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And yea, nor shalt thou design wanky flash advertisements to plaster upon thine internet sites, for then Your Lord will wax sorely pissed, and the pox will be upon you for threescore and twenty years, down unto thy children and thy children's children, and thy sperm shall be as acid anyway, and will burn the silk sheets onto which thou wankest, and thy cocaince shall be turned by the alchemy of God into mere talcum powder, and thy shalt snort it anyway, and look a fool in the eyes of your colleagues, and thy minimalist apartment will be as an abode for squatters, tramps, and thieves, and thou wilt be antagonised in the streets by buskers and mimes for the rest of thy days, and verily the oldest and most pure of nuns will name thee cuntsniff, and this will be looked upon by Your Lord, who will then kick your arse in the most sublime of ways, for yea, it is written, et cetera.
And if thou workest at Mute records, thou wilt stop shilly-shallying about and release those two new Diamanda Galas albums which Thy Lord has been waiting for in the patience of eternity for three months now, or thou shalt be taken away to a place unclean, and fucked with knives, and plagued with sores of the penis, until thy member resembles a creature from a Toho studios production, and tiny stormtroopers beset you for the rest of your days. YEA... |
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