August 19th, 2004

m-ouse ears.

from the doctrines of dauchaskrim eyekiller.

a brief exerpt from all you ever wanted to know about the western empire pantheon (but were afraid to ask), translated from Tiefling Obloquay.

..."okay, so i've fucked around with some of those late-not-so-great shitbags from the west. you know, look upon our works oh ye mighty, et fucking cetera. you don't have to take my word for it or anything, but i'll tell you-- my opinion is probably a hell of a lot more honest than that of your local neighborhood ass-slut/holy folken. right? thats the rub (& i don't mean in the good kind of "rub up against until flush & horny" rub) of the whole thing. i sure as all hell ain't trustworthy. but i'd bet gp to dog testicles that you'd rather hear my rather biased fucking opinion then that of one of the cunt-rag motherfuckers who usually have opinions about the shell-game of divinity.

let me start off with the big two. those swarthy brothers who spent most of their baby-god-hood sharing a bed. who played chirugeon with each other in the grim dark asshole of the formless world. mister "does my long, jagged bolt suggest i'm overcompensating for anything to you?" garen, & his lil' brother, henlar. i'll save the insults for henlar till later- he's a can of fucking tapeworms, & no mistake. whatever criticisms you want to level at the rest of this latrine pit of a god's club, i'm pretty sure you'll agree that henlar & garen squat at the top of the chute.

okay, garen. self proclaimed daddy-o of all gods. well, way to start off on the wrong foot with me, you fucking butt-berry. let me start by explaining how garen & i met. i was busy saving the world (or condemning it, right? jury is still on vacation so the verdict remains as hazy as you'd expect) with a couple of chumps i know. some asshole shiny brass button paladin & a twinkletoes sliding-scale-of-morality priest of some travel god with less cred than me, practically. anyhow, the afformentioned holy knight had some extremely fucking nefarious relations with his sister....stop me if you've heard this one. so here we are, stuck up shit creek without a paddle. long story short. we're plumbing the depths of the Pit looking for the tyke, the brat is a fucking undead-apotamous, & suddenly, without warning, ass-hat saint boy decides to shlep the kid off to his godess' doorstep, via angel.

me, of course, i figure- lets leave angels & devils out of this as much as possible. you know how those crotchless fuckers love to meddle with shit. does anybody listen to me? of course not. so, predictably, what happens? the angel kidnaps the kid & takes him to garen instead. any of you motherfuckers know how to say "i told you so" in celestial?

so garen. i've had the misfortune of meeting him in the really-real, as well as the occasional avatar. just for starters? he's got such a fragile self-esteem that he refuses to even allow for the possibility of dissent. he's got au-du-mind-control sliding offa him like wet farts off a trogdolyte. his magic aura of suck-my-dick is always blasting away like a skin-trumpet. fuck him. motherfucking baby-stealer. now, admittedly, i was going to steal the baby, but just to keep him out of trouble like this. plus, i'm basically his uncle, so its a little diffrent, okay? to the point. garen lies. garen steals. garen tricks & betrays. as far as i can figure it, he's in mt. celestia because all the other dickweeds are too scared to kick him out.

ps. that includes the god of our dear sweet cleric, who just rolled over when garen leaned.

as for henlar. well. next chapter."
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weird nostalgia lately. okay? lay off, get off my back, i will FUCKING SHOOT YOU. i am not kidding around. this is no time for games, igor! now go get me my fucking brains. bring them to me in sloppy buckets. i'll make a monster to chase me round perdition & into the ice eventually! shit. i'm traveling afield. i meant to say something about nostalgia. i had some thoughts. three. kind of four.

first. so, there was this thing called college club once upon a time. like, a million years ago. it was some pliestocene motherfucking gimmick. all the razzle-dazzle (my new favorite thing to say) aside, basically you got free voicemail. or something. maybe i'm mixing my memories of early college era internet innovations. the point here is! i have a point. never forget that shit. i've got an edge, sure. but i've got a point, too. i can kill you all kindsa...fuck. drifting. the point is. some time previously in my life danielle left me 2 voice mail messages, which i then downloaded offa some website. so whenever i refresh my mp3 list, these pop up. so i'm sitting around grooving to some tunes this morning when all of a sudden my computer started talking to me like danielle!

point two of nostalgia is tied to point one, & probably wouldn't have clicked except for weird point-one-intrusion into my life. point two is pam, right? that came up weird. like, here is me & jenny lying in bed. suddenly, she decides i'm supposed to show her how to sleep with a girl like plato. platonic like. except, i guess she said cuddle. same diffrence-- a big chunk of my physical affection addiction comes from wanting to feel safe while i sleep (ps it never works). anyhow, so right? i cuddled a hella lot with pam. until she decided to stop talking to me because i was a bad influence on her. whatever.

i claimed i had a point three, didn't i? a total lie.
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so i figured it out! i'm not actually nostalgic at all. i'm crazy. i can't tell the diffrence between the fluttering of my sporadic heart & the sound of all the horrors outside my window. whatever is lurking inside my apartment building's courtyard came from inside my ribcage, one way or another, of that much i think we can assume. i mean, the seeds were layed this morning, weren't they? those yearnings should have read as plain as magnetic north.
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ha ha ha oh fuck. i can laugh like the joker. you know who i mean. pale face, green hair. the fucking serial killer harlequin. my fucking favorite chess piece. we laugh because we know just what parts of ourselves we are throwing out there. the joker, okay. he's got nothing left. i respect that. its maybe tougher than me. the more i go on, the more i'm tied to the world. & don't mistake me. i don't regret my choices. hell, jenny? & i mean, if you want to get oh-so-mundane? shakespeare & co? my co-workers are basically my best-friends. but you know what? this isn't how it is supposed to be. is a spirit of smokeless fire supposed to bow down before clay & mud? oh fuck you, fuck everybody.

seriously? i mean, like, honestly? i laid on our futon & breathed for a while. i thought about digging out my cell phone. aka here is an honest fucking post. here is me, freaking the fuck out. doing my damnest not to choke to death on uh...the ghost i call my heart. fuck fuck fuck. this fucking three a.m. bullshit is old news! girls are supposed to be the prize you win that keeps you safe from yourself.
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