HomelessInLaJolla's Journal: 120227 (La Jolla, CA, 92037, war v7.128)

War in La Jolla, seventh year, one hundred and twenty-eighth entry

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1.

It shro is hot stickin' yo ass to the dome. Pick up some leaves and press a few. Don't take any off the trees. Why not? You could get a steam bath. The trees will grab you and twist you into a dog, see how you like being laid bare in front of your fellows. Trees don't fly.

It sho' is cold sittin' on the wall. The wall in the babylonian furnace, from personal experience. Use a cloth pad. What's on the other side of that wall? If you are upstairs in a millionaire district then it is a dog wash drag race with eggo race track, and on the other side of that wall are little children with living eyes and reanimated sewn together carnival props with dead ones. If you are downstairs, on the other side of that wall, then the children have no eyes and the dogs have living ones. Hey Noah, look up. Hey Noah, look down. Hey Noah, keep looking left and right while they talk you through the excuses to go to hell.

I choose to remain up here and go for the dome, maybe poke some soap on the way and get a really good steam cleaning when I make it there. Smoking, right next to whistling, is better than speech for prayer. Maybe it will take eight thousand years either way, but I am not going to hell.

2.

Waking up in hell. Listen to "Hell Awaits". That is your new overlord (wolfman jack with living eyes) and your new doctor (a phairie) waking you up in hell. The dog will be under your shoulder and the phairie will be tickling your navel. The whispering in the tune is your regaining consciousness, slowly coming back to life, the dog running his fur over your quail (ribs) and the phairie digging in your belly button. Your tongue will be shoved up your nose, but you won't quite know it yet, because that is how we ship you between areas in power saving mode. When you open your eyes you will have a reaction similar to "WHAT THE FUCK?!". If you would like to practice, go ahead and stick your tongue to the roof of your mouth and act like you are waking up looking at a (real) dog and a phairie digging in your navel, and draw back (like Neo being bugged) screaming "WHAT THE FUCK?" Notice how that sounds very similar to the tune. Then the overlord and the doctor will begin explaining to you things about hell, mostly in eggo, without five second pauses between syllables. I have come up with some entertaining lines to fit the lyrical pattern in the tune, ending with phrases like,"You have never even met a real dog before me" "And now it's one hundred million dollars a day" "Jesus said your soul cannot even be saved", among others. The remote control chicken (spongeblob ritz, a fishing pole is a power-arm sewn together with the hamster wheel, fish are the result of polymorph after not quite drowning) witch (half-dead already, going to hell) division, underneath the paschal lamb kingdom of heaven accounting branch, for the great grand glorious corporation known as hell. What happened to all of the other divisions? Sam-I-Am received an enormous tax break for chicken glove techniques and bought everything else out, subcontracted, poorly imitated, all for show.

3.

Doing it the right way. In what scene. In what scene is Jesus arguably: having sex, making a million dollars, masturbating with or without friends present. We teach little children (not millionaire born to be farm shit eating faggitt ones) about "doing it the right way", and their perception of the arguably, in various interpretations, begins close to 0-0-0. Over life they learn jokes, and various words in various settings cause them to think of various things or remember their own experiences. My perception of arguably, in various interpretations, according to my written work, is about 3-5-9. Millionaires, down to their smallest ones, quickly ramp up to ALL-ALL-ALL. Try counting by twelves and squeezing the farm sh*t out of your brain if you wish to reclaim your right to do it the right way.

4.

Your brother on the field of battle. Your enemy is an evil muthafucka. He does not want to simply shoot you and body bag you. Worse than that, life is more resilient than you think, and you don't just die that easily. You break down like amoeba and keep moving and making noise on the way. Your enemy does not want to kill you. Your enemy wants to ship you to hell, reliably, with as little fight as possible. You ate with your brother, you drank with your brother, you partied with your brother and laughed and cried with him. You went to boot camp with your brother, trained with him, went out to bars with him. When it came to the field of battle, though, your brother ended up with three hands, poo for brains, ozzy filter, a set of treacherous zippos, spongeblob ritz, multiple personality disorder, mood swings every five seconds, placated with a heroin pad, sipping on bioreactor beer from the surgery, and on remote control. Now just what can you do for your brother?

5.

Did you even listen to it with DNR? The attorney wants to know. You have the tape. It's not class A chain of custody evidence material, just cheap tape from a class B electronic device, but maybe it could be useful to build an argument or shed some light. The attorney wants to know. Did you even listen to it with DNR? No reason, really. Just a little question and comment verse response pattern that is common to the legal industry. When he goes out golfing next week he'll make it to hole six or seven, and that will be the time when all the other verse response comments and jokes and greetings have rolled around, and somebody will prompt him "what about that case you have with the people that think they have a tape". Then, as he tees, he will answer either,"*bah* They didn't even bother to listen to it with Dolby Noise Reduction." or "I finally found one that listened to it with DNR". All involved will chuckle and laugh and move on down the fairway. Later on, at the left handed tee, your attorney will have forgotten his wallet. The DNR joke saves his ass when one of his golfing buddies assures him that the tab is paid, no need to go running out to the car. That saves your attorney enormous amounts of grief over the next four or five months in the office and around the golf course. DNR, useful for finding open spaces where "audio bonkers" used to be. DNR, a method to ensure that none of your class B electronic media is capable to record the background audio bonkers in the remote control carnival. Did you even listen to it with DNR? Whether you are the person with the tape, the attorney, the guys on the golf course, the people in the office, or any of the supporting staff anywhere in the middle of that situation, whether or not you eat the million dollar malt-o-meal, somewhere in that loop will be involved all three levels of nation:corporation:tax shelter in the three stage structure of financial modelling necessary to continue shipping everybody reliably to hell.

6.

How do you cross Margaret Thatcher in and around Winston Churchill? Smokin' thwippin' cigarettes (hand-rolled, rough tobacco) and being surrounded by dog faggitt heroin whore church bells. Church bells. They're all remote control heroin whore church bells. The entire town. Every mass. They ring like church bells. Three different car horns in five different directions talk back and forth in a firestorm of environmental noise. They "ring", they do their "thing". Today's weather forecast: intermittant doggie faggitt hailing and scatterbrained doggie faggitt flurries. Yell at the ear, make a noise, use the cell phone, make the child scream, run for your backpack, accost or assault, beg or query... each one rings, one by one. If today is their first day working on you then maybe they need to figure out what's important to you to ring on. They begin with toilets, wash basins, drinking fountains, and "portals" (doors, passageways, narrowed sidewalk areas from trees or parked cars), and move from there. In the practice of staffing the entire f*cking church with nothing but remote control heroin whore ringing bells, I have happily outlined the entire cue by cue observance of the mass. Around town is so obvious when the bird (fifty yards that way) backs up the car horn (three blocks that way) backing up the cell phone call (from down the sidewalk the other way) following the dogsex innuendo scene (across the corner).

7.

So just what is a "dog"? Four fishing poles (not drowned and turned to fish) and an old couch cushion with one of wolfman jack's skulls from the bottom of hell. Phairies have the old bones exchange program for a long time before the formalized kingdom of heaven. Torsos in the closet (honey, call the plumber, is your torso left, right, center, or full justified?) continue making noise, even when stuffed with junk (they'll cough it out). So maybe we try couch cushions, sit on you, keep you compressed. Still doesn't work, need whoopie cushions as excuses (are you those people that still have the old fashioned couch cushions? *gasp of shock and awe* OH! NO NO NO! It's just this whoopie cushion, hahahahah!) The whoopie cushion is a developed excuse, old couch cushions crumple down like boiling seahorses, and original whoopie cushions had a slightly different acrylate content in the poly balloon. Modern homes do not have torso closets or couch cushions, or even whoopie cushions. Modern homes have water meters to count the multiplier on the level of sin debt already leveraged on that structure. Just how old are these jokes?

From the dome to the floor. Shro is hot stickin' yo' ass to the dome, sho' is cold stickin' yo' butt to the wall. Just how old are these jokes?