Like a bull in a china shop, as the old saying goes. For those old folks like myself who have heard the term anyways, it conjures images of immense, chaotic destruction of precious sensibilities along with a disregard for any notion of geographical location spatial awareness, apart from, post haste evacuation and rapid displacement of whatever is so as to the exceptional need to attempt to get there by any means necessary. Or basically, to fuck shit up and then be on one’s way – perhaps a basic explanation for the era of sleaze we so dwell. Sounds about right, after all, anyone paying attention has to be admittedly swimming in it; a sort of medley, a relay race to the muck filled bottom where perhaps decency used to, in suspended animation conglomerate emitting semi-coherent notions of particulate matter hover, in doing so painting a tattered canvas admixture believable in some regards to be permitted as being tolerable. Yup, those were the daze! Yes, the daze before transmogrification!

Well, on what facet of society shall I pin the overly lumpy bottom feeding techno-thermal-audio-visual sickly agonistic dance-off the face of decency precipitous spelunking times one so finds if even seven-eighths squinted, spectacularly septum deviated, cochlear constipated, tactilely fetching, and tastefully emaciated? Why, all of you S.O.B’s of course, who else? Especially those who knew better! Yeah, you! Alright, alright, maybe there are some holding-the-fort nostalgia addicts seeking a time that never was ever of any suitable materialization other than one thought was an emanation of decency of times that never held the mustard in deemed to be worthily drawn from so as to placed to. What, don’t look at me, I have been living under a rock while carrying the weight of the universe for eternal rebirth for far too long. It is so goddamn dark down here.

Alright, I got you. Yours Cervical Thoracic and Lumbar Sufferer Truly just wants to roast some petty and feebly defunct political whores and all-round deviant filthy knaves who so think that their non-self-reflective empty shells of self-delusional grandeur teetering upon one societal uplifting and life affirming slip away from truly serving a meaningful purpose in that of becoming volcano food in magmatic earth cleansing decency. Besides, is there not an election coming down the pipes? Yes, there is always an election coming somewhere. It is part of the ruse of confusion. Yup, the ruse of confusion. Globalist “democracy” 101 – a degenerate hand-job. Fuck shit up and then be on one’s way, then hand it to the next swine that a fully drowned populace picked under ever cratering strokes of not so genius.

Though before the political roasting begins in said era of sleaze, welcome to the bull in a China shop. Just pick a shop, damn near any shop these days is full of that bull shit. Cheaply made products in the hands of the lands of planned obsolescence scrambling to incur cutthroat profit margins, environmental legislation skirting, behemoth consolidation, veneers of decency, with a twenty-first century spin of righteousness declaration, having the gall to label such “nation building” financialization as capitalism or something along those blurred lines of epic consumerism at the lowest cost of the producer, yet perhaps the highest cost to ever sinking moral priority within turbidity on the way down so into the terminal resting muck.

Say, did I ever tell anybody that I pretty much quit the internet? It’s true. Apart from emptying my synaptic bowels into this swirling bowl of substantive nothingness. Yes, this internet, you know, where, as the 5th Ward Posse known as The Geto Boys would be right in stating what is the obvious proportional dialectic societal encompassment of Talkin’ Loud Ain’t Saying Nothin’. Some might think that Yours Rock Dweller Truly must be ‘lost in the woods,’ or may have ‘cut off his nose to spite his face,’ though philosophical pondering and said inner voice did come to the conclusion that Yours Punctuation Butcher Truly really did just trim his nose hairs to as to cut down immensely on inundative boogers. Slimy, slimy, unapologetic boogers. All stimuli absorbed upon my behalf kept pointing in said direction being the correct one to follow, so it was followed. One can only go along with an exploitation for so long after all. Oh, the predation by all! Pathetic! I could not imagine how morally bankrupt one would have to be to cyberstalk me on my computer while I was watching a movie and then freeze my screen right after the character plainly stated: “I will kill you!” But hey, maybe one day my handlers will confirm my overdue truth and set me free from a now inescapable purgatory? Well, maybe a half truth anyways? Deductive reasoning aims so on the skewed compass of so called truth. That’s right, if I did not have cyberstalkers, including those covertly and overtly threatening me online, I really had no “friends” at all.

The point I was getting at was that when one does quit the internet, reads no newspapers and literally watches zero television, one has to get their news of the world from some odd and possibly desperate places. And radio on Yours Bullshit Detector Truly’s commute is pretty much the happenings of his ‘staying informed.’  So, let’s just say that it was not the 15 or so agonizing minutes of the CBC (Canadian Brainwashing Corporation) that I can handle which informed me a while back that vice-presidential candidate J.D. Vance was standing accused of fornicating with a couch sometime in his past. So very American. An era of sleaze. But hey, at least my sleaze is a private sleaze that must be searched out for amusement purposes.

According to “Fact Check,” J.D. Vances exploratory couch margin shenanigans have been “debunked.” Though anyone realizing the era of sleaze we so dwell must surely be cognizant of the fact that “Fact Check” is about as reliable and pertinent to an objective truth that of to which a single legged amputee afflicted with gout in his remaining limb is to competitive high-jumping; a thoroughly disastrous non event, but certainly worth tuning into for comedic relief. One must assume for J.D. Vance it must have started with a highchair fondness intertwined with an all too jolly Jolly Jumper upbringing – pun intended. Certainly such behaviour could only lead to it being a matter of time before reclining chairs came into foreplay, or was there an attraction and subsequent imprint to the giant slot in elementary school desks to fully synaptically prime such a lifelong attraction to in-inanimate object behaviours?

Like a bull in a china shop….Nah, way too twentieth century, probably even nineteenth, if not eighteenth century, though Yours Nose Picker Truly does not care enough to try find out. This is the era of sleaze after all. Dick jokes and all types of bankruptcies are welcome, in fact mandatory, though Yours Incaptulator Engineer Truly is only versed in dick jokes. Bankruptcies be damned, they do not jive with dwelling for two decades beneath a rock while simultaneously carrying the weight of the universe for rebirth. Perhaps that is why my neck and back is so fucked? No, no, that was most certainly the numerous traumas. Alright, traumas heightened by two decades of rock dwelling and prolonged universe carrying . And don’t get my spinal chord started on that LSD – talk about a compounding interest!

Like J.D. Vance in a sofa store….That’s better, and twentieth-first century era of sleaze approved. A Chesterfield of dreams no doubt – if you build it he will cum. Has anyone seen the price of sofa’s these days, and who wants to eat classy food from elegant china anymore anyways? This is the era of sleaze after all, sitting on one’s lazy ass and binge-watching some lobotomizing drivel seems to be the overarching twenty-first century intellectualism at the forefront of the back-burner society so finds itself. You fuck with someone’s sofa, couch, Chesterfield, love seat, or any other cushy loitering device and there will be hell to pay – most likely a 0% fifteen year loan so as to be able to afford the opportunity to buy another lounger and rinse and repeat said vanishing braincells.

If You Build It He Will Cum!

Most definitively one has to wonder is J.D. Vance an arm or a leg guy? Or under such conditions, perhaps a back man? My question would be, did any of these so-called “fact checkers” take a trip to visit the parents of J.D. Vance, out of curiosity as to whether their couches had those clear, protective, hermetically sealed vinyl covers that one occasionally sees in a Hollywood movie? Such would be indicative of past familial lounging device traumas. Like J.D. Vance in a sofa store….most fitting indeed – pun intended.

Indubitably, there J.D. Vance stands, or crouches, possibly kneels, though more than likely lays down, and most assuredly odd if he liked her on top; either or most likely all positions aside, J.D. Vance seems the man with the stamina and ability to bring down an ottoman empire near him. Or is that really the American Empire in allegoric non-sexual but definitively stained downfall? Along with his running mate the Floridian Orangutang Trump of course! Because certainly Trumps selection of full-on establishment Mike ‘Pentecostal’ Pence surely taught him a thing or two about a bought and paid for president skulking about in the den of thoroughly defunct thieving backstabbers? Time will tell.

As someone who has not been searching on the brighter side of the internet for five months now in an attempt to cobble together a picture of what the future may hold in the unfolding American and underlings catastrophic failure that the Empire du Jour surely holds in analogous sofa store ruin, it is not hard to turn over a few couch cushions and hazard a guess as to what those upholstered over and hidden springs may have concealed.

The CBC (Canadian Brainwashing Corporation) has let me know that Joe Biden is still regularly filling his diapers under the guise of running the supposed Free World; Kamala Harris is a border Czar incapable of handling a single border yet is a believable candidate for president; and that Donald Trump is a vile monster just because he is named Donald Trump due to the manufactured Globalist agenda to have unconsciously crept into the majority of the mind-wiped academic and pervasive cultural indoctrination flock infection of the non-confine detecting followers trapped in their own sickly regurgitated centrally scammed vomit.

Yours Punctuation Butcher Truly has a hunch that behind the scenes the tables have turned with a controlled demolition to be set in motion with an unknowing orangutang thinking that the bought and paid for levers he ends up pulling are, in his brash and pompous mind ‘Making America Great Again’ while all the livelong day him being the lynchpin and mark to stoke the fury and actions of the all too plentiful maniacs, lunatics, and lobotomized Globalist Indoctrinated Fan Club to destroy themselves and what is meagrely left of a figuratively whole but thoroughly tattered nation which will be literally apportioned in the not too distant future.

Prepare for more pussy grabbing and newly upholstered tales from the Chesterfield of dreams within the Oval Office in a White House of coming elevated semen stained locales!?