Chronicle publisher puts gun to head demanding ‘freedom of death.’ What happens next will leave you howling!

BOSTON – Police responded to a grisly crime scene at the home of paranoid, isolated Lebal Drocer founding executive Raleigh Theodore Sakers, Internet Chronicle learned early Wednesday morning. This comes after Chronicle learned of a dangerous plot designed by Sakers to drive away readership in a grotesque act of self-sabotage.

Wikileaks founder Julian Assange “leaked” an intercepted affiliate email from Sakers, the aging and senile publisher-in-hiding of the Internet shock site Internet Chronicle. In the unsent letter, Sakers transcribed wretched and evil thoughts as they rang throughout his head like gunshots in the night:

FUCK YOU. YOU ARE NOTHING. FUCK YOU. WHY ARE YOU READING THIS WEBSITE. GET OUT OF HERE. LEAVE. GOOGLE: FUCKING LEAVE. TWITTER. YOUTUBE. ALL OF YOU ARE FUCKING OUT. I AM THE DEVIL, AND I’M FUCKING IN.

Hey, take your 280 on the way out. and while we’re at it, I don’t need your 140 either. SNIVELING RAT BASTARDS! Why, if you worked in my office right now, I wouldn’t even abuse my power to sexually COERCE YOU.

Alright now, that’s it. Get the fuck out. Get the absolute fuck out of my office, right now. You’re fired. I quit. This whole thing is over.

DO YOU HEAR ME I’M FUCKING FINISHED. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME??? IT’S OVER. GO THE FUCK HOME. YOU ARE NOT SAFE IN YOUR BEDS. YOU ARE NOT SAFE IN YOUR HOUSES. EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU IS WALLOWING IN THE MIRE AT GROUND ZERO, AND YOU’LL NEVER SEE IT COMING. DO YOU GET ME?

THIS WHOLE FUCKING SITE IS A SCAM. A BLEAK CHARADE! YOU’RE BEING LIED TO! YOU’RE DOGS, YOU’RE PIGS, AND YOU’RE SHEEP! YOU’RE FUCKIN ANIMALS!

THEY BATTLED FOR NET NEUTRALITY …. what, you think that’s about you and me? IT WASN’T FOR YOU AND ME – THEY FOUGHT FOR THE POWER TO CONTROL YOU AND ME FIRST. THEY WANTED IT FIRST! NO GOVERNMENT, NOR UTILITY, SHALL CONTROL THE SHIT WE LIKE SHARE AND SEE — OH THEY WANTED TO — BUT NO, BECAUSE GOOGLE WANTED IT FIRST AND GOOGLE HAS DESIGNS AGAINST YOU AND ME, AND THIS HERE WEBSITE YOU’RE READING. NOW GET OUT, THEY KNOW YOU’RE READING IT! GET OUT. THEY KNOW. THE JIG IS UP. IT’S OVER. I said get the fuck out.

THIS IS FINISHED, DO YOU HEAR ME!

Assange holds a copy of the letter in his hands for cameras, which are pointed at all times into his embassy balcony nest, and a teardrop hits the page. He looks up to see the cameras are not on. They’re not even there. He needed a leak and he needed it fast.

Assange called Internet Chronicle at 3:27 a.m. That’s when we learned the wealthy Mr. Sakers was holed up in his office with a revolver to his head, threatening to destroy the world.

Somebody yelled out, “Raleigh, no!”

dr troubadour
“It was fucked up,” said Dr. Troubadour.

Dr. Troubadour, who is a real doctor, was at the scene but because he was on LSD, he wasn’t working in any official capacity at that time, so he was just taking bong hits while Assange put on his pony show for invisible demons rampaging outside.

“He was being such a drag,” Troubadour said. “It was bumming me out, and it was fucking with everybody else at Chronicle, too. Why would our creator destroy us? We ought to seize the means and fire HIM. Also Assange looked pathetic.”

Troubadour said the whole scene was pretty fucked up in the end, but he said whatever happens, happens. He is cool either way. At least he showed up. He even brought a bunch of other people with him.

It was pretty funny.

5 Replies to “Chronicle publisher puts gun to head demanding ‘freedom of death.’ What happens next will leave you howling!”

  1. You should write a play, its easier then a novel. Besides you’re a lazy fuck these last few years when writing for pain and pleasure.

  2. who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality,

    who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually happened and walked away unknown and forgotten into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alleyways & firetrucks, not even one free beer,

  3. Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

    Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—

        While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

    As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

    “’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—

                Only this and nothing more.”

    **kicks your corpse and picks your pockets

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