Appetite Pt. 3 ‘Figger Shit Out’

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Another beautiful day of heat and brutality.

Summer.

Consulting books of tight-ass vs. loose-cunt wisdom, the enlightenment etc.  back when someone began to think they really knew something, you might think that these philosophers, these influencers of groupthink, would have nipped some of this malfeasance in the bud.  But, what did these big thinkers do but confuse and divide us more?  The most hideous of these had the sweetest connects, thus transmuted their especial poisons into policies through human centipede type transference, in the wake of which groups of stoic curs and powdered dandies got full of themselves looking at the filthy birds proliferating in their sweaty hands, poking in their bushes until nothing progressed.

Evidently, we’re creatures hooked on devolution.

Can’t you smell the fuming and dumping?  Can you feel the sucking?  With this dog hearted dedication, we may rest assured that we’ll get the climax we saw coming in that series of films that warmed us up to these ideas.  The big finish, the happiest ending of all.  After all that trolling foreplay, we can be secure in the knowledge that we’ll have been satisfactorily hate fucked in just under 200 years— a world record even by genus homo standards.  Even Ron Jeremy would approve of this message.  Want to fact check me?  Be my guest.  I heard it on NPR and I believe it in so many words.  Your sources aren’t any better.  News;  PAID ADVERTISING.  Where is journalism? We cannot seem to find him anywhere.  Journalism would be a “him” would it not?  A form of concentration and projection?  The inquiry, the intrusion, the cameras and the fuzzy lingam of sound?

“Could you put your mouth closer to the mike?”  Yes, I could!
Journalism is masculine: poetry is feminine.
Wow.
They’re like HIV strains of the spoken word.

Let’s cure them both.

Let’s create a cliche free folklore, a free range ideology based on destruction of the destructive.

O fuck it.  Let’s spray everything with hot lead and jump in the river.

Go figger.

When are PUNDITS gonna die, for christsakes?!  We can supply the base and inane platitudes on our own:
What goes in must come out. (shit)
One must weigh and carefully measure, mustn’t one?  We are a scale with shit in the one hand and a bill of lading in the other.  One must outweigh the competition to be the biggest, fattest piece of shit on the planet.
What does it mean to be right and wrong at the same time?   Nobody can give you a straight answer.
Can the very thing that people admire also be the very thing they despise?  It often is.  Look at any Kardashian.
How far is too far?  How left is too left.  Right?  Good night!
How close is too close?  Bologna breath is withering me.
How disengaged can one become and still maintain a “grasp” on reality?  A presidential mind set.
How long does it take for a dead lie to become the living truth?  A repetition of three times, times 3.
Are we born “true” or, rather, civilized into “truthfulness?”  We’re simply fucked.
Are civilization and morality concepts that look good on paper but have no basis in reality/realty?  Yes.
There is no “I” in team.  But there is a U in FUCK.
People who like to watch sports are healthier than people who don’t.  People who play sports can knock the shit out of the spectators and this will help them live the longest most fulfilling lives.
Give buns not guns.  Guns up buns open packages faster than laxatives.
A fat sack has no equal.
If you can’t give 110% then you shouldn’t give a damn.
Bad habits spoil useful associations.  Filthy habits make you happy.
Everything eventually turns either brown or black.
Can-do attitude gets the bone boiled.
Bake some bread, feed some people, smoke some grass.
Enjoy life… eat at the ‘Y’ every day.
Push pink.  Hang salami.  Go horny.
It takes a wise man to move a mountain and an idiot to really make things happen.
Wash your ass.
Add two and two and figger shit out.

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