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Compositional Metallurgy

A penny for my thoughts? Really though, such a high price to pay, and all you freeloading cheapskates have thoroughly proven it over the years. See, what did Yours Offended By The Alphabet Creator Truly just tell you. Crickets in a goddamn vacuum of interstellar space wisping throughout Hellen Keller’s imaginative chamber made delights! Well, one must suppose in brief allegorical transference: Why buy the toilet when one gives away the shit for free? Exactly – don’t forget to wipe, or this shit might damn-well stick – to what, other than a sad-sack sub-straight substrate? Who knows, just track the braincase ping-ponging proven dilemma. Christ, there are even innumerable fuck-face cowards who do not have the self respect or basic self control to wait for this garbage to be published by myself; and then some of those ignorant fucks actually have the nerve to be offended by my alphabet.

If not a penny for my thoughts, then perhaps my thoughts on some pennies before nickelling out to those dimes? Sounds like a quarter plan of attentive non-ramshackle shininess unburied for transitional transnational transactional transference steering far and wide from any transcendentalist destination whatsoever. Perverts and Vultures, they rule history while enlightenment stumbles and falters every time. Yup, The Human Condition, alive and well from revolution to revolution – welcome to the circle jerks – round and round They go!

Oh right, something about those pennies. Or was it something wrong about those pennies? well in Cana-duh yes, that is why they were completely cancelled and taken out of circulation north of the 49th, but the home base of the Empire Du Jour and accompanying Crown – USA! USA! USA! just loves to watch their subjects scratch and claw their existence right down to the last little red cent. That Internal Revenue Service – perhaps not quite bright enough to round up or down to either .05 or .00? Heaven forbid some buffoon should create an External Revenue Service – probably nickel and dime the world into some overblown and overextended coiffure’s coffer.

Ever been unfortunate enough to saliently notice things as life passes one by into one’s chosen eventual destination? Poor sods! Just over twelve years ago now, Cana-duh’s government, after legislating the penny defiance act, had ceased to distribute pennies from the Canadian mint, leaving people the incredible intellectual opportunity to round purchases to either .00 or .05 cent increments. Revolutionary! The nation’s collective IQ partially grew as the up and down cent rounding probably bore some sort of equilibrium of the overall population balance? Ah, who knows, and who cares. Now, what was Yours Coin Hoarder Truly to do with the 20 pounds of pennies he rediscovered in a box about a decade after penny cancellation? Spring them upon his nephew who had been on this exacerbatingly confused earth for less years than said pennies had been out of circulation of course! Yours Coin Hoarder Truly thinks my nephew’s father, T might have spent more on acquiring penny rolls to sheath said pennies in to be allowed to redeem said pennies for dollar-dollar bills y’all. But think of the family time!

Rambling man…. Oh, right, unfortunate enough to notice things. Those bloody pennies – when the Canadian government ceased production of the penny, of which no doubt prevented the penny coffers from filling, which led to the bottom of the oxygen deprived piles of pennies to come closer to the light of their eventual existence of what were decades in a churned, once copper, but now copper-steel melange resting place, to be expunged into unneeded societal grasping, Yours Coin Hoarder Truly and any non-shambling and meandering debit and credit card zombie had probably noticed that occasionally the pennies one received in their change were dating from the 1960’s, 1970’s, 1980’s and were in pristine and untarnished brilliance? It is true, they were, Yours Coin Hoarder Truly saved his, but goodness knows where they ended up? Perhaps they will be discovered after Yours Rope Beam And Rickety Stool Truly check out someday and some lucky person gets to go through my flesh-light free abode? (That is an inside joke, literally and figuratively!) Just don’t put them on my eyes at my funeral – Yours Sick Of tHe Bullshit Truly wants a couple of White Spot Pirate Pack foil clad chocolate coins for that day.

Anyways – Déjà vu. No, no, not the rope, beam, and rickety stool recurrence, no. More than a decade, after those pennies, like a “royal” tallywacker in an immediate relatives orifice, performed a disappearing act after being pulled from a darkened resting place, Yours Coin Hoarder Truly again, just over a month ago, received, on three separate transactions, decades old coinage that was in pristine condition apart from what might be a few shallow scratches from being churned in a mass pile of like coins piled on top of them in their minted resting place. Think Scrooge McDuck but not so golden.

The coins look better in person, my camera is shit. As are my photography skills.

Yes, Yours Coin Hoarder Truly uses cash for 99%+ of his transactions and once hoarded his coins for over a decade, of which Yours Coin Hoarder Truly just cashed in last year to the tune of just under $20,000. No shit. And trust me it is a logistical nightmare and will never happen again. Fuck me, that twenty grand didn’t pay much more than my goddamn taxes owed neither! Yours Coin Hoarder Truly has also been fishing out all pre year 2000 nickels, dimes, and quarters for years now too as most are nearly 100% nickel metal after silver was discontinued, not the clad steel of post year 2000 coinage; and trust Yours Coin Hoarder Truly, there is not much pre year 2000 nickel coinage left out there in circulation, so when one receives three, decades old 1978, 1979, and 1989 coins in their change on three separate occasions all in mint condition, those sixty-seven remaining synaptic connections left intact after a now years long given up doobie smoking waste of time began to electrify outside of the rope, beam, and rickety stool safe-haven. And as Prince Harry said to Prince Andrew: “Fuck me and blow me over!” Yes, something is definitely up, other than aforementioned “royal” sausage in the company of each others scrambled eggs. Whisk, whisk – tsk, tsk.

Of course that old Satan serving, sword swallowing, trail emitting slimy hag Queen E-lips-a-dick the Second Cumming died a few years ago, and it need be necessary for Cana-duh to usher in the new coinage of some other Fugly inbred Third Reich architect descendent – well, at least for a couple of years maybe, til that bitch King Charles ends up killing his cancerous host. Bet the Royal Canadian Mint did not plan on that one – Chucklehead killing off his cancerous host! And with Prince William seemingly destined to die via the new, no longer “royal” Esophogeal Penile Lodging Syndrome Disorder – That’s right, big D – in a not so dark, in fact daylight Edinburgh alley with a larger than life Glasgow smile etched so proudly upon his crab and semen encrusted face. OK, would you believe torso? Alright, alright, head to toe filth! Soles of his feet too! And after all that, Yours Coin Hoarder Truly’s only question is: With so few pre year 2000 Canadian coinage being in circulation, and the Canadian Mint seemingly blowing the old nickel coinage out the door, who exactly is pilfering all the pre year 2000 coinage? Because Yours Coin Hoarder Truly’s plastic Two Kilo mixed nut container ain’t making that big of a dent – and surely there is nobody else out there naive enough to be hoarding nickel coins, could there? Take a trip to Newfoundland – now there is some old (nickel) money.

But hey, this would not be ENDPOLITICIANS.COM, supported by a trickle of cheapskate freeloaders, if Yours Awaiting His Straightjacket Truly did not furrow, seed, grow, and then thoroughly rape some bastardized planting set to feed so many starved depravites (I made it up) in need of a thorough spanking and to be sent to bed without dinner, apart from this watered up alphabet. A veritable steatopygia of the mind to be mined in globular outtakes on par with hellish snowflakes. For goodness sakes hit the runaway trained brakes. All Aboard!?

What if that semi-useful idiot Donald Jockstrap Trump is but a poop-slinging orangutang just fucking dumb enough to think he is the demigod demagogue making some immensely failed shit-hole great while truly being but just another thoroughly owned puppet politician paraded around by immense preexisting powers under his own propped up ignorance while being fed just enough useless shit to throw at anyone foolish enough to partake in his Pinocchio Braggadocio Dumb-Fucchio existence while said powers await to unleash the hinted and now thoroughly planted but transferrable slanting? You know, seemingly to pleasurably tickle the pussy, but then being overzealously cold-cocked with nothing but a handful of smelly pointed fingers across the jowl to pointedly shake in rampant disbelief.

To Yours Occasionally Paying Attention Truly, it became clear that Donald Jockstrap Trump, while having being declared the official shoe-in, by preexisting power, to again become president after Joe ‘Poopy Pants’ Biden’s administration’s obtuse political suicide – Donald Jockstrap was in no way in what may be called ‘The Inner Loop’ of true goings on behind the scenes. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, no doubt there has been a true revolution going on behind the scenes since the Globalist suicide of COVID treachery. Donald Jockstrap seems to be the aforementioned patsy just smart enough to be dumb enough to follow the laid breadcrumbs in order to firstly feed his gorged ego, and whatever comes with such, including stinky tiny fingertips aplenty – no doubt of which are fingering many a testosterone laden sphincters. Donald Jockstrap Trump is indeed a politician, is he not? Alas, the taste for puppeteers ass!

Yours Combustible Engine Driver Truly remembers when Elon ‘Little Biltong’ Musk claims to have created an app that figured out that Donald Jockstrap Trump would be the next president 4 hours before being declared president; to which Yours Bullshit Detector Truly could only chuckle to himself when having such words enter one’s auditory canals. Jesus McChrist, Yours Deplorable Oracle Truly predicted Donald Jockstrap Trump would be president again back on July 18th 2024, a near 4 months before the election. Sure, Yours Analog Programming Truly was not fed the precise state by state riding details by any intelligence agencies, but it must have been clear to anyone not preoccupied with sticking their fingers in whatever receptively stinky orifices, that indeed the fix was in. Bravo Elon! Say, could you lend me a cool 50 million or so, as I want to build a highly shielded bedroom and complete house, guaranteeing any unwanted technological prying eyes and such traumatizing dehumanization.

Donald Jockstrap Trump and his Trumpian Gulf of Americanization – far and wide, extremely fucking shallow, endlessly rippled, therefore zero reflection. Call it Trumpian self-turbidity. Yes, back around July or sometime close when Yours Bullshit Detector Truly predicted that Crusty Ol’ Jockstrap would definitively be the next president, Yours Bullshit Detector Truly heard a soundbite of Donald Jockstrap Trump uttering a Pinocchio Braggadocio Dumb-Fucchio statement in Kamala’s Democrats direction along the lines of: “See you on September 4th!” which to Yours Bullshit Detector Truly, who used to pay attention to deep-seeded worldly going ons before Yours Sick Of The Bullshit Truly’s massive exploitation overpoweringly took hold with zero recourse or even remedying of the lingering poison and basic piece of mind such could still unduly progress, knew at that moment, when Trump was already a shoe-in for the presidency, that Trump truly had no Idea what was transpiring behind the scenes, and probably still does not to this very day. Strung along just like the true beholden and owned moral prostitute politician he really is. USA! USA! USA! and their captive subjects – So Bulgingly Grrreat! Just ask Tony the Tiger.

So as for Donald Jockstrap Trump’s logorrheic Cana-duh to become America’s 51st state mutterings – the Trump stink-finger receiving puppeteers have quite possibly fed him enough regurgitative Pinocchio Braggadocio Dumb-Fucchio soundbites so such a buffoon can plant into the general populace to no doubt attempt to demoralize Canadians, while Trump just being ignorant and contradictorily foolish in claiming he has absolutely zero use for Cana-duh, but has some homo-erotic fetish of making the nothingness he claims to not need be his resourceful bitch to be humiliated at his Gulf of Americanization whims, no doubt, in Jockstrap’s own mind, for what must, by Trumpian logic be the next Thousand Year Trumpian Reich of Greatness to be talked about eight thousand years in the future at Every Trump University in the Galaxy and beyond.

But Yours Hypothetical Geographical Location Predictor Truly says: “Fuck Cana-duh becoming America’s fifty-first state, of which said America is already England’s forty-ninth county. Yes, Yours Hypothetical Geographical Location Predictor Truly says fuck that idea altogether! Yours Hypothetical Geographical Location Predictor Truly is hypothesizing that British Columbians, Washingtonians, Oregonians,  Californians, most likely Albertans, as well as possibly other western central states and Saskatchewan into the newly minted geographical location of CASCADIA!? As well, if nothing major has changed since Yours Sick Of The Bullshit Truly morally extricated himself out of protest from the revolutionary goings-on – two or three other brand new Geographical locations to be aptly or pitifully named to join a nascent Cascadia.

But don’t worry folks, even if the Teuto-Anglo “royal” bloodline, along with the entirety of European “royalty” were fed into the literal wood-chipper, all new geographical locations would just be another facet of the same old millennia old Crown, where within a hundred years time, all aptly named Trumpian Ghettos will be law enforcement patrolled by the latest model Queen Charles the Turd hover drones, along with “Royal” George Washington and other American Aristocracy hover cars, as the newest fad will be paying easily earned government handout money in order to get the lifelike surgery of the once “royal” prince William’s Glasgow smile traipsed across one’s own face and then competitively competing in the Trumpian Olympic Ghetto Games with the sport of who can swallow the longest and girthiest sausage for the longest duration without dying. Yes, the one with the greatest amount of brain damage due to oxygen hypoxia will be given the Golden Stinky Trumpian Finger atop the now obversely reengineered sunken podium.

And what evidence exactly does Yours Hypothetical Geographical Location Predictor Truly predict this hypothetical and newfangled geographical location of CASCADIA one must be asking? License plates, it is all about the license plates! And that Continental Divide. Don’t laugh, ya’ll may be Cascadians before you know it – or want to move to one of the other new Crown faceted jobby’s. Me, I’ll probably move to the bottom of the ocean or a deep, deep lake. The company down there will probably be a lot more stimulating. Unless my mothership will kindly return and drag me off into some heavenly pleasurable blackhole free of that putrid Trumpian finger stink.

Didn’t this article start off and become based loosely around currency, more specifically coinage? Yes, my now THC depleted brain thinks it very well might have, or what is left of it anyways. CASCADIA and those other Crown faceted shit-holes are probably going to need some sort of coinage, and hopefully free of some fugly and inbred “royal” Nazi architects, including Ol’ Crusty Jockstrap. To which Yours Beachcomber Truly says: “Usher in the Sand Dollar! A gold backed Sand Dollar! And let the people vote on what non meretricious likeness they wish to adorn their currency.