Fourword
Do hugs, not drugs.
Key-Low Packaging
Shaking the hornets nest. Forget about those Angry Birds, this is a bug-eyed freak agitation combing the inner workings of mind-sterilized drones flitting all about, altogether amongst, agency affined, asininely afoul, adroitly a-kneeled, adeptly a-breast with booby-trap luring. Stinging workers, working those stings, regular pricks indeed. Luring, for the benefit of the hive. An effervescent smokescreen – laying the honeytrap to camouflage those bulging sugar piles. Sweet sweet sabotage for that bad-buzz-word concealment poisoning the minds of nations. But Yellow-Belly-Jackets of the three letter conundrum fly free for such a cost. Thorax protuberances – stung. Pusillanimous pests. Accompanying antisocial venal VESPA‘s. SWAT!
Like Joe Biden’s pantaloons at an ever increasing numbers of public excursions, this is going to get messy. Boilling, roiling, coiling, soiling. Even possibly foiling? Ah, who knows, works of fiction are but volunteers of truth differentially? So these middle fingers shall type on, when these pinky fingers are not digging for treasure that is. Up up and away cavernously extracts from down down and towards, of which 3;18 (CR) doth eventually cometh. Word War V, this is it. All is raucous on the cistern front.
All titles, characters, departments, concepts, alphabetical likenesses, associations, lowlifes, institutions, protagonists, words, agencies, governments, animals, thoughts, scumbags, names, officials, ideas, observations, hornets, antagonists, paragraphs, simulations, lessons, people, purposes, definitions, angry titlarks, punctuations, morals, sugar piles, comedic renditions, marks, extraterrestrials, protoplasmic staining,…….in this article are but a figment of my very banal, liquified, chop suey, shattered, scattered, dishevelled, aerated, dyspeptic, swirled, strained, vacuous, cryptic, inky, shredded, coagulated, salient, dispersed, anomalistic, furrowed, flattened, and discombobulated imagination, where any likeness to anything other than poorly conjured, synaptically shat logorrheic diffusion randomly spewed forth must assuredly be happenstance of cosmically interoperable multidimensional universal coincidence of time immemorial happenings within a simulation of which replicant simulants inhabiting the space time continuum of Empire du Jour have strictly played out randomly in non interconnected renditions within the anatomical misconception falsely perpetrating anything differing mind warping culpability passing as objective reality, is strictly that of pure coincidence. Where for this reason, I am but not A Boy Named Sue, so forget about any litigation. Lacerations for that matter too. And not forgetting contusions to round out injurious takings. Enjoy the view.
Gulp Fiction
Overt tyranny slithered and slunk across geographical locations like the now Queen Charle’s the Turds gin and baby-blood ravaged face-dive spillage finale; as in, from a dropped central location on outwards, spreading evenly, over the now centuries old, once virgin, generationally consumed missing minor DNA soaked white marble tile trophies pilfered in genocidal debauchery from halfway around the globe of English noble jungle pilfering sensibilities, putting an end to his now unconsciously inebriated evening; and as such a tyrannical event was so porously and hideously absorbed by the blank slate sub-straight substrate of societal acceptance, beaming pockets of impermeably calcified strongholds held their ground in stain repelling sustainable brightness. God bless, the worldly conscientious objectors were many in the making, but this gulp fiction, short storied, will wind on down the road with the introductory offer of but one COVID Resistor, and as such he shall be referred to from here on out as, say, in all randomness, CR. Into the ether CR ventures. The universe works in mysteriously interweaving ways. Fabric of life, it is looming.
The belly of the beast, an acidic ending of the esophageal consumption trailing the tooth gnashed compression, if swallowed whole via the deep dank swallowing hole strikingly fails. A sanguine, blood drooling, fang-dangled hideous monster pockmarked with uttering warts, depressively visible cancers, soul destroying ulcers, and venereal diseased maggots to name some of it’s caustic beings. Forget about the beast with two backs, this degenerative monstrosity permeates space in time, copulating the tangled deceptive foundation of civilization itself, so pervertedly clasping the root in longitudinal latitudinal tentacled stroking obliterative perma-movement that said weak minded, homo-erotic beast has strictly the permanent existence and appearance of a circle jerk orgy of destruction engulfment, staining every land with bloodied hand to millennia yore. And near every word from such a beasts foul, jizz enumerated and encrusted mouth was a lie, except of course when it uttered the actual word of lie itself.
And now a message from an insidiously Americanized, schizo-freak, thoroughly defunct Yankee slob. Any entity that would give such a thoroughly flaming piece of soiled trailer park, white gutter trash any airtime to espouse a “royally” entwined and tainted viewpoint is most assuredly part and parcel of the grand deception at play to crater minds the world over. Put that in your sewer pipe and smoke it. Foxtrot Oscar X-ray.
A cowardly and spiteful monster was this circle jerk swirl associated beast, strictly high browed like a Neanderthal in grunted fashion and faction, though low strung in a smashed fiddle type of offended by the alphabet truthful droppings emanating from the innumerable seats it so sexually gratifyingly sniffed unashamedly while, I’d like to say, beating off, but perhaps, throttling over, might very well be a better descriptive term of it’s not so passive activities. Vile and vexing, such a beasts lunacy abounds, reflexively seething toothily of non polluted breath, so let’s just say a COVID Resistor, or, CR was the proverbial cleansing shower to such a shallow, swine minded, filthy ditch pig of root rotted insensibilities. So deluded was the beast that when it gazed confusedly into any sort of reflective surface it was not capable of self awareness and what was actually staring back – infected, puss secreting bureaucratic boils and all; and for such reasons it could most certainly be deemed as “royal,” therefore labeled a Crown Infested Amalgamation, but for storied effects it shall be known as a Consciously Inferior Animal, or CIA for short. A petty, vindictive, misery spreading, ill humoured, waste of atoms the CIA most certainly is.
By now, in descriptive nature, the reader must surely be familiarized with the protagonist COVID Resistor, aka CR, and the contemptible antagonist of the Consciously Inferior Animal, aka CIA; but the story can not carry forth without the introduction of the mark, who just so happens was a childhood friend of CR. A childhood friend of whom CR rarely saw after high school as to the differing of inhabited geographical locations. CR’s old chum was not a COVID Resistor, as he willingly took that Globalist prick, after having his union livelihood threatened by the Globalist tyranny that permeated geographical locations a-near and afar; so for such a reason he shall be referred to as Moderna Survivor (say has anyone else noticed that Moderna is Mode RNA when broken down?), or MS for storied purposes.
It just happens that two summers ago CR ran into someone else that CR had not seen for a long while, of whom was good friends with MS, where in the end CR ended up communicating with MS for a short time that summer. Busy is life, back to the norm for CR and MS. Until later that year anyways, when a renovation for a friend brought CR to a shared geographical location with MS, which allowed the old chums MS & CR to go out for some beers.
MS – enter the honeytrap and Central/South American sugar piles? Without being too specific, the stimuli that CR received surely led him to believe that such was the case after a premiere clean run, though confirmation has never been corroborated. Without a doubt the CIA engages in such antics, as do, most likely, other “sovereign” entities, though for reasons other than tricking gullible dupes into smuggling sugar piles. This “author” is not saying that Russian intelligence is superior to the rest of the agencies, but I am pretty sure that they know when CR shaves his balls – to no avail that is. Anyways, if MS and the sugar pile honeytrap did happen and the Consciously Inferior Animals, aka CIA thought it was “sticking it” to CR and his harmonious existence they had better think again. Possibly, if one were to investigate the “friends” that MS gained in the times before his travels, if so acquainted after renewed contact with CR, one may be able to identify an agent/agents of corruption in booby-trapped accomplishment.
Are there any takeaway, ideas, thoughts, observations and the like from such an obviously fictitious story centred upon overtly made up characters and Crown Infested Amalgamation, aka CIA organizations of fictitious nature? Well actually, yes there are, and most certainly CR would never have thought about removing them from his cerebral mush unless the simulation confirming short storied effects of MS, honeytraps and sugar piles seemed all too inevitably drawn up for some bad actors.
The Crown Infested Amalgamation, an entity that over the decades, especially since JFK’s assassination, has managed to infiltrate and infect global institutions, media – therefore general “reality,” other three letter agencies, military, law enforcement, multinational corporations….and the literal drug trade itself all to the interception of the general perception of society at large that in reality has transmogrified into measured GDP and societal function in totality carrying on unabashed in topsy-turvy crazy downside-up world without a care of the universe, where possibly even those physically and mentally engaged in the active service of narcotics enforcement may be unaware that the game has been thoroughly rigged, that certain entities sharing the intelligence, even in their own misconception of perception are being used as fronts to carry on concealing the true bulging sugar piles, as marks, including the honeytrap variety ceremoniously take the setup falls while the rogue players carry on with extremely profitable, society depreciative business as usual.
In partiality one must just ponder lightly about the hundreds of US military bases around the world and which entities have free reign to come and go as they wish, unquestioned, unrestrained, and unaccountable, then say, take a gander at how opium production skyrocketed in Afghanistan once the “war on terror” was unleashed, and not so miraculously how Afghan opium production cratered once the US incompetently evacuated Afghanistan in 2021, only, for a complete fool to not connect the dots that Myanmar, when “coincidentally” stricken with a military junta takeover in 2021, the same year in which the US decided to leave Afghan poppy production land, that Myanmar indeed became the new hotbed of opium production to keep the world a’ fiending.
Getting high and coming down, it is just part of the drug world after all. Question is, counting out the water based and terrestrial routes, which airplanes are the air bound shipments mainlining to and fro? Military, UPS, DHL, private jet – all of the former? Could be. But you know what CR always pondered of one of the faces of true evil, namely former US president, and son of Adolf Hitler’s personal banker, George H W Bush of who is former CIA, seems to be definitively involved in the JFK assassination, perhaps even one to pull the trigger, and more than likely involved heavily in the drug trade as a kingpin while “not working” for the CIA.
CR’s wonderment is that of, is George Bush Intercontinental Airport in Houston, Texas a major transport hub for the shipment of illegal narcotics around North America? In no way am I saying that it is, but I have truly always wondered if so, with all the wickedness that the CIA engages in. In topsy-turvy crazy downside-up world anything is truly possible, after all, truth is stranger than fiction. Maybe George H W Bush airport is just one large CIA front for the drug trade. Houston airport is proud of boasting 30 destinations in Mexico alone, and Mexico sure seems to be a massive drug staging ground for drug trafficking in general. Christ, it would not surprise me if one went deep down into the bowels of old George H W Bush and were to find the largest narcotic processing facility in North America, if not the world. That would be a very rogue CIA thing to do. After all, but a faction of the largest terrorist and gang organization in the world – that old murderous Crown of history yore, hitherto.
Well there you have it, one short storied AI production. AI as in Asshole Induced.
The fabric of life, in need of some serious alterations.
CR