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Uncle Osama's Discount Meat And Cryogenic Storage

 
 
Crimes_Of_Fashion
01:37 / 29.03.03
Look, I vomited in my mailbox today, no I'm not proud, but it's pertinent, listen...

Void of mail and stomach all gurgly and loud, the voices a high pitch static wash across my frontal lobes; I filched my neighbours corn-free, blood-free, pill-free and insect-free mail. Inside wrapped in cellophane and electrical tape was the darlingest little card, it read:

[[ Dear Slave Meat.

You are invited to pick through the living flesh of the barbelith.

The clientele of this alien neural network are a running gag of genetic weakness evolved until a punch line of grinning sterility. Nomads and junkies get their hair rinsed, cut and curled. Emperors and salarymen diaphanous with new mutant strains of tuberculosis lay on golden pillows filling the air with opium from their pipes. Charlatans and Bisexual amoeba dance in spasmodic seizure. Engineers and pimps construct sexual scaffolding. Thespians and lesbians perform mouthy dialogues of wet cunnilinguist. Homos and handshakes swing from trapeze and walk a tightrope of flesh. Dwarves with wicked claws and impossible knowledge, conjoined twins fucking from the inside out, camp anarchists posing with limp wrists and raised fists, clowns on dissection tables stood over by the followers of obsolete unthinkable gods, sentient terrace housing sending out blind Technicolor feelers to find virginal outlets from which to steal utilities, automata shedding skin for rich illuminati prime, fashion models wrapped in pharmacological couture pouting at the surveillance cameras, undead abortions climbing the legs of their dear mothers, albinos cooking under strobe lights and animals speaking the language of man with strained vocal chords. The freaks and geeks are all in quorum and everyone is invited.

Fucks Sake.
- Satan ]]


Sounds like my kinda shindig.

All about making out with the elderly, Baudrillard in drag and detonator theory, right?

Could I get a summary so I don't hafta buy the cliff notes?


Fucks sake.

- Crimes_Of_Fashion : Bastard Lord Of The Philistines
 
 
grant
03:47 / 29.03.03
It's all rantings, spanks and guesswork.

Really.

The revolution's really going on elsewhere.
 
 
Crimes_Of_Fashion
04:52 / 29.03.03
You jest. I don't see one instance of 'a/s/l' which means I don't have to call anyone a 'c/n/t' - until those Japanese 'fluorescent firewire force feedback fuckity attachments' (rough gaijin translation) hit the black market I will not settle for dirty words and swollen wrists.

According to Everette this post is way cooler to the left a couple of dimensions.
 
 
STOATIE LIEKS CHOCOLATE MILK
07:20 / 29.03.03
You missed out the ass-candling part.
 
 
Crimes_Of_Fashion
08:12 / 29.03.03
'Ass-candling' is a specific feature of the 'Requiem For A Dream fluorescent firewire force feedback fuckity movie tie in attachment'

'Live out the funniest bits from the movie, in private or in front of a crowd of drugged up old men!' - Yee-haw.
 
 
bio k9
11:19 / 29.03.03
 
 
We're The Great Old Ones Now
11:27 / 29.03.03
Summaries are acts of malice committed under the grandiose impression that a paucity of information is by nature more useful than the full glutinous flood of raw data. Provide your own filters or permit your shrinking neuronic stuff to be assailed by the sexual and textual advances of a revolution proceeding from saturation - or you could just sit there like a potato in a frier, sizzled from one opinion to another by the fat of current events reaching grotesque ignition. Action and reaction are neither equal nor opposite, but cruel and apposite.

I would have been sad to lose this post, so I have moved it here. Crimes of Fashion and I both read too much Mark Leyner, I fear.
 
 
Crimes_Of_Fashion
11:24 / 01.04.03
Nick is my new best pal, and the fucking antichrist. Lovely.
 
 
Sax
11:33 / 01.04.03
Well, Nick's my gastroenterologist.
 
 
Crimes_Of_Fashion
11:41 / 01.04.03
Serendipity? Synchronicity? An ordered chaos? Fear is for the enema.

That Nick's summaronious post and mine are bastard offspring of the same oscillating hole.
Penguin trot down baronial pathways lined with opened arteries carrying input from my sensory package to the dried gray grape in the back, when they arrive through gilded barn doors to a kicked in Versailles, deep sighs of 'Et tu, Nick' and 'Damn, I wish I'd read that Mark Leyner dude now!' echo through the spray painted galleries of moi CNS.
 
 
ONLY NICE THINGS
11:47 / 01.04.03
Yeah, well Nick is the gynecologist of my male bride, Peter Duncan.
 
 
Crimes_Of_Fashion
11:52 / 01.04.03
I'd break out the 'Requiem For A Dream' 'lectro-pig-sticker-from-gee-pan (Rough Bush Voter Translation - and seeing as how there were only two: you know who I'm talking at chu fucking spunk muppet) for that guy.
 
 
Crimes_Of_Fashion
11:55 / 01.04.03
I really outta stop doing drugs and serfing the intranet.
 
 
Sax
12:11 / 01.04.03
Boy, are you serfing the Internet.
 
 
Our Lady of The Two Towers
12:13 / 01.04.03
Well quite, the intranet always gets shirty if it's not treated as an equal party. God, the riots last year, I couldn't get onto Rather Good for pop-ups saying "Parity for the Intranet!" and "Now we see the violence inherent in the system!". Did you receive the "H3LP! H3LP! Eye m b3ing repressed!" spam?
 
 
Crimes_Of_Fashion
14:02 / 01.04.03
up until this moment Ive never been to rathergood.com

I'm not sure what I feel now except for the uncommonly good batch of hoodlum phamaceauticals running through my system.

Spam.
 
 
We're The Great Old Ones Now
14:07 / 01.04.03
You are all my surfs, and I require tribute in the form of small East German cars made from cardboard. I require chocolate covered locusts, still alive in their viscous cocoa placentas, hovering like edible crusty ballerinas over a land blighted by coprocrats and self-aware military cancers in lounge suits. These cancers will be the forward guard of my invading army, the locusts will provide logistical support and snacks for hungry operatives in my plan.

Preserve our essence? Like hell. We must pollute and burn our essence, disolve the social collective id in a ferment of politico-transexualism and religious androgeny. Bored and aging rockstars will be the angels of my revelation, propounding lyrical tritenesses at gigavolume until the Earth itself rings with my sophomoric philosophy and the death of profundity saves us from an armageddon birthed through a canal of seething chastity and pointless, vindictive purity. We shall drink the lambic imported beer of success only when we have homogenised beers of all nations to one inglorious macro-pils.

And let that be our lego.
 
 
Crimes_Of_Fashion
14:20 / 01.04.03
That line, line, lines makes me wanna get sultry and sassy with the bruised corpses of Princess Di and Mother (Not sexy enough to get airtime) Teresa, dry fuck all the ex-popesesese worm eaten skull baskets and anoint my purple lounge snake with the ashes of their beutiful bullshitty minds, paint meta-sigils on the whitehouse walls and demand sacrifices in the Oval office, take a shit inside George Bush and watch Michael Moore squirrel him from behind, or go and nap off this ever stranger nod.

Uncle Osama's love hut is turning into a 'DIY World Takeover' handbook

The secrets and lies are all here between the lines.



Any of you fairies read 'Godel, Escher, Bach.'?




...Wanna explain it to me?

swoon.
 
 
grant
21:02 / 01.04.03
Godel, Escher, Bach?

A needlessly parabolic and allegorical instruction manual for the weaving of macrame.
 
 
Crimes_Of_Fashion
23:44 / 01.04.03
Logic equations do assume too much, the temptation however is always there to reread the Voynich manuscript or draw cartoons in the margins of the sauciest sections of the true false Necronimicon.
Or make paper cranes out out GEB.
On an oft treked journey to the heart of Conrad's heart of darkness one small child was heard to reply 'Just who the fuck would eat themselves that fat on cheeseburgers alone! Prime rib of baby seal, a nice bald eagle pate feuillete, the candy laced blood of virgins? Fucking amateurs.'
 
 
Crimes_Of_Fashion
00:18 / 02.04.03
The question, of course, was: 'Wouldn't you like to run naked through the belly folds of Marlon Brando.'
 
 
Crimes_Of_Fashion
00:23 / 02.04.03
Innocence being a moving target.
 
 
We're The Great Old Ones Now
06:35 / 02.04.03
Ahhh... Aylett. All is clear.
 
 
Crimes_Of_Fashion
08:51 / 02.04.03
Actually I was going for more of a smacked up Horatio Alger. Burroughs rewritting 'day of the locust' from the inside. Or just an excuse to exclude the front part of my brain from what I tyoe, synapse to fingers to screen, possibly more then a little influenece from Brett Ellis, Dashiel Hammet and Edward Gorey.
Or not.
Ballard be my favourite.
 
 
Crimes_Of_Fashion
09:01 / 02.04.03
That's assuming Aylett is a writer and not a multi-national manufacturer of pharmaceauticals.
If not, Absolutley.
 
 
Sax
09:11 / 02.04.03
Name of a name.
 
 
Our Lady of The Two Towers
11:36 / 02.04.03
Name of the Rose? The mistake was thinking that Adam and Eve spoke High Latin in the Garden of Eden. As Sean Connery has shown, the true accent of Babel is Scottish.
 
 
Crimes_Of_Fashion
16:16 / 02.04.03
Sounds like the makings of a pornographic version of Pygmalion. We could sex-death Bond, James Bond and scry the future in his whiskey pickled rectum, then stand around raising collars to the wind warming hands on the rising steam.
Semantics, anyone?

Names are, like, so last season.
 
 
Our Lady of The Two Towers
16:53 / 02.04.03
So is talking about sex all the time because you think it makes you seem cool darling.

but hey, I kiss you!!... until you bleed.
 
  
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