Is it just me...or does a lot of this shit lately seem to be trying to be......some rythming bullshit? The better left in the dumpster where the alphabet aborted it kind of shit? I mean I know when I finish it's like a Mortal Kombat fatality, skull's and crossbones everywhere. I also know this shit's spinning a web and you cant escape, like a spider with a machine gun, never fear mortality is here. See....it rythmed...I guess that's my new illiterary phase ....it's not shotgun suicide bologna and cauliflower ear blow jobs anymore its Chris Farley and John candy reading Shakespeare now.
The Nu Fifty Two
Whats with the number fifty two these days? wait...have I told this story before? If so fuck it ...I forgot so we doing this shit again....face it originality died back in 01. Fuck your life fuck my life...fuck something it's a healthy part of growing up. Seriously though....barring the things I said earlier this year...how the fuck does Rob Liefeld keep getting work in comics.....dun dun dun *cuts eyes*
Another week....still not dead yet? Alright then lets just kick things off with a little bit of....A Bos Wa redneck drinking Chardonnay you got at the gas station. Criminal possession like Mum Ra and beast man ball gaggin merman with Nick Cage on the 8 MM.
You ever drove down a road and though..." Man that shit is spooky as fuck, glad I aint gotta walk down that motherfucker." Oh and it's noon on a Saturday when you come to said conclusion. Now I being of such a high celestial esteem and impeccable reputation, would have the honor of breaking down on that same road. At the beginning of it of course, I would also of course know someone that lives just past the end of it. Did I mention I have done that? Did I forget it was only at fucking night? Like three thirty in the morning....when light is not hit the world till your through with your trek through castle Dracula.....
So you got sold on the sounds of the jungle app....no more cassettes for your thrifty america, least not in this viewing pleasure. Ah, but what they didnt sell with it is the sound of Lemmings jumping of of buildings.
So here we are again. As promised, or was it threatened? On your favorite social media site or channel, skin tight tricky dick mask and all I have returned for your viewing diarrhea pleasure like an episode of Beavis and Butthead where the boys discover a dead body and fuck it with a meth pipe.
So you want to be evil? Yeah like that guy you saw on tv, since I know you never read a book....this is nearly the end of the world after all...so who could blame you? With that I suppose I wont be writing Blood Into Blog Volume three.....or trying to milk any kind of fame and fortune or at least cheap internet slut fucks out of it eh?
The Italian Job
My cars...plural people are down for the count like Russel Brand at a bukake party. Yeah so I'm gonna pull a Russel Crowe sans the small penis....and beat some ass after I drink half the bar and shoot up with fourteen dirty needles that I got from odd jobs operating table. And this time no bath salts or jungle fever this motherfucker is made of concrete and it turns out its just an illusion anyway since I couldn't get laid in a aids ward.
Before we get started here....this one is for the ladies...not gentlemen gay or not *mac*
A Day For ThX
So you know I see all these messages and appreciations of the holidays. I start to think about everything I should be thankful for. Then I think of how shitty my day was. I think of how difficult the cultivation of the dream of America and a happy hard working life is. You say goodwill towards men....then there is me.
About The Author
Your Saint For Suicide as seen on Blood Into Blog.