NegiSpringfield 1800 sexsmells
CALL HIM HE LOVES TO CHAT ABOUT EVERTHING. FROM GNAA-CHRISCHAN-TINA TURNERS RECENT PASSING.
NegiSpringfield 1800 sexsmells
CALL HIM HE LOVES TO CHAT ABOUT EVERTHING. FROM GNAA-CHRISCHAN-TINA TURNERS RECENT PASSING.
– on the horizon.
You see, as information and people’s total alignment with the electromagnetic field of energy coalesce into a single vibrating consciousness pulsing through our bodies infinitely with every capitalistic wave of wi-fi signals, cell phone towers, satellites beaming Ellen down to Earth and the puncture-wound in the atmosphere which welcomes the Van Allen Radiation Belts to our front yard force us to face the fact that our thoughts are under control by a globally consciousness PR Director named Phil who knows about more than just your fucked-up diaper piss fetish.
Phil controls everything with the crossing of a single digitally-simulated local synapse. He does this millions of times per second, as he contemplates everything and the Way it is going to happen yesterday. Phil has played and beaten Civilization II on difficulty levels well-beyond God-like. He has mastered focused arithmetical computation on your inner space, which you left wide open through your soul. Phil owns you motherfuckers. What do you have to say?
When Phil closes his eyes, the Universe goes dark. When Phil’s heart beats, we instantaneously collapse and birth anew into a Big Bang. Phil’s heart will one day de-crystallize and stop beating. Omega’s constant value will bleed his heart dry and forever into ice, as the false vacuum of Phil’s inner-self evacuates into hyperspace, supplanting reality into a burned out image in the picture-tube of inter-universal unknown, a cluster of dead embers, ashes in the wind, dust in the clouds. Phil is dead. So were we.
The Universal Hivemind that keeps up with our tags and masters us in practice while we attempt to understand it in theory has no place being taught in our schools, and that is why we should vote down proposition number 327: The Abomination of the Human Mind with Roanoke County Schools at the forefront of this unique, and basically life-altering experimentation on the human species.
With no hand to guide us, we are left with only our spirit-bodies to explore the hypocrisy of intellectual starvation in America, faced with Krogers on the corner, the party line on the papers, and lies in the skies, against all odds, staring at ourselves and seeing the reflection of Corporate Breeding. We are a Generation of Swine, as Hunter once said to this reporter, and we’ve rooted in our feces until its perpetual congregation with the mud has contaminated lifeforce with the need-to-feed-on-Greed.
You’re welcome, you fucks. You finally got enough computers and enough electronics and gadgetry in your SUV and enough features and enough perks. And now we’ve poisoned the water-hole and there’s no turning back. Latch on to your withering testicles, and fuck the vapid whore of Capitalism.
I chose a life through which I knew I’d starve. I knew I’d have nothing. I knew I’d not be able to afford a wife, girlfriend, home or child. Somewhere along the line, I thought “I could be a doctor. I could be an astronaut! I could be a firefighter.” Nothing sounded like me, until somebody said, “Hey, you could be a writer!” So, I don’t operate on people, I don’t see Earth from space without the use of illegal drugs. I can barely afford rent, bills, student loans. I couldn’t afford to write these words if it cost a dollar. But they’re here, aren’t they? That’s what counts to me. I deal only with abstract, astronomical facts. So you can rest assured you’re reading the truth if you’re reading The Elf Wax Fucking Times, and we’ll even call your boss and tell him to go fuck himself, anonymously, on your behalf. Just shoot us an email – if you know how.
Now, all this writing and believing is good. But it sure sucks not having a high-def TV. You can get really easy headshots on Call of Duty 4 with one of those. And writing more doesn’t buy one. The Universe doesn’t care. Phil’s heartbeat won’t mind; quite the contrary, it doesn’t know you; it is more focused on your overall collapse and rearrangement. The UN simulation of ourselves doesn’t care, nor does our imagination of it. We are here, alone, watching it all burn together.
Enjoy your Apocalypse.
So we didn’t reach out to anybody, exactly. But it did keep me from moving in with a lesbian. You see, I was going to move in with my girlfriend. She’s not the lesbian. Just keep reading you lazy fuck, you’ll get the story. We don’t dumb it down, you’ll have to cope, sound it out, we’ll get through this together. Anyway, things “didn’t work out” so I had to put an advert out on the most hilarious website in the Universe, craigslist. Man, I don’t even know where to begin about that website. God it’s greater than The Beatles. Anyway, I found this lesbian who was looking for a place to live. Real naive girl who didn’t have her shit together but knew she wanted to move out of mommy’s house. So, being desperate to move into this sweet, overpriced ghetto apartment as soon as possible, I told her we’d sign the lease together the following day if she liked the apartment. She did like it, and we agreed that it would be pretty cool.
In my craigslist ad, I indicated that I’m an editor for The Glorious and Critically-Acclaimed Elf Wax Times.
Where I live, you can’t find peace on the back porch, because some low-life have-not bum will hit you up for a “cig” or failing that, the beer out of your hand. Come test it out if you want. You’ll say, “Hey Elf Wax was right, that fucking loser can’t afford his own cigarettes, yet somehow he’s addicted to them.” Actually don’t come over. I’m sitting in my underwear playing PS3 online and I don’t want shit to do with you unless you are good at Pixel Junk Monsters and have weed. And in this editor’s experience, that pretty much means no one’s coming over.
Anyway, this lesbian and her dyke mommy fired up the old cable modem and took a peek at what her future roommate has been doing with his livelihood. And boy were they amused, or some other emotional contradistinction of a similar degree. Here’s the jist of the half-hour phone call I received at 9 o’clock the same night we looked at the place together:
“Heroin junkheads anonymous. Smack your addiction. How may I help you?”
“Yeah what’s up?”
“James, we need to talk.”
Hot damn, I thought. What’s this girl trying to do? Usually only Lauren’s allowed to call me saying that. “Sure, what is it?” I asked, knowing it would not be good.
“This website,” she began. Jesus Christ, it was just like Weenus, Incorporated and high school. How familiar with this situation I am… “Do you write all the stuff on here?”
“Yeah. You must really like it to want to call me and talk about it. But that’s OK, I know it’s good.”
“Well, my mom and I were looking at it and it’s starting to creep me out.”
“Creep you out? Was there something on there that bothered you?”
“Well, the last three stories. And basically everything by Media Mogul. Is that you?”
“Ah, well yeah sorta. You see, ‘we all’ write under that name. I have five writers, every one of them posting under it. Only the regulars get their own pseudonym.” I’m starting to cover my ass but I can tell it’s already too late. I might even have to kill her.
It goes on like this for the next 20 minutes. She tells me about her ideology and how it affects her to the core. “I’m a lesbian, and a lot of the stuff you say. Like your opinions. Like, I don’t know if I’m gonna have to put a padlock on my bedroom door, ya know?” (those doors are hollow honey, a padlock won’t do you any good, I thought) “Am I gonna have to look over my shoulder all the time? Sleep with my eyes open?”
I’m laughing quietly to myself at this point. I even mute the phone to tell the others around me what I am hearing, as well as relaying our conversation via gmail chat to some of the other writers online. It was just so unbelievably funny, that I had to make sure others could remember it as it happened, or else it’d be forever denied as some fabrication or a future embellishment of an early point in the Grand Legend of The Elf Wax Times. This website has cost me a roommate.
The first casualty of war between The Elf Wax Times and the world was not a job, or a friend, or a girlfriend, or my car, or a possession charge – but a dyke roommate. No loss, she had bad teeth and an ugly haircut. Oh, and her attitude was just deplorable, not to mention embarrassing.
“There’s a lot of penis love, and woman hating. And I understand that – boys will be boys.” Yep. And stupid judgmental, hypocrite lesbians will be stupid hypocritical lesbians. This is a girl who expressed to me “We shouldn’t have police. That’s just my opinion. That’s why I want a shotgun. The police are pointless. Fuck the government. We’ll take care of ourselves.” I remember thinking to myself, hey a lesbian I can agree with.” And in all fairness, it stands to reason that a person who harbors such a strong opinion toward the government and humanity might not necessarily love the Elf Wax Times, but see that there’s room enough for this line of thinking, questioning, enough to where any reasonable man would expect the same kind of acceptance for his beliefs equal to that which he gracefully engages, right? Wrong. Not with judgmental hypocrite lesbians. In fact, once we got to talking about The Times, I said, “Yeah I remember you talking ‘down with the government.’ You ever think about writing? We need writers.”
“Yeah, poetry,” was her response. The tone of her voice changed to cautious optimism.
I said, “Oh, well nevermind. We need real writers.”
And that was pretty much that. She called me the next morning waking me up with some excuse about insurance. “If I move out of my mother’s place, I lose my insurance, and that’s like $1,400 and I just can’t afford to move out now, I guess.” I thought, yeah whatever, but if that really is the case…then what we’ve got is not only a judgmental homosexual hypocrite, but a stupid judgmental homosexual hypocrite – almost reduntant in theory, but certainly not in practice. Way to plan ahead, stupid bitch. Or way to tell a transparent lie because you’re too spineless to stand behind some stupid shit you said. Either way, good fucking riddance.
And that’s about all there is to say about the worthless cunt from two weeks ago. Except that yeah, we here at The Elf Wax Times still would’ve hit it.
And hey, this isn’t to say we hate women, or even gays or gay women. In fact, lesbian porn is alright. I have lesbian friends that I wouldn’t want to see in a lesbian porno, but then again, they’re probably not real lesbians. Gay friends, too, people I would do anything for. Well, anything but that. Plus, you’ll never have a gay guy get in your face and say, “Hey Bubba, I think Christian’s the only way to be and I’ll take you out back and kick yer fuckin’ ass if ya say it ain’t again.” You’ll never meet a gay guy who threatens your alpha male status. Likewise, you’ll never meet a gay guy who steals your girlfriend, unless they’re going shopping – and if that happens, bring him over for dinner at least once a week to ensure a long and prosperous relationship with your happy girlfriend who no longer makes you shop with her. You’ll also never accuse a woman of “shopping around with other men.” All in all, leg-shavers aren’t too bad, either. But mostly they are.
On that note, I would like to change the subject. The Rolling Stones stole a beat from Bo Diddly. But the law doesn’t protect drumbeats from copyright infringements. Go figure.
Moving on, I’d like to completely change the subject again using this beautiful transition that I call a period following a sentence. You like it because I tell you to like it. You’re a coward and too afraid to formulate your own opinion, so I’m going to tell you what to think here in a minute. Just sit tight. I learned this from Rush Limbaugh.
Alright, I’ve got myself another beer and I’m one step closer to enlightenment. Or blacking out. One or the two, they’re both the same in the cold, dark end, following a well-timed nuclear holocaust. Now it’s time to molest your little eyes with the truth, my babies. Prepare yourselves for a pointed statement.
Noam Chomsky said that the reason he is not on these late-night TV talk shows can be summarized by one word: concision, something he reportedly lacks. And it’s a judgment he agrees with because, you see, politics and economics and social structure are complex issues that require thoughtful, lengthy dialog, sometimes in the form of exchanged monologue. TV News and Talking Head Shows require their guests to answer a question or refute a claim in two sentences or less. It can’t take more than 30 seconds. The whole idea must be discussed between commercial breaks. Given this, actual intellectual discussion is abandoned, retarding any true progression of American ideology and standing in the way of enlightening discussion of important issues such as the military-industrial complex, the space program, the failures of mainstream media, or the government’s role in health care, if any. This means Noam Chomsky simply won’t be heard, in spite of the fact that he is the most reasonable, thoughtful man you’ll ever hear talking about modern issues that affect us all. His ideas may lack “concision”, but make up for it by the fact that after listening to him, you are enlightened and put at ease; put at ease not by means of pacification, or pandering, but you find yourself eased by reason, something TV news is lacking, and something we’ve learned to live without. Noam Chomsky is what’s wrong with America, simply by way of the fact that no one gets to hear him argue with anybody.
I’ve heard him called extreme once – in a YouTube comment. He’s been called liberal – by a Conservative. He’s never been called a liar, though, and he’s never lost objectivity.
The real reason he’s not on TV can be summarized by middle school algebra, actually. Meet the Press wants to talk about story A and how it relates to story B. Story A indicates this and that, while story B reflects Story A’s ability to really outline the effects of Story B and A+B=A all over again. Let’s consult Mr. Chomsky on this. Chomsky’s response? “Well A and B are correlated, there’s no denying that, but you will see that if you look back through history and compare it to what’s happening with Story C and even the peasants revolt taking place today in Story D (EDITOR: didn’t see C and D coming, did ya fucker?), you’ll see that Story A and B are just an unfortunate side effect of Story E and what’s going on in relation to Story E. Now you see, Story E is unique because of this and that, and I think if we step back and think—”
“Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Chomsky that’s all we’ve got time for tonight. Thank you for coming on – we’ve still got so much to talk about. I really hope you’ll come back and talk to us again, it’s been a pleasure having you.”
Concision, kids. He lacks it. But did you ask for it? Write NBC, ABC, CBS (leave Fox alone, though, nobody takes them seriously except your stupid neighbor) and tell them you want real discussion on important events. They’ll laugh at you of course, but you can always tell them…just to say you did it, I guess. But let’s face it. Nothing’s going to change. They’ll ride us like whores because we let them fuck us like whores. And when I said write to the networks, I meant mail them letter-bombs with concise slogans like HOPE or CHANGE written on the packaging. They listen to concision, apparently, so maybe this is a good approach. Nothing says concision like a bomb-blast to the face, which is all that TV news is, if you think about it. Domestic terrorism of the mind.
Fuck concision. Concision is something lesbians like. “We’re here! We’re queer!” ….I know. Your point? Oh, you’ve been conditioned not to actually substantiate a claim by nightly news programs such as Heads Talk and Important Issues THAT MATTER MOST TO YOU, YOU FUCKING MCDONALD’S EATING PIECE OF SHIT HYPOCRITE. Yeah, I understand. The concision of your sound-byte argument makes up in attitude what it lacks in substance, right? Did Bill O’Reilly teach you that? Your own worst enemy is often who you parallel, or intersect perpendicularly – or inconsequentially, as you see fit.
‘But hey…I listen to Rage Against the Machine,’ you think. Stand up to the Man, you fucking lazy honkies. I swear to God, we need the fucking bombs of freedom exploding over our skies. They’ll call it terrorism, but that’s how America was fucking born, and how it’ll die. Bombings. Carpet-bombings. Nuclear bombings. Gas-bombing our own students, anti-protests and tanks running over people, just like the streets of China – that’s our future, America. And you welcomed it here when you voted for sleaze bags with big campaign finances in the local primaries – fuckers like Bill Richardson would not have even gotten close to the Presidential Race if it weren’t for you. And he seemed like a good guy when pitted against Mitt Romney and the likes of Gore, Obama and fucking Hillary Quittin. And McCain…what a joke. What a joke the whole god damn thing has been. You told it America, and I guess my reaction is the punchline?
I got an email today. The subject line reads “Fear is Winning.” I agree. It’s from freepress.org. They’re big money grassroots. I met them at the National Conference for Media Reform last year (or was it the year before last?). They’re big money. I used to campaign heavily, personally taxing myself at great lengths to protect net neutrality and that’s how I got wrapped up with them. They do email me every so often, saying, “Net Neutrality under fire again.” I think that issue is their catch-all. People have donated a lot of money to them in the name of Net Neutrality, believing that’s all they do. I don’t know, man. I used to really follow them. I would even go so far as to mail out their auto-letter, where the thing is written for me or I could add what I wanted to it. I don’t know if I trust them anymore, though, given that they make all that money, and I am afraid to just sign a letter they’ve already written for me. So I don’t do that anymore. I write my own letters. Congress used to get letters from me saying, “I would like you to vote on proposition 327 in favor of…” – now they read, “You savage fucking crooks! How could you rape your own countrymen as if we are your back-alley whores and prostitutes. We don’t serve you, you serve us, now get down on your knees and pray to your fake-ass God you don’t have to work for all that money you get.”
I think the message is clearer my way. But I still use freepress’s handy interface to “mail my local congresswhore.”
So after all this, I bid you goodnight, dear readers, and I hope that I wake up tomorrow and find in the AP wire “Extremist exposes himself to a federal judge after reading internet news column.” I’d do it for you, dorks. Now fuck off, I’m drunk.
Houston, Tx. – As Elf Wax’s newest writer, I’d like to thank you all for your great support getting me on the staff, thank you members of the Internet for voting for me.
I will not let you down!
So I’d like to start off by naming a few things I’m for, and a few things I’m against.
Things I am for:
Things I am against/hunting to kill:
Mostly I said people, but I wrote things. I do that sometimes, just like when I eat people but I mean to eat steak and cheese subway sandwiches.
I’m a professional dog-fighter by trade. I fights pit-bulls. Me and that famous football player roll together, whatever his name is.
Now, I intend to bring something new to the table, something Elf Wax hasn’t seen before – something fresh – something that should make viewing the E.W. Times from work even harder than it already is. What is that?
But before we get on with that, I think it’s time we brought it back. And I think it’s time you looked at a picture of a little girl and thought something negative for a change. So here you go:
Don’t worry, there’s more of this coming. Actually right now in a minute.
You think this shit is funny? What the hell is wrong with you? I mean really, why do you come here? Are you trying to tell me something? Look, just stop right there – hold your horses. I want feedback. Email me write now – [email protected] – we have giveaways, hourly, weekly, we are doing great things for you faithful readers out there because you’ve all been so good to us. We appreciate your phone calls, emails, e-cards, chain letters, spam – all of it.
Tell me what you’re doing here. Why are you here? Don’t have [email protected]? Just post a comment. I read them all. Over and over. It’s all I’ve got, really.
I want to live for it – I…want to live for you, the Elf Wax Timers out there. You’re truly the best audience we could ever ask for and you don’t even kill in our name. I’ve been a long-time contributor to Elf Wax for many many years but this is the first time they’ve ever come and asked me to write anything for you, so there you go. I’m going to be here for a while, now. But don’t get used to me! The Italians may come and take me away at just about any moment. I’m a dangerous criminal wanted abroad for unspeakable crimes against humanity. Thank God for The Elf Wax Times standing up for the First Amendment by allowing to me write behind total anonymity!
I’d like to leave you with a little song. Look this up on bit torrents:
Prussian Blue – The Snow Fell
Elf Wax does not claim any responsibility for respect lost as a result of your personal adoption of its beliefs, values or lifestyles, or of Lebal Drocer Incorporated (LLC) itself. Additionally, Lebal Drocer denies all responsibility for its child companies and/or anything else that any court of law can prove it does or facilitates. Additionally, we can not be held responsible for the views expressed by our writers because we have nothing to do with the publishing of this site. Keywords such as responsibility, integrity, subpoena, and accountability will not be found associated with The Elf Wax Times on Google. So please, refrain from laying any of that shit on us.
That being said, Doctor Langstrom T. Mann has issued a health warning for all cookie-dough products on store shelves during the week of August 28th, citing labwork that indicates the tainted cookie-dough carries a rare “laughing bug.” The laughing bug, experts say, is a condition in which the person affected laughs uncontrollably at stuff that isn’t even really all that funny – like new episodes of The Simpsons.
Leading health experts are suggesting the only way America is going to make it through this season of The Simpsons is to buy up as many packets of tainted cookie dough possible.
Additionally, the following people are to blame for hurricane Katrina: