High Altitude Hell, part 3

[The Good Reverend Roger]

The world is getting pretty dark and weird again.  Neither primary is over, but the candidates have been chosen.  Ugliness and failure dog our steps in all of our endeavors as a nation, despite the fact that there's nothing wrong now that wasn't wrong two years ago.  Even people who hate Obama fear the end of his presidency, because when he goes, sanity goes with him.  The house of representatives is addicted to him, as is Fox News.  He is their drug, and they don't know what they'll do with themselves when he's gone.

The Bernie bots are now totally out of control, going into frenzies every time Trump comes into town.  One time they got so excited, they attacked each other.  Clinton smiles like she grew up in Innsmouth, and coos to the Sanders fans, waiting for them to come join the fold.  Meanwhile, the Nazi Cheetoh gets weirder and nastier when he should be moving to the center.  He masturbates on live television during interviews, yanking his ancient penis until nothing comes out but bloody foam.  It's gotten so bad that Lyndsey Graham has threatened to change parties.

This comes to no surprise to me, as I can gaze into Lltoy's toilet and see it all coming.    I have taken to chemical assistance to get me through that awful business.  I am armed with brain-smashing pharmaceuticals that will keep the Manitou away, or whatever it is that these Southwestern natives use as hitmen.

Cain will move back to Australia, to teach people in Melbourne how to speak English.  They will reject his preaching and devour him like Captain Cook, but the joke will be on them, as they will ingest fatal levels of British food that he has been accumulating in his arteries.

I've got snakes made out of smoke with obsidian axes to the South, just waiting for their moment.  The mighty whitey is staggering under the load of his own entitlement, and Atzlan has learned to be patient.  When the day comes, there will be hard reckoning in Tempe and Orange County, and none of us will miss them.

Paesior and Signor Paesior will spawn a new breed of Kiwi, and New Zealand will become a place of dread that not even the Deep Ones will mess with.   Mightly Cthulu is in his house in R'ley, with the doors locked and dead-bolted, one tentacle on his life alert pendant and another on his smartphone.  He will roar in fear, but the police will not save him.

This is what we've waited for – at least what we say we've waited for.  This is the Face of Chaos.  This is the post-American century, this is the new millennium, and ain't no parking on the dance floor, bubba.

Angela will preside over the San Diego Museum, and those that touch the exhibits will be brought to her, never to be seen again. There really is no choice, in an age where Texans break fingers off of statues in Florence, Italy, because they are special snowflakes and they just had to handle the merchandise.  Skulls will line the marble steps, as a warning to the others.

Praying will do no good.  No self-respecting God would drag us out of this mess, because we DEMANDED it.  We lined up in front of the carnival barkers and PAID for it.  And Gods, being smart fellas, won't interfere with monkeys in rut.  This is not their first barbeque, and they know we'd just fuck it all up again.   Remember the golden calf?  Neither do I.

Cramulus gets diabetes III, and has to have amputations.  They slice a little more off each time, like deli meat, until he is kidnapped by Los Angles thugs for use in nugget porn.  He is not heard to complain, given that he costars with what's left of Chloe Kardashian, who by that date is nothing more than a pair of enormous breasts attached to silicon lips by nerve ganglia.

Whether you want to admit it or not, these are the signs of our times.  They are written out clearly in every billboard.  They are read aloud to us on commercial breaks from Preacher.  They are in the stains of bus seats and carried on the wind on the farts of the WalMart people. 

Ignore them at your peril.

Or Kill Me.

[Vanadium Gryllz]

 

[Suu]

San Diego is not safe.
The Southwest is not safe.
Everything is dead.
I take their skulls.
Nobody notices.
Days go by.
It's an evolution exhibit, I tell them.
They give me money.
Days go by.
Nobody notices.
I take their skulls.
Everything is dead.
The Southwest is not safe.
San Diego is not safe.

[LMNO]

I missed this stuff from you, Roger.

[Cain]

Cain will move back to Australia, to teach people in Melbourne how to speak English.  They will reject his preaching and devour him like Captain Cook, but the joke will be on them, as they will ingest fatal levels of British food that he has been accumulating in his arteries.

Already a lost cause.  They still struggle with being fully paid up members of the human race.

As an aside, if there is one thing that has almost made this season of grim portents worthwhile, it is watching Lindsay Graham complete give up on giving a fuck.  There, ladies and gentlemen, is a man who is feeling truly liberated, quite possiblly for the first time since he went to college.  His inability to even attempt to conceal his thinly veiled contempt has been the one shining light throughout this dark time.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Cain will move back to Australia, to teach people in Melbourne how to speak English.  They will reject his preaching and devour him like Captain Cook, but the joke will be on them, as they will ingest fatal levels of British food that he has been accumulating in his arteries.

Already a lost cause.  They still struggle with being fully paid up members of the human race.

As an aside, if there is one thing that has almost made this season of grim portents worthwhile, it is watching Lindsay Graham complete give up on giving a fuck.  There, ladies and gentlemen, is a man who is feeling truly liberated, quite possiblly for the first time since he went to college.  His inability to even attempt to conceal his thinly veiled contempt has been the one shining light throughout this dark time.

I have always loved watching people lose their shit.

This is my time.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

I missed this stuff from you, Roger.

I've got the Holies™ again.  I think it's just the sheer wave of doom that has been washing over us for a solid year.  It finally exceeded my butthurt.

[Suu]

Cain will move back to Australia, to teach people in Melbourne how to speak English.  They will reject his preaching and devour him like Captain Cook, but the joke will be on them, as they will ingest fatal levels of British food that he has been accumulating in his arteries.

Already a lost cause.  They still struggle with being fully paid up members of the human race.

As an aside, if there is one thing that has almost made this season of grim portents worthwhile, it is watching Lindsay Graham complete give up on giving a fuck.  There, ladies and gentlemen, is a man who is feeling truly liberated, quite possiblly for the first time since he went to college.  His inability to even attempt to conceal his thinly veiled contempt has been the one shining light throughout this dark time.

The best part is that he's doing it with the Southern charm we expect from a man from the Carolinas. All we're missing is the, "Bless his heart" in direction of Trump. No higher insult can be given. I'm waiting. Patiently.

[Q. G. Pennyworth]

I should be scared but I'm not shaking
I've been waiting all my life for this
The world crumbles
The chemicals I'm drowning in
The cortisol, the adrenaline
Sing their songs of tensing muscles and rushing blood
And finally I can listen

I should be scared but I'm not gibbering
I have always been ready for this
No thoughts, no weasels
Just the thing in front of me
My horizon is five seconds and nothing comes after
I am finally getting to the end

I should be scared but I'm not crying
I was born to die here
Unburied, unremembered
Tossed anonymously into the heap
The ravens will peck out my eyes
And only they will know the truth of it.

I should be scared but I'm not.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

I should be scared but I'm not shaking
I've been waiting all my life for this
The world crumbles
The chemicals I'm drowning in
The cortisol, the adrenaline
Sing their songs of tensing muscles and rushing blood
And finally I can listen

I should be scared but I'm not gibbering
I have always been ready for this
No thoughts, no weasels
Just the thing in front of me
My horizon is five seconds and nothing comes after
I am finally getting to the end

I should be scared but I'm not crying
I was born to die here
Unburied, unremembered
Tossed anonymously into the heap
The ravens will peck out my eyes
And only they will know the truth of it.

I should be scared but I'm not.

This is amazing.  It is a litany - or at least the beginnings of one - for the 21st century.

[Q. G. Pennyworth]

I keep reading these thinking that I should be horrified, that these are Bad Things and they will eat me, but I just can't get my gut to agree.

[Suu]

I keep reading these thinking that I should be horrified, that these are Bad Things and they will eat me, but I just can't get my gut to agree.

That's because your gut is giddy with anticipation. You've waited your whole life for this.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

I keep reading these thinking that I should be horrified, that these are Bad Things and they will eat me, but I just can't get my gut to agree.

I always wondered how the people of Innsmouth viewed their condition.

We are the no percent.

[Faust]

Whether you want to admit it or not, these are the signs of our times.  They are written out clearly in every billboard.  They are read aloud to us on commercial breaks from Preacher.  They are in the stains of bus seats and carried on the wind on the farts of the WalMart people. 

They bought and sold Jesse Custers ass and we stood back and let it happen.

[Ziegejunge]

Everything about this thread is beautiful poignant resonant.