Tuesday, January 19, 2010
On Andrew Eldritch and the War of the Duck
Many have asked me, and many more who are not so brave do wonder, whatever do I mean when I curse the name of Andrew Eldritch? What is it with the duck? I have told the tale only to a select few... this is but an excerpt - a small part in a much larger tale of intrigue and dark magics. Prepare...
The War of the Duck: The Scouring of Limahl
1.That night Saint Chaney was given unto a dream... there were thunderings, and lightnings, and an earthquake ... and a voice cried from on high "woe, woe, woe to the inhabitants of the Earth!" And he saw then a great beast with fiery orange eyes, and a long dark bill. Its feathers were black but shined crimson in the light, stained with the blood of semi-talented pop musicians from the early nineteen eighties. And he saw emerging from the earth a Fallen Angel, one of the Legion aligned with the Morning Star who ascended from hell with a massive forehead and he procclaimed himself Danson.
2.And Danson looked upon the face of mainstream media and a horrid erection the likes of which the world had never seen sprouted from his between his thighs and he spat evil seed into the minds of the writers James Burrows, Glen Charles, and Les Charles and there was much defecation upon the land of television that manifested in the greater ultraterrestrial consciousness that was called Cheers.
3. Saint Chaney stood upon the precipice of madness, waking from his dream in the farway land of Dallas Texas.
4. And the Apothecary Jamal, upon seeing the Saints awakening, requested that he travel north along the great Road to a store and acquire Cough Syrup, when asked why the Apothecary Jamal explained that he would use the substance to create a magical tonic which one imbibed through smoking or injection.
5. The Apothecary Jamal spoke to the saint these words, "Yo jive ass turkey get yo broke bitch ass up off my box and get some fucking sudafed so i can make some crank, we gonna be broke this month if we don't get some shit on the 'mart." And it was so that Saint Chaney began his pilgrimage.
6. For seven days and seven nights the Saint wandered, lost in the wilds of Dallas, tempted at every turn by the agents of Eldritch was lured into a corrupted Shrine that bore the Arabic numerals of 7 and 11. It was fabled among jive turkeys and ho's that a tonic known as the Big Gulp could be acquired, and that it would quench the thirst of man and fill his bladder to bursting.
7.The 7 and 11 had a single priest who stood behind a row of goods and a podium for changing monies. Digging up the few coins the Saint had in the world, he purchased the tonic known as Big Gulp and drank heartily until his thirst was quenched.
8. But the Saint had almost been deceived. 9. The Priest was not a human, but was itself Limahl the third of the Triad and the least powerful therein, the scourge of Eastern Europe, the composer of horrid music.
10.In astonishment the Saint had only begun to utter the sacred words that would give him power to defeat the creature Limahl, who's feathered blonde mullet could transfix lesser men and most women, when the Creature began to sing the verses of the Neverending Story theme.
11. Thrown fifteen steps backward by the sudden emergence of evil from the mouth of the demon, the Saint had spilled the remainder of Big Gulp upon his shirt. 12.The store had a no refund policy.
13.That is when the crying started.
14.None that day could recall, nor their children nor their children's children knew the events that unfolded save a bus full of Tuscan Nuns who were impregnated upon the place where the asskicking commenced.
15. There were thunderings. And lightnings. And Limahl was struck across the face with a mighty penis and a hand covered in dope pimp rings.16.The skies turned black as Limahl was beaten and tortured and desecrated.17.Blood rained from the heavens and the orange eys and obsidian bill of the Duck could be seen as it watched the events unfurl.18. Danson had reawakened, such was the prophecy.
19.So it was when the smoke had cleared and when the Tuscan Nuns had stopped masturbating, the firemen no longer vomited - a voice cast from a television not far away announced a new series. And upon the screen the image of Danson and his Forehead appeared with the second name of the Beast. Becker.
20.The Saint took what cough medication he could and returned to the Apothecary Jamal with news of Danson's return. He knew then that he had to reach the Point of Black Axis from whence the Duck came from the Chaos Realm of Leng, sent by the Panda Overlord to destroy the media- he had to reach this spot before Eldritch, who surely would not be far behind.
21.When the Apothecary Jamal asked of the fate of Limahl, the Saint pimp handed the apothecary and dropped a massive cleveland steamer onto his forehad and said unto him, "You will bear this mark, the mark of the Steamer - for you have doubted the Saint and the glory of Sky Cooter - Limahl's soul is trapped in the Inner Labia of the Cunt. You are punished!"
22. And there was much defecation.
The War of the Duck: The Scouring of Limahl
Excerpts from the Book of Defecation 5:01- 22
1.That night Saint Chaney was given unto a dream... there were thunderings, and lightnings, and an earthquake ... and a voice cried from on high "woe, woe, woe to the inhabitants of the Earth!" And he saw then a great beast with fiery orange eyes, and a long dark bill. Its feathers were black but shined crimson in the light, stained with the blood of semi-talented pop musicians from the early nineteen eighties. And he saw emerging from the earth a Fallen Angel, one of the Legion aligned with the Morning Star who ascended from hell with a massive forehead and he procclaimed himself Danson.
2.And Danson looked upon the face of mainstream media and a horrid erection the likes of which the world had never seen sprouted from his between his thighs and he spat evil seed into the minds of the writers James Burrows, Glen Charles, and Les Charles and there was much defecation upon the land of television that manifested in the greater ultraterrestrial consciousness that was called Cheers.
3. Saint Chaney stood upon the precipice of madness, waking from his dream in the farway land of Dallas Texas.
4. And the Apothecary Jamal, upon seeing the Saints awakening, requested that he travel north along the great Road to a store and acquire Cough Syrup, when asked why the Apothecary Jamal explained that he would use the substance to create a magical tonic which one imbibed through smoking or injection.
5. The Apothecary Jamal spoke to the saint these words, "Yo jive ass turkey get yo broke bitch ass up off my box and get some fucking sudafed so i can make some crank, we gonna be broke this month if we don't get some shit on the 'mart." And it was so that Saint Chaney began his pilgrimage.
6. For seven days and seven nights the Saint wandered, lost in the wilds of Dallas, tempted at every turn by the agents of Eldritch was lured into a corrupted Shrine that bore the Arabic numerals of 7 and 11. It was fabled among jive turkeys and ho's that a tonic known as the Big Gulp could be acquired, and that it would quench the thirst of man and fill his bladder to bursting.
7.The 7 and 11 had a single priest who stood behind a row of goods and a podium for changing monies. Digging up the few coins the Saint had in the world, he purchased the tonic known as Big Gulp and drank heartily until his thirst was quenched.
8. But the Saint had almost been deceived. 9. The Priest was not a human, but was itself Limahl the third of the Triad and the least powerful therein, the scourge of Eastern Europe, the composer of horrid music.
10.In astonishment the Saint had only begun to utter the sacred words that would give him power to defeat the creature Limahl, who's feathered blonde mullet could transfix lesser men and most women, when the Creature began to sing the verses of the Neverending Story theme.
11. Thrown fifteen steps backward by the sudden emergence of evil from the mouth of the demon, the Saint had spilled the remainder of Big Gulp upon his shirt. 12.The store had a no refund policy.
13.That is when the crying started.
14.None that day could recall, nor their children nor their children's children knew the events that unfolded save a bus full of Tuscan Nuns who were impregnated upon the place where the asskicking commenced.
15. There were thunderings. And lightnings. And Limahl was struck across the face with a mighty penis and a hand covered in dope pimp rings.16.The skies turned black as Limahl was beaten and tortured and desecrated.17.Blood rained from the heavens and the orange eys and obsidian bill of the Duck could be seen as it watched the events unfurl.18. Danson had reawakened, such was the prophecy.
19.So it was when the smoke had cleared and when the Tuscan Nuns had stopped masturbating, the firemen no longer vomited - a voice cast from a television not far away announced a new series. And upon the screen the image of Danson and his Forehead appeared with the second name of the Beast. Becker.
20.The Saint took what cough medication he could and returned to the Apothecary Jamal with news of Danson's return. He knew then that he had to reach the Point of Black Axis from whence the Duck came from the Chaos Realm of Leng, sent by the Panda Overlord to destroy the media- he had to reach this spot before Eldritch, who surely would not be far behind.
21.When the Apothecary Jamal asked of the fate of Limahl, the Saint pimp handed the apothecary and dropped a massive cleveland steamer onto his forehad and said unto him, "You will bear this mark, the mark of the Steamer - for you have doubted the Saint and the glory of Sky Cooter - Limahl's soul is trapped in the Inner Labia of the Cunt. You are punished!"
22. And there was much defecation.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Friday, November 6, 2009
Sex, Lies and ... David Letterman?
What the fuck?
After a long bout of abstinence from television, I decided to turn the damned thing on and check out just what was playing on the 248,827,112.5 channels that I pay recockulous amounts of leafy green spendy money for every month.
I wish I would have just shot myself.
There are FEW things I care less about than what the Kardashian family does on the weekends or with their loose, floppy, grossly overused, incapable vaginas on said weekends. But I have to say, on that elite list of unimportance is the motherfucking Holy Grail of B.S., the David Letterman sex scandal.
Why do we as people take such fascination with the goings on of this man's crotch? I am becoming worried that the youth of America will eventually just STOP breathing out of sheer stupidity.
There are plenty of other things to worry about that are FAR more important and entertaining than the goings on of this man's shriveled member. We could be taking more of an interest in things that might actually benefit mankind. Solving the Energy Crisis, ending World Hunger, establishing Universal Healthcare, Finding Waldo ... I could go on and on.
And yet we have to ask ourselves in spite of this revelation that what he does with his limp little love-limb is his own business and not that of the general public or the media, are we addicted to celebrity?
I have to say that it is a very real phenomenon, this addiction to knowledge. It is an opportunity to be voyeurs without the possibility of going to jail. It is an opportunity to be in on the ultimate Gossip. I cannot even buy groceries without being bombarded with candid imagery of celebrities I really could give two shits about, tabloids filled with stories about celebrities personal lives. It has gotten to the point that we have entire television channels, fucking dedicated frequencies of transmitted electrical signals through fucking SATELLITES IN ORBIT that bring us the news about Miley Cyrus and the godforsaken Jonas Brothers.
The youth today know more about any given celebrity than anything else. Math? Go Fish. Science? Hell no. History? Not a goddamn chance in hell. Lindsey Lohan? If colleges gave out degrees for usless shit, there would be hundreds of thousands of graduates with Ph.D's in Lohanology.
I have a challenge for anyone reading this. Try and go a month without reading about, thinking about, exposing yourself to, or even fucking CARING about what goes on in the media. If you survive, you will have earned some of that humanity back you lost when you momentarily bought into the concept of 9/11 being a government conspiracy.
After a long bout of abstinence from television, I decided to turn the damned thing on and check out just what was playing on the 248,827,112.5 channels that I pay recockulous amounts of leafy green spendy money for every month.
I wish I would have just shot myself.
There are FEW things I care less about than what the Kardashian family does on the weekends or with their loose, floppy, grossly overused, incapable vaginas on said weekends. But I have to say, on that elite list of unimportance is the motherfucking Holy Grail of B.S., the David Letterman sex scandal.
Why do we as people take such fascination with the goings on of this man's crotch? I am becoming worried that the youth of America will eventually just STOP breathing out of sheer stupidity.There are plenty of other things to worry about that are FAR more important and entertaining than the goings on of this man's shriveled member. We could be taking more of an interest in things that might actually benefit mankind. Solving the Energy Crisis, ending World Hunger, establishing Universal Healthcare, Finding Waldo ... I could go on and on.
And yet we have to ask ourselves in spite of this revelation that what he does with his limp little love-limb is his own business and not that of the general public or the media, are we addicted to celebrity?
I have to say that it is a very real phenomenon, this addiction to knowledge. It is an opportunity to be voyeurs without the possibility of going to jail. It is an opportunity to be in on the ultimate Gossip. I cannot even buy groceries without being bombarded with candid imagery of celebrities I really could give two shits about, tabloids filled with stories about celebrities personal lives. It has gotten to the point that we have entire television channels, fucking dedicated frequencies of transmitted electrical signals through fucking SATELLITES IN ORBIT that bring us the news about Miley Cyrus and the godforsaken Jonas Brothers.
The youth today know more about any given celebrity than anything else. Math? Go Fish. Science? Hell no. History? Not a goddamn chance in hell. Lindsey Lohan? If colleges gave out degrees for usless shit, there would be hundreds of thousands of graduates with Ph.D's in Lohanology.
I have a challenge for anyone reading this. Try and go a month without reading about, thinking about, exposing yourself to, or even fucking CARING about what goes on in the media. If you survive, you will have earned some of that humanity back you lost when you momentarily bought into the concept of 9/11 being a government conspiracy.
Friday, July 10, 2009
A Perfect Neener: Saint Chaney's Revenge
Today I finally get to stick my pole in the rectums of those who have sought to abuse me in the past. After many trials and tribulations which shall go unnamed on this holy web-space, I am embarking on what will (or had better fucking be) a great voyage to the pacific northwest. You see kids my ladyfriend lives over a thousand miles away. This is distressing. However this situation is soon to be rectified, starting with this visit which has been long over due in my opinion.
Why the neener, you ask? This is a Neener to all of those who thought I wouldn't show up. This is a Neener to the people who, despite live evidence and proof, still believe I'm a schmuck. Well, I have a little over six inches of dick for those people to suck. It isn't much, but its what I've got. I won't lie to you, its gonna feel awesome for me either way.
The other side of the neener is that I am getting to see and spend time with my ladyfriend. If you are unaware of my ladyfriend, please refer to the Great Neenering posted below.
I feel I'm forgetting something ...
NEENER NEENER - NEENER!!!!
Why the neener, you ask? This is a Neener to all of those who thought I wouldn't show up. This is a Neener to the people who, despite live evidence and proof, still believe I'm a schmuck. Well, I have a little over six inches of dick for those people to suck. It isn't much, but its what I've got. I won't lie to you, its gonna feel awesome for me either way.
The other side of the neener is that I am getting to see and spend time with my ladyfriend. If you are unaware of my ladyfriend, please refer to the Great Neenering posted below.
I feel I'm forgetting something ...
NEENER NEENER - NEENER!!!!
Friday, June 26, 2009
I Hate Hollywood: The Saint Chaney Story
You know there comes a time in every Saints immortal struggle against evil and iniquity where he has to outline the boundaries and definitions of good and evil for himself instead of adhering to antiquated concepts established thousands of years ago by a people who thought it was okay to sell your wife and children.
I was in the middle of soul searching when I happened to wander upon a boot-legged copy of Dragonball Evolution that had been addressed to me by Saint Peter. There was a note attached to it, which I translated from Aramaic into this: "Yo yo, my homie G-Dog gave up this mad sick Dragonball movie dude, fuckin chillax grab a brewsky and check it out. Its mad sweet." I should have known better. Saint Peter is the biggest douche-nozzel of the lot. Why do you think God stuck him at the door instead of letting him into the big party? Most of the time he sends me text message chain letters and spam mail from the weekly world news web-site which he will never stop talking about if you get him on the subject.
I had mixed feelings when I learned that there was going to be a movie based off of Dragonball. When I heard Justin Chatwin had been cast and not Shai Lebouf I felt a little bit better, and then I heard they were going to put him in HIGH SCHOOL. Yeah. High school. In this decroded piece of chimp fuck, Goku is a hapless unpopular socially awkward high school student who struggles with societal and media induced concepts of normality and acceptable behavior while dealing with the ever-present stigma of fucking SUPER STRENGTH. It's like after the giraffe cum-fest that was Spiderman, Fox recycled the cum and added it to the Dragonball film broth mistakingly thinking that it is some mega-hollywood franchise super-goo that automatically makes something good.
The story is about as thin as that crazy bitch from Ally McBeal and about as satisfying as being allowed half a triscuit cracker after having wandered through the desert of 20th Century Fox's creation for a week. The first question I asked was why I hadn't already eaten the business end of a 12-guage when all of the sudden I realize something else is missing from the movie. None other than Goku's childhood pal and constant companion throughout virtually the entire series, KRILLIN. Nowhere to be seen.
Master Roshi looks like he's entering a Joe Piscipo look alike contest.
The dialogue is about as entertaining as watching Dick Cheney's colonoscopy tape.
Piccolo just randomly appears and starts owning people, which I admit is the closest they got to anything from the series, but it still would have been nice to have had more back story than "bam, he's here, he's gonna fuck you with a big green dick."
The kamehameha was the most worthless piece of shit I have ever seen.
My final judgement? I condemn this movie and all involved with it to die of a combination of herpes and ebola.
I hate hollywood.
I was in the middle of soul searching when I happened to wander upon a boot-legged copy of Dragonball Evolution that had been addressed to me by Saint Peter. There was a note attached to it, which I translated from Aramaic into this: "Yo yo, my homie G-Dog gave up this mad sick Dragonball movie dude, fuckin chillax grab a brewsky and check it out. Its mad sweet." I should have known better. Saint Peter is the biggest douche-nozzel of the lot. Why do you think God stuck him at the door instead of letting him into the big party? Most of the time he sends me text message chain letters and spam mail from the weekly world news web-site which he will never stop talking about if you get him on the subject.
I had mixed feelings when I learned that there was going to be a movie based off of Dragonball. When I heard Justin Chatwin had been cast and not Shai Lebouf I felt a little bit better, and then I heard they were going to put him in HIGH SCHOOL. Yeah. High school. In this decroded piece of chimp fuck, Goku is a hapless unpopular socially awkward high school student who struggles with societal and media induced concepts of normality and acceptable behavior while dealing with the ever-present stigma of fucking SUPER STRENGTH. It's like after the giraffe cum-fest that was Spiderman, Fox recycled the cum and added it to the Dragonball film broth mistakingly thinking that it is some mega-hollywood franchise super-goo that automatically makes something good.
The story is about as thin as that crazy bitch from Ally McBeal and about as satisfying as being allowed half a triscuit cracker after having wandered through the desert of 20th Century Fox's creation for a week. The first question I asked was why I hadn't already eaten the business end of a 12-guage when all of the sudden I realize something else is missing from the movie. None other than Goku's childhood pal and constant companion throughout virtually the entire series, KRILLIN. Nowhere to be seen.
Master Roshi looks like he's entering a Joe Piscipo look alike contest.
The dialogue is about as entertaining as watching Dick Cheney's colonoscopy tape.
Piccolo just randomly appears and starts owning people, which I admit is the closest they got to anything from the series, but it still would have been nice to have had more back story than "bam, he's here, he's gonna fuck you with a big green dick."
The kamehameha was the most worthless piece of shit I have ever seen.
My final judgement? I condemn this movie and all involved with it to die of a combination of herpes and ebola.
I hate hollywood.
Monday, June 1, 2009
The Great Neenering : Ten Reasons My Girlfriend is Better than Yours.
Reason Number One - She admits that she masturbates and does it as regularly and as fervently as I do if not more. Try and get your girlfriend to admit it. Even if she does, mine's still better. There are nine more reasons. Neener neener!
Reason Number Two - She loves sex and is open to bisexual threesomes. NEENER NEENER NEENER!
Reason Number Three - Smarter than the average bear, indeed! Highly creative, appreciative of artistic and literary endeavors and is a self taught and accomplished painter. Can I get a straight neener?
Reason Number Four - She is one of the few followers of the Church of Saint Chaney, Patron Saint of Blasphemers and Defilers. Neenerage.
Reason Number Five - My girlfriend doesn't think its nerdy that I like to write, draw, or read comics. In fact, she encourages everything I do with constructive criticism and is just generally extraordinarily helpful. Neener FUCKING Neener.
Reason Number Six - My girlfriend has a long and sordid history in the BDSM community and is well known by many as a holy terror. Thats right bitch. Neener.
Reason Number Seven - Despite my obvious straightness my girlfriend manages to instill homoerotic thought processes...and makes me like them... Neener? ...Juries out on that one.
Reason Number Eight - My girlfriend threatens me with sticky tape and tweezers. And I'm afraid. I mention wool sweaters, she cringes. She's not cookie-cutter, she has an opinion, and she's fun to laugh with. Definite Neener.
Reason Number Nine - My girlfriend has helped shape my interpretation of the metaphysical and sexual nature of being eaten alive. Neener.
Reason Number Ten - She actually suggested I write this. And will probably reward me later. 9.3 on the Neener Scale.
Reason Number Two - She loves sex and is open to bisexual threesomes. NEENER NEENER NEENER!
Reason Number Three - Smarter than the average bear, indeed! Highly creative, appreciative of artistic and literary endeavors and is a self taught and accomplished painter. Can I get a straight neener?
Reason Number Four - She is one of the few followers of the Church of Saint Chaney, Patron Saint of Blasphemers and Defilers. Neenerage.
Reason Number Five - My girlfriend doesn't think its nerdy that I like to write, draw, or read comics. In fact, she encourages everything I do with constructive criticism and is just generally extraordinarily helpful. Neener FUCKING Neener.
Reason Number Six - My girlfriend has a long and sordid history in the BDSM community and is well known by many as a holy terror. Thats right bitch. Neener.
Reason Number Seven - Despite my obvious straightness my girlfriend manages to instill homoerotic thought processes...and makes me like them... Neener? ...Juries out on that one.
Reason Number Eight - My girlfriend threatens me with sticky tape and tweezers. And I'm afraid. I mention wool sweaters, she cringes. She's not cookie-cutter, she has an opinion, and she's fun to laugh with. Definite Neener.
Reason Number Nine - My girlfriend has helped shape my interpretation of the metaphysical and sexual nature of being eaten alive. Neener.
Reason Number Ten - She actually suggested I write this. And will probably reward me later. 9.3 on the Neener Scale.
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