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Prank turns deadly when silly string ignites during a Satanic ritual fire

Related news (ignore this stuff)

  • Evil John Lennon and Sinister Paul McCartney go triple platinum after writing hit banger, “Got to Get You Into My Strife.”
  • Mark David Chapman demonstrates how a practical joke that seems like a harmless lark can quickly turn deadly.
  • Chapman sprays them with silly string, which is fun, until an exposed candle ignites the pile of string.
  • The pop duo embraces, creating a single flame.
  • What happens next will leave you horrified!
Ukraine nuclear bomb blast detected
Final images from Earth.

CLASS I BORDERLESS NATION — My table top is lit by some makeshift candlelight. It’s black. A pile of burning what is certainly wax. It’s so I can write. Unrolling my papers, my scattered pages fall to the floor. These are my documents. The candle suffocates me with its black smoke, but it conceals the light.

A screeching interrupts my thoughts. It’s them.

This is where I am. God help us everyone. What’s happened to our world? Here is how I think we got here. This scorched hellscape. This nothing zone where plants no longer grow, and them: In Their Satanic Majesty, they soar in wicked dominion.


Here is what happened.

Evil John Lennon, man as he was, stood upright, never smoked at all, and has a proclivity for being exceptionally kind to his women and wives.

Sinister Paul. Now here was a man with his shit together. Tattooed and ugly, the “Badboy of Great Britain” Paul McCartney drank it, shot it, snorted it or worse. On his free time, he savagely tortures good souls in Hell.

Together with Rude Ringo and George “Rotten Crotch” Harrison, they wrote the number-one charting hit masterpiece “Got To Get You Into My Strife.” A fun jingle about pulling others into their dark underworld, when played backwards, its psychedelic harmonies become nightmarish spells that when heard, turned rabid fans tame, at the band’s command.

They used this to gain control of the Western Territories, decimating it as they claimed more, until so little of the nations remained, borders all but became meaningless.

Ringo said, “I should get paid for all the time I stand around, slapping my hips and my thighs, like I’m playing the drums, innit.”

John, exhaling cleaner air than what he breathed in, took off his sunglasses, and he turned to me, done signing my book.

“Next,” John said.

Even today, I crave the dismissal. I looked back at John one last time, knowing he was the Devil himself.

Paul, too. The son of a bitch that swooped down from the sky, and with his talons spread open wide swooped down, and scooped out my eyes.


I must have unlocked their powers. No, it certainly happened then. As I “sought revenge” for my ego bruising, I burst and hoped to surprise them. Hoped to catch them unawares in a playful bit of fun, just to let them know, I’m down with the Devil, and I really like their hateful style. I stopped by the party store, and picked up two cans of Silly String. What a gag!

I met them at a candlelit ritual, held every full moon. The town gathered here. As I struck out alone, deep in the forest is where first I saw it: Two flat pink ribbons, rippling in the night, sailed over me like some twirling owl.

As I got closer, the din of voices carried. Familiar voices. I crept in closer. I heard the voices of a teller, a teacher, my wife and a preacher. Not sure what that was about, it will come to me later. There! Ringo was dancing. Paul played the lute, and Linda, still missing that leg, danced. What a hoot.

I sensed an owl watching me as I approached closer, and closer to John, locked arm-in-arm with his band-mate Evil Paul, at an unbridled Satanic ritual pentagram dance. Around the candlelit center they’d go. The owl’s gaze turned, next, to them. All at once, the chanting stopped, everyone turned suddenly and they all looked at me. Heck, I like the Devil.

Surprise! I yelled, and I jumped out from a shadow. I hosed those Brits down with my silly string, blasting both at one time. Everyone turned to me, dumbfounded.

Ain’t I a stinka?

A familiar voice, the airy, nasally, unmistakable voice of John Lennon spoke to me.

“Mark David Chapman?” John asked.

I froze.

“You know me?” I said.

“Of course,” John replied. “I remember everybody I dismiss from my presence. Come here you old brute.”

He tried to pull me in for a hug, but I back away, not wanting to get silly string on my expensive 19th Century peacoat.

Being good-natured as he was, Evil John took it well enough in stride, that is until he took one step backward and – unable to see – stepped on a candle. His clothing ignited and in an instant, his entire body, including the face, was fully engulfed in flames. The fire clung to the string, and melted on his skin like a bubbling napalm jelly.

That is when Paul must have felt the calling. John turned to his songwriting partner and, burning calmly, opened his arms. They hugged. One laughed to the other, as they embraced and both started to burn.

The owl flew away.

Just like that, the party exploded into dance, and as the bodies were writhing, and as the devils came entranced, the fires of old Hell itself seemed to be rising, climbing through the dirt. A beast cried out, demonstrating the true source of thunder.


Now as I lay here suffering, waiting for the night creatures to take me, or the windstorm of bloodsands to weather down my flesh, the scene plays out, over and over again in my head. My instincts drag me to life. Meanwhile, I pray Death may snatch me from this living nightmare, cast like projections from the eyes of the Devil himself, burned onto film of the ritual fires, and rolling into me like four blurry waterfalls, peeking over the ridge.

They are still out there. I still hear their wings beating on the horizon.

They know where I am.

They hunt.

This fine literary work is brought to you proudly by TerrorMax, a Lebal Drocer Product.

TerrorMax. Trust only the medicine.

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Categories
Uncontrollable Patriotism

The police are your friends, put here to do wonderful things to you

WHAMBAM, T.Y. Maam–A woman was treated with the utmost care and respect the other day, when law-abiding officers of the law grabbed a hold of her for yelling too loud near a strip mall.

Another woman had already come by and given her a cigarette, and was standing nearby when two officers approached.

“The Dollar General called and they said you’ve been out here hooting, and hollering and carrying on,” WBPD Deputy S. Lampig explained. “You been doing any drugs today?”

According to the only witness on the scene, the woman who gave her a cigarette, she said Mike “Big Boy” Traylor grabbed the unnamed woman, an older broad in her 60s, and was absolutely manhandling her.

“He jerked her up off the pavement by the arm, and he was shaking her around,” she said, now smoking the woman’s cigarette. “He was cussing her out, too. He said, ‘You get your effin ass in that car before I bust your gd brains out.’ I said you ought not treat that old woman like that. I said, ‘What if that was your mom?'”

He said, “Well, she’s not,” slammed his door, and drove away.

I threw my mom into the back of a police car. Witnesses complained, so then i publicly denied she was my mom. she said “my own son, a law officer, denying his own mother, and carting her off in a squad car.”

 

i looked at her in the rearview, and i said “your not my mom”

Garbled nonsense feeds into Officer Traylor's earpiece
Garbled nonsense is fed into Officer Traylor’s earpiece, who is just a great guy serving his community

Big Boy wrote a statement for the media big dogs at Internet Chronicle, printed it out, and sent it by mail like it’s still 1957. Get the fire hoses!

This message is brought to you proudly by Lebal Drocer, Inc. Creators of the Thin Blue Line Accessory Pack, on sale now at participating Harbor Freights, Tractor Supply and Walmart.

Get some liberty, and justice for all.

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Categories
Health Society

After running over five people and killing one, Dr. Troubadour walks away as if nothing happened

dr troubadour
Troubadour was cleared of any wrong-doing.

MIAMI, Fla.–Dr. Troubadour was cleared of charges Monday, immediately following a distressing incident in which he inexplicably drove onto a bike path, striking five pedestrians and killing one, as another suffers life-threatening injuries.

According to eyewitness reports, the doctor and former professor emeritus at M.I.T., Angstrom H. Troubadour, intentionally swerved into a bike lane following a confrontation with cyclists.

The remaining four victims lying in the path were handcuffed and are being detained by the Miami Police Department on charges of obstructing a bike lane.

Sgt. Bailey Bondsman said the victims are being brought in for questioning.

Still from cellphone video shows path of destruction where Troubadour drove onto a bike lane, striking at least five cyclists.
Still from cellphone video shows path of destruction where Troubadour drove onto a bike lane, striking at least five cyclists.

“We’re going to find out what they done to upset Dr. Troubadour, compelling him to drive into the bike lane,” he said. “Were they good people? I don’t know. You tell me. Some of them were not even wearing helmets.”

The renegade doctor spoke to reporters via Twitter Spaces from his Mar-a-Lago suite on Monday. Dr. Troubadour, belonging to a protected class of society, said he walked away unharmed by the cruelty of legal process.

“I stepped out of the car,” Dr. Troubadour said, “and this woman looked about ready to project her entire lifetime of bad choices onto me. She said, ‘Aren’t you sorry?’ Well, I escalated it, and I got in her face and I said, ‘What the fuck did you just say to me?'”

Dr. Troubadour, author of the best-selling 15 Emotions You Can Live Without, puffed out his fat hairy barrel chest and put both arms out in a shrugging motion – with raised shoulders and palms facing the sky – as his eyes burned with fresh anger.

“I said, ‘Yeah I’m sorry, alright. I’m sorry I didn’t hit you, too,’ and I told my girls to get their things, and I said, ‘Don’t let her negativity ruin our fun day.'”

A spokesman for Miami PD called Dr. Troubadour a 'model citizen,' adding that bikers should be more aware of his presence around the community.
A spokesman for Miami PD called Dr. Troubadour a ‘model citizen,’ asking that bikers be more aware of his presence around the community.

Witnesses who waited at the scene said Troubadour pulled over and parked next to the bike path. He was overheard through the driver’s side window saying he was on his way from one pain clinic to another– the RDJ Pain Management Center, near the beach.

Sources saw Troubadour grab his things before stepping out of the driver’s seat. He walked away from the scene with three women, one appearing to have pissed herself during the event. The women proceeded to get their purses, beach towels and drug paraphernalia from the Tesla, and also did not appear to look at the scene.

“He showed no emotion,” one bystander said, who asked not to be named. “I wouldn’t either. Don’t traumatize me talking bout ‘what I did to you.’ Walk on, Doctor, walk on.”

Another witness said Troubadour owned the situation by refusing to acknowledge the people sprawled out among bicycle parts, fresh dirt, and wet grass tracked onto the path. Jeremy Raison, 42, called it a ‘textbook play’ straight out of The Alphabet of Manliness, a book published by Maddox, and still remembered by some.

“He got out, didn’t look at nobody, refused eye contact, answered no questions, and left calmly,” Raison said. “There wasn’t no laying around in the grass, bellyaching, ‘Boo hoo, I got run over by a world-famous prestigious physician.’ He just went on. They don’t make them like that no more. You’ve got to be next-level fucked up to hit all those people, and just walk away.”

Attorneys for Troubadour are seeking damages for the incident, citing tremendous medical bills received from his home office, where he is treating himself for CPTSD as a result of trauma.

The four suspects slammed into by a car owned by Troubadour are being held at the Miami-Dade County Subterranean Dungeon Filled With Piss and Bile and High Level Monsters, where they will wait indefinitely, pending further charges.