eight phuking percent

stolen (and paraphrazed) from liltecca'z journal on da:

you say taylor swift, i say devin townsend.
you say lady gagwhore, i say machine head.
you say miley cyrus, i say lamb of god.
you say t-pain (whoever the phuk that iz), i say tool.
you say kesha, i say sonik syndicate.
you say justin beaver, i say you're a moron.
you say korn, i say you're a trendaddict.
you say feminem, i don't give a phuk what you say.

ninetytwo percent of teenz have turned to pop and rap.
if you're part of the eight percent that still listen to real muzik, then i think you would agree, we need to do something about this shyt.

this waz my comment:

mutherphuker. i knew it waz bad, but that's just syckening. i'm not going to copy/paste this, but i agree wholeheartedly. the phuk iz wrong with people. not only doez pop and rap suck, but it's the intellectual equivalent to a moth on your ceiling. phuk that. i'm bringing thinking back. i want to get your blood pumping in your heart with fast, angry muzik, and then get the blood flowing in your mind with conscious lyriks. it's time to wake the phuk up and smell the homeless.

critiks can suck a goat

i just read a little excerpt from the wikipedia page on marilyn manson'z 'mechanikal animalz' album, which happenz to be my favourite album. but i didn't read the whole page, i don't have that kind of time, there'z too many people to bitch at in this stupid world. but i just happened to read this little bit, and it made me want to vomit cockroach turdz out of my 3yeballz. get a load of this cracknugget, he must be so proud of himself, pompous little prick.

Not everyone gave the album a glowing review (yeah, only snobbitch cockgullets like this would have to add their two negative cents, cauze that's all their verbal pigtrash iz worth). Music critic Robert Christgau commented, "If only the absurd aura of artistic respectability surrounding this arrant self-promoter would teach us that not every icon deserves a think piece (yeah, tell me, do you even know what a 'think piece' iz, you selfworshipping goatnugget?), that it's no big deal to have a higher IQ than Ozzy Osbourne (now that's just a repulsive statement for any metalhead. there'z not one metalhead out there who doezn't like ozzy, dickwrench. if you're dumb enuph to make that comparison, then ozzy iz a phuk of alot smarter than you), that the Road of Excess leads to the Palace Theater [...] Its strategy is to camouflage the feebleness of La Manson's (ooh, sounding a little fancy for your silkladen asspillow with the fluffy buttplug, don't you think) vocal affect by pretending it's deliberate (soundz like you're pretending you know what the phuk you're talking about, when you have no phuking clue. get the phuk over yourself already, asspuppet. you should learn to question your obligatorial dysphunkshun) —one more depersonalizing production device with which to flatten willing cerebella (need to take a nap?) whilst confronting humankind's alienation, amorality, and failure to have a good time on Saturday night." (i think you might have forgotten what you're talking about there... or did you forget what speciez you're part of, monkeyphonix).

what an asshole... if you're going to critique metal, make sure you phuking like it first, douchecrozby! by the way, this idiot's an old fart. what the phuk iz he doing listening to marilyn phuking manson?!?!?! of course he wouldn't have anything enlightening to say about it, the word 'enlightening' waz birthed six hundred yearz after he had hiz first aneuryzm! someone once said, 'you don't know which end of your body you want to babble out of first'.

mom commented: yeah, and he is so snobby, i don't even understand what his complaint is. way too snooty to possibly understand anything about manson.

so, i of course had two cents to offer this illiterate brainbum, and of course, some mindtrash to litter hiz cardboard mindbox on hiz part of the street. this iz essentially for all the socalled 'critiks' out there. eat this, you birdturdz.

that dickhead scuntwrangler actually thinks that if he uzez big wordz, and soundz intellectual by putting good wordz together, that we'll listen to him, and agree with what he sayz... what a douchebag... he probly had to open a dictionary to write that crap. i can do that too, asshole, i can uze big wordz and sound smart, too... how about this... shove an octopus up your ass, so it can make excellent use of its inkly tentiklez to poizon your feeble verbikular receptikle till you bleed out every orifice, obzerving az you loze your last inch of intestinal disgustitude, and then you're forced to murder yourself with the nearest jellyfish tentikular protruzion, just to make sure you go to the infernal eternal abyss of phirey damnation that iz the tiny mental headspace you think in, every second of your pathetik little medullaoblongataless life, you scumphuk little braindink, with a pencil in each 3yehole, and a pen in your pineal gland of occipital orbital stupiditude, so az to make absolute sure you can't see past your own asshole mudfest of meaningless existence, and the only wingz you'll ever evolve toward acquiring are the wingz on your minipad, you cuntscope of lustial beastial servitude. how'z that, you little prick, iz that a good enuph 'critique' for you, you dumb phuk. critiks have no talent to make art themselvez, so they have to trash everyone else'z art with their snootycooter opinionz that don't matter for shyt. opinionz are like assholez, everyone'z got one, and i've got one for you, here, sniff this, assmonger. i just wiped my buttwhistle with your 'opinion'. there, there'z your phuking critique, that's what i think of you and your brainpuke bullshyt, go phuk yourself. phuking pigeonraping clownmolester. go crying to your mother now, and get some milky nipple to satisfy your starving trashtummy, you phuking distipitous, dikshunaryless wordbaby. you just got nounphuked by the wizard of wordz, you twatwaffle. in the wordz of my retarded grandmother who'z smarter than you, 'don't let it give you nightmarez'. drown in your own pitypiss. the world could uze less of you. eat my asspancakes, you selfish pusspie. you just got taken down by the mutherphuking word magician, i bet your biscuits are burnin' now, you little scruntphuk, how doez that pheel. i just can't stop myself, i wonder why. i can puke nonsense, too, you talentless sheepclone. wash your Th3rd 3ye with your grandpappy'z douchebottle, and shove your typewriter up your scrotalvag asstrumpet, and then sit in the corner and deepthroat my wizdomrectum till you get a clue, brainstein. phuk off and die.

and that's just my most recent attack on critiks. i wrote a few otherz many yearz ago, but thanks to a scumcrumbly whore, they seem to be missing at the moment. if i find them, or retrieve them from the alien æther sometime soon, you'll be the first to acquire thoze bullets. and again, this dumbcelebrater iz an old fart. i'm only thirtytwo, and i just tore him a new one. we should appreciate our children more.

before we go, let's take a short look at this worthless scumbastard... Robert Christgau (born April 18, 1942) is an American essayist, music journalist, and self-proclaimed "Dean of American Rock Critics". they say 'selfproclaimed' for a reazon, asspatty. let's take a minute and toss elephant shyt at this moron, and try to push our envelope a little.

the 'conspiracy' theory

i have a theory about why we have so many 'conspiraciez' in this world. it's called 'the bloodthirsty power and cuntrol of the police state'. if you're too patriotik to care, and want to defend your cuntry with your gunz, then you have alot to learn. there'z something wrong with you, if you think everything'z ok, being willingly blind to the truth. submissively patriotik in the guize of denial. if you think all thoze 'security cameraz' and satellites are just for 'security', then you probly need security, becauze you're insecure, psychotik, and need some sort of crutch or 'guardian', cauze you can't think for yourself, you're still a child in a kindergarten mind. just becauze you're thirtysomething and can pay billz doezn't mean you're an adult. you have this 'secure' pheeling, becauze the cuntry you love iz watching over you. ironikally, that's not far from the truth, unlike you. and boy, will you pheel so betrayed, and so conphuzed and abandoned when they take over, and rip your 'freedom' away from you.

some lame crap

i waz 'tagged' on da. but i didn't want to post this there. but i liked my answerz, so i thought i'd post it here.

1. you must post theze rulez. not.
2. each tagged person must post ten thingz about themselvez on their journal.
3. you have to chooze and tag ten people and post their iconz on the same journal. not.
4. go to their pagez and tell them you tagged them. not.
5. no tag backs. this iz not a 'tagback', it's just an answer.
6. tag ten people. you said that already.

okay, i'm finally going to do this lame crap. i waz tagged by you. phuker. but i'm not 'tagging' ten other people, cauze a: i don't know that many people, and b: everyone i know hates this crap, too. and i'm not wasting a journal for this either, cauze a: no one readz my journalz, and b: my journal space iz for much more important shyt. besidez, i like the one i have up right now. so i'm just going to post this in your comment area, so you know i did it, and can see my crappy answerz.

1. i'm a writer and muzician, and a thinker. be ware.
2. i have an arsenal of good wordz in my warhead.
3. i've been in mental homez.
4. i've done lsd six timez, and i'm well squeegee'd.
5. i waz bill hicks in my last life.
6. i just had to trim my fingernailz, cauze i couldn't type.
7. i'm an alien. i'm not from here. i mean that.
8. i have a truly massive mp3 collection, with no rap. imagine that.
9. i'm the most dangerous evolutionist.
10. i hope my daughter turnz out like 'hit girl'.

groove on, homeburger.

'save the wildlife' update

it's the big corporation that makes the game, and makes the rulez of the game, and tellz the little 'wildlife saving organization', 'you have to do it this way, you have to give us more money, or else we're going to destroy your precious wildlife'. they're going to destroy it anyway, but we give them the money, to 'buy some time', but the big corporation haz all the money, so they make all the rulez, and they do whatever they want. it's a scam. the more money you have, the more money you make. if you have more money than anyone else, then you own them. something i said, 'the death of one iz tragik. the death of millionz iz magik'. and the death of a forest iz money.