Almost Died Laughing

I am not very sure why, but jist a couple days ago, I hapoened to wonder what is the funniest thing Ive ever seen or heard? What has made me laugh until it became torturous to laugh any longer? I know there has been more than one occassion for sure, but only once ever have I laughed so hard and incessantly that I struggled to beg for someone to turn off the television.

I was watching Whose Line is it Anyway? If you aren’t familiar, its an improv comedy show starring Collin Mockery, Wayne Brady, Ryan Stiles, and some other dudes and lady or two that get rotated out and also usually some guest celebrity. I don’t remember whuch episode it was particularly, and I’m not quite certqin what skit it was either, but it seems like it may have been a scene in which they were pretending to be ghosts in a sideways room or something like that…

I laughed so hard and so long ut was painful and I couldn’t breathe, and I barely made out the words and it took many attempts to say, “please! Turn it off! Turn it off!” I could not bear it any longer. I did honestly entertain the idea that I might just die right then if I didn’t stop laughing and I wouod he added to the short list of people who have literally died from laughter. Even after the tv was powered off, it took some time before I was abpe to calm down, stop laughing, and no joke: I laughed in short intermitent bursts for hours afterward.

I joked about suing the cast of Whose Line is it Anyway? For attempting to murder me. God bless them, they are some crazy funny and very skillfup masters of improv! I do believe they are quite underrated.

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Writing,words, and faggots too.

What I love most about writing is the way it helps to collect my thoughts, make statements, make laughter, is therapeutic and builds understanding…the true wonder of language is how it literally shapes our perception of reality. Lacking certain words entails very little to no concept of certain features of reality. If you had never known the word blue and had no thought of it, how would you see blue? How would you describe blue if you had never knew such a word existed??  Dude, I won’t even pretend to know. Ancient Greek scholars and Homer, and even more shockingly: that one guy who was like the color scholar. He wrote extensively about color…these people never once in their writings mention the color blue.  They had no concept of the color blue. Because they did not yet have a word for it. Blue. Easy. Homer had described the sky as the color Amber and also likened it to the color of wine……colors came to us in stages. Celebrity Ancient Greek scholars were probably at yellow. First came red as it is the color of blood…and…wine…really, it’s no wonder we always envision ancient Greeks as being large, belligerent and boisterous drunkards gathering together in the vomitorium for their regularly scheduled hate-orgy and celebratory poetry slam and wrestle-your-gay-crush   closet-clinging ritual to appear more manly and not gay…Despite what you might be thinking (like, that’s just absurd! Wrestling is fact:  Gay as Fok.  The only people who will argue the point are in fact, gay and love wrestling and they know they’re gay as fok yet, still, they cling to it because their brains have not evolved as quickly as the rest of the global population has…they are not advanced enough to just kick the fokn closet door down and own their faggotry.
Faggots are so in-style.  Faggot is the new black.  The easiest way to be “cool” is to just admit you’re a queer!  The sooner you leave the closet the cooler you are. Gay is automatically accepted in the cool-crowd, but generally speaking, the more flamboyant and proud to be a queer you are the better.  Everyone wants sassy gay friends.  They’re the top-trending must-have accessory now. Duh. We love you, faggots. Seriously).

Open letter to the Seeing-people: bugger off! 

Open letter to people who can see stuff:

To anyone whose eyes function as they’re intended to:
     Why, I wonder, do you filthy little animals with your seeing eyes feel the need to touch things? Isn’t it good enough to simply see things?  Just because a thing is there and you can see it doesn’t mean you must also grope it with your germ-infested disease spreading hands.  

      I heard someone ask today, Why do signs featuring Braille writing say, ‘Do Not Touch’?  Maybe a lot of you people who can see have asked either silently in your thoughts or in casual conversation with your friends who also see with their eyes. I’m going to tell you why Braille signs state to not touch them….

      Those Braille signs do not want you to touch them only if you can see to read with your eyes that it is written on the sign, DO NOT TOUCH! So if you can see the sign to read it just don’t touch it. It is not for you people win your functional eyes to fondle and grope and dirty it up with your seeing-person germs. 

      The signs are there only for those who lack the ability to see the words, who also cannot see the signs. Only the superhumans, most commonly referred to as “visually impaired” or “blind” may rightfully touch the signs.  It is a bit like adding injury to insult for a seeing-person to touch the signs because you get them all germified by doing so and the “visually impaired” already cannot see, why cause them to become infected with your seeing-oersonr influenzas or your RSV or any other illnesses which could be contracted just because you can’t keep your filthy little hands off Braille signs, or anything else for that matter…..just…stop…touching things!
     I bet you’re also now wondering what makes the visually impaired person superhuman and I’ll tell you now:

The visually impaired are superhuman because all of their other senses are heightened. Far beyond that of any of yours! Therefore, they’re advanced. And way better than any of you seeing-people. They’re the gods among all us mere mortals!

P.s., 

KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF THE SIGNS MEANT FOR THE GODS AMONG US!!!!


Open letter to the Seeing-people: bugger off! 

Open letter to people who can see stuff:

To anyone whose eyes function as they’re intended to:
     Why, I wonder, do you filthy little animals with your seeing eyes feel the need to touch things? Isn’t it good enough to simply see things?  Just because a thing is there and you can see it doesn’t mean you must also grope it with your germ-infested disease spreading hands.  

      I heard someone ask today, Why do signs featuring Braille writing say, ‘Do Not Touch’?  Maybe a lot of you people who can see have asked either silently in your thoughts or in casual conversation with your friends who also see with their eyes. I’m going to tell you why Braille signs state to not touch them….

      Those Braille signs do not want you to touch them only if you can see to read with your eyes that it is written on the sign, DO NOT TOUCH! So if you can see the sign to read it just don’t touch it. It is not for you people win your functional eyes to fondle and grope and dirty it up with your seeing-person germs. 

      The signs are there only for those who lack the ability to see the words, who also cannot see the signs. Only the superhumans, most commonly referred to as “visually impaired” or “blind” may rightfully touch the signs.  It is a bit like adding injury to insult for a seeing-person to touch the signs because you get them all germified by doing so and the “visually impaired” already cannot see, why cause them to become infected with your seeing-oersonr influenzas or your RSV or any other illnesses which could be contracted just because you can’t keep your filthy little hands off Braille signs, or anything else for that matter…..just…stop…touching things!
     I bet you’re also now wondering what makes the visually impaired person superhuman and I’ll tell you now:

The visually impaired are superhuman because all of their other senses are heightened. Far beyond that of any of yours! Therefore, they’re advanced. And way better than any of you seeing-people. They’re the gods among all us mere mortals!

P.s., 

KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF THE SIGNS MEANT FOR THE GODS AMONG US!!!!


Canine Menace: Dog Overlords, a warning to my father

My dearest and onliest father,
I hope this letter finds you quite well and also I hope it finds that you have gotten rid of your dog’s and brought home cats to replace them. Before it’s too late…
On the eve of Christmas, I found a disembodied deer antler the dogs had been gnawing on. Presumably they were sharpening their teeth in preparation for eating us humans as their Yuletide Feast. Any critter cute and sweet as them rascally doggies of ours must be harboring some dark secret– Ulterior motives which shall not ever be known if they eat us and convert us into fetid bacteria-laden land mines.

These dog creatures who speak a strange language and perform strange rituals which look cute and are often hilarious, but in reality they are surely enacting these rituals such as “tail-chasing” and “waving” and “rolling around” and the infamous “dragging their butts across carpets” (we assume their rumps are just itchy but the reality is that they’re sexual deviants, perverted beyond anything a mere mortal can imagine. Not even people like Traci Lords or Jeffrey Dahmer could comprehend such twisted things as what these beasts are up to)!

It is all in the works of some arcane magick and the appeasing of some sinister force of such great malevolence that it shall spell the inevitable doom of the human species! The least fortunate are being enslaved already, but it will get much worse as time progresses. The most fortunate will be eaten alive by vicious gangs of canines and then given as an offering from the oppsosite end of these terrible creatures to the ancient Canine Overlords from the heretofore unknown 16th circle of HELL!

I know what you’re thinking, my dear father. You’re thinking your poor daughter has finally gone hopelessly mad and is in the throes of being consumed by ridiculous nonsensical delusions! Mayhaps, by now, you’re already dialing the white coats to come for me with large syringes filled with the maximum dosage of Thoridazine in addition to some secondary tranquilizer reserved for raging rhinoceroses who have begun attacking their handlers at zoos! Or maybe whatever they use on those lions who are forced to take photos with tourists in that one country. I forget the name of the country but it is populated by people who are often seen slowly pulling guinea worms from their feet very nonchalantly. They have the patience that even saints are not capable of. That country. Google God may know it’s proper name. Ask Google.

But I tell you now, father, that I am not delusional. I haven’t even dropped acid in approximately 20 hours. I ran out of mescaline 2 weeks ago. I lost my last vial of adrenachrome during a high speed chase I led the entire local police force on after I borrowed one of their cruisers because I needed transportation to the nearest powwow in which Peyote tribe was participating in. I threw the vial out the window because it was the only possible projectile I had and I had hoped it might momentarily stun them when something hit windshield with just enough force to crack it. With some really cool but dangerous maneuvers I was able to evade them and torch the cruiser and escape on the back of my spirit leopard. Spirit leopards are much faster than normal leopards. So fast, in fact, the g-force nearly ripped my face right off.

And now, I am sending you this warning. You and grandma and my dear uncles have a been magickally enslaved by your beloved “furbabies”! Your only hope of freedom is to train your cats for battle! You need battle cats! Only the Sacred Army of the Felines can save you! And all of humanity! And I know it is all true! Because I just now made it all up! Beware! Abandon all hope, ye who adore doggies!

Make me proud! Next time I see you, I expect you each to have a hoard of battle cats who could take out even an army as great as the Spartans supposedly were! You will find, also, that battle cats were exactly just what you needed when that rotten land-wrecking, earthquake-triggering pack of jackals known as the “gas company” came out and knocked all those trees down and refused to pay for damages! They ruined the creek! And they didn’t find the gas! What good are they?! They’re good enough to feed a pack of hungry battle cats. It’s true you can Google this, father.

Love Always,
Emily Alice

Jesus and the Rusty Butter knife of Justice

The seven deadly sins are familiar to many, from the audience of Dante to anyone who has ever seen that movie, Seven, starring Brad Pitt and the infamous razor studded dildo. I’m certain that there is no way (even with the instantaneous exchange of information and pornography) that everyone who is at least older than five, is unaware of the seven deadly sins. Furthermore, maybe half of those who are familiar with these can probably only recite three out the seven, at best, but will refer to them when the need arises to seem knowledgeable: in casual conversation or as a Professor of Theology who bought his degree on the deep web. Even someone like the fake Professor of Theology needs to keep up appearances just enough to continue to acquire money (that he probably doesn’t need or even deserve) without being found out and then tarred and feathered and shackled to a wood beam and left in the nude, vulnerable to whatever ineffable actions that would be taken upon him simply because that evil rotten shit-eater had the gall to do what most of us would do if we knew how and had balls bigger than our brains. That guy should be teaching others who would do that same thing for a living just how to do that shit. And that shit would include the most basic of information required: how to access the Underland of Cyberspace, how to locate the necessary businesses (which for all intents and purposes “do not exist”), and also maybe a smidgen of the art of fooling others more knowledgeable than they so that they will be able to successfully pull of such a deception.

Apparently, the number of people who are morbidly curious about this dark secret world of the internet outnumber those who have some crazy bright overhead light bulbs and just thought, “Hey! Maybe I can just…..GOOGLE this!” and then go frolicking about like a small girl in the garden of an evil witch who is about to cook and serve her for dinner. I bet one can even find those Red Rooms that are so terrifying that even the devil himself is afraid of anything red!

I can never speak of this to anyone. Ever. Not even my closest friend to whom I give rim jobs to to keep all of my most secretest secrets safe. This is a lonely road I have chosen and my poor mother will weep over an empty coffin when I fake my death and begin this fantastic venture of stealing lives to soothe the loneliness that comes with my chosen path to final freedom…

The pretend-for-pay Theologian has much to offer humanity and should be just as well-respected as one of those lechers who give motivational speeches and give more advice than one’s feeble mind can actually process, taking money as thanks with promises of unlimited access to God’s most exclusive nightclub in the afterlife. Valued, paying audiences are sure he’s not even charging one-tenth of what he should be charging them and are so thankful for such a bargain that they will also promise their daughters as concubines for those filthy closet pervs.

So much for all that. I’ve gone a bit off the rails here, but just imagine what sorts of invaluable relics can be found to the side of the track! The best stuff is always just off to the side of the track because that’s where people tend to neglect most. As they’ve had to work, digging all along where the plans for the track take them. Just enough earth has been plundered for laying the track and some rocks directly alongside it. The track brings a regular stream of income, tourists, resources, motion-sickness, vibrations and excitement and even romance and fear of dirty foreign men looking to ravish even the most uncomely of white women, who no matter their age or girth are still the most tantalising things all foreigners have ever seen. Truly, it is enough to send anyone who isn’t caucasian into frenzies of lust and depravity unmatched even by Dionysus. There is no obvious need for whatever is to the sides of the track until one of God’s enlightened disciples of madness excavates these lonely margins and begins to preach of the abundance that can be found off the track, and that oft travelled railway then becomes irrelevant and taken for what it is: mundane and so boring that it is a direct path to Hell.Only a fool would disagree.

And, now, back to the real point here: the Eighth Deadly Sin! What is it? I’m not even sure a proper word or phrase exists to describe it so accurately as has been done for the first seven sins, and this simply will not do. After all, how can a person avoid commiting a sin he isn’t even aware it is a sin or what exactly such a sin entails?

We can’t leave the eighth deadly sin without its own word because the responsibility of the countless souls disserviced and condemned to an eternity of daily castration (in the eighth circle of Hell, at the stroke of every midnight, these poor sinful bastards find that their genitals have grown back in place and are properly functioning only to lose them again without any anesthesia. (After the first three mornings of waking to the rapture of having their sex organs still intact only to lose them a mere few hours later, they will no longer be able to say it was only a bad dream and they will see it coming but there’s no way to stop it).

Many unspeakable horrors occur there. It is so terrible that aside from those living eternity in torment, no one knows what goes on there between castrations. No one speaks of it. Not even in conversation just among those suffering fools and their closest allies. The 8th sin takes many forms. There is only one word I can think of that can include such a plethora of things that can and will be seen in the eyes of the Lord as the final sin. The sin that cannot be forgiven. What word can describe such an evil? What can we name the skinwalker of sins? I’m not sure your sinful nature is ready to know the truth.

But, who am I to tell anyone what is right or wrong, good or evil, for better or worse? Even I will be among those who must trudge shamefully from circle to circle on a daily basis, each day lasting the equivalent of 72 hours for the living, to receive punishment for all my wrong-doings.

Never listen to those who say, “<b>Variety</b> is the spice of life,” for the eighth circle of hell is where listening to those rotten little flesh-cans filled with garbage and vile hatred will land you.

<i>Variety is not the spice of life. Variety is the seasoning of sorrow and suffering</i> and you will curse all those who have ever dared utter those words for all eternity every time Jesus approaches you with his rusty butter knife of Righteous Justice to carve at you where you want it least of all: the most tender and sacred parts of your body.

William Graves

William Graves was much too busy to die today. He was just two weeks away from making Gloria Rose his wife. The two were a fine young couple. But not now. Not today. Today was the day that ended any plans for the future laid together by William and Gloria.  


For the time being, I am the only person who knows that William will never return home to his fiancee. That William will never again show up for work. That his poor mother who suffered to push this wretch into the world in the first place, continued to suffer to allow this fool to survive and thrive in a world that would place no more importance on his being than it would to clean the excrement from a dog’s ass off the bottom of its shoe, would never again welcome her son home for holidays nor would she receive his weekly phone call home.  


No.  Not now.  Not after today.  


Here I am. With my auto-pilot breathing. My unrequited love. My plans intact. My recalling the memory – my – memory of William Graves. My regret that Gloria Rose will worry when William fails to call, fails to come home to her. When she has to call in a missing person’s report. And weep when William, weeks from now, has yet to call or return to her, and with no explanation. No news from William. No news of William. 


No. Not after today. Today is the day William got the literal kind of cold feet.  


This morning, William woke as usual. Readied himself for work.  Maybe he kissed Gloria goodbye. Got into his practical black Subaru legacy at 6 am.  He cautiously backed out of his driveway and drove away for work.  A thing he’d never have to do again. No. Not after today.


Here I am. Keeping record. My own historian. I am alive. Too busy to die just like everyone else. Like William was. I was much too excited to sleep. Much like many kids are on the night of Christmas eve. I didn’t sleep. So I didn’t wake. No. Not today. Today I was ready. Today was the day I granted Mr. Graves his leave of absence

New Owners of Home With Dead Lady in Attic Wall Better Detectives than Detective Inspector 

Police Detective Jason Fay said the new owners were a bit worried because of the body. “Was it someone who was killed and stuffed in the wall, or did they accidentally pass away by ending up in the wall?” he said.

Really, detective? It must have been such intense suspense and indescribably enlightening to have been the one detective inspector to detect upon inspecting that this couple was, indeed, worried. I would never have guessed it myself. The societal norm in General is that of finding human remains in the house one has just newly acquired. In fact, half of realty purchases are not for the realty but for the prize(s) inside! By prizes inside, I really mean the body, or if you’re super lucky, bodies!   The noobs actually wondered if the person who used to be the bones that they found was murdered or had died when they somehow accidentally got trapped inside the wall? Wow. Okay. It’s obvious that old lady wedged herself inside that attic wall intentionally  so that whoever bought the house next would be able to find a really cool prize in their new home and really get his or her money’s worth out of the old place. 

https://www.yahoo.com/news/owners-houston-home-human-remains-attic-wall-135838952.html