Lockjaw Thursday
Come on bro, you (I) can do it! You (I) are fighting against ignorance, evil, stupidity, cowardice, incompetence, delusional dunces, etc and the like of clueless, overfilled victim projection dirty diapers of their sullied, piddly worlds of black hole nothingness. Not only such, but you (I) are also fighting for freedom, decency, direct democracy, personal responsibility, accountability, and most important of all – lower gas prices for the Vancouver and Lower Mainland geographical location. Don’t fuck this up!
Stick to your (my) plan and all is golden. Take some deep breaths and carry on. Fight that evil, tell those powers what they want to hear. $1.75 a litre gasoline by Thursday morning! You’ve (I’ve) got this all under control. Master of your (my) own destiny, and that of fellow compatriots gasoline fill-up costs as well. Maybe even the return of gas wars!
Whoa, Whoa – Hold Those Horses! No need to spook the lot. A veritable stampede in the making. Yup, just like the Calgary Stampede – STD’s run rampant, lassoed from all of that raw hide. You (I) ain’t part of that pony express, but be damned if you (I) ain’t the messenger. Well, fine, ok. He asked for it. Begged & pleaded. Goddamn on his hands and knees for Christ’s sake. He who giveth, doth, in fact, literally, taketh away, in measurable consumptive delight one may assume as he rides for the taste of that pole position.
That’s right, you (you) heard it here first, apart from the willing participants, and I’m assuming at least a few unwilling but desperate participants: the Director of the CIA, William Burns, has indeed made it compulsory, for him personally, to perform fellatio on all perspective male agents looking to take some for the country and do one for the team. And female agents? Well, let’s just say there is no light at the end of that old Crown servant, William Burns’ tunnel. Where in a bid to please his “royal” masters over the coming weekend, all applications are to be performed Monday thru Wednesday, culminating, in interagency lingo as what is referred to as ‘Lockjaw Thursday.’ William Burns himself, in the hungering flesh, has even begun funding CIA recruiting efforts with his own personal bankroll. Now that is dedication.
Carl’s Bad Cavern
In case last weeks article: Motorcycle Fruitcake – The Second Cumming did not spell it out enough for you; your’s word molester truly, is in fact still alive after having missed two adjoining weeks of published sinful delight, though only for the fact that those tasked with doing me harm are, how can one say, incompetent and unable to tell their assholes from their elbows. Or is it in fact, them spending too much time inserting their elbows into each others assholes? Yup, that sounds right on the spot! The G-spot that is. Yes, G does stand for “gangster.” Those Gangster-spots are insatiable elbow magnets! My neighbour “Carl” is a Motorcycle Fruitcake, and the rumour around town is that he is a three, yes, count ’em; one, two, three elbow fanatic. Hey, he just loves to articulate a point. Or three! And yes, he even has a cute little ponytail for the tugging. Lassoed raw hide! Giddy up with those elbows! Stampede! The louder he revs, the gayer the neighbourhood knows he is! Those G-spot “gangsters,” undoubtedly so incompetent they constantly botch their preferred way of committing suicide: choking to death on a hard cock. Hi ho, hi ho, feet first into the wood-chipper they go!
Pretty sure that I have AI beat. Never imitated (who would want to?) and incapable of being duplicated (who would want to?). One must suppose that that is what living in captivity with years of stolen dignity adds up to? Goddamn volunteerism – seems there ain’t no escape. My immediate life goal is hoping one day soon to be able to whack-off with both of my heads held high. Hey, one has to start somewhere, why not with dignity reclamation.
Show of Force
My lord, the Great Reset. I remember it like it was yesterday. Yup, yesterday. Though in actuality it was twenty-one yesterdays ago to be precise, and the reason why ENDPOLITICIANS.COM missed two weeks of publications due to a sore vag after being immensely violated in universe contemplating ponderance. Yup, it was some reset indeed. You see, the thing about a Great Reset emanating from so much power running roughshod over the little guy is that it must be resisted in a futile attempt to pretend one has at least some semblance of dignity remaining. So this one goes out in revenge to those who pressed the button:
Hey Fuck-Face you penetrated the bounds of ignorance
Such incontinence trickled down revealing Shit-For-Brains
May your Dick-Lips throatily help you choke on your mothers cock!
The Great Reset, it was responsible for changing one’s behaviour indeed. It has been three weeks since I have even read one news article or tapped into even a sole ‘current event.’ Essentially, up to now, one could say that, yours mind scrambler truly, have quitted that big pornography cloud (the internet) in the turbulent sky. Though I will be the first to admit, that such behaviour, just like the Teutonic monarchies of yore hitherto will be coming to an end sooner than later. For as much as the mind-fuck that ENDPOLITICIANS.COM has been in needed creationism, even with the leper reception of thousand-yard pole recognition to date in cognitive admittance of so much as existence, lets just say that last Thursday’s and Friday’s overwhelming Show of Force may have led one asocial loner (me) to believe he may have a few friends and fans indeed, and maybe potential girlfriends too. So to everybody: Thank You from the bottom of my warped and meaningful heart. It is easy and truthful to say that there are, to me, countless people to which this website and sometimes dizzying content would not be able to be in existence without their presence and dedication. Though, such being said, one’s contentedness lies empty, til those in the not so ivory towers affirm that audible syllables, words and sentences are capable of being emitted from accompanying moving lips.
Smacking Those PP’s
As for those unvetted pretentious predators. One would assuredly come to the logical conclusion that to peer into one’s house windows is certainly far less of an intrusive violation than cyberstalking, no? Or is there even a difference? Well yes, there is. Heaven knows, if I caught some peeping tom pervert ogling me, in any state, within my domicile, they would be in a world of hurt before being deservingly ejected as far less a coward as to when they pitifully arrived. Need one say more? No.
Stasis is the Basis
I have zero idea what has been happening in the world for the last three weeks, that is why I am going to do my best at guessing as to how things are progressing on the geopolitical front. Although, such being said, I have listened to maybe an hour’s worth of CBC (Canadian Brainwashing Corporation) in the past three weeks on my commute, so if I come across as an attention seeking victim looking to babble on about what I want to do with my genitals in public domain, all the while proclaiming Vladimir Putin the devil, then I have surely fallen ill to the CBC algorithmic synaptic lunatic disease to which there seems to be no cure.
Circled K?
Bibi on the ball? Certainly there is no more a complicit public face to the Israeli Crusade than that, once human being (?), walking and obnoxiously talking sack of overstuffed human shit commonly referred to as Benjamin Netanyahu. The Crown’s man in the sulphur expunging flesh. Bibi’s final solution is so clear in his decrepit rot-mind, surely he will have his way?
Now with the Palestinian lactating mother and toddler army near total defeat, it is just a matter of time before old Bibi’s, Dark Shadow Crown Construction Company Inc. “wins” the reconstruction tenders for the newly “liberated” Palestinian territory, renamed, in unquestionable Israeli democratic multiple choice plebiscite fashion as: The Dimensional Abattoir Territory of Palestinian Overt Warehousing Feeding Israeli Brotherhood, or, DAT-POW-FIB for ease of cultural indoctrination purposes.
All new building designs of the Dark Shadow Crown Construction Company Inc. will be incorporated with disguised collapsible floors of which the entire apartment compartment contents will be surprisingly ushered, in gravitational suddenness, after sufficient growing and harvesting timeline allotment, into the newly engineered and World Economic Forum approved central “elevator shaft” that “doubles” as a high efficiency chute into the awaiting food processing unit aptly designed to automatically attain the perfect Palestinian to fibrous furniture pulp ratio, while expunging all other matter for recycling purposes, in order for the DAT-POW-FIB slurry to be piped directly to the Centrally Planned Civic Canning Factory and receive that Soylent Blue & White label of Circled-K adornment of quality assurance, then be immediately stocked and distributed in the oh so patriotic Centrally Canned Vacuum Tube Distribution Network. Because hey, what truly patriotic Israeli does not want to have at least a little bit of Palestinian in them? Bibi could only dream!
Would you believe Vancouver gas prices of $1.70 per litre come Thursday morning?
Little Joey and the Sac of Crap
Surely Donald Trump’s 67th and counting kangaroo trial must be over by now, no? What was the last one about again? Didn’t he give cooties to four girls of his third grade class after they were forced to hold hands by the teacher in order to play successive games of Red Rover, or something the like? Yes, it’s jogging my memory: all four girls, who grew into successful women, but died years before the trial, and with never mentioning the horrific cootie sling-fest they were subjected to by the hands of Donald Trump, of clearly abusive and insolent pedagogic overstepping, but of which they had four great-grand nephews, twice removed through seven adoptions who were so unquestionably sure of their great-aunts (whom they had never met) bacterial spreading violation of 1953, that they were willing to sign a CIA counsel drawn-up affidavit on an official English law summons sheet of paper with a watermark of Queen Charles the Turds guillotine loving face and a microprint bordering with the alternating print of: God is Dead But George Soros is Alive, and, CIA Director William Burns Loves the Taste of Cock.
What was the gay, lesbian, trans-dyke, nine spirit, ze, zero, zilch, zip pronoun identifying, stomach stapled, tree-fucking, zeal clubbing, masculine-effeminate, ambiguously short-tall, perma-victim trial judge threatening Trump with as the penalty for sullying little Beth’s, Amy’s, Gina’s, and Kathy’s hands all those years ago? Wasn’t it a half a million dollars for every breath that Trump insisted on taking forthwith from the contempt of court he was charged with for simply stating his name when asked? Sounds about right.
Yeah, I sure miss that that big pornography cloud (the internet) in the turbulent sky.
Formaldehyde Fresh
Joe Biden. Need one say more? Pfft! Nope. Well, okay, fine. Surely his speech has become fluid by now, right? “Embalming fluid,” you say. Yup, sounds about right. Old poopy pants Biden’s date with the mortician’s trocar grows nearer. The Big Guy Bundle, a double size pack of adult diapers with a $30 mail in gift card to Baskin Robbins is said to be in the works, where for the promotional offer, Baskin Robins will temporarily have 32 flavours in store; the 32nd flavour being called, and literally containing: Children’s Tears.
Okay, would you believe $2.12 Vancouver gas prices by next week? Sounds about right. Sorry folks. It is better to laugh at the Globalist fuck-tard express than have cheaper gas prices!
Oh, and by the way, I already have a possible working title for the next Motorcycle Fruitcake poetry slam. It may be called: Motorcycle Fruitcake – The Tri-Infecta. Or possibly: Motorcycle Fruitcake – The Tri-Ream Rides Again. Trust me, there will be more Motorcycle Fruitcake to cum. Brubb Brub Brubbb Brubb!!!
