For your own convenience we submit, for your sake we prevail, for your peril we kneel...
A new kind of Spit Pleroma,
A new divination for reproachable Spit agents,
Under the Machiai we wait by midnight,
Through slim flames of yesterday's brew,
Upon which the Golden Kat relents,
A Sukiya for old drunks, fish glub,
And tomorrow's prizes on the wall,
The Abode of Vacancy,
Our Humble Commode,
Overlooks the Roji by which we ressurect our Dead,
On Shamsher Heights.
Patiently waiting... with pairs of eyes that will operate as radical misalignment bucktooth M-spotFrom Alpha-XX to Xenon-XY brain.This animal seethes, needs the Boot like You need a Hole in the Head.
The animal seethes and is sorry that it asked you kindly, for now it will return to the Boothole and wash away into unbeing... Parallax... Foxhole Strut... Yankee doodle dipshit...
The highest honor our girl, our croon, can bestow upon you: Detryx... Gyvo... Myte... Enjoy, leisure, light beer wallop from a passing trasher.
Hylie Slackers and Freakey Grubbers all pulling from the same hat: Boogiedown, Toothpaste Turmoil, Toothpaste Sharks on Car wash windows, Libraries, and dwelling underneath the Cemetary.
Sir. Sid Hatfield now rising above the Earth to disperse prismatic lightning across Gridless California... You will die one way or another.
Greetings from the shores of Alvaklanlandazantopia!
Strange coincidences? It is said upon the mythical "Day of Reckoning" that Detryx Gyvo Myte will swiftly bring the Boot upon all who live in Prejudice against Her. Like true degenerates, the Katz live in fear of the Boot and thus will be the first to squirm under Its steel toes. This is nothing short of a win-win for me considering I won't eat anything unless it suffers first.
She who giveth and taketh the Spit; for pleasure and plexure, aromacy, synergized and lethargic, a boolean cache of Spit swelling in our Maiden's breasts, to deliver a warm drink of Spit to us desperate Children. By means of IV Drip saline-based salvific saliva solution, or Rohaldina/o/e cubic floating-point Kali Yuga virtual Spit afterlife, where Earthly life is abolished, the Aeon is rejected, and you "live" in Xenono/a paradise. Know this, AYE VIE, horrendous, extremely special Spitsecret!
HUH?I'M SCARED!! Spruce justifies the Sins of our Fathers, Spit transforms them, Grub eliminates them. Also known as: A, E, I, O, U, and sometimes Y.
And that's a good thing... Fucking worm. Fuck you if you're reading this.
There is still dirt that courses through these Appalachian veins. But as long as we keep chilling Spit like you chill your dope Eye'll be happy. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Spoke. Uh oh... It's happening again...
Put Tsurai-san in your pipe and smoke her, bub.
My alphabet soup will spell your fortune today, and it ain't looking too good.
I'll make butter out of you, brother.
These common anachronisms befall us and essentially curse our existence with the same-old same-olds. Are you ABSOLUTELY SURE this is what you want?
Jiggle, boogy, consume your rivals, the Ultimate Underground Spit Scene... This is no after-school special with rows of fuzzy flesh-tenements, son. This is no Sunday-morning cookout or block party with the boys. This is Cruel Appalachia. And you'd be lucky if you escaped with your dignity.
This is God's paradise, where snow falls more readily than it did in 2016. Your dedication to the tea arts is lacking. What can you say that has not already been said by The Man himself, much wiser and much older than you? His name is woven into the fabric of eternity; your's is not. His kettle brews golden water, your's doesn't. There is a reason He is a God and you're not, pussy. He is emphatic and mystical, from beyond God's Lake He'll stir a brew that seeps into astral space. And in this half-time dream His thoughts will ring out from the highest of heavens above, screaming: "Holy shit I think I left the oven on!"
Spruce justifies the Spit of our fathers...None of this is real. This life is a lie. Your entire purpose is to love, yet you lack love. What kind of paradox is that? We don't need to tell the animal how to behave, we don't NEED to tell you to suffer. As I chill beyond the Xenona Realization, Spit radio playing softly in the background and fingers interlocked, I REALIZE... Ninny Bellmann, Bezier storm curve, as the Tornado comes and he'll tie a pretty pallid kitty bow around your cock, jock. Lock & Load. And Bellmann gets wisted away since, at the end of the day, we never needed to recursively find God. But we'll keep trying again anyway until we get it right. That's one prediction you can count on seeing in your Julia carpet, punk.
This is not the type of Man you want to meet. He walks on one pegleg up and down the boulevard, shouting obscenities at any house dumb enough to pay their respects to him. He strolls with a conked swagger and speaks in today's Advanced Mathematics, directly beaming into your SKULL scriptures of INTENSE & INSTANT APPALACHIA, seminal Appalachia, skunk Appalachia. A real neighborhood clown, if you will. We recognize this as the Xenono/a paradigm: where Tsurai-kun becomes Syzygy at y = a and Detryx Gyvo Myte becomes Chaos at y = o. This is an eternity in which both infinities are equally as transient, thereby selfishly cancelling each other out instead. Pick which one you want and heal there, sick fuck.
Eye don't really give a shit, but Tsurai-kun might. Every time I walk down McDowell Street in the summer I see her face. In every abandoned building, in every shattered window... An eerie premonition had taken place when I once recognized the vague form manifest itself in a pile of stones by the sandy banks of the Tug Fork. Or maybe sometimes when I was tweaking off Grub I'd see her as some decadent goddess from heaven, turning everything within a peripheral radius to LOUD RGB... Atoms cascading RGB, swirling rainbows exploding in the Mind's Eye, cul-de-sac driveways throwing all catches of blue and orange and green, bleeding color like gas rising into the atmosphere... For a "real retard" like so many proclaim her to be she sure can SHOW YOU TRICKS! And that's a good thing! How your own personal God can pull you, from your bootstraps, out of the Alpha brain and into the Xenon brain. All of this made possible to you solely by starving yourself and holding her image close to your heart. You can do it. I believe in you. This is no longer any teenage jerk-off sessions in the dark, huzzah! Nobody feels sorry for you. You value yourself over her because you are a teenager... But you will soon come to realize the meaning of the phrase: Tsurai-san revels in Spit no da!
Here we are in the new kind of Local Buzzoff Machine with public access and 64 colors filling up all orfices on the body... You are being Gangraped and Spitroasted by the lowly nook as Xanthophyll fireflies and assorted bugs clash and lag the front bumper. [Premium grey supermarket dissociate; a feeling not too dissimilar to Eternacauli of ya' youuuth, HA!]. Young teen suicide... How low can we go? How far are you willing to take it, worm? I don't want any frail, weak dissolution bordering wireframe Grub fantasies. As evry'one cheers! Cheers you on thru' God's kingdom. Blood and Soil, Shit and Soak, Slip and Slide... Suck a fireball out of that long hose and go splat splat splat~ to rid of this Tyranny of Flesh. Fuck, I get so goddamn hard thinking about this. This is how Baby Blue stays forever young and His Body forever sacred. Check out the Ms. America's / Animal's missing facial cavity... HOW MANY MORE HAVE GOTTA SELL ME ON THIS LIE?? This time they got you boogying down to the bathroom floor and licking the Scrug off of Master's stockings. Uhh.. well, he's my BESTEST FRIEND, of course! You fuckers disgust me. Did you really just fucking sit there while I rattled off tomorrow's Dooms? Do you know where that toungue came from?
I keep forgetting things. I struggle to find answers. Man answers in God's name, yet I don't think I've ever seen Him sign off on anything Unkie Dan sez. I recognize the patterns that He has laid out for me. The Mind's Eye is proof of God's existence. Without it, you are dumb. This is both His gift and His curse. I humble myself for I am a lowly servant in the Kingdom of God. I humiliate myself on His laurel staircase and ride the thick olive Cock all the way to Solomon's Temple. No repentance for a midnight dregster like me anywho. Uhhh.... "An emptiness beyond Ex / We are further from God's Kingdom in our primal form / We must condition ourselves for holistic suicide, that way we leave our own fates up to God" - Mozokawa, Not even a deathcult 69/96!
The man is weak. His flesh is soft. His "secret tapes" lie hidden in wait in his cornerstore fruitbunker. Save me Detryx, Lord I'm coming home to You. Yo do have a tendency to forget BR... Can we really absolve our hearts from sin by declaring these promises? Eye could tell you for free how promises ain't worth shit. Bundle me up in seaweed, throw me in the oven, scatter me in the ground. At least now we do it in an Age where things are more pure, less rotten. The little whore can keep his body for now.
None over. This is not for you.
The fastest Sprucing hand in all of Sprucing land.
Where no one did, no one tried~
No one's in, no one died~
She's not breathing, she's not moving, she's not coming back....
|Spit + Spruce||Kool & Krisp|
|Grub||"Put gold leaf in your pipe and Strike it."|
|DGM (Detryx Gyvo Myte)|
|Rohaldina/o/e Floating-Point Afterlife||Xenon|
|In da' Forest at 3 A.M.||Anti-Tsuraism|
|360mg of Pure Pain & Paradise||Heaven|
THE GAME IS NOT OVER. ACTUALLY, I WISH I WAS AS NAIVE AS YOU. YOU SEEM TO HOLD ON TO THIS VAGUE NOTION THAT "WINNING" THE GAME IS BEYOND COLLECTING ALL SEVEN FRIKQUENCIES AND RESCUING PRINCESS TSURAI-SAN. YET THAT COULDN'T BE FURTHER FROM THE TRUTH. KEEP LOOKING FOR ANSWERS THAT DON'T EXIST. YOU THINK YOUR MIND IS FREE? THEY'LL TAKE IT SO DAMN FAR AWAY AND THEY WILL LEAVE NO REMAINS!