On the clock

For years, I worked refining iron. My job was to take the pig iron to the cupola furnace to separate out the slag. It was always really hot in the refinery. You'd sweat through your clothes. The protective clothing was constricting. My OSHA working mask was sticking to my face.

I got to thinking about this broad that I had seen on the walk to work. She was about 5'9", a hundred and twenty-ish pounds, probably about 10 of that was pure tit. The slight drizzle had dampened her top as she walked to the bus stop. She was carrying a bag. I figured she had probably just left her boyfriend.

She wanted it. I thought about all the things I'd do to her, her moans filling the refinery. Her soaked from the rain, me drenched from the heat. The clanking of the metal, the sizzling of the iron in the furnaces.

And then I heard a scream. I snapped out of it. I wondered how long I had been thinking about that. What a great way to fuck up my day. My miserable prick coworker had taken it upon himself to leap into the molten slag. "At least commit suicide off the clock," I thought.

There's a common misconception that people have from movies and TV that if you jump into a pool of molten metal you eventually sink below the surface as if you jumped into some kind of swimming pool. I guess he had it too. Because what actually happens is much more horrible, louder, and smells awfully of a burning ham hock. A man-sized burning ham hock. A body floats in water because water is about as dense as a body. Iron, molten or not, is so much more dense than a person. A body helplessly writhes, unable to stand, unable to put out the fire, frying like a 200 lb piece of bacon. A piece of bacon that screams, for what seems like an entire shift, before the last bit of fucking stupid consciousness leaves his body.

The day now over, I punched out and wondered about the girl at the bus stop and when I'd see her again.

The Past

I haven't always been such a beneficent person. Before I retired, I lived a life in a tumult of anger. After bouncing around through society's institutions, I came to see the error of my ways. Now I am awoken and I can never go back to sleep.

But early on, I was in it for the quick buck. I ran with the wrong crowd. My ideals got all twisted up in a neighborhood more full of piss and vinegar than of knowledge. Boy, I thought I knew then.

I knew how to make money using my hands and an upside-down smile. Me and the local guys started a card game for degenerates to piss away their electric bill money on. I collected the vigorish debts.

Most of the time people paid right on the spot. Other times we'd track them down. Not like Unsolved Mysteries or anything like that. More like a knock on the door asking for the money. Nobody was out to get hurt. These guys had families and didn't want their bad habits to follow them home. Sometimes it was more than just a bad habit that could follow you home. Eventually you were the bad habit. You did the following. And you could follow someone further than home.

The stories were always the same. He'd been in debt for weeks. He meant to pay but he couldn't. He'd have it if you just gave him another day. A day turns into two days. Word gets around that you're a fool. And then one night you'd cave in his fucking skull with a claw hammer.

Visions

I don't see, I foresee. I am a visionary in my field. Think of me as an alarm clock sent from beyond to bring about the new awakening. Past prophets have been too concerned with personal profits to truly benefit mankind. You, of course, know by now that just as all profits are falsehoods foisted upon us by the government, that so too are all past prophets. I remembered this because the chaotic strands that order reality put a black lady in my bed this morning.

The one true king is here to keep you protected from yourself. But there is sorcery afoot, preventing the truth from reaching TV. The mass media is dominated by these sorcerers and all of their reports are elaborate lies staged by the world media conglomerates and the shadow government. This is the time in which a visionary like me can thrive by sifting the diamonds from the feces, the great minds from the deceptive automatons sent to stop us.

For years the government has been snatching up land across the United States. In fact, the shadow government owns 30% of the land in the United States. Why should they be allowed a monopoly over the citizenry to use these areas to deal death with their murderous machines and practice their sorcery, animating once lifeless mechanical bodies into fearsome automatons now indistinguishable from an ordinary man but for their brutal intentions and their purple internal "organs" formed of fulminated gold.

It is at this crucial moment that we today as believers must ask ourselves, is Barack Obama acting in the best interests of the true Americans like you and me? Or, is he a sinister magician using his powers to shrink the penises of the many and adding their length to those of the few shadow governors? Fear for the best my readers, but prepare for the worst.

Cinema Verite

As many of you know, I am retired. I am retired from a life of working as a government puppet and a slave to wages. Money is worthless anyway, and the instruments of currency are known by all to be falsehoods. My retirement has been a bountiful one, because I have the true knowledge that making money to spend it only keeps down mankind and lets the government destroy our ability.

I live in a world after employment, where there is no money and there is no work. If we work, our hands do the work of devils. We are jackals pillaging the coffers of our fellow men, for whom there is no retirement. They will never be able to retire unless they wake up, and I am watching the sands of time slip through the wasp waist of the hourglass, robbing men of their futures and women of their virginity.

In these unchaste times we can only struggle to document the coming end. Our fate is inevitable and the nonbelievers merely deny their destiny. Kismet will not wait for the average person to wake up, and by the time they do, their eternal sleep will already have come.

Be safe my brothers.

Devils

"You are of your father the devil, and your will is to do your father's desires. He was a murderer from the beginning, and has nothing to do with the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks out of his own character, for he is a liar and the father of lies."

John 8:44

Devils surround us, readers. As they close in, we must work on the best solution to send them back from whence they came. Even our fathers are devils and from their loins we leaped into a devil's world.

I am a speculator, and a supragenius. And with my great power comes great responsibility: the responsibility to spread the word against the devils. The devils do plot, my friends. They plot to unhinge the world economy. They plot to dominate the singular consciousness. They plot to bend the wills of men to their wills, to heat up coat hangers on stoves and to stick them underneath our toenails. Our pain is their bliss.

They are the cheerleaders, the jackals, the crisis profiteers. They ignore the real crises and promote their own, ever the profligates. Act wisely, restore the value of gold back to its true 1920 value of $21/oz before the one world government cannot be stopped.

Just imagine a cake. It is a good looking cake, but a sinister secret hides within. The cake has feces baked into it. If we could separate the cake from the feces, we would have perfectly good cake (and feces). But the truth is that the cake and the feces are inexorably one, and to separate them mitigates the very possibility that the cake and the feces are formed from the same ephemeral aether that allow us to make the decision in the first place.

This is my mission.

Explanation!!!!!

I want to tell you about an important piece of punctuation that is almost never used for its true purpose. The explanation point.

Because I am a smarter than average, and because I know how to separate the truth from the lies, I want to open everyone's eyes about this fantastic piece of the English language. Let's imagine an apprentice mechanic learning from a master mechanic. The apprentice will need lots of tutoring and practical experience before he becomes a master. But how can the master impart the necessary knowledge on the apprentice?

The master can tell him what to do, but nobody likes being told what to do. Not even yours truly. So he must take a different route. He must explain what to do. And the key to any explanation is the explanation point!

If you are smart I know this explanation has helped a lot!!!!

Divided We Stand, United We Fall

I started today on the right foot, which is the left foot. After a few rousing rounds of the hokey pokey, I got down to the real business of today. I ate 5 hot dogs and took a bite out of a yellow onion, taking my best crow hop and pitching the remainder of the onion into the basement wall like an underground Cy Young. The onion exploded into a smashed set of concentric cellulose layers. Immediately afterward, I reached into the freezer to put a heaping scoop of crushed ice down my pants, like I do every day at this time. There are tons of wives' tale type remedies out there for cut onions burning the eyes, but if you have the knowledge that I have, you know that 1-2 cups of crushed ice applied directly to the groin cures this condition immediately.

I also wanted to thank the readership for making this blog what is is. The message is getting out there! We're also up to about 100 unique views per day, meaning that hundreds of people have taken off their rosy colored glasses, left behind their ivory towers and let slip the dogs of war against the one world government. The sound track of sizzling hot dogs is our victory march, and we shall not relent until every last man, every last woman, and every child is freed from the grasp of the governments that seek to break their will and crush their reproductive organs.

We shall stand divided against the government and their mind control schemes (link). If we present the united front, we are but a bunch of sheep, easily corraled and shorn of our beliefs. If you'll excuse me, I am going to roll myself up in a coracle fishing net and sleep in the cabinets under the hot plate.