Dug from Ancient Dust…

From the deep archives of Shan the cock-sure and always angry words of the me of ten years ago.

Coherency and my slavery to the fiduciary system do not mix.

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But for now, I’ll be killing puppies with my hands and trying to make the man on the other end of my phone feel the psychopathia, in the hopes that he’ll just hang the fuck up and get his ass out of the DSL “revolution” for good.

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The Batmobile pops… “Hmmm, popping, that’s an odd noise for an engine to make” thinks the pilot… And then it begins to rain… “Hmmm, raining, that’s an odd thing for it to be doing, especially because it’s only on my hood, and my windshield, and no one else seems to be getting wet…

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Blah blah blah, He sits atop the beast, as it pisses and gurgles. Finally deciding it’s safe, he opens the radiator to find — STEAM! LOTS OF IT! ALL KINDS! And that his Thermostat is doing DICK! And that his overflow valve is doing DICK!

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And if nothing, he’s tenatious as all hell, willing to beat this horse until dead, and then until a fine horsey-paste… I am, to say the least, concerned.

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Not optimal, but where are you going to find a baseball stadium full of fans and a hot tub full of warm chocolate pudding that will let you do wicked things in it for the rest of all eternity? That’s what I thought.

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Keep this in mind… How many days a year do you wear underwear? Isn’t that a lot? Yeah. I don’t have that problem.

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Wasn’t that depressing? I’m a morbid motherfucker.

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I am number 1 in Q… That means anything. That means it could be 10 minutes. It could be an hour. Number 4 in Q. I wish I were number 4 in Q. That guarantees enough time to go take a break, wash your hair, bake a cake, and manually masturbate chimpanzees for scientific experiments.

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Love is very complex. It’s very intricate. It’s like a spiderweb, beautiful, delicate.

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So, ZenBoy ends up all excited and turgid and acting a lot like a child with ADHD… And then sleep hits him like a ton of bricks, and he gets his vaseline and takes care of “some business” and passes out.

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Love makes fools of us all.

But it makes some of us downright retarded.

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Yesterday afternoon, I had a nega-catharsis. The sudden overwhelming feeling that “No, this is NOT alright”

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I’ll chain him to the couch, and tape his eyes open, and make him watch The Thong Song video while I perform oral sex on him for hours on end.

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I’ll update this more later today, I’m fomenting. Fomenting, people. Let me do it.

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Tucson… A veritable cross between Phoenix and some under funded mexican prison. Appropriate, as it is equidistant from either, the bastard love child of the border towns and southwestern culture. That place where the not-quite outlaws of the Wild West said “Well, we were aimin’ for Mexico, but we figger dis here’s far enough…” and settled in.

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She could make an anal lavage of magma and mentholatum deep heating rub fun.

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I do not DO churches. I don’t go near the places. I would sooner walk into a room full of rabid kittens with a colon full of tuna and catnip on my nipples screaming “Chow TIME!” than see… pews… crosses…

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Especially early in the morning. I’m not even over my “genocide for those who created alarm clocks and schedules” anger, and suddenly I’m thrown into that place… Gah… It was like capping off a beautiful 9 course meal of everything you’ve ever liked eating, ever, with a small plate of chocolate covered cat shit and a glass of stale urine.

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Well, this was just gonna be a short “Fuck you, I have more interesting things to do than update this page, I feed!” sort of post.

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“Who broke open the Baby Jesus’s rattle to see the stars inside?”, and a voice came from me, a malevolent, raspy voice, “Bilbo Baggins”…

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Fargor! is it better in any regard? N6(netscape)?

Spooky not really

Spooky it’s kinda shitty

Spooky like neoplanet

Spooky but more gay

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You know, masturbation. I did a lot of it. I was essentially trying to squeeze the streptococcus out of my body that way. Mostly because it was more fun than piercing and sqeezing my lymph nodes.

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THe original idea was for getting a roommate to leave or breaking up with a significant other. It was to run around the house, buck naked, with an erection (or a strap on, for you ladies) with an axe in one hand and keep saying, quietly, “This is gonna be soooo sweet.”

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The truth is the _only_ thing. NO regrets. No fears. No lies. Just the truth.

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Harley cronic mastabaters unite

I’m not going to learn _that_ secret handshake.

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This is a bunch of hippie crap. I’m gonna go watch TV.

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And I’m going to take him into the first “training session”… and I’m going to shove a jalapeno juice covered dildo in his ass and my cock down his throat and scream “Yeeeeehaw! You’s my bitch now” and make whooping and hollering noises like a drunken hick.

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Then at the end, when he’s begging for death… I’m going to break out the 15″ dildo and wrap my cock in a mixture of tainted pork and peanut butter. And I’m going to whisper in his ear… “At least I contacted you. You never contacted me.”

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There’s bunnies on my Add an Entry button. There is a bunny. Just one. Just it’s head. I envision the back of that gif and I see the blood and gore dripping down the back of the “Add Entry” sign. My imagination is like that.

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some would say I needed help. But then again… Some people can SUCK MY DICK!

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I’m curious, why is it that using your [technical term], there have to be more than 4 [Choo choo trains] going to get the throughput up to [standard thingie]? Is your thoughput channelized on the [Magic Carpet]?

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I have taken Mr Bystander’s question under advisement, and as soon as I can get my grandmother to translate the bits other than what I already understand (I don’t see a question in there, but then again, I’m a moron)… I will get back to him, personally, at his house. Perhaps while he sleeps.

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I can’t believe I wrote a dick sucking apology that well in the amount of time I did it. My last job really left an impression on me.

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ZenZenZen… I’m like a hemi-criminal. The diet pepsi of criminal. Just one calorie Not evil enough.

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I slept on a bench outside the mall when my shifts were only 6 hours apart. It didn’t make sense to do the 30 minute drive/2 hour bike ride home and then back when I could look homeless RIGHT THERE!

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I’m sorry if it didn’t make sense, or didn’t live up to your expectations. But what you have to keep in mind… is that you had expectations to begin with. And that is why you’re chronically dissapointed.

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So, there I was, thinking about expanding my new cubicle, maybe taping the flaps up, so it’ll be twice as tall.

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The bitterness and hatred begin fomenting… and me without my 12 gauge.

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Heh… it’s really no wonder I have visions of dropping down on goths in alleyways and saying “I’m a jock! Thanks a lot! You people drove me to this! You drove me to this banality!” and beating the shit out of them with sporting

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Anyways, I better go. Before I kill again.

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The soundtrack of my life sounds like Stevie Ray Vaughn doing an amazing fusion solo with John Coltrane, and the entire piece is orchestrated by the Ramones. While they all take turns giving me a rimjob… some people say I’m sick…

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Asiatic blood pumps through my veins, and apparently actively combats facial hair growth, a LOT.

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“Tis better to have loved and left than to have spent a day talking to your ex.”

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“Do you want this! Do you want both these inches!?”

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ZenZenZen

– It’s what’s for dinner!

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