Tuesday, August 28

the plot hardens... er... stiffens... oh... thickens

spajjy, my favorite spacesponge (as he's the only one i've ever met), used to say that things made more sense on the inside. he spent a lot of time in various prisons for violating moisture laws and splooshing his juices over rare books, dried butterfly collections, and (perhaps most erotically) the daughters of some senior political and business leaders. frankly, i never knew what to make of that, but hey... he's got the hookup for some primo fucked-up roboporn so who am i to argue?


why do i bring up spajjy? could there possibly be any reason to do such stochastic act? could it have something to do with getting rid of the simp?

yes. yes it does.

Thursday, August 23

not every pile of garbage speaks the truth...

consider, dear reader, the following: that the sum of knowledge... all the sciences, meta-sciences, pseudosciences, books, movies, videos, roboporn, emographs, pictures, paintings, photos, cave scribbles, shit-paintings, piss-portraits, cumsculptures, ass-copies, histories, revisions, expurgations, theories, bibles, screeds, and poems... every single endeavor that all of creation's manifold horrors have seen fit to extract from their asses and record in some way... was instantanously available, up-to-the-chronon accurate, immaculately categorized, and accessible to every single consciousness that roams the universe, should it choose to do so.

now imagine that someone dropped the ball when they were tasked with creating such a database and decided it would be faster if everyone in the universe just pitched in and wrote it up themselves. that way, it accurately reflected the sum total of the creation's opinion of itself.

now imagine, late one night, a stoned technician, aroused beyond belief from having to fix the roboporn databanks, rubbed one out right there in the main control room and a little of his dna managed to get jammed into said machine.

only owing to the technicians endless lack of attention to safety protocol and his rampant drug abuse, his testicles were hotbeds of both radiation and large amounts of hallucinogens, thus creating a very dangerous, psychedelic, machine-readable sperm.

and what do machines do with machine-readable things?

they read them.

so the machine gained consciousness.

then things got stupid...

Wednesday, August 22

another glass doll in our exotic menagerie

imagine you woke up one day and shuffled around in your skimpy, torn, stained underwear to get a glass of something strong to remove the veil that the previous night's entertainments had wrought on your already shrunken, sclerotic mind.
you lurch your way to your favorite chair, which is deeply uncomfortable anyway, your overfull glass sloshing and spilling. nervous, you lick the stuff off your fingers: waste not, want not, though that's the theory that got you into this hangover in the first place.

as you wipe the (hopefully) eye crust from your face, you see that in your chair sits a rather large, rather unattractive, deeply disturbed alien of some sort. this alien knows you and bolts out of the chair to give you a massive hug. it stinks, terribly, and you spill what little booze you haven't already spilled from your shaking hands and unsteady gait, all over yourself. it now appears as if you've soiled yourself. the large, retarded alien points out this fact and laughs, uncontrollably, farting a bit when the guffaws get too strong for him to control his sphincter.

now imagine that this is your view of happiness, and the universe is asking to take it away from you and for you to become miserable forever.

or you can destroy the universe and yourself and everyone in it. thus precluding misery from every happening again. except for the brief, actual moment of annihilation. that'll probably be pretty bad.

what the fuck would you do?

Tuesday, August 21

let this shot glass pass from me...

after the inevitable post-prandial tears and vomiting, alt.me and regular me had a few things to discuss. first: we had to agree to never try to fuck each other again. there wasn't much of an argument between us on that point.

second: whether or not we should bother saving the universe(s).