« on: Yesterday at 05:34:48 pm »
You don't look so hot.
So, what's wrong, huh?
You're looking a bit pale and worn. A little tired and dragged out. "Fagged out" for our friends in the Tudorian commonwealths.
Now, I know we can't be up all the time, but you're just plodding along, and have for some time now. Where's your pep? Where's your vim and vigor?
Here I've been hopping up and down making an idiot out of myself, which I don't mind at all, because it usually gets you going. But lately, you just seem so, I don't know, maybe depressed?
What is it, all the fighting and stuff? The endless drug thread? I know. That's a drag. But look, it happens sometimes, and now it's over. So what do you say we YANK your fucking HOG TIED THUMBS out of your ASSES and DRAG you down the street NAKED. Huh? How about we SET FUCKING FIRE TO YOUR HAIR? HOW ABOUT WE GIVE YOU TO RICHTER? Would You WAKE UP then?
Where's your INNER MUTANT? Jesus, (not you, get back to work) you're like those monkeys in the neutron bomb experiments. Dosed with a fatal blast of neutrons that they COULDN'T DETECT and they just turned off and waited to DIE.
WAKE UP. KICK ME. SCREAM. KILL ME.
By ECH's Fresh New Asshole On His Old Wrinkled Sailor Butt, you people have CRAWLED UNDER A ROCK. There used to be TWICE as much soul burning rantification going on, and I don't mean just in a relative amount to the background noise, I mean in an ABSOLUTE VALUE kinda way.
Oh, a FEW of you come across now and then, and the STYLE and FORM are just fine, but it's like it's an EFFORT for most of you. You're wandering around like a boring cocktail party that nobody wanted to go to. Like it's a fucking CHORE. Like when the officer and the minister showed up on your porch to tell you the BAD NEWS about Uncle Merle when he had that fatal ukelele accident that people still don't like to talk about after all these years.
I WON'T HAVE IT.
There's a whole damn UNIVERSE of EVIL SHIT out there circling around your heads, and you're BECOMING AUTISTIC. This is NOT Facebook. It's not your PERSONAL BLOG OF MISERY. It's not your POOR MAN'S KINDLE.
Oh SURE, you TALK about normals and po'buckers, but haven't you been ACTING just a little like them recently? Vacantly staring at the screen like it was a Goddamn TEEVEE!
There's too damn many of THEM out there, and too damn few of us in here. We have the edge, because they don't know what they're doing. THEY don't know that they are THEY. But we'll LOSE that edge if we don't make it WORK FOR US. EAT or BE EATEN children, EAT or BE EATEN.
Now, if this were a CHURCH, there'd be some PREACHING.
WHO will give me some PREACHING?
If this were a CHURCH, there'd be some WITLESSING.
WHO will DROP their DRAWERS for "Bob" and give me some WITLESSING?
If this were a REAL CHURCH, a HELLFIRE-BREATHING, FOOT-STOMPING, ASS-KICKING CHURCH, a SOUL-SEARING, PSYCHE-DAMAGING, INNER CHILD-WOUNDING CHURCH, there'd be some ministers MINISTERING.
WHO WILL MINISTER UNTO THE RIDGE-BROWED "HUMANS" the WORD OF OUR LADY that THEY SO BADLY NEED? WHO WILL BEAT THE LESSONS INTO THEIR BITS?
I want to SEE IT HAPPEN. I want you to MAKE ME FEEL IT.
Because if there ain't some RANTOLOGICAL CHURCHIFICATION going on here pretty soon, if there ain't some HIGH-POWERED FULL-AUTO BLEACHER-POUNDING INTERCONTINENTAL BALLISTIC RELIGION going on, well then maybe you think The Church is already dead.
And if things stay they way they are, if it isn't already, it will be.
And our legacy, the only thing the world will be able to see to know that we ever existed, will be the Facebook Discordian crowd. To historians, our message will merely be "23 pineal fnord hot dog" and some squicky anime.
Is that what you want?
Okay for now,