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Topics - Enrico Salazar

#1
Is that time of year again, faggots.  Pull up Pipedream Extreme, get cozy; warm tumbler of Riunite on ice between sweaty palm.  Put on soothing record, something classy like Metal Machine Music.  Is sexy.  Is time get real. Uncle Enrico have good new and bad new for all you all.  The new that is GOOD: malicious reprobate who is known on street as Good Reverend Roger, she is dead again.  The new that is BAD: is sadly not permanent.

As old Salazorian saying go: you cannot keep good bitch down.

But! But. Not just beautiful word, but important word, goddamit.  BUT.  Since bag of squirming maggot known as Good Reverend Roger is, for now, dead, is good time as any to express thing which is almost ineffable, but not quite, or we would have nothing to speak about: the virtue of Good Reverend Roger.

Is true, is true... the virtue of such a creature, she is questionable, yes?  But think about this: even Charlemagne, she invent question mark.  Even Hitler, she invent Volkswagen, and some word fahrvergnügen, which is fun to say.  And even earwig, she invent sexy.  All horrible thing has delicious side. 

In fact, Enrico might be tempt to say only horrible thing has delicious side.

Some of Enrico best friend vicious psychopathic monsters.  In fact, in home country, Enrico nickname was "O Monstro", which may surprise some of you to learning it mean "The Monster".  Is cute.

Roger.

Is important to first begin by say that any civilize country would have assassinate Good Reverend Roger before he was able open gorga and speak.  One look at those beautiful maniac eye is enough to show anyone that he see.  This Roger, he not see what is nice.  He not see what is comfort.  He not see what you see, my glorious faggots.  No.  Others look out of their eyeholes and yet do not see, they imagine.  The evidence of world is before them, the grotesque truth of one prostitute's aquamarine eye makeup being washed away by another's morning vomit--no.  They see charity.  You see pity.  They see event.  Roger, this Good Reverend, he see truth.  Ugly, horrible, disgusting, beautiful, hilarious, truth.  His gorgeous eye, she see the world naked and pink and chilly.  And it cry, you glorious faggots, it cry.

Have you seen The Good Reverend Roger dance?

Others, other racist cunt talk always about white dancer.  Or other racist speak of black dancer.  They speak about the dance, but they ignore THE DANCE.  You do not, you silly fucking tourist cunt, you do not miss something like the dance, by talking about dance.  If you disrespect the dance, it will fucking END you.  Do you see?  Do you see how serious Enrico is by the glint in his glass eye?  The dance is all there is, and yet people waste their precious spit on black dance or white dance, when there is only THE DANCE. 

Have you seen The Good Reverend Roger dance?

He dance not with his hip.  He dance not with his leg.  He dance not with his arm, like Paul Lynde snorting first base line at Yankee Stadium.  No.  The Good Reverend Roger dance with entire body, from sweaty stubble on scalp top, to bunion bottom: every cell, every molecule, every goddam atom.  His eyelash, she twitch to beat.  His back sweat, she roll in time.  His clothing ripple in wave of desperate exaltation, as if trying to escape body, because it cannot possibly keep up with the beauty.  The Good Reverend Roger not perform the dance, the Good Reverend Roger IS THE DANCE.  He tap all over your emotional sombrero, no joke.  No fucking joke.  He was dance before expansion, and will be dance long after final collapse, because that is type of show off bastard he is.  But do not attempt to keep up, it would be like attempt to fuck Pacific Ocean... momentarily satisfying, but ultimately you are arrest for indecent exposure and must go door to door to introduce yourself as sexual criminal, as if this is a shame. Just do never.

Have you seen The Good Reverend Roger laugh?

Holding in laughter is harder than hold in sneeze.  And what sort of puckered anus hold in sneeze in first place?  Sneeze, the orgasm's sneaky little sister, gloriously returning for two or three kisses at once.  Do not hold that sneeze in, brother and sister, hold back only enough to coax sneeze into staying around longer.  If you get good, each sneeze will last at least fifteen second, and require changing of silky underdrawers after.  Unless you are tough guy and enjoy walk around in own spunk.  Enrico do.  But.  There that beautiful word is again.  But.  But do not hold in laughter anymore than one would hold in beautiful and delicate sneeze: no. 

Have you seen The Good Reverend Roger laugh?

It begin silently, somewhere behind the horizon, behind a nearby bush, somewhere in Toledo, Ohio.  First his eye close, which is shame, as Enrico love The Good Reverend Roger's eye more than anything else.  His eye slide close, and then face slowly rise pink then red, like erotic thermometer, one fist the size of canned ham will slam down on something, hopefully his own knee, otherwise watch the splinter fly!  Then suddenly a gurgling sucking sound, follow by colossal vacuum, as he gather air, so much air.  So much fucking air, to fuel the laughter.  The actual laughter.  You see, this, this what you have already witnessed is not the laughter, my faggots, no, this is the overture.  This is foreplay.  The laughter, she then hit you in face like Goliath's haymaker, slopping your clothes, and spilling your drink.  The laughter seem to come from his face, but it exude from every pour in his twitching body.  The Good Reverend Roger laugh like The Good Reverend Roger dance: it's frightening and glorious to behold.  The laughter, she take you over, like wave.  You can fight it, but why?  Roll.  Simply roll.  Let laughter wash you away, what were you doing with your life anyway?  Nothing.  Be honest, faggot. 

Enrico thought his life was change when he tried Idi Amin's stroganoff, but truly he was change when he was baptize by The Good Reverend Roger's laughter.

He will be back.  Like Enrico himself, whose fabulous evil cannot be contained by one state of life, The Good Revered Roger, too, will be back.  When we want him least, but need him most.  Until then, Enrico wait in blueball.
#2
Two vast and trunkless legs of stone / WHAT YOU DRINK?
February 06, 2014, 07:04:35 PM
Greetings glorious faggots.

Enrico is sit by window in snakeskin speedo, laugh at garbage fuck as he struggle with bin in 5 feet of snow.  As Enrico is sit by window, and laugh uproarious, he is drink his favorite cocktail (which is actually same word for horizontal hustle in Salazorian, is funny) which is one part isopropyl 70%, one part toothpaste, and three part orange juice.  Stir up until froth and foam, then sip while laugh.  Burns nostril so so good.

So fuckers... tell Uncle Enrico... WHAT YOU DRINK?



your friend and mine,

in good time and bad, especially bad,

moneyback guarantee,

add water, make it own gravy,

still waterproof after all these years,

Enrico Salazar.
#3


Is day Enrico fell off tuna boat.
#4
Two vast and trunkless legs of stone / NO MESSAGE?
December 01, 2011, 10:14:14 PM
Enrico is gone for months to attend Qadaffi's funeral, and come back to NO MESSAGES?  You do not love your hairy little waterproof pal anymore?  Why this is?

Do not forget, Enrico has complete register of this forum and know where all you live.  Every one of you little maggots.



Cuddles,

Your friend and mine,

Enrico Salazar.
#5
Yes?  Is finally achieve American Dreamâ„¢?

Does it make Enrico look fat?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FusZbzdGzWQ
#6
The next maggot that Enrico sees whining in this board is going to be paper cutted deeply between thumb and forfinger, then Enrico will fuck the cut.  It will not be as sexytime as it sound.




Ok, speak of sexytime, Enrico is curious... who is willing to speak of first time they had performed the jiggle-tango?


If you are all good faggots and entertain the Generalissimo, he might even grace you with the story of his first time.  Might.


DO IT!  TELL ENRICO A STORY!


your friend,

in good times and bad,

the Center Square on Hollywood Squares from February 1980-April 1980,

still waterproof after all these years,

Enrico Ritzibottom Salazar
#7
Two vast and trunkless legs of stone / IS NOT GOOD!
November 29, 2010, 09:35:40 PM
Who the cunting christ has fuck with quote feature here on PD?  Is not possible to quote multiple quote now?  Is bullshit, and not good kind of bullshit, is BAD KIND.  It make very angry Generalissimo.
#9
Thank you for tuning in, faggot.

Welcome to Into The Night With Salazar And Friends, first online chat show.  Chat show host is something Enrico has always wanted to be ever since he was knee-high to a maggot, and he thinks this is why he wanted to be Generalissimo . . . so he could go on Salazorian television Channel One every night and whisper sweet nothings into the crotches of the people.

Finally, Enrico can creep into people's bedrooms at night without police being called.

(rimshot)

Thank you, thank you.  You faggots are all too beautiful.

Shecky, how you are doing today?  Enrico sees your mouth is full currently.  You should let the producers get back to work.

(rimshot)

Our first guest on the program is PD.com's own LMNO.  He is the most recent moderator, the nemesis of John Paul Fartre and is expert on mythology in Films and wrote thesis on Calibos in Clash Of The Titans and the difference between he and Achilles.  Sounds deep.

LMNO, tell Enrico, what did you think of Brad Pitt in recent mytho-film Troy?
#10
Or Kill Me / Greetings From The Boogeyman!
December 12, 2005, 03:17:13 PM
First, a question:  (and be honest, you fetching little faggots, because Enrico can smell a lie like a hot turd in an old bag's diaper)  how many of you puppies get a canker sore on the insides of your mouth, and whenever you aren't thinking about it begin to chew on the nasty little fucker?  

That's right, all of you.   Do not lie.

The simple fact is that all of us are monsters.  We have the front part of the brain which is the loudest and the most melodramatic, but each of us also has the quiet back part of brain which watches very closely during disasters like 9/11 and Katrina . . . this part of brain revels in the death and misery . . . this part of brain wants the death and misery not only for the others but also for itself.

Why is that people complain about war and death and yet war and death make more dollars every year?  Why are war and death the main themes in all works of fiction?  Why is sex banned on television but death and blood live on?

Because you all fucking love it.

You want to be there, the starfuckers that you all are on the inside of your twisted dark souls, Enrico knows, because he is just like you except that he does not hide it.  He learned early on that the Monster is what keeps peoples moving.  The fear of the Monster after us, and the fear of the Monster inside you.

Why are serial killers so popular?  Why is Ailene Wuornos famous?  Why is there a movie made about Karla Homolka?  How many movies about Ed Gein?  How many books and documentaries about the Nazis?

How much of our history is written in gore?

So much to think about.  But let Enrico ask you this:  how long has it been since you thought about killing someone?  Perhaps only fleetingly, or even in jest, but how long has it been?

How long since you wondered what death would really be like?  How long since you watched television program about someone trapped inside building pinned down by large slab of concrete and wondered what it would be like to be squeezed like that?  Your organs being ripped inside you and blood bubbling from mouth?  You want it, do you not?  In some small way?

How many have watched the television news and watched a father hold his own baby daughter hostage and you wondered 'why haven't they shot the fucker through head yet?' and did you keep watching because you were concerned for baby, or because you might catch glimpse of head popping like ripe watermelon?  Or was it both?

Think about all this.  Sit by yourself and try to probe for Enrico in back of brain . . . ask it questions . . . see what it says.  Enrico knows you better than you think.

You can lie to others, but you cannot lie to yourself.  Not for long.

Dr. Phil tells Enrico that you cannot build relationship on lies, so the question goes out to you:  Can you build relationship as world when you all lie, not only to each other, but to yourselves?
#11
Literate Chaotic / Larry King Interview
December 07, 2005, 05:58:15 PM
Is transcript:


KING:  Enrico Salazar, former leader of the island nation of Salazore is with us tonight--

SALAZAR:  Generalissimo, pig.

KING:  Generalissimo, ok.  Sorry.  Generalissimo Enrico Salazar is with us tonight--

SALAZAR:  Generalissimo Enrico Ritzibottom Salazar, thank you very much, pig.  Is respect.

KING:  Generalissimo Enrico Ritzibottom Salazar.  Sorry.  Generalissimo Enrico Ritzibottom Salazar is with us tonight, fresh from a stint as a judge on So You Think You Can Sing.  Do you enjoy music, Enrico?  Can I call you Enrico?

SALAZAR:  You can call me anything you want, snuggle-undies.  Just don't call Enrico 'late to bed'.  (chuckles)

KING:  Ok, I won't.

SALAZAR:  Was joke, swine.  No sense of humor you don't have?  Laugh.

KING:  I'm laughing, Enrico.  So do you?

SALAZAR:  Does Enrico what?

KING:  Do you enjoy music.

SALAZAR:  This is question you ask great political leader?  You American swine, in Enrico's homeland you would be hanged by eyelids.  But, yes, Enrico loves the music.  He often sings Stooge's Funhouse while doing dishes.

KING:  Who is Dishes?

SALAZAR:  Eh?

KING:  Sorry, that was just a little joke.  Some Salazorian humor, if you will.

SALAZAR:  Enrico will not.  Was not joke, was embarrassment.  You are real journalist?

KING:  Not really.  Ok, let's get down to politics.  Would you have done what President Bush did? Would you have sent troops in to Iraq that quickly?

SALAZAR:  Troops are for pussy.  Enrico would have put together small group of like-minded mammy-jammers armed to skin of teeth, burrowed underground and come up in f*cker's toilet.  Make shish-kabob of him.  What you think happened to Jimmy Hoffa?

KING:  Are you saying you had something to do with the disappearance of Jimmy Hoffa?

SALAZAR:  Who is Jimmy Hoffa?

KING: One of the things we were talking about during the break -- a lot of people wonder what do you talk about during the break -- we were talking about one of the most difficult things about being a politician is dealing with all the death.  And a lot of people have fun with you, comics have had fun with you. Is that for you frustrating to know that you've tried to do your best and yet are portrayed in the media as a monster?

SALAZAR: No.  Is funny.  The Monster was Enrico's momo's nickname for him when he was little maggot.  Some people should die, that's just unconscious knowledge.

KING:  Anyone in particular?  (laughs)

SALAZAR:  You, Larry.  (laughs)  But, seriously, you should die.

KING: How is your health?

SALAZAR:   Enrico has the constitution of a Doberman.

KING: Ann Coulter was telling me a few months back, and we may never have known this, how close you came to dying. She said three times close.

SALAZAR: That was when Enrico was shot.  Is bullsh*t.  Enrico eats scrap metal and spits out bullet.  Was like mosquito stings.

KING: Were you aware that you were that close?

SALAZAR: Are you listening to Enrico, f*ggot?

KING: Did you enjoy writing the book?

SALAZAR:  Nice segue.  Yes, Enrico loves the children and loves writing for them.  Little children need lessons on how to live, so Enrico wrote "Do Like This, Sl*t!" for the kiddies.  Now they know the correct Enrico way to tie shoelaces, write words and smoke cigarettes.

KING: Back to things, things current. At one time in your administration, this comes out, you supported Saddam Hussein.

SALAZAR:  Yes.  I still do, swine.  He bowls 400.  Enrico has no idea how he does that.  Also, he has a tremendous singing voice.  He should be on You Think You Can Sing.

KING: Do you regret siding with Hussein?

SALAZAR: You are not listening, are you swine?  Why are you looking at those teleprompters?  Will they give you answer to why you are such a hog?  Hogs actually have more use than you, smegma.

KING:  We can continue this conversation after we come back from a commercial break, we are with Gen--

SALAZAR:  You suck on t*ttie of commercialism and ask me to--  I cut you, you swine.  I cut your f*cking throat out -- you take Generalissimo Enrico Ritzibottom Salazar off to put on Dr. f*cking Phil?  Is travesty -- this is -- COME HERE!

(SALAZAR lunges at KING across table with knife in hand)

(cut to commercial)
#12
Two vast and trunkless legs of stone / Tattoos
December 05, 2005, 03:10:24 PM
Last night Enrico found a peanut.  

It made him think of Jimmy Carter and the time Enrico had lunch with him and Margaret Trudeau.  Was in 1978, and lunch was held at Russian Tea Room in New York City - do not get hopes up, place has NOTHING to do with tea-bagging as Enrico knows it.  Is just for food.  Is sad.

During appetizers Jimmy Carter noticed tattoo on Enrico's hand of three black circles, one large and other two smaller.  He asked what these tattoos meant.  Enrico was outraged for few moments, after all lunch was supposed to be about management of world garbage and this clown asks about tattoo?  Then Enrico realized that tattoos can be cultural signposts . . . like tattoos on people in New Zealand . . . he relaxed and put down steak knife he had been ready to plunge into Carter's peanut loving neck.

Enrico explained that tattoos represented Salazorian cartoon Ricardo Rat, and that Enrico had been fan-club El Presidente as tiny child.  He had only been El Presidente for few weeks, though, then he killed the treasurer and vice El Presidente, took over offices and became Ricardo Rat Fan Club Generalissimo.  What can he say?  Is in his blood.

Margaret Trudeau asked if that was first tattoo Enrico ever got, and he laughed long and loud.  No, he said through chuckles, he got first tattoo at age five, then opened shirt and showed vulture with wings spread across chest.   Coincidentally enough, Margaret Trudeau also received first tattoo at age of five . . . she got tattoo of some freak cartoon character named Mickey Mouse . . . Enrico never heard of him.  Sounds like bullshit.

Jimmy Carter had never got tattoo, so Enrico and Margaret got him drunk and tattooed the words "Tricky Dick" on his chest.

What are your tattoos?
#13
So.  Who wants to talk politics?

Is sort of Enrico's speciality.

Don't be scared faggots.
#14
Bring and Brag / Love Song For Fred
October 31, 2005, 03:57:39 PM
Fred is the one
the one Enrico loves
he loves everyone
but not quite to the degree he loves
fred

fred fred fred

your name alone sounds like beauty to Enrico
sometimes he likes to think about you
and say certain words like
bloomf
zwang
and
hork

someday there will only be two people alive
in the whole shitty world
and they will be fred and some man named Jeff
Enrico would cry and cry and cry
except that he will be dead
#15
Or Kill Me / Is True
October 31, 2005, 02:59:40 PM
Shit.
#16
Or Kill Me / The Vision
October 28, 2005, 09:08:32 PM
Exactly 22 minutes ago Enrico had a vision.  He was on the toilet at the time grunting and concentrating on the removal of a rather large and hard turd when a pop sound went off in his head.

The vision appeared, floated around, and said some words.

Enrico was slightly preoccupied at the time, though, so he didn't really pay attention to what the vision said.

He is sure it will come back and repeat if it is important.

Stay Tuned.


your friend,

and future prophet,

Enrico.
#17
Or Kill Me / How It Will Happen
October 27, 2005, 04:40:28 PM
While Enrico was bent over last night, clipping toenails, it came.  The fantastic vision he had been waiting his entire life for.  The way to take over.  Get back what was Enrico's.  What will be Enrico's again.

Let Enrico paint a visual picture for all you beautiful faggots.

It begins with the national bird of Salazore;  the Ostrich.  We don't actually have any Ostriches on Salazore, but then again we don't have any birds at all, other than turkey vultures, and they don't make a very nice image on a postage stamp, so the ostrich was adopted.  It begins with Ostriches.

The second ingredient is over-the-top transvestites.  Or drag queens, if you prefer that term.  On Salazore they were called Brujadellos, and every boy lost his bip-bip to one.  Enrico lost his to five of them.  What a night.  Anyway.  The second ingredient is Brujadellos, and lots of them.  

The third ingredient is pump-action shotguns.  One for each transvestite.  Enrico will, of course, be holding his own beauty of a weapon, a Sturmgewehr 44 named Skippy he has had since he grew moss on his rolling stones.  

Imagine.  Imagine thousands of transvestites, mounted on Ostrich-back, storming into each major city.  Imagine.  Imagine the frozen citizens, staring at the twisted beauty of these animals.  Imagine.  Imagine, if you will, the carnage when each gun is opened up.  Imagine the confusion.  Imagine the disorder.  Imagine the possibilities.

As the madness reaches a frenzy Enrico strides in on his Ostrich, decked in full Salazorian military regalia; dripping from gherri-curl to curly-haired toes in flags, pins, buttons, and diamonds.  Mirror sunglasses, vaseline on mustachio, sneer on lips.  Arms raised into the air.  Cheers, jeers, queers.  Everything Enrico loves.  It's enough to make a faggot break down in giggling sniffly sobs.

It will be goddam beautiful, my fuckers.  It will be fantastic, my mofos.  And, you will all be welcome in Salazore when the fighting is over, Enrico is back on his fold-up chair and people are done kicking and gouging in the mud, the blood, and the beer.
#18
Or Kill Me / The Countdown
October 26, 2005, 04:02:38 PM
The countdown began long before any of you were born.  It's talked about by the older people, old women in babushkas whispering between twig like fingers about how "it" is going to come down sooner, rather than later.

The countdown is indiscriminate.  It gets everyone in the end.

Every day that people discuss how much the new Amazing Race has gone downhill, every day that people wonder where the next bomb is going to pop up, every day that Condaleeza Rice smiles that Newman grin, every day that bird flu is spread, every day that the new Pope hides documents, every day that the bloggers comment, every day that Britney's baby is photographed, every day that the internet wars continue, every day that the murders continue, every day that novels 'written' by celebrities are published, every day that 'biopics' like Domino are released, every day that the newspapers distract from the real story, every day that your 'leaders' your 'protectors' lie to you it gets closer.

It gets closer and it's been coming since the start of time.

Your philosophies won't help you.  Your religions won't help you.

Discordianism sure as shit won't help you.

Soon the shit is going to splatter against a fast moving fan.

When it comes down, you can stay in Enrico's rec room.
#19
Principia Discussion / Contest Entry: Sacred Bull
October 20, 2005, 05:59:31 PM
As Enrico stepped off tuna boat onto fine soil of this country he was immediately molested by a strange man in a rumpled suit with crazed eyes.  Normally this would not bother Enrico at all, on the contrary, he advertises for it . . . but this man wasn't interested in Enrico's crotch at all, he was only interested in talking religion and philosophy.  He asked Enrico, "Do you believe there is such thing as a true religion?"

Enrico snorted and replied "Isn't pornography the religion in this country?"

He told Enrico that it was not, which saddened Enrico for a few moments, it was after all why Enrico had come to this country in the first place.  Immediately his visions of becoming a pope of porn melted away . . . he would have to find other ways to get people to accept his 'host', he relized.  He was only sad for a moment, of course, because Enrico rarely has to do much persuading, being the virile testicle squid he is.

The man pulled a medalion from under his shirt and waved it before Enrico's eyes.  Enrico, in turn pulled seventeen medalions from under his shirt and waved them around too, thinking 'what strange customs these beautiful faggots have', but was distracted from his inner monologue by the man saying "This is called the Sacred Cow."

"Sacred Cow?"  Enrico asked, then added:  "In Enrico's homeland that is Beatrice Arthur."

"No no," the man said.  "Cow!  See Ayche Aye Oh.  Cow.  It is the singular version of Chaos."

"Chaos."  repeated Enrico.

"Yes,"  the man said.  "Chaos is the natural state of the universe.  Aspects of chaos are order and disorder.  Both are natural, so do not shun the disorder as false, it is true."

"You speak bullshit," Enrico laughed.  "Enrico likes that."

"This is not bullshit.  This is truth that will set you free."

"No."  said Enrico.  "Is bullshit.  But, bullshit is important."

The man's eyes widened in amazement.  "Bullshit?  Important?  Why?"

Enrico was surprised that the concept of Bull hadn't been taught to this man.  What else was going to be different in this country?

"Bullshit is very important."  Enrico told the man.  "Bullshit should be spread far and wide.  Always spread bullshit wherever you go."

"Why?"  asked the man.

"Is simple.  If you speak to someone and tell them truth you have made them think nothing, is true?"

"No, they think about what you said."

"How many peoples do you know?"  Enrico asked.  "Most peoples, they are not completely right in the head.  Most peoples accept your information like a baby goat accepts your root.  If you give them bullshit, though, the person will later find out about it, become angry, but then they will need to go look up the information themselves.  They will need to use their own head gravy, instead of relying on other peoples to do their thinking for them . . . in this way bullshit is very very important.  So spread bullshit everywhere, my fine friendly faggot."

Enrico was about to leave when the man called out to him "But what if they never find out that the information is bullshit?"

Enrico turned back to the man.  He shrugged.  "Fuck em.  If they are that stupid they deserve to stay that way."

And that is how Enrico taught the silly Discordian about the Sacred Bull.