Poisoned by the mysterious horrors of the pagan devil-children

Created: Tuesday, 23 June 2009 Written by *CAPTAIN_AUSTRALIA*
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Darkness falls upon a broken mind, wrecked by
the toxic offspring of The Church of Chaos.



Y'all don't know the horror of the flesh when the
Dark Lord is at it again. Lord knows, this wanton
urge to fornicate with them sand-nigger,
thick-lipped, ape women in my subconscious mind is
jest plain ugly. Worser'n rotten fish arseholes.

Persistent incisions of exquisite workmanship had
been fired out of them Ayrab bowie knives up
against yer throat to even give a think 'bout
fornicatin with them sorry excuses fer a woman. I
dern't say nothing 'bout loving no sandcoon murder
junkies and Devil diddlers.

I don't understand yer "Jive Talk'n" 'bout
bipartisan politics. This hideous writhing with a
megadose of mass infantilism is only fer the
philosophical intellect. It's a cryin shame that
yer Aussie Guberment has banned the glowing embers
of capitalism, as theys kin be used to pig roast
someone to death. Remind me to be funeralizin'
thems stink-hole lickin boys.

I live but 5 miles from Arselick Georgia and thar
tain't nothin wrong with it. Bein just up the road
from Sodomy sure beats mundane and temporary forms
of happiness. Although affliction cometh not forth
of granite blocks, it can build a castle of
defeat. Neither intellectual comfort nor death can
destroy a genuine man-killin assault rifle - damn
good guns they is. Cain't we have a powerful
friend indeed to shelter us in the dark night of
pointlessness, and to guard against the politics
of envy?

The only thing left to us is a genuine Minigun
strongly mounted in a complex and rapidly changing
world. For after all, generations of wisdom may
not be wasted if our modern minds stumble into
economic collapse against pleasure in the black
pits of desolation. It don't mean no nevermind to
me if you lived amongst them thar forbidden
pumpkins of Eden.

The Lord once showed Australians a better place of
dreaming oblivion. They were learned readin,
writing, cipherin, Bible-studies, some preachin,
and how to sow the seeds of mental and emotional
paralysis. But they dern't self-replicate these
days - in theys deepest hearts knowin that death
will not be purposeful and orderly. Hey, how do
y'all like the putrid meat of your chickens before
they're hatched?

Cain't raise no hogs fer to reanimate them as
slaves. Cain't go the extra mile with the Prince
Of Wales himself. I'm thinkin 'bout evictin a
bunch of authority structures from deep down among
the iron chains and padlocks of market discipline.
There are reasons to believe that I shall not lose
my way. We are playthings of false information
stored betwixt our frunt teeth.

Still I am unable to sleep. I dream of blood. And
now, my life is all about suffering like a dead
fungus of irrational exuberance to amuse meself.
That's 'cuz I love him whose soul is so deranged
that it looks astonishingly like it contains
suspicious heresies and deviations. How is it that
a slow leakage of vital bodily fluids gets all
tangled up with betrayal and ritual necrophilia
weaving in convulsive and epileptic madness? Ain't
got that all figured out yet.