text to tuRn yoU iNside out And aWAken Yawning beasts

A horror: You meet your dead friend and demand to know why she left you. You beat on her elbows and arms and shake her around, but she needs a cigarette. This is too much. She ignores your pleading questions from the other room, and you’re left wondering if she came back at all, or if she was ever really gone. Or, if that isn’t her in the other room then who, or what, is it?

You cry betrayal but, screaming backwards, praise the darkness as it pulls you in closer. And deeper.

An explosion of dense hate rips you apart as you cross the event horizon in ever-condensing segments. Your consciousness is reduced to a dull stream of atoms by the witches who occupy a brown dollhouse in the cobwebbed cabinets of your mind, which sit high upon a dusty shelf in the back of a barn, where the electric company forgot to come turn off the lights.

You grind your teeth as the witches draw closer, blurring your vision and vibrating your numb, tingling arms, stretched out in front of you, hopelessly deflecting their malignant stares. They swarm you and stab, and cackle and scream, as their scalpels part your belly like a virgin cunt. A woman is chewing on your ear, drowning out your screams with whispered secrets you couldn’t admit to on a deathbed, in a confessional, in an abandoned cathedral surrounded by a murder of black-eyed crows, that has already begun to pick your skeleton clean.

A withered hand reaches out of your guts and pulls out your tongue, slicing it off with yellowed nails at the base. You are asked to say the alphabet backwards and dance for the pleasure of pigs in the high-beam intensity of a callous judge’s eyes. Guilty.

From the other room, a trial unfolds and a jury agrees to hang you upside down, and let your blood drain out through the ears and the eyes. The witches return and, by their orgasmic moaning, you hear the sound of your spinal cord snapping, and your brain stem filling with blood. A yawning beast on the floor kisses your lips with her tongue and drinks the weeping viscera, ounce for ounce, letting not a drop sully her bed on the dirty hardwood floor. Her tongue snakes into your mouth, your throat, and your stomach. She winds her way through yards of intestine, to the guts and the anus, filling your person with the sensation of writhing maggots and worms. And in an instant – in one sharp flick of the tongue – your veins, organs and muscle flash into view, and the witches withdraw. You got too close. Get back. Get back and leave the barn now, while you still can. Get out. Don’t think of the dollhouse. Get out now. Ignore their cries, don’t look at it. Get out.

Stsaeb gninway nekawa dna RuN AWAY.txt

Man resorts to nearby public toilet as roommate begins shower

NEW YORK– A desperate man stood in the interior hallway of his Brooklyn home Thursday, waiting impatiently to use the bathroom.

“I was standing there a good five minutes, staring at the strip of light shining through the door jam,” Mark Allen, 26, told reporters in front of Tony’s Pizzeria on Manhattan Avenue. “That’s when I heard the shower.”

Allen said Janet, the hostess, eyed him suspiciously as he entered the empty restaurant at 10 a.m. and walked past her to the restroom.

“People are constantly coming in off the street and asking to use our restroom,” Janet said. “As soon as Mark walked in, I knew what he was up to. He said hello to me in a fake pleasant tone, and walked right past my station.”

Janet’s irritated demeanor told Allen his presence in the establishment was not welcome, and he began to feel guilty. Allen was determined to justify himself.

“I made it to the bathroom, and locked the door, so I had time to think,” Allen said. “I hadn’t eaten anything yet, having only just crawled out of bed, so while I was sitting there, doing my business, I thought, ‘I’ll prove that bitch wrong. Shoot me a dirty look, will she?’ Why, as soon I exit this bathroom, I’ll buy a slice a pizza while I’m here. That’ll show her!”

Without looking in Janet’s direction, Allen said he got in line for pizza, and ordered two slices of pepperoni, and a Coke. As he paid, he glanced over to Janet, who hung her head in embarrassment.

“I really thought he just wanted to use the bathroom like a common bum,” Janet said. “But it turns out I’m the asshole. Mark is a paying customer, and had every right to shit in our toilet. I really need to keep my prejudice in check.”

‘Donald Trump did nothing wrong’: Critics SLAM Melania for refusing to stand by her man

Melania Trump disrespected her husband in front of the entire world.

A group of women from the Focus on the Family for Profit charity foundation cried out in protest Monday after soon-to-be-Former First Lady Melania Trump disrespected the President in front of their Israeli hosts by selfishly swatting Donald’s hand away as he reached out for support. Continue reading “‘Donald Trump did nothing wrong’: Critics SLAM Melania for refusing to stand by her man”

Trump’s first visit to home town of New York City met with [glorious praise]

DADDY IS HOME

President Trump returned home Thursday, for the first time since becoming national daddy.

Thousands of demonstrators appeared at the Intrepid military museum, a decommissioned warship docked in lower Manhattan, where President Trump met right-wing Australian Prime Minister Malcolm “X” Turnbull. Continue reading “Trump’s first visit to home town of New York City met with [glorious praise]”

VICE: We attended a New York May Day demonstration, got bored and left early

“Looks like May Day has a case of the Mondays.” – @kilgoar

A couple days ago I visited Union Square during the opening remarks of the Democratic Socialists of America. It was boring, and I did not stay for the 5 o’clock march to City Hall.

Kilgoar and I anticipated seeing Twitter personalities there, but they were all reportedly wearing masks, so I could not identify or contact them.

Beyond showing up, barely on time, little to no effort was put into coverage of this event.

Listen here:

http://chronicle.su/radio/attachment/dsa/

Expect the same during tomorrow’s coverage of the protests scheduled during President Trump’s first visit to his hometown of New York City.

“You’ll have to clamber with great effort to beat other protesters to the front,” Kilgoar advised, “because they have been hardened by the city.”

ALRart

ALRart.net

“CRAZY. CRACKPOT. FOOL. CRIMINALLY INSANE.”

These are words I once used to describe my schizophrenic writer, an inventor, artist, poet – and a visionary unlike any other person in this world. Today, nothing has changed, except to say he is no longer with us.

Recently the one-year anniversary of his death – and his birthday – came to pass, and I would like to honor my dear friend, Alistair Robin Rowntree, by sharing his story with you now.

I met ALRart through a Yahoo! Group of pseudoscience aficionados – talking about stuff like free energy, faster than light travel, things of that nature – well, ALRart was so far “out there” that even these guys wouldn’t have him. “Who was that guy?” “Just some nutcase,” another said. I wanted to see who they were talking about and I found ALRart’s website:

A maze of links – some of them hidden – that documented his progress through the research and development process of free energy devices, torsion fields and a very special “RINGGO STARGATE” capable of carrying humans to other, possibly better, dimensions.

So I asked him to write for us, which he immediately accepted. We gave him an avenue of pure insanity wherein our friends and readers supported him, without teasing or berating his efforts. He spoke of free love, eternal life and spiritual peace, recoloring what would otherwise be failures into endeavors of scientific purity – innocent trial-and-error. We never once questioned his integrity as an inventor – only asked for explanations, or request that he further his ideas. We shared thoughts with him and it was beautiful.

We have a running joke that ALRart never died, but that he finally got his stargate running.

During experimentation, ALRart claimed to stand in the center of his stargate where he “felt a strangeness” but no word on whether he ever perfected it. However, over the course of designing what may have amounted to a massive collection of functionless sculptures, ALRart created elaborate visual works of unintentional beauty and intricacy using glass and imaging software. After all, there was a fair deal of math involved, and he may have been crazy but he wasn’t stupid.

And that is why for the longest time we did not trust him to be who he said he was, in spite of his intensely loving personality.

And because of the great distance between us – he lived in New Zealand – he became this mythical, legendary persona, like God, only somewhat more real and he answered our questions. But even though I spoke to him over Skype, and we exchanged email, we were never fully certain ALRart was a real person. That is, until I searched him out recently to try to find out where he’s been.

ALRart loved to travel, and I hoped to see something on his website about exploring New Zealand, or to learn he’s been getting high in the attic and no longer trusts the internet. But right there in the first few links of my google search was an obituary I thought I would never see.

Around three o’clock in the afternoon, on his 56th birthday, September 24, 2010 ALRart’s heart stopped. He was diabetic and didn’t take his medicines right, and he died in an ambulance en route to the hospital. Well, that’s the official story the papers ran.

We, of the chronicle.su, know otherwise. At 3 p.m. On the 24th of September, 2010, ALRart secured his place among the stars after successfully passing through the world’s first completed RINGGO STARGATE and into a dimension where there is no more pain, no more suffering, no unhappiness or ridicule. Where there are no failures. No fear. ALRart is at permanent unending peace.

 

Lebal Drocer, attorney at law says: Just use a ‘burner’ phone, bro

Noam Chomsky said “society is to be dismantled and replaced with nothing by sundown” in a recently typed order to his black bloc legion.

Lebal Drocer attorneys have blacked out all windows and severed communications from the outside. Through a one-way radio, Raleigh T. Hatesec barks orders to a pig army, starving for his attention.

Armed gunmen are closing in on the premises from no general direction, really – just gunning for power pigs and capitalist pimp hustlers – and they threaten to take over the means of production!

What is to be done about these unapologetic miscreants? Why, name them on Twitter, I say. DOX THEM into the system! YOU CAN NOT FIGHT THE SYSTEM! YOU ARE BECOME MY SYSTEM NOW.

No, that’s … too sinister. I won’t allow it.

Make it more so the people we destroy are toxic threats to total disorder.  We’ll herd them into ‘stables’ where things are chill, and totally fine what goes on inside.

That’s what the good men and beautiful women of Lebal Drocer say! And it bears repeating.

The people we destroy are toxic threats to disorder.

This is an erroneous interpretation of pure anarchy. Let’s give it some love, though, for Lebal Drocer, Inc.

They paraded those women out like cats, didn’t they? The beautiful women of Lebal Drocer are rumored to appear on this year’s Soviet Catwalk, новости where Jessica will finally give us a glimpse into the musical number for which she has been practicing since her mother and father put her to work learning violin, at age 4. She, and her people, have come so far since back then.

That’s all for Internet Chronicle tonight. Please join us again as we self-investigate an invented troll crisis dressed as the trolls themselves! KILGOAR Reports LIVE from the inside (of many fine ladies)!

Chomsky said (he said this directly to me): Read widely.

Well, I have news for you, Mr. Chomsky, I’m reading as wide as I can, and the WALL STILL AIN’T LONG ENOUGH.

Raleigh T. Hatesec

The root’nest and toot’nist mean one of the bunch

Ye fiyad: Steve Bannon terminated when adults enter Oval Office

Throughout his life and career, Steve Bannon practiced looking old. “And then one day,” he said, “it just happened.

WASHINGTON, D.C.–Globalist hologram Donald Trump, who simply could not pass up last week’s opportunity for “biggest termination yet,” held a private White House ceremony, where the Trump cabinet bore witness to the “degrading, pathetic and shameful” termination of Steve Bannon, the parrot who fed Trump talking points about issues ranging from global warming to isolationist policy.

The media is hush on reasons behind Bannon’s possible firing. No one is ready to talk about it, but some have acknowledged it has a “you done fucked up, son” sort of vibe about it.

One source, however, discussed the ceremony under the condition of anonymity, because of their close association with the current administration’s line of executive, jewel-encrusted cat litter boxes, and because the media should keep its mouth shut.

“They took Stevie to the back first,” the source told Internet Chronicle on Saturday. “I don’t know what they done to him, but when Stevie came out, he looked like he’d been touched, sexually, by an angel. It was beautiful.”

The source told Internet Chronicle nude figures in hooded cloaks surrounded Bannon, chanting the DOW Industrial Average in realtime as they closed in on him.

“Then they pulled up the sheets they were wearing, they squatted down, and took turns defecating on his face,” the source said. “One by one, ExxonMobil executives and defense contractors took turns dehumanizing the little old feller until he refused to talk. They were yelling at him, too, going, ‘Money [T]rumps ideology!’ It really worked us all up into a sympathy for him, after it was over.”

The source said there is no way to tell whether the corrective Oval Office ceremony will have any lasting effect on Bannon’s mental health, but already, other radical media personalities are feeling the sting of timeout, as Adults from the Government entered the room.

Alex Jones descended into an uncharacteristic tirade last week, when it looked like White House access could leave with Steve Bannon. All the toys were out, when the Daddies got home.

“It was balls out, man. Balls out.”

Trump is playing the quiet game, now that it looks like crazy baby missiles can hit California. Un awaits