Sunday, May 8, 2016

There is No Tragedy, It is Only Death and No-one Knows When it Comes

The only interesting thing about it is trying to make it cool.  On his death bed, Oscar Wilde noticed the curtains in the room and said, "Either the drapes go or I do"

With that, he exited the planet.  Total class in the throes of death!


The network is riddled with trolls and you see them everywhere.  Some are so vicious they've talked of raping women with chain saws and I'm not even slightly exaggerating.  You don't see the comments I throw out and I definitely won't quote them but my all-time favorite was when someone wanted me to die in a fire.  I thought, gee, kinda hateful but at least a little bit creative about it.

Note:  that one wasn't a comment but rather came from some nitwit on Second Life.  Later he said he was sorry but beaters always do, don't they ... just before they do it again.


I do seek to define myself but the nature of creativity is you won't ever be satisfied with the result because you will always want to do better with the next one.  A good many of you must be creative in your own ways or you would not be here and you know what I tell you.  The finished product is cool to behold and, wow, I made that.

That sensation lasts for about twelve and a half seconds and then you start thinking of what you will do next.  No artist ever did just one painting ... unless it ferociously sucked and that artist thought, hmm, looks like my future better go to writing, music, or a zillion other artistic pursuits.  The only difference here is being more public about it and that's magnetic for kill shots (larfs).

I'm a vicious, transgender-hating, son of a bitch, don'tcha know.  That was getting flogged for quite a while in Facebook by some transgender who was really just another drunkie.  Hit the bottom of the bottle and she starts shooting, doesn't matter where.

I've known multiple transgenders and some were out about it while others were not.  That one is the only one of them who has been a flaming pain in the ass.  See above about drunkie.


At the moment, the tolerance for trash monkeys is zero and the only window I have even opened has been to the comments just now but trash monkeys have never defined my style, they only make it a bitch and that's a large part of eliminating well over eight hundred people on Facebook who were or once were ostensibly fans.

I attract quite a few hookers on Facebook as well and they will post a connect request every one or two days, sometimes more in a single day.  Based on that evidence, it seems obvious being an online hooker is a less than opportune career pursuit but it doesn't stop them.  The pics usually have some boobiferous bimbo but it's probably a man pushing them anyway to boost his porno Web site.


This is my style and that never changed although the graphics on the Galactic Peace Tour truck were just a wee bit more sophisticated.


Thank you for messages today because life is one hell of a lot better when we support each other, regardless of the way in which it comes.  Yah, a bit pedantic but I can live with it.


Lotho, Cadillac Man, Laughing Gecko, and I'm not sure whom else is responsible for this visual travesty but I have loved that car ever since.  The reverse gear did not work so the only option was to park on hills so I could roll backwards and then drive from the new position.  You're young, you adapt (larfs).

Then (sob) we killed her and I'm not sure who was in that demolition party but likely the same crew and she was never going to recover anyway by that point.  The answer was a Viking funeral but I chickened-out on torching her.  It would have been grand to behold.  In time, The Hook came and so we watched evolution in action.

Oh, and all those colors ... that's common housepaint, matey.  It was art, damnit (larfs).

Note: the technique envisioned came from Doc (I think) and that was to 'brick' the car.  That's when you put a brick on the accelerator pedal and then run because that baby goin' blow.

Sorry, girl, as you deserved the best but I was a wimp and did not burn you, mostly because of the unanswered question of where we could get away with it and the next act wouldn't have been getting arrested and chucked into jail.


This is a bit of twisted joy from the neighborhood here as I write and those outside the city can smile because they don't have to put up with it.  There's somewhere down the street where some guy, every hour or so, starts revving up his engine over and over.  Each time the result is the same as it starts popping when it gets near the high end.  I'm no mechanic but I think that's due to improper timing or some such.  In any case, we're not hearing any wrenching because it's the same symptom each time so what we have is the classic backyard mechanic trying to fix a car by revving the motor.  Gasp (larfs).

Many neighborhoods in the city anywhere have one of these ... or ... they have the creep with ten dogs in a pen in the backyard and they never, ever, stop barking.  Remembering the city, now are you?  Ha ha!

Doc can build trash cars with 700hp motors so some can do it while many more should probably ought to stick to cutting grass and washing windows (shrug).

(Ed:  what is a trash car?)

I have no idea except they're pretty and extremely fast.  Beyond that, I know nothing, I see nothing.



If you say anything about a man's car then obviously you're insulting his manhood and now the testosterone starts juicing.  I'll show you how manly I can be, bitch!  Um, I think you already did, pardner (larfs).

Usually people grow out of that fairly young while the others wrap themselves around a tree when they hit their first high-speed corner.  Actually, in the relatively-frequent times we hear of such accidents and there was no other car involved, I'm more inclined to call it a deliberate suicide but that's a whole article of its own because that's quite enough rambling in this one.

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