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Uncontrollable Patriotism

Cost of Freedom on the rise

Washington, D.C.–The cost of freedom rose another ten barrels of crude Friday, according to a Pentagon report published by Secretary of War Donald Scumsfeld.

Freedom, experts say, might never be free again, according to projections by the War Secretary that reveal an alarming increase in the cost of freedom over time.

Freedom was worthless in 1996.
Freedom was worthless in 1996.

“We expect the cost of freedom to double, or possibly even triple with the cost of oil in the third quarter, depending on what rights people are willing to give up, and in exchange for which illusions of security the NSA might reasonably offer.”

[pullquote]Millennials are pussies.

Donald Scumsfeld, Sec. of Ass-Kickin’ Drone Warfare[/pullquote]

Some liberal cowards don’t want war, Scumsfeld said. Others hate foreigners enough to support total invasion and occupation their oil-rich desert countries.

“Our research shows Millennials are pussies, this much is obvious,” Scumsfeld said. “But even so, [they] don’t mind drone strikes as long as they don’t have to see pictures of dead kids on Instagram or Twitter.”

“Ew, get these gross dead people off my timeline!” – @J3ssicaR4bbit27

An unanswered CNN poll revealed that – although Americans are still largely divided along party lines – one thing Americans can agree on is that freedom of choice represents a right to the freedom not to choose.

One participant in the poll, who did not answer the poll but instead commented in the field below, said:

“We don’t care what all the government takes, as long as they don’t take away my American Pickers.”

Another good American citizen said he doesn’t like the way people in turbans make him feel, and that a search-and-seizure warrant should not be necessary as long as the government’s suspicions were “justifiable” and based on “gut instinct.”

“When I look at somebody’s different from me, I can’t really put into words the terror and confusion I feel in my gut instinct,” Anonymous bravely stated. “All I know is, when I get scared, I get mean and hateful, and buddy let me tell you this right now: If I get scared and attack somebody I hate on the basis of my prejudgments – or, prejudice, if you will – and you want to call that a hate crime, then by God, I guess I’m a hate criminal. What do you call that? Like a terrorist, but the other way around, right?”

Like many Americans on the Fourth of July, the despicable Chinese also take a break from stamping out iPhone 7s to celebrate their freedom every year on June Fourth – the same date of “the incident” that should under no circumstance be named.

At that, we turn to our Freedom Correspondent who writes from Freedom, Wisconsin, located at the crossroads of the Fox Valley. That’s right. Freedom is really located on the FOX Valley.

———————————————————–

Freedom, Wi.–Nothing’s free here. You have to pay for groceries, a house, your car – even gasoline. Some people just stare at the Sun, because it appears free. Little do they know, even staring at the Sun comes at a great cost. Little Timmy Sutherland, of Cartaret County, Wisconsin, lost his vision after staring directly into the sun during a commercial break from Naruto.

And so on, you get the idea. Good lord, are you still reading this?

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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

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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.”