This afternoon finds me sitting over Ludo and green tea with my pal Bogdan. I’m gesticulating wildly, telling him all the farout stuff Rueben’s been feeding me with when he switches subject to talk about early wanking accidents. I told him about the time I got caught by my Down’s Syndrome cousin having a wank over that crappy apocalypse movie ‘Warlock’. Then how I fobbed him of by telling him I was having an epileptic fit. I didn’t know but he went up the stairs and called an ambulance and I nearly got done for wasting the time of the emergency services. I remember one of the paramedics remarking, as he left the room ‘It smells like swimming pool chlorine in here,’ what he was probably smelling, I told Bogdan was my spunk wet trousers. Bogdan told me about the time; the very first time he had a wank. He’d been experimenting for months, and this night he pulled and pulled and wouldn’t give up cos he knew, he told me, there was some payoff, that every time in months previous he knew he was within touching distance of the prize. Then he came. He told me it went all over his hands and over his cacks. The feeling, he told me was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. He didn’t know if it were a good or bad feeling. Then he looked down at all the cum all over him. And – as Bogdan thought there was a flexible bone in a dick, and that he’d broken it – he thought that what came bursting from his Jap’s Eye was bone marrow. He ran down to his social worker mother took her hands in his and exclaimed that bone marrow had run out of his willy. She was very angry and screamed at him, asking him in disbelief if he didn’t know what it was he’d done. The next day she said sorry and bought him a book for boys, as he called it.
Just a note: I posted earlier, in Fact #2 that MJ couldn’t have any kids. Well, it looks like I stole a lead on The Star/Express. When I watched the paper review on Sky earlier I see they both have, on their front page, MJ’s paternity being questioned, with The Star wondering if the children’s real father is actually a mob guy! I’m gonna put myself up for a journalism bog award for that one ;) Rueben is a good source.
Been thinking about Michael Jackson the last coupla days. Not my proudest moment. I remember me and my sister, when we were kids, wishing he could come babysit us when the folks went out. We’d have needed a few bogrolls that night.
My intel’ boy was on again last night. We haven’t been in touch this close together in a while, but considering the MJ news he rang to tell me some interesting facts he’s learnt after digging around in the old MI6 archives.
Fact #1
· Michael was a eunuch. Daddy Joe Jackson had him castrated when he was a boy to maintain his falsetto high notes.
Fact #2
· Blanket, Prince Michael and Prince Michael II are all clones of Liz Taylor. Due to Fact #1 MJ couldn’t have any kids. If Debbie Rowe was their ma, and MJ started black then they would’ve been half-castes at any rate. ALSO as another side-note to Fact 1 intel boy (I’m gonna call him Rueben) told me that because of his castration he probably didn’t rape boys. Hmmm...
Fact #3
· It’s a good possibility he was murdered. By whom or for what reason Rueben didn’t know, but he was investigating.
I put a theory of my own to Rueben. I said that in thousands or millions of years to come when archaeologists dig up Neverland and unearth all the footage and the photos of MJ they are probably going to conclude he was some sort of supernatural deity on a par with Isis or Jesus. For he started as a black boy, metamorphosised into an asexual gaunt white freak, all the while maintaining an air of creepy infancy, and he had a little troupe of pre pubescent children follow him everywhere. Rueben said it was possible. He said all things were possible though rarely revealed in this strange world.
Man...this heat’s a killer. It’s coming in heavy through my living room window. I feel like a bug under a magnifying glass in all this heat. The headcase below me’s having a fit. Most days – he’s some sort of living a breathing miracle – he starts up on something around 9am and won’t draw breath till 10pm. On and on he goes, ranting and raving. Tabulating all the times someone’s crossed him. His da stays over sometimes on the couch. He’s from the high-rise across the street. Sometimes him downstairs goes to stay with him. I had the da up there a week or so ago looking for some tobacco of me. I noticed he’d a scar on his forehead. I asked him what happened. He told me Otis (that’s what I’ll call him) was staying with him for a while, then a couple of weeks ago, after they’d had their tea, Otis starts in on all this violent talk saying what he’d do on someone if they crossed him. So the da says he’s had enough and doesn’t want to hear all his fucked up stuff. He gets up to go to the kitchen and make a cup of tea and Otis comes up behind him and drops one of those portable iron radiators on his head. Da tells me he brings it down on him again and again and he crawls into the corner in a vain attempt to shield his head. Somehow he got away and got himself to hospital. He didn’t press charges and the police advised him Otis needed committed somewhere. I know I’ll be keeping my distance anyway. I remember I had him up one afternoon. I thought up till that point he was ESN (Educationally Subnormal) but he surprised me because I thought he was sharp enough. The amount he knows about guns is astonishing. Apparently if you go to shoot someone with a 9mm, with the intention of killing them, it is best to stand at a distance of 10 foot or more from them. The reason for this is that 9mm bullets have a copper coating and therefore pass through the target if shot at close range. Standing from the target 10 feet or more away usually results in the bullet bouncing around inside the target hitting many vital organs. Coring he called it. But honestly, if you were to transcribe every word he’d ever spoken, and all the words anyone had ever spoken and ranked them, from the most to the fewest he’d be well up there in the top 10 I’m sure. The boy never fucks up.
Me and my pal Sweeney were heading up the road today when I noticed a thing that has intrigued me for years. That is letters missing from shop signs. Sweeney reckons someone’s using them to write a giant ransom letter.
Was going to hold back on the videos for a while, but in light of Wacko dying I’m gonna put one of his up.
RIP Jacko ---- young actors/dancers etc the world over can unclench their taught little sphincters now.
Thursday, 25 June 2009
The threshold between lust and disillusionment is called love. And it only takes a foot or two to cross it. or ignore it. and it won’t take so long to forget it was even really there, between what you did and don’t want to do again.
Which reminds me of another platitude I’ve had burning for a while: I believe in God but I don’t believe in religion: reason being --- god is whatever you want him to be – whatever mould you want to shape round him – religion is a long and winding road and has a toll on every corner – religion perverts god – turns him into a gangster. Enough!
I am just off the phone with one of my sources from the intel’ community. At the minute I am transcribing our conversation, which I recorded, unbeknownst to him.
The most pertinent part of what he says follows:
I think it is entirely possible that NASA is going to provoke a war with this little stunt of crashing a bomb on the moon. The Vatican Jesuits went to go see the facilities that will protect humanity from the alien invasion.
Come September the shit is going to hit the fan.
…think the simple facts are technology wise we are probably ready for a full scale interplanetary war. We have fully developed this advanced technology to kill and now we need someone to use it on.
My intel’ pal and I went to the BB together. Even then he showed an aptitude for building things. One of the things he built was a subsonic weapon used to attack the sensitive aural faculties of dogs. He tested it on my dog first, at the time she was preggers, and caused her to have a miscarriage right on my ma’s good sofa. When ma burst in and found us she clipped me a good one round the ear and called the police on him after I dobbed him in to her. For a year he was put up in the Knockbracken Hills for disturbed and extremely bold boys. While he was inside he wrote me letters done in a snaky style, in Indian ink. For the first month or so he devised cleverer and crueller ways to get me when he got out – but none of these, he said, would be the actual way he’d do it. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to put that in a letter he said. Then for a few months I heard nothing from him. After 6 months he finally wrote and told me all was forgiven and he wanted me to help him out in an experiment. The experiment was to test his perceived powers of ‘Remote Viewing’. On a mutually agreed day and time I was to put 6 pictures on a table in my bedroom and take note of what the pictures were. Then he would send the results of his RV visions and I would match them up to what I actually had on my table. Suffice to say he got six out of six.
So he got out of the nick and to cut a long story short he was kidnapped 3 days after his 13th birthday and they didn’t find him till he was 18 and a half. He didn’t stay home long and left again to take up a post with MI6.
He calls me from time to time and last night he told me NASA were shooting some sort of 10tonne nuke at the moon and this was going to be disastrous as one very powerful race of EBE’s (extraterrestrial biological entities) have a base on the moon and to them (as with their terrestrial counterparts no doubt) this would be an overt act of war. EBE’s have a well-chronicled presence on the moon. Neil Armstrong is on record talking about observers watching him when he arrived on the lunar surface. There is also photographic evidence of a 3-mile high artificial tower on the backside of the moon.
So yes. War with ET.
Quickly, another fascinating titbit he provided me with is that Eazy E was well in with President George Bush the senior.
He didn’t have time to tell me how or for what reason as he had to skidaddle and write up a report, but it is my reckoning that pair had something to do with drugs moving from South America – sold in South Central with Eazy being the big mover and shaker – to fund the Contras that were fighting the reds south of the boarder.
An excellent book written about this is Dark Agenda by Gary Webb. Look it up.
Went and visited my mother on Friday. Was watching channel 200 on Sky TV last night, and decided to stay the rest of the weekend after watching this programme called Zeitgeist on it. I haven’t switched over since, apart from to watch Big Brother. It was far out and very frightening. Did you know, that in the USA, the FEMA (Federal Emergency Management Agency) have concentration camps sitting in the Arizona Desert, empty, waiting to be filled by the American citizenry? They do. The programme alerted its viewers to the destructive nature and means the real power players behind the scenes possess. It also offered solutions to the impending tyranny of the New World Order. Resource based economy, free energy, ‘true’ education. John Lennon was an advocate of the whole resource based economy – as was Bill Hicks, apparently.
As I said I switched over to Big Brother later on. My mother likes to watch it too and got a big box of Malteasers out from under the stairs and put them on the sofa between us. Out in the smoking area Sofia was arguing with Safia. Lisa sat to the side pulling listlessly on her fag. “Look at the state of him,” ma said. “What’s his name?” I stifled a titter and said the first name that came into my head. “Ian.” “He’s a sight,” she said. “He used to be a she,” I told her. “Did he?” she said. “You wouldn’t know it.”
They’re a funny bunch this year. One who’s caught my attention is Marcus, the saddo walking Wolverine tribute. I had a funny notion the other day, imagining him getting in a to do with one of the other housemates and selotaping butter knives to the back of his hand.
Halfwit’s a dozy wee scroat. An anarchist living on a big estate in the country. HIs doziness is good craic though.
Then there’s the others. A bunch so over reliant on their ‘zany’ half-baked personas in disguising the various aspects of their overt personality disorders, that I think their software chip is going to malfunction. There’s one Russian, Angel who sucks raw eggs out through a little hole she’s made in the shell. I am still hoping to see a murder on Big Brother. A gruesome sexual one involving Marcus with his butter knife Wolverine claws and Halfwit and that creepy Indian one. Not the guru looking one, the other one. It would take place in the bathroom and would result from Halfwit, the Indian and Wolverine Marcus having a towel fight. It would get out of hand with Halfwit getting Marcus in the eye with his towel. Marcus would slap them both about a bit then tie their hands together with the towels and put them in the shower. He would then go to the kitchen and get his butter knife claws and selotape them to the backs of his hands only he’d attach them really loosely so they were all floppy and he could flick them forward and give the illusion of his claws bursting from his knuckles like the real Wolverine.
After he’s done this he barricades himself in the bathroom and slowly and laboriously murders Halfwit and the Indian over a period of weeks using his butter knife claws to decapitate the pair.
The rest of the house not being able to get into the bathroom have to resort to pishing and shitting in the pool. It leaves the pool a humming festering faeces pit and causes a fatal slow spreading disease to infect all the housemates one by one. But the cameras keep rolling as the housemates succumb to a faeces based disease virus, which totally depletes their already small reserves of dignity and leaves them wallowing in pools of their own liquefying vital organs which are running out their holes. When the whole debacle comes to an end Marcus is informed by the hateful android McCall that as he is the only survivor he has one by default. He jumps about like an eejit, momentarily dropping his brooding Wolverine shtick, before returning to form and jogging through the house to get his stuff. But on the way through the living room he slips on a pool of diarrhoea and breaks his neck. As no one is the winner then 9/10ths of the prize money goes to Children In Need to supply African Villages with DU (Depleted Uranium) coated water pails. The rest of the dough is used to pay for McCall’s software upgrade, which allows her two more facial expressions. Next year will see her doing ‘pensive’ and ‘exasperated’.
I put this alternate reality to mother. She wasn’t impressed. Then we put on Suspiria. It scared the shit out of me. Here’s the trailer.
Just a note: I posted earlier, in Fact #2 that MJ couldn’t have any kids. Well, it looks like I stole a lead on The Star/Express. When I watched the paper review on Sky earlier I see they both have, on their front page, MJ’s paternity being questioned, with The Star wondering if the children’s real father is actually a mob guy! I’m gonna put myself up for a journalism bog award for that one ;) Rueben is a good source. 
