My fellow enthusiastic human specimens,
it’s been a long time since I’ve been here. As of late I’ve been busy, you know, with that thing that keeps me busy. Work.
(Good, at least we have a topic now.)
Being a guy that has grown up in a family of hard workers and worthy opponents, I have had a lot of first hand experience with the idea of work. I started freelancing small skills at the age of 14. I worked two jobs and shit-load of fucked up freelance during my three years of college. Then I did two years at a dead end job, where even though it was a terrible place of work and my boss was born with like nine-teen maybe twenty extra enzymes, I did make a lot of great friends who I love. That’s right guys, I said love.
Now I work in a great company and I am slowly working my way through the corporate ladder in hopes that soon I will be fully self sufficient. But, what is it that keeps us driven to work hard and succeed?
Fuck if I know.
All I have is a general idea.
For many people, I believe, it’s the illusion of power. A lot of you may disagree with me. You may say it’s survival, or life-purpose. I don’t think it’s life-purpose. Survival is arguable, so I won’t bother with it.
But, power, that one I will elaborate on. Especially the illusion part.
Steve Jobs.
Clearly a man of power. In control. Head of one of the biggest marketing companies ever: Apple. I call Apple a marketing company because they market the ‘computer’ product better than anyone else. Same crap, better marketing and a silver, shiny apple plastered in to it… What the fuck?
Anyway, Mr.Jobs is clearly a powerful guy. But, where does it stop? With all his power he can’t control food issues. If he eats bad chicken tika, then as a fact, he has eaten bad chicken tika, and WE ALL KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS.
(flush, flush, flush)
Now, he is in as much control of that epic spot of diarrhea, as I am in control of the outcome of that fucking Max Payne movie!
Damn, I hate what that movie did.
Fuckin’ assholes couldn’t even follow an EXISTING story.
Why did they have to change it?
Seriously, it was perfectly fine the way it was.
Notice in that movie how all of those characters have Italian names and NONE of them are Italian?
Assholes.
See, illusion of power.
The other view is responsibility.
Despite how much I don’t like this whole ‘work for a living’ thing, I have responsibilities. I have a retired mother who has lived a long tiring life and she deserves a break, I have an obligation to my future kids and wife if I ever have them. To my brother, I can’t leave him alone to take care of everything, besides, he has an obligation to his future kids as well.
That alone, makes me get up in the early afternoon (or late morning, depending on how full/empty the glass is to you), hop on a train and get my slow, pudgy ass to work. Without those responsibilities I would probably have done nothing worth doing.
Others may claim this whole thing to be passion or something like that. I don’t think so.
Why?
Passionate things are something you don’t get bored of. Something that you don’t get annoyed with. Painting is a passion. Music creation is a passion. Hell, even reading is a passion. That’s why an artist requires silence or inspiration before he/she/them can perform their passion. Trying to sell that painting, or pitch that album is a whole different thing. That can be considered work, so yes, there will be issues. But, the process of creating that art; while you’re hunched over canvas, or on your back with a guitar, is pure and absolute bliss. A passion.
Work, is not a passion. No matter what you do for a living, as a human you will have grievances. You will get pissed. Someone will shit on you. And, not everyday is a good day.
Passion? Scratched.
So, tell me what you think. What is it that makes you do what you do. Think long and hard (lol) about it. Don’t half ass the thought process. Give it the respect it deserves! And after all that thinking and trying to understand, you can go fuck yourself…
…OR…
leave a comment.
~love yourself~
P/S: Still working on DoomHammer concepts. It’s gonna be epic! … and you will like, nay, love it.
Posted in 
Windows users need WinRar
Mac users need a PC.
…. or UnRarX
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Dark Acts Mix
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Recorded 03-16-10
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Chillout has a dark side.
Recorded with Deckadance.
TRACK LIST:-
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[Track] | [Artist] | [Album]
00. Excerpt from Eye Patch
01. Storming The Office – Marco Beltrami and Buck Sanders – Max Payne OST
02. In My Head - (pale 3) – The Matrix Revolutions
03. Franks Death – Hybrid / John Murphy – Soldiers (Requiem in D Minor)
04. Erased, over. Out. – Nine Inch Nails – Further Down The Spiral
05. Wack Spine – Funckarma – Intelligent Toys 5 (Sutemos 023)
06. Childhood – Dusted
07. Maametalli – Chaos Research – Awakenings 2006 Vol.1
08. Ruled By Secrecy – Muse – Absolution
09. 100 Ways – Rob Zombie – Educated Horses
10. Butterfly – Leon Somov – Offline EP (Sutemos018)
11. Blood Theme – Daniel Licht – Dexter: Music From The Showtime Original Series
12. Grease Paint And Monkey Brains (Sin Centers Of Suburbia Mix) – White Zombie – Supersexy Swingin’ Sounds
13. I Miss You (Dobie’s Rub Part Two It’s a Hip Hop Thing) – Bjork – I Miss You CD
14. 853 – Sraunus – Cmyk (Sutemos020)
15. There For You – Leonard Cohen – Dear Heather
16. Buscuit – Portishead – Dummy
17. Dried Up, Tied and Dead To The World – Marilyn Manson – Antichrist Superstar
18. Blood, Milk And Sky (Miss September Mix) – White Zombie – Supersexy Swingin’ Sounds
19. Eye Patch – Robert Rodriguez – Once Upon a Time in Mexico OST
20. Wink – Daniel Licht – Dexter: Music From The Showtime Original Series
21. Analyse – Thom Yorke – The Eraser
www.redblacklabs.com
doctorgill@redblacklabs.com
Is it any wonder?
Welcome back Navy Seals (that one will make sense later),
Sometimes, the dream becomes your mission (told ya, Navy Seals). And you lose track of what the dream really means. All you know is that the mission is what you want as a final result. But, in the process of attaining your goals you lose track of something; why is this your mission, again?
It seems, I have lost the dream. The mission has consumed me. I have become too focused (as opposed to that one ass-lick who used to tell me to “focus!”) (What an ass lick) on the mission.
It took someone very special to me to point that out. To throw it in my face, the way I so often throw vulgarity in to the air. Right in my stupid robot face.
The question was simple: is it for me?
I answered stupidly; no.
And that was it. The next hour or so was about how I foolishly have followed the path to the mission at my own expense. I was foolish, indeed.
A new coin turned? We will see.
In the mean time, I suggest you take a look at your mission and figure out if you’re going at it the right way. Figure out if you know what it is. Some of the best advice I’ve ever received.
***
Okay, okay, okay, I know that this is a weird post. Not nearly as vulgar as my other posts, and it may come across a little preachy in a genuinely positive way. Which is not really how things go down here. But, then again not everything goes down as easy as your girlfriend.
How’s that for vulgar? Fuckers.
*smirk*
~love yourself~
P/S: That ass lick, was a real fucking ass lick. And he should, in fact, lick an ass. You know? Like a slow paced donkey show in Tijuana. Who’s focused now you little shit?
Read Part One Here.
Read Part Two Here.
Part Three
He entered the bed room. To his shock, she was gone. For a moment he panicked. Then, he knew without a doubt that she had left. That she wasn’t safe. He needed to find her. She needed him. I need her, he thought.
Out in to the streets again. He ran. He didn’t know where, he just knew that wherever it was, she would be there. It was a strange feeling for him. In real life, James never ran. Not even in the face of certain danger. Not because he wasn’t afraid, simply because he knew he’d be caught and would rather use his energy to defend himself. But, here, he ran. Fast. Foot after foot, yard after yard, mile after mile.
As he ran he saw images of what could be happening to her. His new-found love. Horrible images of her standing in the streets, The Thug from before following close behind her. Vengeful. Without James, she’d be helpless. The Thug, angry that he had been beaten in front of his gang. Hateful that his gang had left him on his own now and gone their own way. The Thug wanted her dead.
James pushed harder. Running faster and faster.
***
In his bathroom still, James put out his last cigarette. He could remember the feeling from the dream. Uncertainty, dread, fear, running. The soles of his feet began to hurt. The same way that they hurt in his dream.
He moved back to his bed. Got comfortable. Resumed the dream.
***
James was done running. He had come back full circle to the same street as before. Still, it was dusky. Still it was empty. Slightly windy this time, though. He knew where she was. Up ahead, where the gang was in the beginning, then to the left. All the way to the end of this T shaped street. James moved quickly. Not running, but quick enough. He turned the corner, headed to the end of the street.
True enough, just as the feeling in his gut had told him, she was there. So was The Thug. Her back was facing James. The Thug looked at him over her shoulder. Smirked. James’ heart stopped. The fear was suddenly overwhelming. He froze. Couldn’t move even if he wanted to. Click! The blade shot out again from The Thugs hand. Still smirking, he swung at her. She moved back. His blade missing her chest by only a few centimeters. He was bent forward by his own momentum.
James still couldn’t move. Everything seemed to be in slow motion. The shy and shocked look on The Thug’s face stood out as he lurched forward. His arm extended in front of him. The blade glistened under the sun. It was hot now. Almost unbearably hot. The woman reached out behind her. There was a table. A glass of water. A thick glass. Hard. With a handle.
She picked it up and slammed it in to the back of The Thug’s head. He fell and tumbled. His blade slid across the floor. It stopped sliding when he stopped tumbling at James’ feet. Dead. The blow had severed the top of his spine. Killing him instantly.
The woman let go of the glass. It fell in slow motion. The water slowly flying out of it as it barreled over itself in mid air. It shattered on the ground. She stood there. Silent. Her eyes jumping from The Thug’s lifeless body to James’ watery eyes. They both knew that The Thug was dead. Neither of them, ironically, were happy that he was. She covered her mouth with her hand. In that moment, James, for reasons he could never understand, hated her.
They left him there. His body baking under the scorching sun. They left him there in the streets that he probably called home. His turf. They were on the run. A willing James and a murderer. Self-defense they would call it in the real world. For some bizarre reason, James knew that term wouldn’t suffice in his dream world. She was a murderer, and he was her assistant. He didn’t stop her. He was just as guilty as she was. Maybe that was why James hated her.
Still, he held her hand as she cried. They drove through the city until night came. James couldn’t remember what car, only that it was long and very dark red. They stopped at a motel restaurant. Neither of them had said a word to each other since they left. James got out of the car and the owner of the restaurant came to him. A tall, portly black man.
“Hungry,” the owner asked.
“Famished,” James answered. He didn’t know how true that was, he just knew that they would have to eat. The owner looked at her in the car. James caught the owner’s eyes in a hard stare. Don’t look at her, you son of a bitch, James thought, don’t you dare.
“What are you running from,” the owner asked. Obviously, he was privy to some knowledge of something. James’ didn’t answer. He just stood there. Angry and silent. James knew well enough that anger only needed eyes to expressed in a non-verbal way. The owner understood James’ eye-talk and backed off.
They ate, burgers from the restaurant, and drove in to the long, long road ahead of them. They stayed together for many years. They had a child. A small boy, wrapped up in his baby seat in the back of the car. James drove. She leaned over in to the back seat, whispering beautiful things to the child. Things James couldn’t hear, but he knew nonetheless that they were pleasant.
When the child was quietly asleep. She turned to James. She said her first words to him:
“A blunt instrument.”
***
James opened his eyes and stared at his ceiling from his bed. The dream ended there. He still didn’t understand what it was that had made him wake up in a cold sweat. Usually, he only does that when the wolfman in his dreams finally gets him. Or the vampire sinks it’s long, sharp teeth in to the meaty part of his throat. Or his alarm goes off.
It didn’t matter to him, though. He just wanted to re-live the experience in his head. He didn’t know what any of the dream meant. He still felt like crying. He didn’t know why, but, he just did. He was happy and sad in the dream. He wasn’t sure how he felt in real life anymore. At least, not at the moment, that is.
The sun was coming up. Soon, he’d have to go back to work. Where, no doubt, the dream would haunt his every action and creep its way in to every thought. He didn’t want it to, but, he knew that it would be one of the most prominent things in his head for a long time. Filling his thoughts with delusions and his stomach with flittering butterflies.
He loved her. He hated her. He needed her.
He fell asleep.
The End.
Read Part One Here.
Part Two
In a house now, a decent place. James wouldn’t ever call it home. But here, in the dream, he knew that it was in fact home. She followed him closely through the halls. Through the living room that over looked the garden. Through the kitchen. Past the library. In to the bedroom.
He took her to the bed. Let her rest. She fell almost instantly asleep. James turned to leave. Where, he didn’t know. As he neared the door, she sat up. Motioned to him. James turned and looked at her. She didn’t move. She looked back at him. Sad.
In a fleeting moment he saw her express all of her emotions. Screaming, crying, whimpering. Then she was normal again. Staring at him. Her dark mascara smudged under her eyes. He moved to her. Sat down on the unusually large bed next to her. She placed her hand softly on his shoulder. Their eyes met. She moved her fingertips across his face. He didn’t know how to react.
He slept beside her. Wrapped in her arms. He hoped she felt as safe as he did. Fade to black.
***
Back in reality. James, still in his bathroom, reached out and pulled another cigarette from his pack on the floor next to his toilet. He sat down. Lit it.
His eyes closed.
***
Fade in.
He was holding her close when he woke up. She was awake now, too. They rose out of bed together. The sun was shining bright outside now. Birds chirped happily. Surreal. James didn’t know how long they were asleep. However, something told him it was the same day. They moved to the living room.
There was a set of couches, but, they didn’t seem interesting to him. Instead, in the hallway leading back to the bedroom, there was what can only be described as the front row of a church pew. Only it was grey. As if it was black & white in a colorful world.
They sat down there. She put her arm around his neck and pulled him close to her face. Their lips met. She kissed him. With more passion than he had ever experienced in a kiss before. He kissed her back, hoping to meet that same amount of passion.
They made love in that pew. Why? He didn’t know. He only knew that he had to. It seemed as if it was pre-determined. She loved him. That much was for sure. But, in the back of his head he thought one word: sin.
Her legs were wrapped around his waist. Their eyes locked. He didn’t make any noise. She was just looking in to his eyes. Not staring like she had done before. This was different, like she was staring in to his soul. Absorbing everything. He couldn’t feel her physically. Instead, he felt her. Like how you can sense a loved one’s feelings. He could see her through eyes he had never seen before.
***
Thinking about it now, he felt like crying. Alone, in his bathroom. Smoke rising in to the air. He felt a mixture of love, ecstasy, joy and resentment. It was strange. Beyond his basic comprehension.
He lit another cigarette.
***
She was gone now, and he was alone in the pew. He had fallen asleep, it seemed. His mother walked up to him from the living room. How long had she been there? Had she seen what they had done? He didn’t know. She looked at him, smiled and walked away. Disappearing in to the abyss of hallways.
Feeling a sense of urgency, he got out of the pew and headed to the bedroom. He poked his head inside; the woman was there. Asleep in his bed. Peaceful. He was happy to see her still there. He walked away.
James took his time in the shower. Letting the hot water wash over him. Cleansing. Dry blood chipped off his knuckles little by little until there was no trace of it anymore. He brushed his teeth. He couldn’t bring himself to think of anything at all. Was this what peace of mind really was? He was at peace as much as he was irritated by it. He didn’t know what to do, except for clean up, get dressed, and go back to the woman.
And he did just that.
Read Part Three Here.
Part One
The night was fleeting as he sat up abruptly in bed. Still in the silence of the dark he caught his breath. He turned his head so he could peer out of his window. The moon, benevolent, lit up the dim houses in the neighborhood below. He liked living in his apartment, over looking the houses. It made him feel like he was on a cloud. Living on a cloud. Not a very safe foundation for a house, but, still, a comforting place.
Let’s call him James.
James thought of what had happened in the dream. What had shocked him awake up so abruptly. He tried to remember. To think about what it was. A flashing image of a glass of water falling in slow motion. That’s all he could remember. He went to the bathroom. Thought about washing his face, no, he didn’t like that damp feeling. It would bug him.
Suffering from a dry throat, brought on by too many cigarettes before he slept, made him thirsty. The empty glass on his bathroom counter, he reached for it. Wrapped his fingers loosely around it’s smooth frame and held it under the tap. He turned on the water. As the glass filled, he looked in to his own eyes staring back at him in the reflection of his mirror. The cup overflowed. Slipped out of his hand. Fell in to the sink. He remembered something; blunt instrument.
He lit a cigarette and slipped back in to his head, where the dream-stream (the data stored in his subconscious) was located. He closed his eyes and relived it. Alone.
***
The street James stood in was empty. Lush with decorations of modern night life, the neon lights were still off, it was still too early in the day to turn them on. From what he could see, it was dusk. At the end of the street his eyes met with one person among a group. The rest of the group, three or four of them, didn’t seem to notice him. But, that one; that one noticed him. He stood completely still as the rest of them laughed and made small talk. Like chirping birds. But, they were thugs. Bad people. Thieves, muggers, rapists. James knew what they were. And they knew what he was: afraid.
That one. Stared at him. Didn’t blink. Nothing. Just, stared. Cold and hard. Menacing. The Thug. Yes, that’s what I’ll call him, The Thug.
It didn’t bother James that he was alone and clearly outnumbered by the group up ahead. They were too far away to catch up if he started running. Click! From a shadow beside him, a blade shot out of a hand clenched tight around the blade’s grip. Held close to his throat. Shit, James thought. The Thug stepped out of the shadow and in to the dull light of the cloudy sky.
James looked to the end of the street, where the group was before. Gone. The Thug smirked, his first expression. James had nothing to give him. His pockets were empty. Hopefully, James thought, he doesn’t want to rape me.
“Who said we’re gonna rape you?” The Thug said as James thought about it. A redundant question.
“My pockets are empty,” James started, “but you already–”
“Know that,” The Thug said. Finishing the sentence. “It’s not what is in your pocket that I want.”
“Yeah?” James shrugged. The Thug gave a slight nod over his shoulder. Up ahead, where the gang was earlier stood a woman. Terrified. James couldn’t see her face, but he knew that they had met before. He knew her from somewhere. She meant a lot to him. That was enough for him. He knew full and well that this was a dream. But, still, he knew what would happen if he didn’t act now. They’d rape her. They’d hurt her. They’d kill her. He couldn’t let that happen. Mind fiction or not.
He summoned up all of his courage. He pushed the blade away from his throat. And in one swift movement planted his fist hard in to The Thug’s face. Then again, and again. He could feel the sweat mix with the blood and stick to his knuckles. To him, that was proof that his method was working. He continued. The sound of his fist slamming against The Thug’s face. Snapping back while the other fist landed another blow. In a quick moment, The Thug fell. He wasn’t dead. Just incapacitated. Enough for James to move on to the woman. James took a step forward.
Now he was near the woman, now. He still couldn’t recognize her. But, he knew her. From his past, or present or future. He couldn’t tell. The remainder of the gang stood around them both. Shocked and too afraid to fight. James took her hand softly. His knuckles still wet. She wept. He led her through the thugs. Four of them, he could see. Who knows how many more lurked in the shadows. It didn’t matter. They could throw a hundred at him. He had to protect her. He needed to.
They walked through more empty streets. The woman, sniffling. Her hand in his. They walked.
To be continued…
Read part Two here.
Read part Three here.
“The root of all evil.”
Contrary to popular expression, the root of all evil is NOT money. Rather, I believe it’s man. Specifically, a man with money, a bad attitude and a hemorrhoid/syphilis of the foot.
This is a reflection on something I was thinking about while deploying brown space turds from my mothershit.
Enjoy that image in your head. hold it. Hold it. And now… let it go and plunge back in to my post!
Unless you’re reading this from my actual blog space, which I worked hard on creating, you’re probably reading this from your email. Text formatted and unkind to thine eyes, yes? Click the title of the post at the top of this e-mail. Like Morpheus said : “Go. Now, Neo.”
Greeting fellow coffee-filters.
Notice anything new? That’s right. On the right side of this post, there’s a little place to put your email in. Yup.
When you do that, you’ll get a nice little email from me telling you to come check out my newest post. Interesting? It better be. Took me like an hour to figure out how it fuckin’ works.
Also, notice the custom share thing at the bottom of every post. Yea, used a plug-in called Add-2-Any to something like that. Then I modified the ugly graphic they had and made it just a little more interesting. And for all I know, it’s probably bad for conversions. But, hey, fuck conversions. You’re here aren’t you?
If history serves me right, all we need are a handful of average people with conflicting views and a leaky boat and we will save the world somehow. You know why? Because, because that’s good story-telling, and hopefully Hollywood will make a movie. And, if it turns out to be an abomination like the Max Payne movie (which until today, makes me bleed out of my ass), I will hunt down and viciously rape the people behind it. Yeah, that’s right. Doctor Gill will give you an enema that will leave you too afraid to sit down fo the next century or so. And I’ll use my weiner! Fuckers!
…
Okay, so please feel free to share these posts somewhere on your internetz and sign up for the updates.
Also,
~love yourself~
and then fuck your pillow, you lonely bastards.
– just kidding.
Hello my subjects.
Contrary to my normal posts, this one is different. This time, I actually have something to announce.
You will enjoy it. Promise.
Some of you may know this, many of you won’t.
When I was about twelve years old I created a character. And then I created his team. Throughout highschool and the earlier parts of college, a lot of my sketches and character references and self-made comics, meant only to pass the time between bowel movements and to keep my head out of the world I was thrown in to. They were imagined out of pure escapism. Tired of seeping through the cracks of my life at the time, I created a world where I would work in and thus has created my personality now. I am forever deep in thought.
Never mistake my blank stare as stupidity. I am always aware of what’s going on around me; I just don’t NEED to pay attention.
The name I gave the team (as stupid as I think it is now) was The Newcomers.
Can-man/Deth - Their leader, in his teenage years adopting the name Can-man for his impenetrable (metal) skin. As he grew mature, he changed his name to Deth. (Not a typo, really spelled D-E-T-H)
Ghost – An ethereal entity cursed to right the wrongs he has done while he was alive. his past is unknown and even he can’t remember it, however, his punishment sits still in his head and makes him do his best to undo any harm caused to man. Covered in a black cloak and sprouting a head of blue fire, he is the most intelligent character on the team.
Scud - A street thug. Hired to kill Deth, his assassination attempt was a failure and he was thrown directly in to Ghost, who with his strange ethereal powers, imparted what he knew of mankind’s suffering throughout the ages. Scud’s own power was strength and minor absorbing powers. For some reason, he fused with Ghost and that shut off his absorbing powers, but, it gave him an ethereal blade that can sprout out of his arm and work as an effective killing tool.
BooKoo - Ex-con, once part of a team of villains that took on the faces of clowns, his face is bleached white and a clown nose is permanently attached to his face. He was the most powerful of his clown team. Commanding fire he is the hottest headed of them all.
E – An escaped con from another galaxy. His name is E because human tongues can’t pronounce the rest of it. He escaped from his planet because he was incarcerated for holding humanistic values, such as the value of a life, which is not tolerated in his galaxy. Strong and orange, he is tough, yet kind.
The Human Monster – A creature that suffered from an experiment which he can’t remember. Making him a dark blue color, and almost ape-like in appearance (without the fur, though). He is quick and is dedicated to Deth’s mission, and at the same time, this is the easiest way for him to find a cure by using the technology he obtains from villains that they defeat.
There were a few more characters, I will try and remember them.
And the most important, the first one I created. The one I mention at the beginning of the post.
Extremely powerful.
Fueled by rage.
Silent.
Masked.
Huge.
Deadly.
The Mighty DoomHammer.
Definitely my favorite of the bunch. he has had many origin stories. Most of tehm juvenile in their development. Many masks, many iterations, many attacks and poses.
Now, as an adult, I thought of him today. Towering over his enemies, and crushing them with a single devastating blow. And looking at him from these new eyes that have been turned away from the common standards I had set many years ago; he is stronger in my mind than ever before. And so, I will revisit him in all his glory, as he roars silently from the depths of my brain. Reborn with a new origin, a similar design yet he is balanced. Rage meets simplicity. A simple rage.
I am going to make a video. With all of my new-trained skills. All of my knowledge of design and video and writing and story development, I will, again, give birth to the Mighty DoomHammer.
Stay tuned.
Crunch says the bone.
~love yourself~
To mah niggaz.
Offended yet? I was aiming for a first line offense. Worked, no? Nevermind.
Fuck-wit.
Okay, so, the purpose of this post goes out to one of my best and most responsive ’subjects’.
His name is [name].
That’s right, true to Doctor Gill regulations, no name dropping, for their own safety. See?
I got you in my heart, and you got me in you.
Take that last line however you want to.
So, [name], has been a good friend and a loyal supporter to the RedBlack cause. He has also been a nice support to the initiative of offending as many of you fuckers who read this and are offended but can also see the humour in it and not fuckin’ be an anally retentive dick lick who disagrees and decides to take action against me.
And then, after sending me an email about how offensive I am in my blog, gets even more offended when I reply to his faggot fuckin’ email with a very common Doctor Gill response : Fuck you. Then, he tries to find me on fucking Facebook. There are no books in Facebook, by the way. Either way, that little pussy tries to post shit on my Facebook wall. So, naturally, I decline his fuckin’ friendship offer on FB. But, he tries, again, and again, and again. Until, one fine day, he gets my personal number. And he calls me, and he threatens to take legal action against Doctor Gill and the whole RedBlack Laboratory. That he wants to shut me down. And I tell him very simply and elegantly, with as much fuck-all respect I can offer, to go flicketty-french-fried-fuck himself. And when he’s done that to go one step further and fuck his pet dog, named (of course) Dragonshit. AND THEN, to fuck the neighbour’s car, then if he can, the neighbour, and then come find me! So, in preparation for him to come get me, I put on my Doctor Gill Gas Mask, and shaved my head, and shined my knife collection. Oh how they shimmer.
…
Well, he never found me. Though I remember hearing about a pet rapist, who also tried to rape his neighbour just after splooging, what later was found to be NOT white paint, all over the neighbour’s car.
How was that?
Well [name], that one was just for you. One love.
Oh, and as always, please do NOT forget to
fuck the neighbour’s cats, and
~love yourself~
