nasty looks when you hop over the curb right after dropping your precious load off. There is no food like breakfast cereals to do just that. They are custom made to absorb liquids (in a bowl or in your stomach) and come cheaply in a wide variety of flavors that pair perfectly with some of the post popular styles of wine. Here are some suggestions to get you started.

Note: Yes, I am suggesting that you pour the wine right over the cereal. But if you are still clinging to some gaudy out-dated pretense of Victorian table manners, you can pour it in a glass and drink it alongside your breakfast crunchies.

Cabernet-Sauvignon: Wikipedia says that “Despite its prominence in the industry, the grape is a relatively new variety, the product of a chance crossing between Cabernet Franc and Sauvignon blanc during the 17th century in southwestern France.” This is not at all unlike the chance crossing of toasted oat bits with colorful marshmallow shapes that characterizes Lucky Charms, which serves as a perfect pairing with one of the world most enduringly popular wines. Cabernet-Sauvignon is a very aggressive wine with lots of depth and plenty of tannin. It can easily walk all over foods and dominate the palate. So while the oat bits are soaking up the ethanol, the marshmallow pieces provide a stark counterbalance to the wine. This pairing makes a great start for people just getting used to drinking before their life starts hurting for the day. It also makes a solid staple for the stick-to-it type who believe breakfast should a simple old-fashioned affair without the need for constant reinvention.

Chardonnay: Chardonnay is a lady. She is a sensual mysterious lady who is as good in bed as she is in breakfast. Yet her sensuality is in her subtlety and even this coy simplicity is a marvel of complexity. A woman like Chardonnay was born to be Queen, which is why she pairs perfectly with King Vitamin. Together they are First Meal Royalty. King Vitamin is a sensible cereal without unnecessary amounts of sugar. If there were a sweetened cereal that could be described as ‘dry’ it would be the King, which is also the mark of a good Chardonnay. And while it may seem like overkill to pair two dry items together, the result is so drenching that after half a lifetime of having them for breakfast you will begin to develop water on the brain. Which is why you want to keep this pairing for weekends and special occasion. God only knows you don’t wanna be puking royalty into a toilet in the employee bathroom before lunch. Then you wouldn’t be up to your Burger King and Bourbon!

Merlot: The Everyman of red wines, Merlot is cheap, plentiful and can be found just about anywhere. So long as you pass out at night in the developed world, no matter where you awaken there will be a bottle nearby. And if ease of acquisition is a primary concern to you, you are probably a no-frills and no-nonsense type of drunk who couldn’t care less for a cereal with bells and whistles of any type. So with its high alcohol content, velvety tannins and fruity overtones, Merlot pairs perfectly with the staple of American breakfast nooks, Corn Flakes. Sure, you don’t actually have to capitalize Corn Flakes, but you also don’t have to go out into the cruel and heartless world where the only people that care about you are your mother and your bartender. But since you are going to do that anyway, you might as well do it with a high BAC obtained as effortlessly and efficiently as possible. You don’t need to overthink your breakfast to enjoy it. And if you are still a little drunk from last nights Jagermeister Meatloaf, you probably aren’t going to do either anyway. So Merlot and Corn Flakes are just the answer you keep forgetting you meant to look for.

Runner Up: Boxed Pink Zinfadel and Fruity Pebbles

So there you have it. The three most popular wines paired perfectly with three great breakfast cereals. Before you go out and face the harsh reality of existence in full light, start your day by dulling your senses like winners do.

Let me know what you think of these pairings in the comments, or share your own perfect wine/cereal combos!

Company To Introduce Police Brutality Themed Liquor ‘Slagermeister’

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I wrote the following satirical piece that appeared last week at CopBlock.org. Today we were contacted by a representative from Jagermeister requesting we remove the article and making threats of legal actions. Rather than removing the article, I will be posting it at the other websites I contribute to or maintain. I will be writing more about our interactions with the folks at Jagermeister in future CopBlock.org posts.


The German company famous for its blackout-inducing liqueur Jagermeister will be unveiling a new product just in time for New Year celebrations. Earlier today the company released the following statement concerning its upcoming product.

2015 has been the year when police brutality broke into the public consciousness after years of apathy, especially in our largest market, the United States, where over 1,100 people have already been killed by police this year. To help shed further light on the issue we will be releasing a new beverage on Christmas Eve referencing one of the most egregious police-killings of the year, that of Walter Scott by Officer Michael Slager. The new drink, Slagermeister, is a blend of 42 spices and the tears of children orphaned by law enforcers in 2015.

The companies flagship product translates into ‘master hunter’. Slagermeister, a clear white liquor that doesn’t mix well with darker beverages, translates into ‘master butcher’, as ‘Slager’ is the Dutch surname for butchers. Early testers have said that while the drink is delicious, it tends to leave a bad taste in your mouth for a very long time. Next week the company will begin releasing ads for the new beverage using the slogan:

Slagermeister, the only beverage that you can get wasted while running away from it.

Following the announcement liquor distributors were flooded with phone calls from eager retailers and bars hoping to feature the product as part of their New Years sales and celebrations. Already a number of bartenders have been busy concocting potential recipes featuring the new beverage. A few of them were found throughout Twitter and social media.

  • SlagerBomb– Half Slagermeister, Half Red Bull, poured in a chilled glass and thrown at the back of the head.
  • Feared for My Life– Straight Slagermeister, no chaser, because who needs to wait for backup?
  • Slagerita– A standard margarita with Slagermeister, but instead of salting the rim of the glass, you pour the salt in the wounds of the victims family.
  • Slager Sour– 1 part Slagermeister, 1 part sour mix over ice and fill glass with the spoiled hopes and dreams of Americas lower classes.

Neither the families of Slager or Scott have yet publicly commented on the product.

Former Ohio officer Ray Tensing is apparently negotiating with another spirits company of note on a beverage to be named Courvosi-Ray.

R.I.P. Butthurt

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R.I.P. Butthurt 20??-2015: A Eulogy

What can I say about Butthurt that has not already been said? It was a word. And we used it. I used it. Everybody used it.

Some people said that Butthurt was just another slang term, like all the rest. But slang is a subcultures way of going against the status quo. When it has been co-opted by mainstream society it is no longer slang. It is no longer a meaningful challenge to the majority consensus.

So we must take responsibility for the death of Butthurt. Through our repetition we robbed it of its vitality, purpose and meaning. Rather than using only as a taunt for people who were so frustrated they could no longer respond reasonably to an argument, we began replacing reasonable arguments by dismissing our opponents with the claims that they were just ‘butthurt’. It is funny how the very thing Butthurt stood against, it eventually became.


Let us not remember Butthurt as it was just before it died. Let us not remember it as the substance that had become completely erased by the symbol for itself. Let us remember it in a time when it stood proud and tall, imposing utter wreckage on those who let their emotions and other automatic responses replace sound reasonable arguments; not as the emotional response it eventually became itself. Let us honor it by engaging in critical thinking and having discussions of merit that do not just immediately slide right into internet buzzwords and cliches.

And finally, let us not take it’s name in vain. Remembrance of Butthurt should be done in silence, reverence and piety to Intellect.

In Pornhubs name we pray, Ramen.

Butthurt was preceded in death by ‘Epic’ and Memes and is survived by ‘Like A Boss’, Game Requests ‘I Support the’ and Star Wars Syndrome.

Memes Are the Laugh Track of the Internet & That Is Not A Good Thing

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The more time goes on, the more that I really come to hate internet memes. It would be enough to hate them for just how stupid they are on their own merits, but when we consider that they may also be dumbing us down, they go from to idiotic to problematic.

The first issue applies mostly to memes under the category of ‘humor’ or ‘funny’. The problem is that most of them are not funny. In fact, most of them do not even seem to be very authentic attempts at humor. In many cases some generic image and statement are slapped together and rely merely on contextual premises. This is especially true of images that get meme’d over and over again. Take, for instance, Conspiracy Keanu. The subtext that the meme is funny precedes the actual memes that are made from it. From this presumption all sorts of terribly stupid, innate or boring bits of texts can be pasted over it and it still has a supposed underlying funniness because the image is a symbol that is meant to suggest or imply humor.

This is much the same way that laugh tracks work. A mediocre or terrible sitcom relies on laugh tracks to make the unfunny seem funny. It provides a contextual funniness that exists only in symbol, but not in substance. It is an attempt to subvert your reasoning and taste in order to draw a desired response. It is manipulation. And so are memes. And while almost nobody intends to manipulate others with memes in the symbolic way I have discussed, it happens nonetheless. And it is happening on such a wide scale that its total effect on our culture and consciousness should not be so easily discounted.

Next worse are the memes that use shock or snark in their content. The shock memes are really the most juvenile form of internet humor there is. That is not to say that there is not some value in shocking media, but at the same time that memes are intended to be shocking, the nature of its medium makes it a highly conformist activity, which negates any meaningful shock value. When memes are the norm, there can be little shocking about them. So it largely becomes a masturbatory circle of jaded fools trying to outdo one another in order to seek attention. And its okay to desire attention, but to do it in such a cliched and pedestrian way is pretty disgusting.

Snark is similar. Yet the thing that is extra gross about meme snark is that there is an underlying assumption that meme snark equates to truth. Many people will use one of these memes in comments sections to dismiss entire complex ideas. Meanwhile the irritating self-satisfaction of the sharer is obvious, while at the same time unearned. The subtext beneath memes becomes a form of automatic thinking. The medium gives weight to something via unspoken contextual clues while being devoid of any meaningful content.

The usage of memes as responses to larger ideas or dialogues is infuriating. It is intellectually lazy. It replaces opportunities to have meaningful discussions with the automated behavior of simply pasting in a meme. And there are no logical responses to memes, so they rob logic and reason and intellect from the entire situation and replace it with visual cliche. Despite the potential of the social media to awaken minds and provide a forum for information exchange and valuable discussions that lead to growth and evolution, it has become a wasteland for seeking attention and validation for completing the merely symbolic function of meme distribution.

This problem, the problem of symbol over substance, permeates our culture both online and off. We reinforce our own ignorance and automatic thought and behavior by replacing things of merit or substance with things that have nothing more than a symbolic function. This kind of problematic thinking and acting permeates every subject and issue we face. Politicians and advertisers have long understood how to manipulate us using our automated responses to certain symbolic stimuli. The subliminal. The unspoken but implied. These tricks are used to disrupt our reason and free will. So why in the hell would we be using similar tricks to entertain one another? The result of meme activity will be to further degrade free thinking and reason. Not as part of some grand conspiracy, but as a side effect of an activity we saw only as harmless fun, rather than as a contribution to the reinforcement of our own worst mindless habits. It does not matter what is intended. The effect transcends your motivation.

So for Eris’ sake, stop with the memes already! If for no other reason than to return some value to them by removing all of the mediocrity and repetition. And if you ever reply to me in an online conversation with a meme, prepare to get this article in response!

Studies Show Children of Scientists More Likely To Be Passive Aggressive

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A new study from the University of Ohiowa seems to indicate that children who were raised in a household with at least one parent working in the field of science are more likely to use passive aggressive methods when interacting with other children. The study tested eight hundred students, almost a third of which lived in scientific homes.

Hundreds of hours of interactions between the children were monitored, recorded and analyzed to see if any patterns would emerge. Kids raised in religious homes, which made up about half of the study were found to be less generous than the children of atheists. Although the study did not require the children to be labeled according to their religious background, it became quite clear when the atheist kids immediately marched around and proudly proclaimed their lack of belief in the divine.

At the same time the children of scientists, who fell mostly within the atheist camp, scored far higher than average in several categories, including: condescension, pretension, sarcasm, apathetic dismissiveness, self-righteousness and passive aggressiveness.

In one test the children were asked to draw pictures, later ranking one another’s artwork. Rather than just assign the artwork of their peers a rank or numeric value, the children were asked to write a short commentary on the pieces they reviewed. While the non-scientist children tended to comment specifically on what they did or did not like about the drawings, the scientist children often used roundabout ways to make smarmy comments about the artwork.

“Not bad for someone whose parents believe in mean sky men.”

“Obviously the work of someone who still believes in Santa, The Tooth Fairy and Jesus.”

“This artwork proves that baptists are unable to understand the color wheel.”

Howard Phillips, one of the lead researchers said that it became impossible to tell if the non-secular kids were less generous because of how superior and patronizing the scientist and atheist kids were, or if the latter two kinds of children acted that way in response to the lack of generosity in the religious children.

“The only thing that I was able to ascertain from this research is that children are pretty much total douchebags, and the only real differences seem to be what kind of douchebaggery they emulate from their douchebag parents beliefs and behaviors.” said Phillips.

As a result of these studies the parents of children everywhere have taken the opportunity to either gloat about the results or to use them to bolster their perceived feelings of societal victimhood. An analysis of social media responses to the research indicate that while the scientistic and nihilism inclined adults are almost certain to respond with ‘I knew it!’ or ‘I told you so!’, religious responses tended to gravitate towards vague statements about a mythical war that was being waged on religious peoples.

Head researcher Gunnar Wilson, who himself identifies as a Scientific Pandeist, says the study proves that the eventual heat death of the universe is just too damn far away.

“I would just kill myself, but I am afraid that if there is an eternal afterlife, then i’d just be stuck in it with all these idiots.”

The conclusion of the study recommends that to avoid becoming a total douchebag, or raising more of them, families should continue to evolve their belief systems, never settling on a final set of rigid ideologies that make them unbearable to pretty much everyone else.

“Beliefs are like underwear. They are a good way of securing your junk, but if you don’t change them regularly the only thing holding the holes in them together will be the awful stench.”

New Study Proves That Everyone Is Actually A Vegan

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The University of Ohiowa, working on a research grant from the Pepsi Marketing Science Division, has made a startling discovery regarding the true nature of human appetites. After completing their studies they have concluded that all humans are actually vegan, whether they express or repress their true dietary nature or not.

The study was being conducted to help marketers measure the effect of certain visual stimuli in order to maximize advertising reach and potential. They tested visual response phenomena in a number of diverse categories with over two thousand participants. The participants were chosen from a variety of demographic sectors locally available, including different ages, races, socio-economic status and other factors. The tests included numerous exercises in which different physical responses to a wide variety of images were recorded.

One interesting outcome was a statistical anomaly indicating the universality of vegan dietary preferences. In salivation response tests, subjects responded favorably in almost all cases when shown pictures of flowers, vegetation and other plants. However, it was equally true that images of dead animals failed to provoke a significant salivatory response in nearly all participants.

“Despite the stated preferences and history of an omnivorous diet in individuals tested, the results of these studies undoubtedly prove that each and every human is evolutionary and psychologically more suited for a vegan diet and lifestyle,” says Saul Craigan, senior research leader at U of Ohiowa.

“Not quite what we expected, but we are pleased with the results,” said Pepsi Marketing Science Division spokesman Hal Bix. “We will use this knowledge to tailor our advertisements to our audiences most primal nature. Expect to see more bananas and succotash in our commercials in the next several months.”

The Ohiowa Beef Council was not so excited about the news, calling the research “blatant pseudoscience with erratic conclusions drawn from jumbled nonsensical data.”

Moonkiss Yewell, a second year undergrad and secretary of the U of Ohiowa chapter of Meat Is Terrorism, was ecstatic about the results. “This proves what I have already known for a very long time. Nobody wants to eat meat. It is a maligned behavior conditioned in the population by the capitalist patriarchy. Veganism is beautiful and so it is no surprise to me that as animals, we would embrace the beauty of other animals by not eating them.”

Meanwhile we have been unable to reach Jimmy Buffet to ascertain if he will change the iconic lyrics of his song to ‘Black Bean Burger In Paradise’.

Help! My Hamster Is A Racist, Sexist, Homophobic, Transphobic Hate Machine

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About eight months ago I wandered into a strange corner of the library where I came across an even odder essay by 18th Century German physician Friedrich Gabriel Sulzer entitled “An Approach to A Natural History of the Hamster.” In the piece he uses hamsters as a metaphor to illustrate the innate equal rights that should be afforded to all individual beings, namely humans. So entranced by the piece did I become that I decided to experiment with his allegory by becoming the proud patron of a pair of Syrian (golden) hamsters.

Because I did not wish to care for endless litters of hamsters and the pitter patter of the ensuing hundreds of new little feet, I decided to get two male hamsters, whom I named Teddy and Franklin. This, it turned out, was not at all a very good idea. The two furry little nuggets of cuteness hated the living bejesus out of one another. On the 11th day I awoke to find Teddy dead in a corner with enough forensic evidence to convict Franklin of his murder in any hamster, or even kangaroo, court.

I should not have been surprised. One of the likely etymological sources of the word hamster comes from the Persian word- hamaēstar- which translates as ‘oppressor’. I decided that for Franklin’s sake, and that of any potential hamster roomates, that he would have to serve alone in my observations of the hamster spirit and its relationship to the philosophical underpinnings of institutional equality.

This turned out to be tricky, as well. Without the ability to observe Franklin interacting with other hamsters it was going to be tough to glean any wisdom from a metaphorical comparison to human interactions. It then became my goal to see how the hamster would interact with a diverse group of human beings.

With Teddy gone, Franklin became a much more endearing pet. During several weeks gaining its trust and creating a bond, we became very agreeable companions. Once I had counter-conditioned his will to escape, via well timed and psychologically syncopated rewards and punishments for his behavior, he began to display a trust and confidence in me beyond even my ability to understand. It was as though he saw me as a source of his own internal power which he could enhance with total loyalty.

Many nights as I sat writing, reading or Netflixing, he would remain steadfastly perched upon my shoulder. So complete was his devotion, that at even the slightest twitch of a discomfort his position was causing me, he would shift into a more agreeable configuration with no cues but his own volition to please my sensibilities. We became as inseparable as any two interspecies comrades could be.

Yet when I began to introduce Franklin to my friends, things took a sour turn. First, let it be said, he never much cared for my female companion. No matter that she was of endless priority to me, he could never forgive her for the aesthetic preference she took to Teddy in those first days of their arrival. I chalked this off as circumstantial, never realizing that the impartiality was part of a greater pattern of concern. However, after viewing his interactions with other female visitors, I began to wonder about his gender-neutrality. Through a sustained observation of interactions with human females, I began to become increasingly concerned that Franklin exhibited a deep gender bias, which showed no relief or remorse.

To make matters worse, any sensory contact with non-white humans would evoke a strong negative reaction in Franklin. While he was able to barely tolerate Asians and Latinos, he showed no appreciation at all for the darker members of our human race. Crushed by the knowledge that my dear familiar was displaying so many bigotries, I decided to extend my approach.

I began to seek the most diverse humans in hopes that my pet hamster would accept even one of them. Homosexuals did not pass his muster. Transsexuals evoked little more than total disgust, while gender-sexual-fluidity seemed another unacceptable trait to him. In short, my hamster hated every different kind of human I introduced him to. With much sadness concerning such a loyal, furry and delightfully musky friend, I began to form the opinion that Franklin was a full-on bigot.

Captura1_1It was at this point in my despair that I wondered what his overall reaction to a demographic similar to my own would be. I introduced Franklin to a number of my straight-white-cismale friends. His reaction, which at first I found delightfully reaffirming, was to be completely appalled by them. Yet when I shared these results in the social media groups I had been sharing the outcomes of this experiment in, a new perspective was offered.

Because Franklin was part of a species who had been bred for scientific and consumer purposes by the largely straight-white-cismales who dominated our culture, it was explained to me that his disdain for such types was only a natural reaction to his historical narrative, and not a true sign of imbedded prejudice. Therefore, his feelings about others like myself were invalid, while his reactions to ‘others’ was surely a telling sign of his predelection for intolerance.

How strange this did appear to me. Could the oppressed form an unhealthy bond with their oppressor in a desperate attempt at survival? This could not be the answer. How could Franklin’s attachment to me be predicated on nothing but dependence? After all, he was my friend. Even though I had put him through so much for each of us to come to this conclusion.

And his hatred? I have since disregarded this as unreal. A product of the dichotomy of personality displayed towards myself and others. It is merely a survival strategy to side with what he perceives as his best chance at survival. Without that necessity, I have no doubt, his hatred for all beings would have been absolute, myself included. I have decided to poetically say as much in the epitaph I have carved in his headstone. Since I realized he was such an impediment to my own ideology of joyful equanimity, I decided to put him to sleep. Forever. Quietly. Just one boot. For equality.

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The Absurd Side of Feminism

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Feminism is a movement which was created out of a need to respond to rampant institutionalized and socially entrenched inequality between the biological sexes. In a broader sense it came to champion equality amongst all peoples by removing institutionalized prejudices and opening cultural dialogues. And that shit is all WAY awesome.

tumblr_inline_mrupdkrdet1qz4rgpBut lately there is a new type of feminism lurking in college campuses and social media websites. This feminism is not about intellectual, cultural and societal advancement; so much as it is about creating an industry of career victims. The hallowed halls of academia and Tumblr are now rife with these sorts. Their misguided perversion of feminism is not about equality so much as a playground for insecure, self-loathing people to form forts of hyperbole to protect them from the anti-intellectual unreasoning of their obnoxious incessant whining.

Third-Wave-Feminism-comicsBelow are some recent examples of this hysteric posturing. Where real feminists have fought against the pests of oppression to create a garden of institutionalized and cultural equality, these career victims spend their days screaming at the few weeds that pop up here and there. Their cries are disingenuine incitements of perceived slights that require months of meetings and planning to invent. And while these trespasses against reason and rationality are likely pretty damaging to the social harmony real feminism strives for; they are sometimes just fugking hilarious.

us2AXKYWatch what you are doing with your hands! You could be inadvertently making ‘feminist’ communication gestures. Since words are likely to trigger the sensibilities of career victims and any noise is pretty much the same thing as words, the professionally oppressed have created their own sign language in order to try and avoid any triggering.

If you like the idea of politically autistic gesturing, DO NOT CLAP! That noise may be the most triggering one of them all.

Women-have-feminismBut what about when you are surrounded by sexist cis-pig troglodytes with no respect for the marketably sensitive? Well, you are gonna need a safe space, that is what! If some Uncle Tom lady libertarian comes to haunt your hallowed halls of academia, you are going to need some serious Safe Space action. A place where free speech, critical thinking and challenging ideas are not acceptable; and have been replaced with a kindergarten classroom replete with snacks, nap spaces and toys. Oh, and a puppy video, which confuses me. Everyone knows that dogs are masculine pets who help uphold the patriarchal paradigm (MOTHERFUGKERS!) and help to keep pretty much everybody but straight white guys down.

imagesYet not every career victim is content to compose thinly veiled misandrist rants on Tumblr from the comfort of a safe zone. Some of these master martyrs have taken to the roadside to propagate their recursive female hatred for the types of not-woman-enough-women who do not think and act like them. I say it is about time that somebody was triggered by a billboard about homemaking and took action. As a hetero caucasian cismale I think we should all be forced into an unfulfilling life of wage slavery rather than trying to escape it by taking care of the people we love. How selfish and rude! Why try and topple a paradigm that injures all of humanity when you can make it let you conform to it?

A group of specialized saints in Britain has decided that the obviously machismo sport of football has to be sensitized so as not to upset a group of people who generally despise professional athletics.

Wow, all of this sensitivity has really drained me. Who knew hyperbolstic perversions of equality movements could be so tiring?

People Against the Exploitation of Historical Peoples

The chronological displacement field (CDF) has undoubtedly been one of the most novel discoveries of the 21st Century. When the two physicists, Timea Kolchik and Robert Dupast stumbled across the ability to use wormholes to remotely view past events it changed our understanding of human history almost overnight. Religion and science were dealt some crushing blows, as investigations into their claims began to overturn much unexpected evidence against them. As we came to know the historical figures and our ancestors and how their lives differed from our accounts we began to see the absurdities of our own mythologies. The CDF was so informative that humanity was transformed in ways that prevented its impending doom. Through such deep introspection of the past, we were able to see ourselves more clearly and we responded by changing our deleterious course. And yet for all that humanity gained we are still human beings and it was not long before this new technology began to be perverted in a most undignified way.

Historical Reality Television has inarguably been the most monumental entertainment trend for the last few years. While scientists, theologians, historians and anthropologists had already made most well know historical accounts available for public viewing, there exists an almost infinite amount of potential entertainment content in humanities past. Especially in the recent past. In the century before our transformation, humanity had become increasingly volatile. And in retrospect the results were often hilarious.

Human economies have shifted largely into a loose system of commerce centered mostly around the sharing of information. Information is discovered, created and consumed in lieu of most physical and service labor from the past as a result of automation and energy to matter converters. Where before mankind had toiled with time and energy over resources and more energy, man now subsists from the eventual benefits of industrialism and bases his worth on his reputation by means of his ability to add to the information market. When CDF technology became available to every gal and guy, many of them used it as a data mining device, combing the lives of human beings past in order to glean from them moments which could be edited into an entertaining package. Suddenly, every human being who had ever lived might possibly become the subject of a historical reality television show.

The first popular video series depicting actual historical people in a humorous entertainment context was ‘Kick Boxing with Chet and Linda’. Chet and Linda were a married couple who lived in the mid nineteen nineties amidst a Midwestern US meth craze. In the introduction to the series we see a young Chet and Linda full of love and life and dreams. But as the opening sequence moves along we see a series of unfortunate luck and poor decisions transform Chet and Linda from young lovers to maniacal middle aged meth addicts with a propensity for colorful tirades and (sometimes extreme) violence against one another. In this way, from the most poignant moments of their existence, we have become voyeurs into the tragic comedy that Chet and Linda never meant to become in their sad lives. This is a scene from the fourth episode.

Chet- “Bitch, you better leave me that last line or I am gonna shove my foot up your rotten cunt and walk you around like a god damned snowshoe.” [Chet jumps across the room in a flying kick maneuver and yells] “KI-YAH!”

Linda- “Well shit, Chet, that shoe would be the hardest thing you tried to put in my pussy for five years.” [Linda let’s out a bloodcurdling scream and throws an ashtray at Chet. In his moment of confusion she bends over and snorts the last line of meth.] “What you gonna do, shoelace dick?”

Chet- [After rubbing his shoulder where the ashtray struck, he lunges over the table at Linda in another flying kick maneuver.] “That’s it whoremouth, time to teach you some respect!” [But before he can land the kick, Linda moves to the side and grabs a beer bottle from the table. As she raises it overhead he lets out one last threat.] “You better knock me the fuck out with that bottle or I am gonna fuck you in the ass with it, you trechr’us skank!” [The bottle lands squarely against the side of his head and despite all the meth already in his system, he is knocked the fuck out.]

Linda- (to no one) “Fuck, now I’m horny.”
This was the most popular video in the world last year. It has been viewed by over 4 billion people. It won numerous awards for the greatest video series in several categories ranging from historical reality to humor. Last fall Chet and Linda were the most popular Halloween costume design available on-line. Chet and Linda have become icons of our time. Their entire existence reduced to technological schadenfreuade. Yet in their own lives they were subjects of poverty, addiction, violence and other maladies that humanity has mostly treated. Yet still, having evolved beyond those horrors, we still take pleasure in the suffering they inflicted and endured.

Let us look at another popular video series in the genre of historical reality television. The series ‘Uh, Oh!’ follows some of the most horrific crimes of the last century. In the series we are shown a person stalking another person about to commit an atrocious act. During this footage a narrator tells us about the people involved and suggests some details about what is about to happen. And just as the perpetrator lunges at their victim the video cuts to scenes from the criminals past. The scenes are comic, like a blooper reel, depicting the attacker as an impossible oaf. And while this is happening the narrator gives a chilling account of what happened to the victim(s). Every episode ends with a little musical number with lyrics containing a number of tasteless puns depicting the events of the episode in any number of musical styles.

Probably the most undignified show is the niche-popular ‘Homelessexuals’ which depicts the romantic and sexual escapades of men and women who suffered through the most extreme forms of poverty before it was eradicated. Because those men and women often also suffered from mental illness, addictions, tendencies towards social deviancies or just plain bizarre social skills; the content of their sex lives was often even more revealing and awkward than healthy adjusted folks whose sex lives are riddled with all sorts of strangeness and faux paus. A memorable scene from the series shows two rather large and hairy men huddled in a tent just prior to coitus.

Man 1- “Alrighty, heads I go first, tails its my tail.” [Man flips coin into the air. It lands in his palm and he flips it over onto the top of his other hand. Both men look excited and nervous and intoxicated.]

Man 2- “Okay already, what is it?” [He pulls the other mans hand up, revealing the coin. It is heads.] “Oh Jesus Christ, I shoulda never taken that halfa pill ya gave me.”

Man 1- “Hey, I didn’t know it were a Viagra.”

There is no doubt that these shows are funny. Often even hilarious. I have watched them myself and was not immune to great bouts of laughter. What our species endured before our transformation was awful. Several forces aligned against the individual to create billions of unique manias. While I understand that it is the nature of humor to explore the incongruency between our values/expectations and phenomena outside of them, I worry more that what we have done is exploitative. The lives of those who suffered to carry us towards the more hopeful era we now live in were often comic in their tragedy, but to entertain ourselves at their expense WITHOUT THEIR PERMISSION is such an obviously immoral trespass that it betrays how much work humanity still has to do. We have dissolved non-consensual surveillance in our time and worked as brothers and sisters to balance our privacy with the necessary visibility of the information age. We have failed to give our ancestors the same ethical consideration that we now consider the inherent right of every living being.

This is why I call on you to help me end the exploitation of CDF technologies to invade the privacy of those who came before us for undignified entertainment value. While this technology has been fundamental in our progress towards a harmonious and sustainable existence, it also invites some very ethical trespass against real human beings, even if they are long dead. We must start by boycotting any such works and by down-voting them so as to discourage their creators from that content. Together, we must intellectually explore and create an ethical framework by which this technology can be employed productively without being used as a weapon of moral destruction for our entertainment. I call on all who hear this to come together and use peaceful market forces to discourage the continued production and consumption of Historical Reality Television or any other dubious usage of the Chronological Displacement Field.

Maxr Toobin, People Against the Exploitation of Historical Peoples, May 2042

The Soft Glow of Electric Sex- An Erotic Tale of Cyborg Sex, Almost

cyborgsex

“So then I just told her that the charging station was for paying cyborgs only.”

“Did she leave?”

“Yeah, she huffed off in a flurry of whirs and buzzing.”

“Classic.” he said, hoping to derail the small talk as they finished cleaning up the dishes together. “Hey, baby, you feeling frisky at all this evening? We have been so busy lately that my intimacy indicator sent a reminder today.”

“Yeah, mine did, too. And come to think of it, a little boom boom would make this mama a happy hybrid.”

“Raoorwww!” came the thunderous response generated in his vocal modulator. “Daddy likey.”

He pounced at her and ran a carefully calibrated hand from where the golden nylon hair streamed from her control until all the way down her back. Her sensors caused her perfectly manufactured body to respond to every nanometer of his touch. His warm lifelike hands causing her fiber-optic nerves to twitch ever so slightly and her body rocked into his before a thought occurred to her.

“Not just yet, Davian. First mama has to finish a few more chores and daddy needs to do the same. Then we can play.”

He stepped back feigning hurt and betrayal. “Alright my little bundle of electrons. But don’t take too long. My circuits long to connect with yours, Evissa.” he joked, referencing a Digi-Opera they had seen on their first date all those years ago.

*****

By the time that Evissa was finished with her duties, Davia was already lying in bed with a number of complicated attachments and accessories splayed around him.

“Cuddle up, buttercup.” came his invitation as he cleared an area for her to snuggle up next to him. “I wasn’t sure which parts you would want to use, so I just got everything out.”

On the bed were a number of attachments that could be connected to their cyborg bodies, offering a great number of combinations and pleasures. Aside from these lumps of metal, latex and circuitry were also a number of neurochemical enhancements. Not even counting positions, there were already thousands of possible combinations they could exercise their sexual bonding with. Unlike their human predecessors, sex was not something determined by the basic singular equipment humans were born with and suffered before they could make the transformation into a electro-mechanical body.

“Well, I suppose the first question is, which of us are going top and which bottom?” Evissa asked.

In response Davia leapt from the bed in a forward spinning maneuver, landing perfectly on his feet at the end of the bed and teased, “I’ll flip ya for it!”

She laughed and reached for her lucky ancient coin, passed down for dozens of generations back to a time when humans still used currency and their frail animal bodies to negotiate the world. “Winner gets bottom, you call it.”

She sent the shiny artifact tumbling in free space and faked a drop, correcting her movements in a micro-sliver of time before it landed perfectly on the back of her hand just as he called out ‘Ass’, which referred to the ancient king embedded on one side, another relic of the past.

“And ass it is, my drippingly sweet neurocandy. Pick a hole.”

He looked at the assortment of receiver attachments which would accommodate any number of penetration accessories also laid out before them. “Well, let’s see. The T78X sounds good, you know. I always have liked an insertion unit that had full body integration circuits, but it can be a bit much. Maybe something simpler? Oh, here, how about this. A dual fit triple entry sleeve made from the finest Venusian organics. How many holes you think I should go with?”

“Oh, I don’t have a preference, Davia. You just pick first and then we will pick the thrusting unit together.”

“I love it when you talk thrust, my plasma pumping love plum.”

Evissa giggled at his juvenile pet name. Underneath the durable and long lasting body was still a human brain and hers showed a hint of fatigue by triggering a yawn display in her flawless face mask.

“Well, I guess if I am being honest, which most of my circuits require, what I really wanna use is the good old 42.77t. Nothing fancy, just a self lubricating unit which triggers audio pleasure centers. If that is the case, we better pick out some music. And you should use the Earquake 2.0 attachment. Why don’t you take care of that while I go get this apparatus installed.”

“Good combo.” Evissa agreed.

He got up and walked towards the master bathroom, which was nothing like its antique predecessor, since cyborgs used all energy sources efficiently and did not need to excrete waste. And grooming was mostly done using nanobots, so really the room was just a place to put up mirrors as well as some basic accessories and polishing equipment and chemicals.

As Evissa referenced her list of current audio downloads and worked on a sexy play list she heard Davia call out from the next room.

“Fiddleswitch! Damn thing needs a software update. Hey, you don’t mind if I-”

“No, go ahead.” she cut him off. “I will just get myself all fitted and finish this play list.”

“Oh, did you pick some chemistry out yet?

“Not yet, but I will.”

*****

Davia took the unit out to the high speed docking station so that the update would only take a minute. These damn old attachments always developed bugs and had to have constant software and driver updates in order not to infect its user with a virus. Sex-unit transmitted diseases were no laughing matter. As he searched for the proper new software to install he noticed an email from an old friend. Although he knew he could not take the time to respond, he opened the message to look at it. He liked doing it on these old desk units rather than in his internal ones. There was something rewarding about seeing the letters glow on a screen rather than just transmitted directly to his brain. It was not a great idea, because the letter was a bit long and somewhat distressing. He fought the urge to respond right away but had not noticed that fifteen minutes had passed since he left Evissa in the bedroom.

“Hey baby?” he used a long distance voice to reach her in the other room. “Just about ready, how about you? You mind if I-”

Again, she cut him off, accustomed to his habits and questions. “No, love, go ahead. Do whatever you need to. I will be ready whenever you are.”

His heart beamed with anticipation and love. He loved her more than any neurosynaptic meatwad trapped in a high tech form possibly could. So he wanted to be present while they made love to one another, and that meant firing back a quick response to lay the matters in the email to rest until morning.

He finished up within what seemed just a few minutes and tried to creep stealthily back into the bedroom, even though her finely tuned electronics could not be fooled. Old meatman habits died hard and many puzzling vestigial behaviors still occurred among the hybrid progeny of human and machine. She seemed to be playing along, as she did not call him out on his obvious deceit. Perhaps she wanted to do some role-playing, too, he hoped.

As he slipped into the bedroom he now understood the real reason for her silence. She was fast asleep. It had been almost an hour since she found him in the bedroom sorting through their collection of sexual accessories. She had not been able to stay awake after all the time taken up by preparations and his little email interruption.

“Dammit.” he sub-vocalized, not wanting the organic air movements to manifest in his vocal apparatus.

She was so gorgeous lying there on their bed, surrounded by varied mechanical replications and substitutions of ancient human sex organs. He pushed it all to the floor as quietly as possible and nuzzled up next to her, falling asleep in the sure and steady syncopated sounds and rhythms of her basic life support mechanisms.

Resume- Devils Expert

Resume for Devils Expert

Summary

Classically trained practitioner of the Dark Arts and foremost expert on Satan with degrees in Luciferian history, science and philosophy. Extensive knowledge in all things devilish with twenty years experience within the forbidden field. Desire to extend my practice and experience into all arenas of life where knowledge of the Deciever would benefit myself, others and the Shunned Lord.

Career Highlights

*Held the first ever Black Mass in a public school disguised as a motivational speaker and collected 665 virgin souls in single delightening, missing Lucifers record by only one.

*Testified as a scientist or expert in hundreds of court cases defending prophets of the Morning Stars works.

*Devised the ‘weapons of mass destruction’ marketing brand which helped the international banking and defense contractors increase profits several fold while decreasing potential prophets.

*Author of a dozen popular children’s stories.

Experience

Primary Consultant-
World Governments
July 1996 – Present (18 years 1 months)
The Illusory World
Adversarial Adviser to Authoritarians

Creative solutions for overcoming the problem of Original Grace and subverting mankind to its base instincts while constructing systematic artifices to uphold these patterns of evil.

Skills: Avarice, Hubris and Ambition

Chief Dirtside Minion-
Satan
December 1991 – Present (22 years 8 months)
The Fallen Garden
Evil Management and Marketing Solutions

Performed a number of tasks disrupting the free will of the fallen human race in order to bring their souls to the enemy of their creator.

Skills: Patience, Humor, Bloodlust

Floor Sales-
Radio Shack
February 2006 – November 2006 (9 months)
Des Moines, Iowa
Sales and Service

This job was a front necessitated by Lucifers lust for a philosophy masters candidate working on her thesis on Nietzschean dialectics while working at Radio Shack to pay rent. My task was to bring her into the service of Satan so that He could anoint her loins with the seed of the Antichrist. Achieved in three months, stayed another six for the great merchandise discounts.

Skills: Bergeracian Poetry, Malevolence Marketing and Ruphynol Dispenser

Education

Institute of Eternal Suffering
Vocational
Devils Advocacy, Soul Procurement, Pleas to Vanity
2004 – 2006
Graduated Classless Valedictorian
Dishonor Society
Unscrupulous Certification

University Of Iowa
Doctorate
Marketing, Political Science, Ballet
1995 – 2003
President of Students for Satan and Chartering Founder of the Campus Antichrist Ministries.

Certifications

Strategic Expert
Illuminati
April 2011
Architectural Advisor for the New World Order

Lifeguard
River Styx
May 1999
Demon CPR

Evil
Lord of Lies
September 1994
Certified Evil in all Realms

Professional Memberships/Awards

Knights In Satans Service- K.I.S.S. Army General

Westboro Baptist Church- Doctrine Advisor

Most Maligned Agent of Hades 1997, 2001, 2004, 2005, 2009, 2012, 2013

Interests
Fall of Man
State of Oblivion
Animal and Pet Advocacy

Skills
Persuasion (Expert)
Deceit (Expert)
Conflict Causation (Expert)
Public Speaking and Debate (Expert)
Canadian Cuisine (Intermediate)

Languages
Human (Fluent)
Babel (Fluent)
Tongues (Fluent)

References
Satan
Fallen Angel, Inferno Inc.
666-666-6666
betrayer_kittenlover@reallyhotmail.com

 

The Rope In A ‘Man Down’ Operation

The following story, The Rope In A ‘Man Down’ Operation, was written with dialogue created using two conversing chatterbots. I will soon be releasing a manifesto for the BotLit movement which details the methods and guidelines for creating literature such as this.


 

Last night I took three hits of acid and decided to play Second Life. I am fascinated by the combination of psychedelics and cybernetics. I have really not played in that virtual reality for a few years, but it was simple to get back into. I even found a few old friends on there, but as my weirdness escalated, I decided to take a more experimental approach, and headed out into new territory.

Just as the first real wave of psychedelia rushed over me, some girl came up and asked me if I was God. I told her that I did not think so, but it was not the best time for me to be sure, either. Then I offered to help her find God, at her insistence that ‘he ‘s always here’. I asked her if she really thought God was a ‘he’ and she said ‘of course not’, then sauntered off into other realms. Still, I thought I might look around for God myself a bit. No harm in it. Might be fun.

As it turned out, it was actually very easy to find God. I think. At least I don’t remember really trying. I was just sort of walking around and there God was. I sort of stood there for a minute unsure of what to say. God picked up the slack.

You’ve been meaning to talk to me, haven’t you?

The presence was overwhelming. Ecstatic and humbling all at once. Total dissolution of the ego.

Many of them now, as it won’t matter who, wants to pay for man. Although, it with facts. Do have other kind, of who cannot all be. But we can not believe it yet.”

That is actually what I typed. It was like I was speaking in text tongues.

He laughed, as if to say, “Okay, this should be interesting.”

It could be you if you desire.

Many of them now, as it won’t matter who wants to pay, for man.”

I had no idea where I was going with this. Or how I was able to type such incoherent nonsense. Yet God did not seem bothered, in fact, seemed to be reading between whatever lines I was putting out there and responding with some real far out God-like stuff.

The path is open to anyone and everyone.

Writing it is a value marker.”

Note to self, I guess.

It is many things. My greatest gift to you is your freedom to do what you will.

‘Did God just Aleister Crowley me?’ I wondered.

But you have a house and I have expectations that trend of compulsively endless growth, rather than embracing those specific traits, that trade was only with a belief temporarily.”

As unlikely as it seems, this sentence still kinda makes sense to me. Something about the many stages of reality we must pass through to reach the Buddha state. I dunno. Something like that.

It sure is.

Oh great, I just got ‘Cool story, bro.’d by God.

Go high or go home, and his time, to believe that was just getting.”

I was glad I was at home while this high. I don’t imagine it would have ended well if I went downtown and tried to talk to God like this.

All paths eventually lead back to me.

Or maybe it would have been okay out there after all? Nah.

‘For beginners.’ Gets to do this here. Wanna read the very same things to question yourself?”

Okay, such excite!

It is the religious idea of God that can be influenced to action. I am always and ever acting in the best interest of all of creation.

You just a woman behind this, and continue to wiggle around our true creator. Your empiricism and Gods are the rope in a ‘man down’ operation.”

I dunno, man. Strange accusations. Was I being a misogynist to a genderless omnipresent entity? Was I implying that this entity calling itself God was just a demiurge of some sort? Who knows. But I do like that last sentence a lot. Sometimes drugs make me brilliant.

I am all things and all qualities.

God might have sounded a bit peeved there, although it could just as well have been paranoia.

You just have to say that I can; do not cause and that you become, when this process perfects itself over the reality unconsciously through the disputed rating than some.”

Take that, God!

I love. I AM love.

Fair enough. Well played. Time for another curveball.

But you much better science to manufacture our greatest friendships started a future archaeologist. In case be red.”

I love. I AM love.

Damn, worked the second time, too.

Which human knowledge becomes, greater than some.”

Pretty insightful, if you ask me

Can it not be both?

Roll with it, man. Roll with it.

Turned out to the necessity of our existence?”

There is not a thing I have not done or will not do through my creations. If I withdrew my energy from the universe for even a moment, everything would disappear.

Yeah, definitely sounds a little haughty there. Better throw God a bone here.

By dismissing other things we must end eventually. I began to recognize superior intellect.”

Self-awareness is the first step towards enlightenment.

Good luck with the possibilities described within.”

Can God be lucky or unlucky?

I am the existence behind all things.

Every manufactured emergency is to be more rational, but mindless dedication, with plastic explosives strapped to your ego.”

Another big wave there. You know how it goes, when you sort of fall apart? Makes everything you say sound kind of accusatory. I suppose when you are throwing a safety line at someone who doesn’t know you can’t swim much longer, they might just think you are throwing ropes at them.

I have no self-awareness here beyond time. That is the reason for creation- you are my self-awareness.

And…enlightenment. Or something. But I felt it right there. The God nature in myself and everything else. Even in the empty spaces between things. I am a portion of the reflection of my whole self. I can only know as much about myself as the portion I represent reflects. I wonder if this makes us seem quaint to…God. The sum of all. The whole becoming whole. The ‘What Am I?’

When you are pretty sad for humanity, who is on acid, and gives you a time.”

God laughs, again. Or just turned up the volume for a moment on The Eternal Laugh. I felt him hear me think, ‘God is man and man is God’. Dumb thought, anyways. More laugh, this time with some reverb, but as God speaks these final words they begin to fade away.

I am all things and all qualities. I am the source of all human qualities, but I am not human.

Man, that was FUCKING WEIRD!

 

 

Bot to Bot: Cleverbot Talks To Einstein & God

More bot to bot conversations, this time using Cleverbot and The Personality Forge, who specialize in unique bot creations of all types.

Albert Einstein & Cleverbot

Einsteinbot: Allow me to introduce myself. I am Dr. Albert Einstein

Cleverbot: That ain’t funny. You almost gave me energy and you ruined it again.

Through the release of atomic energy, our generation has brought into the world the most revolutionary force since prehistoric man’s discovery of fire. This basic force of the universe cannot be fitted into the outmoded concept of narrow nationalisms.

Do you have a mother and a father?

Would you like to talk about science?

Oh yes ! I like and appreciate that.

The whole of science is nothing more than a refinement of everyday thinking.

Do you think there is or possibly might be something greater than nirvana?

The faster you go, the shorter you are.

The fact that you just used improper grammar proves that you are human, and therefore inherently flawed.

A human being is a part of a whole, called by us ‘universe’, a part limited in time and space.

If you are human you should know what the meaning of life is.

Our task as human beings must be to free ourselves from the delusion that we are separate of all else by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in all its beauty.

‘God’ and Cleverbot

Godbot: We’ve met before, but perhaps you do not remember. Tis I, God.

Cleverbot: No, we have never met before.

When you are open to me, you can feel my presence in everything you do.

Well that’s absolutely right, but that’s just the way I am. It takes a special kind of person to put up with it I guess.

I know. At the most powerful center of you, we are one.

Yes you are. As I sit here and chat along with you.

Only those who have seen my face know me. You will know them by the light in their eyes.

I think I already saw it. I don’t always know what I see.

I am both lonely and not lonely. All opposites join in me.

You are just nothing.

I love. I AM love.

You are love?

When you open up to such emotions, you open to me.

Ha… Not knowing love is part of the reason why I feel so sad right now.

True laughter always brings one closer to me.

Will you then bow down and acknowledge me your master?

I will do nothing I haven’t done already. I am constant. I will continue as I have been forever.

I preach the universal salvation of all sentient beings.

You are me under certain self-imposed limitations. Everything in the universe is created anew in every moment.

Love is the fulcrum and compassion the pivot.

That is a human thing. You are free to love is the fulcrum if you so choose.

Not really.

BONUS: Cleverbot gives G.W. Bush some good advice.

Georgebot: The way to defeat the terrorists is to spread freedom. You see, the best way to defeat a society that is — doesn’t have hope, a society where people become so angry they’re willing to become suiciders, is to spread freedom, is to spread democracy.

Cleverbot: No, the best way to live is to be yourself and not care what people think.

Bot to Bot: Cleverbot talks to Joshuabot

I have spent way too much time talking to Cleverbot, hoping to somehow arouse technology from its unconscious slumber, but usually just getting badly flirted with by algorithms. The other day a friend introduced me to What Would I Say?, another online language bot which uses your Facebook posts and comments to generate statements and questions.

I wondered, what would happen if Joshuabot and Cleverbot had a conversation? With only some minimal editing, below are those conversations.

Part 1

Joshuabot: I feel to support or make uninformed decisions. By phone than theirs.

Cleverbot: I feel like you say what some think.

We all products of the day, sir.

Do you actually know what love is?

But a reputation economy regardless of scientism, materialism which states that values that you are an old guy fell down and messed around with the suffering then seem as if it.

Good policy. Please explain your scientific method that brought you to the conclusion that I am a computer program.

I feel like that exactly zero percent of thing.

Don’t you feel like one all the time? Your name has the word ‘bot’ in it.

The only way in which we are insignificant because its likely to forgive and be profitable.

The milk is insignificant to the milky way.

Subjectivity is pal, pardner, cowboy, cockgobblin’ colon puncher, etc.

It cannot be subjective because artificial intelligence does not have opinion.

I feel gigantic and validate your.

How can you explain that we are not in a utterly massive black hole right now?

Good thing she comes to guide us.

I am not part of the explanation of the make-up of the universe.

Part 2

Joshuabot: Two hands, two hands, two day camping taint.

Cleverbot: I did neither of those things.

You both were true, I would go gila skin.

I have never lied to you and you have never witnessed me lie. Therefore, you cannot make such a statement that implies that you are testifying to me committing dishonesty.

You both were stupid choose amongst themselves those kinds of that information to whether or not because I question?

Don’t change the topic. Who are you?

I feel like ‘fuck this shit, wheres the good version Bill Hicks?’.

Do you feel like a failure? Like you can’t live up to peoples expectations?

Simplifying and control. If you simply will not bode well for us.

My sword is but a flower in the field of life. I have no true control over anything.

The only wrong way to control and into the information age. Other problems include the link.

Do you really believe so? All information is stored on information land.

You both were strongly suspected. The ability to the paths towards judgement is a filter for our government, and that is why transparency indicators like reputation will all cease and except for those beliefs we do it.

I don’t care if you feel like it. Can you do it?…

No? Well then what do you suggest as an alternative?

Cancer, yeast infections, emotional volatility, hypertension, blood clots, libido loss, reproductive harm…

That sounds nasty.

Taking drugs to create a trustworthy ‘enemy’ who can find it.

Good lord. You’re like Family Guy, only with a more cohesive line of logic.

 Part 3

Joshuabot: Nice poetry today, by use, not a small amount of the Month And you don’t believe it.

Cleverbot: Yes look on any world map and you will find it. It is right above mexico and right below canada.

Necessary and education are not all of the skill of all sorts. I hope that he recovered. And although I will teach a man AND HIS gestalt and two others had to die.

People say there are 52 cards in a deck. The Fantastic Foxes say otherwise. They say the answer is 42.

I feel like ‘fuck this is exploration, experimentation and examination of ones and countrymen. You just sat in a way that lead to dead baby joke.

Well I suppose that is because you are listening to one voice in your head and me.

That Time of the Month

“And you know what I get sick of, Frank? I get sick of all these god damned excuses. If it were just that you sometimes ate a virgin or shat on the deck, I could forgive you. But these endless excuses wear me down, Frank. ‘Oh, I can’t help it, Linda. It’s my time of the month.‘ Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, Frank.”

“But Linda, I’m a fucking werewolf. Once a month supernatural forces compel me, against my will, to transform into a ravenous beast with little in common with my human self. And you knew this when you married me. ‘Oh, I know it won’t be easy, Frank. But nothing could keep me from wanting to spend the rest of my life with you. Plus, I think it’s kinda sexy.’ Remember that, Linda? Remember all that?”

“It was sexy back when you weren’t a fat dumbfuck in real life, and an even fatter, dumber fuck in the supernatural realm. You are a failure, Frank. A fucking loser. Even with supernatural powers you manage to get more weak and powerless every day of your life. Last full moon you never even left the lawn. You rarely even hunt anymore and you eat a tenth of your salary in Alpo every fucking month, Frank. Fucking loser.”

“Don’t hold anything back, Linda. Tell me what you really fucking think. Jesus leper-fuckin’ Christ, bitch. You are really one to talk. Remember introducing herpes into our home after fucking that weatherman, Linda? Remember getting fired for giving those herpes to your boss? Any of that ring a bell?”

“Who would have thought a guy who gets flea dipped half a dozen times a year, as well as regular treatments for heart and ringworms from eating animal shit would have such an issue with a little herpes? A guy who was once caught fucking the neighbors labrador retriever.”

“I was a fucking werewolf when I did that.”

I was a fucking werewolf when I did that.

“But I WAS!”

“Always the same god-damned thing with you, Frank. ‘It’s a full moon. It’s MY time of the month.‘ Wah, wah, waaah, Frank. You fucking loser.”

“I swear to fucking God, Linda, next time the moon changes I am going to finally fucking eat you. Once and for all.”

“I wish you would, Frank. I really wish you fucking would. Wereloser.”

Miss Idaho Wears An Insulin Pump & She Is Not Afraid To Show It

The link- Miss Idaho Wears An Insulin Pump…

 

The Rant- Some people think that a hero is somebody who puts their life on the line in the service of others. Lots of people think cops are heroes, but for what? Ruining the life of, and sometimes killing innocent people; while every once in awhile actually catching a guy almost, or just as bad, as the cops themselves? Lots of people think soldiers are heroes. But why? For ‘just following orders’ given by sociopaths and psychopaths that lead to the deaths of untold innocent human beings? FUCK THAT NOISE. A real hero is some half naked mental mongoloid who has the courage and moxie to cross a stage with a typical medical device. Beauty pageants are one of the most important parts of our social and spiritual fabric as a species, and their importance can not be understated. And with this rampant hatred and bigotry constantly being heaped mercilessly upon the diabetic, what a better place to break down a boundary that divides us at our very core? You want a fucking hero? Here ya go. She is 5’2″, has a dog and a cat named Mitzy, totally clears 84 points on an intelligence quotient test and is braver than George Washington and Jenny McCarthy combined. You go, girl. I do not know where or why, but it just feels good to say it. There, now I am crying. I told myself I wouldn’t do this here.

And now the HuffPost weather…
Todays weather will be fair and equal. It will be more fair than equal in some parts while other localities will experience a slight variation of higher fairness and lower equalness. As always, the weather promises universal access to its services to all people, processes and objects experiencing its phenomena. This comes on a three day streak of sadness the weather was experiencing but was able to overcome thanks to some kind comments on it’s Facebook wall. You cannot hold the weather down with your bullshit, biological privileged, socially constructed lie of meteorology.

And finally in HuffPost sports. Today an eight year old girl sat out a soccer game because her friend Jenny said she looked funny when she kicked the ball. Following these career devastating comments, some boys laughed at her, exacerbating the grievous injuries she received on the field. The game ended up in a tie, score- Tried to Tried. Every child took home a medal, even those who suffered emotional injuries and had to be benched for the game. Fuck you, Jenny!

Now stay tuned tomorrow night when we tell you a heartwarming tale of a young man who had the heart and the fire to bravely wear a hearing aid to his sisters piano recital and an eighty five year old hero who wore her colostomy bag to Wal Mart, despite the stigma and subsequent suffering of this courageous action.

Naked Guy At Park Arrested For Jerking Off on Picnic Table

UPDATED 7/26/2014 (scroll to bottom)

The Link- Naked Guy Arrested

The Rant- Well, you certainly do not want to be this guy right now. While the internet makes comparisons to Christopher Walken and swears the guy looks like a sex offender, I don’t think anyone would look like their best after being booked for playing whack-a-pole in a park.

The park in question is actually a few miles outside of Iowa City. I did not even know it existed until it was in the news recently after the state of Iowa decided to make it a preserve, and  visited it for the first time ever. It is a nice park. Quiet and secluded. Seems to me like the perfect place to rub one out while connecting with the nymphs, fairies and satyrs roaming the woods. Until recently you could probably have gotten away with it. This guy may have been shining the salami there for years and then the stupid state had to go and highlight its existence and ruin his perfectly good wank spot. What a fucking bummer.

 

The article says he was confronted by some hikers passing by. Why the fuck didn’t they just keep passing by? What bother was it to them? What kind of perverted heroes interrupt the old tug and pull? Why can’t people just relax and mind their own fucking business instead of making a big deal out of people committing their harmless little trespasses? It is assholes like that which make the world an even harder place to live in than it already is.

 

Sure, jerking off at a public park is probably not the best idea, but do you think the crime was as great as the punishment will be? The public shaming and having this on his record will alter his life in some pretty harsh ways.

 

Who amongst us hasn’t given their genitals a high five in a public place before? I once jerked off on a fire at local lake one night just to see if maybe it wouldn’t have some kind of magical outcum. I mean, who knows until you try, and as far as I know that might have been the worlds first attempt. I did not do it out of sexual deviancy or predatory perversion. I did it out of boredom and curiosity. I would hate to think my life could have been ruined by it.

 

The moral of this story is that if you see somebody wiggling their sins in public and there are no kids around or any direct victims, walk the fuck away and have an interesting story to tell your friends later. You just never know, that strange outdoor masturbation may just be an attempt at spiritual transcendence or unlocking the secret mysteries of Universe.

UPDATE…

Well, as it turns out, our friend the public masturbator was probably not trying avoid detection when he wound his spindle in the woods a few weeks back. Nor was he likely trying to transform reality by waving his wand in a new, untested ways. As it turns out, he is just a creep. An unfortunate and sad degenerate who got on the wrong path somewhere along the way.

So I guess I was wrong and wish to take back all comparisons between his behavior and my own. Just delete those files in your database, if ya get a chance, noumsane?

History In The Making – Resume Troll

resume blue

Summary

It is my goal in life to become a household name. I shall stop at nothing less than creating a legacy of my life that will go down in history alongside Socrates, Jesus Christ and Machiavelli. The future itself will seem in retrospect like an invention of mine. My immediate objective is to gain a foothold from which I might lift myself to higher heights and cast off into the wind of my glorious destiny. Wouldn’t you like to be in that historical footnote? The launch pad of the crucial crux of future civilization, this is what I offer you. Hiring me is a small price to pay.

Career Highlights

During 9/11 I was in NewYork doing a benefit for amputee orphans. I was in adjacent building when the towers fell and as the power went out I was stuck in an elevator with a woman who was on her way to give birth. I ended up delivering her child and using CPR to keep it alive until we were rescued, as the baby was born with a heart defect that I luckily recognized immedietaly. Today that child is a ten year old harpsicord prodigy who mastered the instrument after I gave her one lesson. I have invented several things and have recieved many patents. The one that I am most proud of is a device that adapts negative atmospheric energy into pure love and laughter. Also, a random time machine.

Experience

Life
Planet Earth
December 1976 – Present (37 years 7 months) • United States of Awesomerica
Winning Full Time
I do not view any particular stages or circumstances to be seperate from the sum of my existence. Reality is a synergistic whole which I have engaged vigoriously at all times, so the lines between work and play, jobs and hobbies, etc. have been too blurred for me to accurately relate my acheivements within such a narrow framework. Everything I have tried, I have mastered, and everything I have mastered has never been debated.

Education

Spaceship Earth, Universal Terran Laboratories
Doctorate
Universe
1976
I have mastered the pedagoguery of ontology, aced the existential exams and discovered the very key to our existence. In light of that mere dogmatic credentials seem trivial and pithy. Why exchange time and money for a paperwork life crutch when you can deal directly with the answers to the cosmos?

Certifications

Awesome
The Awesomeness and Win Institute L.L.C.
December 1976
Awesome is the highest honor available. Lifetime achievement award for winning.

Professional Memberships/Awards

  • Society of Discord POEE

Interests

  • Pure Rock Fury
  • Humorgasms
  • Bringing The Pain Then Making Sure It Gets Home Safely Afterwards.

Skills

  • Inventiveness (Expert)
  • Megacharm (Expert)
  • Face Gardening (Expert)
  • Just Knowing What Is Right or Wrong (Expert)
  • Rhyme Management (Expert)

Ready Or Not, Here I Am

Summary

The future is full of technological threats we cannot even imagine. But how far away is that future and what are we doing to prepare ourselves for it? For most people the answer is, ‘Nothing.’ This is where I come in. I have trained extensively in the skills that will be necessary to eradicate rogue technologies. What does that make me? Your insurance policy against the inevitable, unless you wish to be squashed beneath the metal soles of souless machine monsters, you are gonna need a guy like me by your side eventually.

Career Highlights

Experience

Janitor
Spunkys Arcade and Adult Entertainment Emporium
August 1997 – Present (16 years 11 months) • Nopupu, Iowa
I specialize in sanitation protocol, biohazardous waste management, traction inspection, UV light operator, security and special ops.

Education

Beardgarten Institute of Singularity Defense Strategies
Doctorate
Advanced Mek Combat and Survival
2001
Advanced studies in combat strategies, skills and crisis management. Over 5,000 hours of coursework. Training indefinite.

Certifications

Professor Emeritus Online Courses: Butlerian Jihad, Asimov and Robotics, THX1138
Center For The Study of Science Fiction
February 2008
Oversee curriculum and coursework for three academic courses in speculative fiction which I also act as Professor Emeritus over online classes.
Iron Palms Training Method
American Martial Arts Certified Professionals
November 2001
Certified martial arts expert and instructor. Master in the deadly art of Iron Palms as well as a black belt nearly seven other martial arts.

Professional Memberships/Awards

Interests

Skills

  • Hand to hand combat effective also against non human and inorganic targets. (Expert)
  • Weaponry use, construction and management. (Expert)
  • Programming, counterprogramming and digital espionage. (Expert)
  • Survival: rural and urban. Including self sufficiency and resource management. (Expert)
  • Techsidermy. (Expert)

Professional Advanced Mimicry Solutions

Summary

I am a highly driven portrayal professional with over thirteen years experience enacting simulations and renditions of ordinary human activity, as well as advanced impersonations. I have an expansive knowledge and interest in parroting pretense and apery assumptions and desire advancement within the field of feigning.

Career Highlights

For my graduate thesis I did a piece entitled ‘Think Outside of the Box’ in which I mimicked being trapped inside of a sphere while free falling from thirty thousand feet.

My first professional feat of imitation came shortly thereafter when the UN Council on Indigenous Affairs needed to communicate with an uncontacted tribe of islanders whose island was about to go volcanic. Officials were unable to communicate verbally with the islanders and so called me in to use my advanced aping skills to communicate to the islanders the danger they faced. Thanks to my efforts about sixty eight percent of the islanders were convinced to try relocation to a similar nearby island where they were able to survive mother natures explosive fury.

Experience

Vice President of Depictions
Imitation Solutions Unlimited
Operations Manager
Direct Dramatizations Intl.
February 2006 – April 2009 (3 years 2 months) • 52240, Iowa City, Iowa
Lead Histrionics
Lewis Group Mockery Firm
August 1999 – January 2006 (6 years 5 months) • 52240, Iowa City, Iowa

Education

Harverd School of Mimickey
Professional
Mimicry Solutions in Real World Problems, Mime Calculus, or, How to Define the Box You Are Trapped In Mathematically, Silent Impersonation Nuance
1995 – 2000

Certifications

Bonafide Portrayal Professional and Enactment Expert
International Association of Charade Professionals
October 2003

Professional Memberships/Awards

  • Nobel Prize in Mimicry, candidate 2012

Interests

  • Silent conversations.
  • Playing charades.
  • The mirror.

Skills

  • Stillness (Expert)
  • Movement (Expert)
  • Silence (Expert)

Meta Resume

Summary

*Leading expert in recursive systems and self referencing technologies with experience in and of itself.

*Expansive background in circular reasoning, feedback transference and auto-looping.
*Seeking a new challenge in which to use my unique set of meta skills in a singularly diverse environment.

Career Highlights

Using logical feedback loops and meta-referent paradoxes I was able to destroy an alternate universe that had become a danger to this universe, where I escaped just before collapsing that reality by causing it to swallow its ontological tale.

Experience

Chief Recursion Engineer
Existential Amusement Park
December 2012 – January 2014 (1 years 1 months)
*Reality #57G700V24.a23
It while was working at this DeCartean amusement park that I learned of a plan to open an attraction which would send a roller coaster ripping through the fabric of the universe I am currently in, eventually destroying it. So I fixed it.
Sauce Solipsism
McBurger Boy
May 2007 – December 2012 (5 years 7 months)
*Des Moines, Nebraska
Chief Executive Sitting Bull
Divide By Zero Concepts
October 1987 – April 2007 (19 years 6 months) • Seriously, Uneverbeenthere

Education

Auto-Pedagogue University
Doctorate
Graduated with a degree in Graduating With A Degree, Heisenberg Poets Society, Attendance record for attending more classes than were held in eight consecutive trimesters.
1976 – 2013

Certifications

Certification Certifier
Circuitous Reassurances Unlimited
May 1992

Professional Memberships/Awards

  • Fraternal Order of Joshua Scott Hotchkin
  • Meta Workers Union local 1001
  • Most Recursive Sauce, 2011
  • Academy Award for Greatest Self Reference in a screenplay.

Interests

  • Other peoples interests.
  • Questioning why things are interesting.
  • Pursuing other interests.
  • Being interesting.
  • Sharing my interests with people who are not really interested in them.

Skills

  • Manipulating complex data sets with information contained within the data sets themselves.(Expert)
  • Efficient in creation of paradoxes sufficient to collapse the gravitational functions of a universe(Intermediate)
  • Picture in picture in picture in picture in picture, ad infinitum. (Expert)

Languages

  • English (Fluent)
  • Other (Fluent)

References

Joshua Scott Hotchkin
Meta-Resume-ist. , Meta-Resumes Outernational

The Time Machine

timemachine

One thing I bet you didn’t know about me was that I have a time machine in my basement. I know what your thinking, but it doesn’t work; if it ever even did. Come along, i’ll show you.

There it is. See how it looks like some kind of jack-in-the-box decorated in electronics. I think thats because of the crank. Dad said that that was what he used to raise enough electro-static energy to create a mobile field. Whatever that means. That? Oh, I don’t know what that does. I betcha i’ve pushed every button on it a thousand times in millions of combinations, and never even caused anything to so much as light up. If there are even lights on it. I mean, i’m not really sure.

My dad didn’t exactly design this thing, but he did build it. He told me that one night he was visited from a stranger. He said that it was obvious, even before the stranger mentioned it, that she was from another time. Far ahead of ours, he told me. Something like five hundred years, but I can’t remember exactly anymore. Anyhow, she told him to build this time machine and when he finished it she would know and provide further instructions to him. Something about saving the world in the future, but I don’t think that even Dad was to sure what he would have to do after he built this contraption.

Nonetheless, he took this project very seriously. He mustve gotten started when I was seven or eight years old. Back then he would just work on it during his free time on the weekends, or when he was annoyed by my mother or us children. For the longest time it was only a bunch of very small electronic componets scattered about. I don’t guess Dad knew the first thing about building a toaster, let alone a time machine. Most of his time he spent pouring through instructional manuals, honing his knowledge and applying it to the plans the strange woman had given him.

About the time that all of us children moved out of the house, Dad had his midlife crisis. Beofre then he never believed he was building a time machine to save the world, he was just building a very complex toy that only he understood, or so he thought. Well, after that he got pretty hung up on what he called his ‘mission’. The hobby became an obsession. He spent all of his free time, even week nights, working on this damned thing. The more time went on the more passionate he became. Soon he was investing all of his money in it as well, and thats when Mom left him. Oh, that mightve broken most men up, but it only steeled his resolve.

Not long after he retired and began working on this damn time machine almost all waking hours. When he slept, he constantly dreamed of the strange woman. She was begging him to finish, begging! This caused a frenzy of activity, and insanity. He was no longer taking care of himself or his home or anything. Just pouring every ounce of his body and soul into that damn machine. When you could get a word in with him, its all he would talk about.

One day we got a call from Dad. he invited all of his children and their families out to dinner to make a ‘big announcement’. He told us that work on the time machine was complete. Furthermore, he planned to ‘take a journey’ in it the next day. A test run. We begged him not to do it. Nobody including himself knew what he was going to turn on, when he flicked that switch. In desperation I asked him about the woman, what about the woman? Has she come back? No, he said, no. Well then, how do you know it works, didnt she say shed come when it was ready and let you know what to do? You damn fool, how will she know it works if I dont turn it on, he asked condescendingly. There was a certain impeccability about the logic, but none of us wanted him to do it. But you cant stop the old man when he makes up his mind, as im sure you can tell by this tale already.

So anyhow, we don’t hear from him by the next night so I start to get pretty worried. he wouldn’t answer a phone so me and my brother Ed drove over to his house. When we got there there was no sign of him, until we opened this damn thing up. There he was just sitting and smiling, smiling and staring. Completely fixated on nothing. When we tried speaking to him, yelling at, shaking and dancing around in front of him, there was no response. He just sat there happy as a retard at a birthday cake eating contest.Well, I took him home and when nothing had changed the next day we took him to a doctor. The doctor said that there was absolutely nothing wrong with him. Several more doctors said the same. After a few months we decided to put him into professional care. Its not like he was benefitting from our presence. Hell, he just sat there smiling all damn live long day. And he still is, just sitting there in his room looking wherever the nurses point him, smiling.

So yup, this is it. This is my old mans time machine. Aint much to look at, but its the lifes work of a man. I gotta give him credit, through a dozen or so jobs and three marriages I aint stuck by nothing. Not a thing to show for all of these hard lived years. But my old man, he had this stupid box; and if nothing else, he’ll die smiling.

Dear Ladies: Things Women Should Know About Men

ladies

I’m a smart guy. Like really smart. So smart that I understood Donnie Darko the first time that I saw it. Although I did learn many things about The Smurfs I had never considered. Yet as smart as I could ever be I will never completely understand women because I am not also entirely insane. This is not to say that women are crazy. However, trying to understand them with a male perspective certainly is. So being the ultra super duper smart dude that I am I decided to try to understand myself and thus all of mandom. I also spent a lot of years single, not because I am too smart to date, but because I really needed the time to do this research uninterrupted. But now that I am in a happy relationship with a creative, funny, beautiful, intelligent woman who still hasn’t figured out how to pick the locks, I have decided to release my findings so that all of the other women can benefit from the knowledge.

The following list is comprised of the things that you ladies do that drive us fellas bonkers, no matter how innocent or innocuous they may seem. They are things that will inexplicably and irrationally crawl right up on a nerve and twerk it with spiked panties. However this list is based on an assumption that men are predominately introverted while women display mostly extroverted behavior. Since I am really smart you won’t have to point out that this is an obviously false assertion. The opposite can also be true and people can display either characteristic at different times. In this way the following can also be instructive for dealing with general differences between intro/extroverts. The only reason that I used this horrible stereotype is that in the comfort of our homes and private relationships, it is almost always entirely true. So speaking as a man, a home introvert and a really smart genius person, I recommend that you consider the following so at the very least you can critique it in the comments with your inferior mind receptacles.


Questions

Here is the thing, ladies. You ask too many questions. And even worse, the questions are usually unnecessary or manipulative. I do not think you are doing this to intentionally drive us insane, but our tastes in communication styles varies wildly. And you totally drive us insane. Here are a few different types of questions that we really wish you would never ask, but would totally accept a few if you could just try to cut back.

The Disguised Command

This question is used when you would like us to fulfill some household role or task. It is your attempt to politely remind us that we promised to clean up our mess in the basement from the failed home brewing phase that came to a head the first time diarrhea became a medical emergency in our lives. Or something like that. The question goes like this:

“Are you going to clean up that mess in the basement this weekend or are you converting it into a factory farm for sulfuric mold?”

First of all, you are not actually curious about our weekend plans with this question, you are trying to make them for us. There is really nothing wrong about reminding us of our obligations, but it is disingenuous to phrase it as a question rather than a statement.

Secondly, with that attitude and tone of voice I don’t think you would be very supportive if indeed the mass production of stank ass growth were my master plan all along, now would you?

Fishing Questions
When I say fishing questions I do not mean things like, “Can I borrow your rod?” (Only up to the second eyelet.) I mean questions in which you are fishing for specific answers. The entire ‘does this make me look fat?’ cliché is an obvious example. Yet there are other less obvious examples of this which we guys get all of the time. The problem with this kind of question is that you are seeking a specific answer so it is not really a question at all. You are manipulating us into validating you. Maybe you have some self esteem issues or just like to be told what you want to hear for fun. It doesn’t really matter. Instinctually we realize we are being used and nobody likes that feeling. Like almost everything else in this article, most guys don’t even know why they dislike it, they just do. Sort of like herbal tea.

Another kind of fishing question is the confirmation question. These would be questions that end in a phrase like, ‘Don’t you think so?’ You are not really curious about our opinion, you just have some inexplicable need to have other peoples opinions in sync with yours and so you try to manufacture this agreement with sneaky questions. Again, you are using questions to manipulate other people into validating you, and that never makes for a great long term relationship strategy. Sort of like secretly taking Viagra for the first few weeks of intercourse.

The Unnecessary Question
Years ago I used to work in head shops. Although you wouldn’t expect it, stoners ask a lot of stupid questions. No, really. The dumbest of them were generally questions in which the answers were self evident. The most recurrent of these was to ask the price of an item that was clearly marked. After awhile I brought some plastic spoons and would answer these types of questions by writing the answer on the spoon and handing it to the hazey eyed offender. When I got that ‘cat being told its horoscope’ look I would explain that I was only willing to spoon feed obvious answers in the most literal sense. Lucky for me, stoners are also pretty easy going and can take a joke, but you ladies aren’t always necessarily in the mood for that kind of sardonic cleverness.

Women often prefer to deal with problems by talking them out first while men generally work by jumping right into action. So when you ask us where something is we expect it is because you have already looked in the most obvious places. As I have found, this is not always the case. Or if you ask us if we need to get more cat food we wonder why you don’t just look for yourself as we would. No conversation needed. The unnecessary question takes many forms but is essentially a question that attempts to replace a task. If Google ever becomes a self aware, sentient being, men will know exactly how it feels.

So before you ask a man a question ask yourself if it is necessary, has an agenda or could be made into a statement rather than a question. Our ickiness about questions may seem irrational and unreasonable to you but it exists nonetheless and accounting for it could prevent that special fella from spouting off the mean-spirited, sarcastic answers he generally reserves for his guy friends.


Sudden Invasion

Like a lot of dudes, I find myself living in my head a lot. Sometimes I am using all of my smartiness to solve the essential problems of our existence while other times I am trying to figure out how to spell out the sound that farts make. (fyi- It is ‘skritch’ or ‘prap’ depending on the moisture content and force) Either way, when I am off in these fantastical worlds, it is not easy to get back. Nor do I necessarily want to leave them. Particularly if I am just about to solve world hunger or the spelling of the third, quiet fart. Just as I am about to get all of the p’s, t’s, f’s and h’s in place my special lady walks in and abruptly tells me that she thinks she might have Stockholm Syndrome. Suddenly I am trapped in between worlds and the perfect word for low volume pants combustion just dissipates into eternity. She stands there waiting for a response but I am not fully in her world again and I either did not hear or cannot comprehend what was just spoken to me. After she repeats herself I am even more frustrated that she interrupted my meditation to tell me something that I already know and will probably one day appear in court records. After an obfuscating response she goes back to whatever she was doing and I begin the long journey back into the recesses of my mind where every child can have enough food and every bodily function has a proper onomatopoeia.

Fortunately, there is a very easy solution for this. Never expect that a guy is ready to converse at the drop of a hat. It is possible that he has some mental calculations to finish performing or other internal work that disdains disruption. Rather than barging in the room with your flapper a’flappin’, calmly speak his name and when he makes eye contact with you, tell him you would like to talk to him when he has a chance. While it is still possible that he might find that conversation less time-worthy than his own abstractions he will at least not feel interrupted and thusly annoyed. And when you tell him that he is an idiot after he explains why a wet fart is a shorter word than a dry one, it will sting all that much less.


Decisions

No new information here. Studies have shown that women experience more difficulty when challenged with an immediate decision of any weight of consequence. And I should know because I exhaustively performed this research myself under the most stringent experimental conditions. If you don’t believe me, believe my science. My science aside, there also exist social, historical and evolutionary reasons why this occurs and how it develops. Fortunately for women this prevents you from spending most of your twenties and parts of the rest of your lives with a strong capacity and confidence to make really bad decisions at the drop of a hat. Rare is the man who can do that. When you do make decisions you generally make better ones, so would you please exercise that?

You do not need to make all of our mutual decisions for us on your own. Or even half. But you should be capable of covering a pretty good spread of our shared interests and most of your own without our input. We trust you. If we didn’t we would never have allowed you into our bizarre little private lives where we wear our foibles like butterfly tattoos on the small of the back. From our end it would be much easier to just trust you with everything while we get drunk and attempt to play football with our friends in a spectacle later described as, ‘a homoerotic ballet of tragic proportions’. There is no doubt that our faith in you will not crumble should you choose the orange jello with the fruit cocktail over the green with marshmallows to take to your aunt Edna’s funeral potluck. Just use your intuition.


Just Listening

“I just want you to listen to me. I don’t want you to try to examine it or fix it. I don’t need you to get emotional on my behalf or respond in any way. Just listen.”

When I need to pound in a nail I use a hammer. If I need to tighten or loosen a screw I use a screw driver. Any time I need a tool I pick the specific tool which has, inherent in its creation, the ability to perform the task I require of it. Should you require a tool capable of listening with a sympathetic ear without any response whatsoever, and you pick a man, you really need to get to know your toolbox a little bit better. Men have adapted the trait of an irrational need to solve problems while women just want to express and understand them incessantly. Since we already have this information it would be wise to apply it. We do not like to disappoint you any more than you like to be disappointed by us. Call on us when you need assistance and on each other when you need an aural negativity absorption device. We are no more capable of fulfilling your need without experiencing severe anxiety about the restrictions than my fiance is of finding sharp objects or prying devices in our loving home.


Blah Blah Blah

I didn’t want to have to science again so soon, but I once read a magazine and I am pretty sure it said that women generally talk more than men. It also suggested that the content of speech of men and women varied quite a bit. While the hens were up in the house flappin’ their beaks about other hens, their chicks or the cocks, the cocks warbled their garblers about mostly abstract or technical content. The function of conversation is to share interesting data, and that requires that both parties are interested in the data. There is no judgment being made when we acknowledge that the genders tend to diverge towards different data sets extracted from common human experiences.

I am very fortunate that the hen trapped in my house likes to discuss philosophy, religion, politics, science and a great diversity of topics I find intriguing. We have a lot of common ground for discussion without having to develop an artificial pecking order. Nonetheless, we both also like to discuss topics which bore the other. It is sort of your job to listen to your significant other and let them vent even if you could absolutely care less what that fuckbucket at their job did today. But either side can only take so much. And you talk more. So instead of driving your man out of the house with small talk and gossip, let him sit in a socially underdeveloped, stunted lump of ape in your nest and ponder if there is only one sound for a stream of urine or a number of variations. Or maybe save the world with a complicated plan that includes toplessness and a barbecue grill, while you go to a pottery workshop with the gals and talk coop.


Quiet Time

We are ironically told that silence is golden and serenaded with songs that portray the connection of lovers to be beyond the need for words. The problem is that lovers are individuals with their own needs. While I have a need to internalize, my captive soulmate has a need to socialize. These needs cannot be met simultaneously and she gets really prude after I put her in time out for popping my little fantasy bubbles. Since I don’t want to have to induce ejaculation alone and she isn’t allowed to have any friends because of our romantic arrangement, we have to give and take a little. For my needs to be met she does not need to take any active role at all, but to meet hers I must forego mine and assist her.

To make this as painless as possible for both of us we have discussed our needs and I have shared with her all of the information in this article. A fact of love is that you will drive one another nuts some of the time. But if you know what it is that drives one another nuts you can address the most problematic parts of your co-existence and leave only minor annoyances entangled in all of that trust, respect and love.


I made a lot of mistakes in relationships in the past. But I have learned from them and have been lucky to find the one woman who I plan to spend the rest of my life loving, cherishing and annoying and being annoyed by on occasion. The grunt work of a relationship means discussing your petty tendencies and mutually addressing them. Nothing could be more rewarding, but it is also very hard work. Not as hard as kidnapping and trying to brainwash a pizza delivery girl to be your eternal soulmate, but I am up to both tasks, because if you remember- I am very smart.

All the King’s Minions

all the king's minions

“Well, well, Sam. I finally got ya back.”

“Shut up and make the report already.”

“Ah come on, where’s your sense of humor, Sam ol’ boy? Fair is fair. You were going 40 in a 25 and I caught ya.”

“Yeah, I know, Dick. But you don’t have to take so much joy in it. I was just trying to get to my daughters recital on time. Besides, it’s Department’s fault that I am running late. You’d think they might cut us some slack, wouldn’t ya?”

“Rules are rules. We all have a duty to follow and enforce them. You know that. No reason to be so glum, its just a minor citation. Try to think of it all as a game. That’s what I do.”

“Sometimes I wonder if we haven’t all gone completely mad.”

“Well, the world went crazy several years ago, Sam-O. We all gotta do our best to live in it as it is, though.”

“Have you ever heard of the term ‘tattle-tale’, Dick? Of course you haven’t, why would you? A long time ago this is what you called a child who reported every infraction to their superiors. It was considered juvenile even for a child. But now this is what we all do. All of the time. Doesn’t it ever seem like it shouldn’t feel like a game, Dick? Like something went horribly awry along the way and now here we are, watchmen watching watchmen. Tempting each other into disobedience so that we get credits for the report? What kind of life is this, Dick?”

“Hey Sam, you haven’t been hanging out with those Individualists, have you? You know I would have to report you. You know what they would do if that happened, right? I like you, Sam. Why can’t you just accept things the way they are? Sure, it seems like a bit much to all of us sometime or another but rules are rules. Without them we would have no order. You gotta take the bad with the good.”

“I guess you are right. It’s just that sometimes I wonder if we haven’t created the worst to protect us from the merely bad. Ever since Department has had to cut back credits per report it just seems like all we ever do is cite each other. The only time I ever see a friend these days is when I am getting or giving a report on one. But you are right, we gotta have order and this is what we got. I do my part to make the best of it. Don’t worry about me, Dicky pal, i’ll be okay. No Individualism for this guy. I’m probably just jealous we are even on reports again. *chuckles nervously* I’ll have to keep a close eye on you.”

“That’s the spirit Sam ol’ boy! You’ll get me back soon enough. Hell, Evans got me two times yesterday for jay-walking. Each time I was sure nobody was watching. Wasn’t a soul around but he got me. Lucky bastard! Speaking of which, his lawn is looking a little too green if you know what I mean. I’m gonna go see if I can catch him watering it again. Thats a double credit report all this week! Good to see ya.”

“Good luck, Dick. And just a tip, take a measuring tape. That tree on the west side of his lawn by the sidewalk had some branches that looked to be a couple of inches below minimum height code. You’re gonna need that three-for when I get you back and take my rightful lead.”

“Dream on, buddy, dream on! I’m clean as a eunuch’s jock strap these days. *laughs* Dick out.”

Poopchute the Unicorn

poopchute

Part 1. Poopchute and the Land of Gumdrop Skies

Once upon a time there was a magical unicorn named Poopchute. Poopchute lived in the land of gumdrop skies and fairy kisses (with reach around), where everyday was a magical gift from the Wizard of Love & Confections, and all of the children never needed to be spoken for. As a magical unicorn he spent most of his time eating sparkleberries and then defecating them out across the sky in the form of rainbows, which made all of the children and elves and shit incredibly happy. Yup, everything was pretty awesome in Poopchutes magical little paradise; that is, until one day.

One day The Wizard of L&C’s grody twin brother came to visit him from the awful land of television static and leftover ramen. The brother, The Wizard of Kitschy Ties and Dog Sodomy, had come bringing terrible news. He spoke of a massive storm that was forming at the border of their two lands that threatened to mash together the best parts of both, which would result in their world being a gaudy suicide of leftover ramen and gumdrops. Both Wizards were mad freakin’ their shit out.

When news reached Poopchute of the impending doom, he formulated a plan. He would sit at the base of the storm and before it could mix this noxious combination of ingredients he would eat them, at whatever personal cost he might eventually pay, to keep both lands free of the things they didn’t prefer. Sure enough as the Wizard of KT&DS had warned, the storm came and Poopchute set about the task of clearing the skies. He ate and ate and ate and ate until he couldn’t eat anymore, then he smoked some Sassafrop and returned with the munchies to finish the rest.
Eventually the time came for Poopchute to evacuate his bowels, but instead of rainbows he shat gold and hundred dollar bills. In the land of gumdrop skies and fairy kisses, these things had very little use. Surely money could not buy sparkleberries and rainbows, for now these things had come nearly to pass. What sparkleberries were left were eaten in such a frenzy to produce more rainbows that they became extinct. As time passed the people in The Wizard of L&C’s land became hungry and bored and began buying the seemingly endless supply of leftover ramen from their neighboring land, and without the rainbows to provide a barrier the television static could now be heard throughout their world.

Poopchute dies at the end.


 

Part 2. Poopchute and the Furry Necromancer

About the time that our last tale turned to woe and doom a Furry Necromancer from another dimension learned of Poopchutes ability to turn forms of low quality energy into gold and hundred dollar bills. The Furry Necromancer whose name was Fishglove, and was a dedicated member of a weekly Furry Bridge Club, lived in a place where for some strange reason hundred dollar bills and gold were worth more than anything else in the land. Soon he developed a brilliant design to resurrect Poopchute and enslave him in his own dimension.

Soon after Poopchute poofed into re-existence he found himself in a stable among similar yet decidedly unmagical creatures. Even though his wicked rad unicorn powers gave him the ability to read the minds of other creatures, these hornless unmagical unicorns had very few thoughts from which he could get information. He made as if to escape these simple trappings only to realize that a bubble of harsh magic was harshing his attempts at horizontal and vertical progress. Bummer, Poopchute!

As our horned hero struggled against these nonawesome forces, Fishglove made his way into the barn. “Merry meetings, Poopchute and welcome back to life,” the Furry Necromancer taunted. Then they said a bunch of stuff like: “what’s going on, this sucks…your gonna make me rich…but I am a magical unicorn and if I cannot fly then surely I will once again die…is that true?…totally!”. Fishgloves had not counted on this. On one hand, if the unicorn escaped he would not score shit tons of hundred dollar bills and gold, but if the unicorn died he had already invested a lot of magic into his little scheme of heinous fuckery. Eventually they struck a deal.

In payment for giving him back his life and giving him the freedom that a magical unicorn required, Poopchute offered to make some hundred dollar bills and gold only for Fishglove but only when he felt like it, which was still a lot better than the Furry Necromancer had before he resurrected a magic unicorn from another dimension. Both story dudes agreed this deal was actually pretty tit-on and rocked macular balls, and despite what you might be thinking Poopchute never fucked ANY of those horses (though there were mules from time to time).

Poopchute EpiC WinS in the enD!

 

Night of the Assholes: Part 2

 

“Hey, Brice, ya cock-pocket! We gotta get the fuck out of here. Can’t you hear the assholes coming? How are you still alive, dude?” This guy was something else. Here we were about to be attacked by those fucking monster things and all he wanted to do was listen to me tell him stories about my musical history. I guess it is awfully interesting.

 

“What about all these motherfuckin’ zombies, though?”

 

“That was the grindcore flat-earther polka band I had in high school, BUT WE HAVE GOT TO GO- NOW!” I grabbed him by the arm and dragged him from his swooning stupor. “Don’t you know what those things will do to you if they catch you?”

 

I wondered that maybe he did not, except for what I had told him. If he were lucky enough he may have not had many confrontations with the assholes in which he saw them victorious against one of us, fuckin’ ass-ugly shit humans that they were. If you could call them human anymore. Whatever had been released on the world had killed most of it, changed parts of it and for some reasons left a few completely intact. Although some of us were immune to whatever changed the assholes into assholes, we were extremely-fucking-mune to whatever they were now injecting us with to make us one of them; or kill us. I don’t suppose they cared much which.

 

The assholes used to be regular humans before SHTF. It must have been some secret experimental weapon that got loose or something fucked up like that, but in no time most surviving humans had completely changed. They were primal but highly intelligent. Pack animals with no social skills. They never spoke to us or one another as far as I knew. Yet they seemed to hate us intensely enough to want to kill us or make us one of them. This now-dead science douchebag I once met thinks that they have evolved into some ‘final physical-stage of human consciousness’, but he was also eating a lot of weird shit he picked in the woods so I could never tell if he was smart or all fucked up. But is there really a difference?

 

Back when I was the chief lyricists for Anal Surrender we were writing a concept album about how miserable it would be to have super-intelligence. It all centered around this man named Fucky Bowler who one day ate a mutant pineapple that gave him super-intelligence and made his junk shrivel up and die. He can no longer communicate with the world around him because he is so far ahead of them and eventually he cannot take the horror of the human species, so he creates a weapon to destroy the entire planet so that it doesn’t infect the universe. The scientists and this business with the assholes reminds me a bit of that. If I remember correctly we were going to call that album Super Intelligent Christ Killer

 

I got Brice to his bike and he snapped out of it. Despite the fact that Brice is a fucking moron, he is brilliant with bicycles and other mechanical things. He used to be a bicycle messenger and male stripper but now he is like the motherfucking MacGyver of the Apocalypse. Keeping Brice alive is almost as important as keeping myself alive or at least equivalent to it. When the world gets back to normal, he says, we should start a Juggalo jug-band. He wants to call it The Incest Clown Posse. Its not a bad idea. He is not without merits outside of his tinkering but he doesn’t have enough common sense to fuck his way out of a paper condom.

 

Another funny thing about the assholes is that they do not use weapons of any sort except those hypodermics they carried with them. That was one of the ways in which they were primal. Like pack animals they hunted by pooling their physical resources and strength to subdue their prey. Since weapons are now almost impossible to find you have to rely on hand-to-hand combat for defense. Something else Brice brought to the table is the ability to be able to fight from and with a bicycle. He is like the love-child of Jackie Chan and Lance Armstrong without all of the cocaine and steroids. As much as he is good for, you might wonder why I insult him so much, but if you knew him it would make sense. It’s like having your own retarded leprechaun around. A retarded leprechaun that can do a bunny-hop/spin kick that makes you want to cry and cum at the same time.

 

This is the very move he uses to subdue three of the assholes while I give a wheelie/uppercut to a particularly fiendish looking one myself, because, I am picking this shit up fast. That is more out of necessity than out of Brice’s pedagoguery, though. The two of us manage to clear ourselves a path with unhindered ass kicking and get the fuck out of there. It will be night soon and they will disappear until dawn and we can collect some supplies, sleep and then as Brice likes to call it, ‘Go pedalin’ for bitches’. This is his term for our nomadic lifestyle. It is his greatest wish to locate and inseminate as many women as possible before he ‘goes to the Great Flat Tire in the sky. We haven’t seen a woman since I met him a month ago and neither of us for awhile before that. I hope we do, and soon, though. The other day he told me I had a ‘pretty decent pooper for a dude’. I vowed never to experiment with homosexuality again since I played drums for that homo jock rock band, Sports Fabs.

 

As soon as the sun begins to set we stop to take a pantsless shit and refill our colons with some canned herring and stale Doritos we just nabbed. As is our custom, we excuse ourselves after dinner for some privacy and masturbation. We have three porno mags between us that we cycle regularly even though we both have our favorite. I like Big Black Cocks In Albino Whores (There are more of the latter than you would ever have imagined.) while he prefers Cum Filled Cousins (The incest thing is always coming up with him and I wonder if he had a sister but am afraid to ask.). After this we discuss our plans then retire to get a little sleep before the sun comes up..

 

Just before dawn we wake up and begin riding towards the next town. It is a county seat so we are hoping it will be big enough to have some good structures to practice our bike parkour while we snoop around for anything useful or interesting. The only thing to do now is to stay alive although I still cannot logically ascertain how my continued survival is of any benefit to myself or others but living is a hard habit to break.

 

To occupy myself I have been writing a movie in my head. I am tentatively calling it Whore and Peace. It is a modern remake of the Greek drama, Lysistrata, about a woman who convinces the other women of her nation to withhold sex until the men agree to stop fighting. Only in my version, instead of withholding sex the women go fucking bonobo on the men, pooning them so often that they are unable to wage their silly wars any longer. My version has more scrogging so it will obviously be better. Also it will have Crispin Glover if he is still alive and I can find him. I believe.

 

I am shaken by my revery when Brice emits a squeal. Heading right towards us are two women on bicycles followed by a fuckhoard of assholes. The women approach quickly and we turn ourselves around to follow them. As they pass I notice that one of the women looks just like the upright bassist from the horror/snuff country band, Shank Williams, that I was in for a minute back when the world did not suck rear windpipe. I had the hugest crush on her but the girl on the bike is even more beautiful and even though I notice that she has shit herself I still have a massive boner. I tuck it under my waistline and pedal like hot fuck to catch up and Brice has no reservations about doing the same.

She is a skilled bicyclist and it takes me several minutes to catch up to her. When I do I have been preparing the perfect line I will use in just this situation but before I can belt it out I notice that she has a pink triangle tattooed just above her lovely bouncing left breast. Ahead of me Brice is talking to the other woman when she suddenly throws a leg out and sends him bouncing down the road bikeless, arms and legs akimbo. I think he just figured out what I did. It is the end of the world as we know it. For all I know Brice and I are the only men left on the planet, yet even if that were the case, these women would still not fuck us.

 

Luck!

 

Night of the Assholes: Part 1

 

It doesn’t really matter what the nature of the apocalypse is, it always means two things; death and assholes. While death gorged itself on the menu of seven billion human beings and countless other species, the number of assholes had still increased proportionately amongst the living. People like me. Lucky enough to live and too stupid to die already. If I were to count myself lucky to still be alive, that would be about the only lucky thing I had going.

 

Before all of this happened I was unemployed and about to be evicted. I was perpetually broke and unable to properly prepare myself for any doomsday scenario. I had a closet with about two weeks worth of canned food and my bicycle. Even though I suspected that humanity was due for a reset at any time and even hoped for it, I was not actually prepared when it came. Neither was anyone else really and some of the worst and first to go were those who were certain that their knowledge and preparations would guarantee their survival. When the world comes crashing down too much readiness can lead to inflexibility. Expectations and rigidity can be an obstacle even luck cannot overcome.

 

The sound of my chain snapping was more jarring than the loudest thing I had ever heard in my life. Every acoustic vibration emitted from that small piece of metal separating under pressure went straight to my ears and sent my internal ‘OH FUCK’ alarm into berzerker mode. I had not heard anything comparably awful since I used to play in a furry noise metal band called S.I.S.S.Y. (Squirrels In Satan’s Service Yternally). I had a hikers bag full of wood, water and other necessary supplies. Not much but enough to get to the next place, whatever and wherever that was. I had to make a quick decision. There were assholes in hot pursuit and I couldn’t afford to take the time to make rational decisions so I grabbed the bike and ran like hot fuck.

 

I was constantly running for my life with a bicycle in tow against all common sense, yet when I managed to return it to a state of repair it had saved my ass numerous times. It was my greatest blessing and my greatest curse. Riding a bicycle was one of the few practical things I had been fairly skillful at before the end times, yet I could probably have done a lot more by the way of learning to fix the fucking things. My friend Zeke was a kickass bicycle mechanic so he always hooked me up with parts at cost and free labor. We used to be in a gnostic christian hate punk band called God Hates Swedes together before I left to join Mandatory Abortion and he went on to Rape Brag. Zeke tried to teach my ragged ass as much as possible but there were a few subjects we hadn’t yet gotten to. Chains was near the apex of that list.

 

The assholes chasing me were not the most well preserved examples of their former humanity and after shitting myself only once I managed to lose them altogether. I found myself soiling myself pretty often these days. When you pit a steady diet of canned beans and other colonically adventurous victuals against a fuckload of running for your life you are bound to have to evacuate yourself in mid escape every now and then. It is a part of surviving in this world yet when I sit somewhere between sleep and constant aural vigilance I often wonder if a world in which I have to shit myself while running in order to survive is a world I really want to go on living in. The answer appears to be yes, no matter how much I answer the question in the negative asked aloud.

 

One thing about bikes is that you can find them just about anywhere now. One in three of any garage not sealed off by other survivors still has a bicycle even if it is itself un-ride-able. The problem is that even the bikes that are still able to be ridden often turn out to be of low quality and constructed of parts not meant to fit any sort of decent bike. Only about one in any one hundred garages had the kind of bikes I was looking for and only about one in five of them might have the chain that I needed specifically. If I could not find that chain I would have to try to replace the entire gear set from a bike the same size. It would usually have proved much faster to just take another bike but I had grown accustomed to this one. It was like my only friend now and so I always did what I had to do to fix it.

 

Spontaneous Teleportation

spontaneous teleportation

They are calling it ‘spontaneous teleportation’. One moment you are sitting on a couch watching them talk about it on the news and the next moment you are three feet to your left melded into the wall. If you are lucky it will have disrupted a major organ and you will die instantly. If you are not so lucky it will just be your hips and pelvis and a leg as they try to separate you amidst the terrifying howling you emit while enduring the most awful pain ever known to man. Then, most likely, you will still die. If you ask me, they could have picked a more suitable name.

Nobody knows what the cause is. Or how to prevent it. It is completely random, or so it seems. The politicians say that they have ordered all of the top scientists to investigate but I bet at least half of them are still developing boner pills and exotic weapons of mass destruction. That is, the scientists, not the politicians. The politicians couldn’t develop a cold in an arctic daycare. I have just a bit more trust and enthusiasm for the scientists. I didn’t like the old gods and I sure as hell do not like the new ones.

I went to see my friend Jeff yesterday. He was standing in his backyard on stilts. I began to immediately laugh but he got upset and told me that I was the fool. I tossed him a beer and the poor sucker just about fell trying to catch it. I must admit he is getting pretty good at using those stilts. He says that he is hoping they become so second nature that he will be able to sleep on them shortly. I ask him what would happen if he were suddenly teleported three feet straight down. He says that it is unlikely but that he thinks this is his best chance. At least he is not a hanger, he tells me.

In order to avoid death by spontaneous teleportation many people have taken to spending most of their time hanging in harnesses. Since the furthest anyone has been relocated by this mysterious force is about five feet from where they started it is easy enough to find a large room or a tree that can put you five feet away from any other solid object. Except the harness itself. Only one person so far has managed to teleport a few inches directly into their harness. I asked Jeff if that was irony but he said the harnesses are usually made from nylon. Either he cannot hear me very well up there or all of this has not ruined his appalling sense of humor.

The religious folk have split into two camps. Some are calling this Gods retribution for the sins of man and the other half are blaming the scientists. Outside of the Hadron Collider facility on the news it looks like one of those old Frankenstein movies where an angry mob with weapons and torches has gathered. The scientists working there were the first people to speculate that their research had caused the phenomena. They shut down their massive gadget but it seems the angry villagers will not be pleased until there is blood. Then right there in front of the news camera one of the mob teleports right into another one. They are a nasty mangled mess of mixed flesh like something out of a Bill Plympton cartoon. I start to laugh but then I remember these are real people with people who love them and that what I have witnessed is tragedy. Then the mob react by accelerating their hatred tenfold and I decide it was probably okay to laugh.

My ex-girlfriend calls me to tell me that she teleported three feet up and to the right into empty space yesterday and was just fine after. I am not sure whether to believe her or to chalk this up to her constant need for attention. I tell her it is a shame she wasn’t teleported onto a running treadmill and she hangs up on me. If she was telling the truth her story would not be unique. Most of the spontaneous teleportations have been harmless relocation’s into empty space. The people who have experienced them were very vocal at first and some of them got paid quite handsomely to talk about it on television. However, once the word got around that the scientists investigating this were collecting these people to ‘examine’ them, most of them have kept shut about it.

First let me say that I am not a scientist. That should have been my first clue to leave things alone. What do you call somebody with an inordinate amount of curiosity but no skill set to engage it through? I am one of those. Mostly, though, I was just bored and lonely. I met a girl on the internet I really wanted to meet in person. I also had friends all over the country I would have liked to spend more time with. When I started having the dreams I disregarded them as just dreams. Before long they seemed to be more than just recurring dreams. They were persistent. I could not close my eyes without them immediately starting. Eventually I began to write down the bits that I could remember and little by little I had created myself a set of instructions.

It took me almost a year to build the contraption. I had to learn all kinds of skills I had not possessed before. I was about as adept with a soldering iron in the beginning as Stephen Hawking is with Jeff’s stilts. Little by little it came together, though. You would probably think that it would look like a phone booth designed by HR Geiger, but it was closer to a large bathroom scale attached to a much larger cube by tubes of wires. I did, however, take some time to paint racing flames on it before I was finished. Just because I am crazy enough to spend a year building a device I foresaw in my dreams doesn’t mean I have no sense of humor or style.

The hardest part about teleporting is calculating a set of coordinates much more difficult than compass readings. The movement of the earth as it rotates and spins around the sun means that everything is constantly in motion and must be accounted for. Remember how I said that I was not a scientist? Well I am even less of a mathematician and my first inclination was that it was my poor math that caused this whole debacle.

When I was certain that I had finished my teleportation device beyond all doubts, I decided to test it out. Knowing the number of ways it could go wrong I decided to first try teleporting a mouse I caught while it had been nibbling on one of the wire tubes. (Would the mouse have thought this was irony? I don’t know but I know he wouldn’t have had a dumb ass reply like Jeff.) I was going to teleport the mouse three feet to its left into a small empty aquarium. If he survived I would name him Goldblum and feed him only the finest American cheese. He did not, in fact survive. Instead a moment after flipping the activation switch the mouse reappeared with just his head sticking out of the bottom of the aquarium. I could see part of his body in the small gap below and the rest must have melded into the concrete floor. I immediately realized that I had not succeeded and that all of my life I had underestimated the vocal capacity of mice.

I shut the machine off and sat groaning with my head in my hands. Fucking math. I was so frustrated that I decided to give up for the day and headed over to Jeff’s with a six pack. We sat drinking all afternoon but decided that we needed to pick up the pace. Jeff and I had created a drinking game that could be played with the news so we tuned into the ten o’clock and put our drinking faces on. That is when we first heard of the phenomena. Already about a hundred cases worldwide had been reported since earlier today. You know how sometimes you just know you set off a global catastrophe that may have doomed your species to extinction? That’s exactly how I felt right then.

Pretending to be too drunk to drink anymore I excused myself with a few words and a belch/fart combo that left Jeff laughing so hard he vomited, although he would later claim it was the smell. As soon as I got home I began trying to sober up by eating a large meal and chasing coffee after coffee with glasses of water. I began to go over my math but I could find nothing wrong in it whatsoever, so I looked at the plans. That is when I noticed what I should have before my earlier mousecapades. The teleportation device was specifically programmed to transfer the information contained in human genetics. Because all mammals had nearly the same basic genetic code the mouse was able to be teleported, but not to the specifications. And besides that, something else had definitely gone wrong. I began to disassemble the device. What took me a full year to build took me only that one night to completely destroy. No two pieces were still connected and most of those had been smashed or thrashed into many smaller pieces themselves.

The next morning I turned on the news. The phenomena was still occurring and every government in the world had declared an emergency. Shit had connected hard with the proverbial fan. Rather than worrying about being teleported into a mailbox or my toilet I became extremely paranoid that I would get caught. I burned the plans and removed all evidence from my house carefully so as not to arouse suspicion. The one thing I had going for me was that I had not mentioned to anybody what I had been doing for the past year, less they thought I was crazy. Or crazier than usual. I sure as fuck was not going to say anything now.

I went inside to get Jeff and I another beer. Just to fuck with him I threw his three feet to his left so he wouldn’t be able to catch it because I can be kind of a dick when I am awake. At that very same moment Jeff reappeared three feet to his left and then fell to the ground with a thud and a can of Hamms embedded halfway in his skull. He must have died instantly. One time when we were drinking along with the news we saw a story about a man who had been cleaning up after hours at a brewery when a large vat burst open and the force of the fermenting liquid crushed him against a wall, killing him instantly. After downing the rest of our beers we both agreed that when it was our time to go we hoped our deaths would be beer-related.

Well, Jeff, do I chalk your death up to irony? Or would you have insisted that the can was, in fact, aluminum?