I didn't think you professional jizz-dumpsters would get paid that much, but these are strange economic times, I guess. At least you enjoy your work! Take care.
I had two grilled ham and cheese sandwiches yesterday for lunch. They were edible, but not much else. I
had a very small turd this morning; this is not suprising due to the fact that I did not eat much
during the day. The turd did not want to come out easily, so it took a good amount of pushing to get it
out. Some cow-orker waddling in and talking to me during my dump did not help the situation. I kept
trying to brush him off with short, terse answers, but he kept babbling on. It was about 'Lord of the Rings'.
I tell him I haven't seen it. He can't comprehend that I haven't seen the movie. He walks away, stunned. It (the turd,
not the cow-orker) was about 6 inches long and very thin. It was a generic turd brown and smelled just
like you think a turd would smell. It flushed with ease. I rate this turd as a 5.
The Saudi Ambassador to the U.N. has just finished giving a speech, and
walks out into the lobby where he meets his American counterpart. They
shake hands and as they walk the Saudi says, "You know, I have just one
question about what I have seen in America".
The American says "Well your Excellency, anything I can do to help you?"
The Saudi whispers "My son watches this show 'Star Trek' and in it there
are Russians and Blacks and Asians, but never any Arabs. He is very upset.
He doesn't understand why there are never any Arabs in Star Trek."
The American laughs and leans over. "That's because it takes place in the future."
This celluloid ode to pagan spirituality is based on a novel by J.K.
Rowling, who seems to arise each morning to pledge her soul to
Beelzebub before she sets about dipping her evil quill in the Devil's
inkwell.
The screen version makes a none-too-thin endorsement of childhood
sexual intercourse by championing the obvious carnal attraction
between Harry and his comely love interest, Hermione Granger (played
haltingly by Emma Watson, a flat-chested 30-old dwarf whom director
Chris Columbus cynically believed he could pass off as a virginal
10-year-old).
We have long been troubled by the matter of kid actors-those
flash-in the-pan up-and-comers who all end up addicted to drugs and
divorced five times by the time they reach their maturity. But enough
about Cher.
Worst of the bunch are precocious child actors like Daniel Radcliffe.
He plays Harry with as much energy as a homo at Hooters. The young,
fresh-faced and clearly queer actor from England (is there any guy
from that horrid little island who's NOT gay?-- it sure seems that
way) plays Harry as if were a sashaying little weenie-wagger rather
than a prestidigitator in on his way up.
The anti-religious sentiments of J.K. Rowling's clumsily written
novels suggest that her real purpose (and that of this Satanic film)
is to foist her atheistic cult worship on young minds who mistakenly
believe they are they are enjoying fare as tame as plain yogurt.
But the conniving Ms. Rowling understands that no child except a total
nerd still reads books anymore. Therefore, she pushed for this movie
with stage mother perseverance because she realizes that celluloid,
not papyrus, is now the medium of choice if you want to brainwash
today's empty-headed younger generation.
After all, the target audience for "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's
Stone" are teens who consider Britney Spears to be the Beverly Sills
of their hopeless little generation of Skittles-ingesting
low-achievers whose brain matter largely seeped out when they had
their genitalia pierced at an all-night rave.
Rowling is the Osama Bin Laden of magic. "Harry Potter and the
Sorcerer's Stone" is her latest terrorist manifesto.
Stopped at a gas station yesterday--there was this
approximately lifesize cardboard standup of Britney
Spears advertising Pespi-Cola. In the photo, a tear
in her jeans reveals a glistening red fabric beneath,
suggesting her upper left thigh had been lacerated
with a butcher knife. Seeing this, it occurred to
me that Britney actually has a real opportunity to
innovate, if only she'd get someone like Todd Sheets
to direct her videos.
During Christmas vacation of 1974, my father flew us all to Disney
World by route of Tampa, Florida. Ignorant of geography, it did not
occur to me that Tampa was out of the way to Disney World until my
father drove the rented van to the gates of MacDill Air Force Base.
Military personnel met me there and escorted me into the base TOP
SECRET high tech mind control conditioning facility for "behavioral
modification" programming. This was the first in what became a
routine series of mind control testing and/or programming sessions
on government installations that I would endure throughout my
Project Monarch victimization.
Whether I was in a military, NASA, or government building, the
procedure for maintaining me under total mind control remained
consistent with Project Monarch requirements. This included prior
physical and/or psychological trauma; sleep, food, and water
deprivation; high voltage electric shock; and hypnotic and/or
harmonic programming of specific memory compartments/ personalities.
The high tech equipment and methodisms I endured from that time on
gave the U.S. government absolute control of my mind and life. I had
been literally driven out of my conscious mind and existed only
through my programmed subconscious. I lost my free will, ability to
reason, and could not think to question anything that was happening
to me. I could only do as I was told.
In the summer of 1975, my family drove all the way from Michigan to
the Teton Mountains of Wyoming. I was ordered to ride in the back
storage area of the family Chevy Suburban since I was forbidden to
associate or communicate with my brothers and sister. So I dissociated
into books, or into the metaphorical, hypnotic suggestions from my
father and tranced deeper as I watched the prairie's seemingly endless
sea of "amber waves of grain" streak past my window. Once when we
stopped at a gas station, my father took me inside to show me a
stuffed "jackalope" mounted on the wall. Due to my tranced, dissociative
state and high suggestibility level, I believed it was indeed a cross
between a jack rabbit and antelope. It was 100+ degrees in the Badlands
when it cooled down at night. The intense heat of the day accentuated
my ever increasing thirst. My father was physically preparing me though
water deprivation for the intense tortures and programming I would endure
in Wyoming.
Dick Cheney, then White House Chief of Staff to President Ford, later
Secretary of Defense to President George Bush, documented member of the
Council on Foreign relations (CFR), and Presidential hopeful for 1996,
was originally Wyoming's only Congressman. Dick Cheney was the reason my
family had traveled to Wyoming where I endured yet another form of
brutality -- his version of "A Most Dangerous Game," or human hunting.
It is my understanding now that A Most Dangerous Game was devised to
condition military personnel in survival and combat maneuvers. Yet it was
used on me and other slaves known to me as a means of further conditioning
the mind to the realization there was "no place to hide," as well as
traumatize the victim for ensuing programming. It was my experience over
the years that A Most Dangerous Game had numerous variations on the
primary theme of being stripped naked and turned loose in the wilderness
while being hunted by men and dogs. In reality, all "wilderness" areas
were enclosed in secure military fencing whereby it was only a matter of
time until I was caught, repeatedly raped, and tortured.
Dick Cheney had an apparent addiction to the "thrill of the sport." He
appeared obsessed with playing A Most Dangerous Game as a means of
traumatizing mind control victims, as well as to satisfy his own perverse
sexual kinks. My introduction to the game occurred upon arrival at the
hunting lodge near Greybull, Wyoming, and it physically and psychologically
devastated me. I was sufficiently traumatized for Cheney's programming, as
I stood naked in his hunting lodge office after being hunted down and
caught. Cheney was talking as he paced around me, "I could stuff you and
mount you like a jackalope and call you a two legged dear. Or I could
stuff you with this (he unzipped his pants to reveal his oversized penis)
right down your throat, and then mount you. Which do you prefer?"
Blood and sweat became mixed with the dirt on my body and slid like mud
down my legs and shoulder. I throbbed with exhaustion and pain as I stood
unable to think to answer such a question. "Make up your mind," Cheney
coaxed. Unable to speak, I remained silent. "You don't get a choice,
anyway. I make up your mind for you. That's why you're here. For me to
make you a mind, and make you mine/mind. You lost your mind a long time
ago. Now I'm going to give you one. Just like the Wizard (of Oz) gave
Scarecrow a brain, the Yellow Brick Road led you here to me. You've 'come
such a long, long way' for your brain, and I will give you one."
The blood reached my shoes and caught my attention. Had I been further
along in my programming, I perhaps would never have noticed such a thing
or had the capability to think to wipe it away. But so far, I had only
been to MacDill and Disney World for government/military programming.
At last, when I could speak, I begged, "If you don't mind, can I please
use your bathroom?"
Cheney's face turned red with rage. He was on me in an instant, slamming
my back into the wall with one arm across my chest and his hand on my
throat, choking me while applying pressure to the cartorid artery in my
neck with his thumb. His eyes bulged and he spit as he growled, "If you
don't mind me, I will kill you. I could kill you -- Kill you -- with my
bare hands. You're not the first and you won't be the last. I'll kill
you any time I goddamn well please." He flung me on the cot-type bed that
as behind me. There he finished taking his rage out on me sexually.
On the long trip back to Michigan, I lay in a heap behind the seats of
the Suburban, nauseated and hurting from Cheney's brutality and high
voltage tortures, plus the whole Wyoming experience. My father stopped
by the waterfalls flowing through the Tetons to "wash my brain" of the
memory of Cheney. I could barely walk through the woods to the falls for
the process as instructed, despite having learned my lessons well from
Cheney on following orders.
The next year when our "annual" trip to Disney World rolled around, my
father drove, pulling his new Holiday Rambler Royale International trailer.
My father dropped me off en route at the Kennedy Space Center in Titusville,
Florida where I was subjected to my first NASA programming. From then on, I
was "obsessed" with following the "Yellow Brick Road" to Nashville,
Tennessee. Moving to Nashville was all I could talk about. If anyone asked
me the question I could not think to ask myself "Why?", I would respond by
reiterating it was something "I had to do."
--
We had pork loin for lunch yesterday. It was pretty good. I had a steak burrito and pork tamalies
for dinner. It was also very good. My turd was much more solid today. It took a bit of pushing to
get it out, but that seems to be the norm. It was a real stinker due to the hot sauce I put on the
burrito. It almost made me tear-up due to the stench. The smell lingered in the bathroom for a good
15 minutes. The turd was about 16in long and was of an average diameter. It was a consistant brown
color with black chunks. (I put black beans in my burritos) It was a satisfying turd and I give it
a rating of 7.
You better get to the doc's office and get a check-up. I don't think there is enough layex in the world to protect you from the diseases (many of them unidentified) that the average Linux user carries.
Slashdot Mirror
Why? You pimping your sister again?
Thank you!
Shit. You are drunk already? Fucking lush.
Only 2 posts are at 1 or above. I declare theis article to be part of the Troll Empire! Trolls rejoyce!
Post the URL. 5% of Slashdot readers aren't loonies.
I agree with this post!
Sorry. FP is mine.
Looking at the average linux user, I don't think lo-fat is in their vocabulary. (or diet)
Hmmm... imagine: A Beowulf cluster of my turds....
I had two grilled ham and cheese sandwiches yesterday for lunch. They were edible, but not much else. I had a very small turd this morning; this is not suprising due to the fact that I did not eat much during the day. The turd did not want to come out easily, so it took a good amount of pushing to get it out. Some cow-orker waddling in and talking to me during my dump did not help the situation. I kept trying to brush him off with short, terse answers, but he kept babbling on. It was about 'Lord of the Rings'. I tell him I haven't seen it. He can't comprehend that I haven't seen the movie. He walks away, stunned. It (the turd, not the cow-orker) was about 6 inches long and very thin. It was a generic turd brown and smelled just like you think a turd would smell. It flushed with ease. I rate this turd as a 5.
I can see it now: "Mom is getting me the Ultra-Pleasure Vibe 3000!"
http://www.dogdoo.com/
I don't think I would consider mopping toilets to be 'cool stuff', but to each his own, I guess.
working as a consultant in a leading consulting firm
Consultant is just a nice word for fucktard.
Not a nice thing to say to a fellow troll... ;)
The Saudi Ambassador to the U.N. has just finished giving a speech, and walks out into the lobby where he meets his American counterpart. They shake hands and as they walk the Saudi says, "You know, I have just one question about what I have seen in America". The American says "Well your Excellency, anything I can do to help you?" The Saudi whispers "My son watches this show 'Star Trek' and in it there are Russians and Blacks and Asians, but never any Arabs. He is very upset. He doesn't understand why there are never any Arabs in Star Trek." The American laughs and leans over. "That's because it takes place in the future."
This celluloid ode to pagan spirituality is based on a novel by J.K. Rowling, who seems to arise each morning to pledge her soul to Beelzebub before she sets about dipping her evil quill in the Devil's inkwell. The screen version makes a none-too-thin endorsement of childhood sexual intercourse by championing the obvious carnal attraction between Harry and his comely love interest, Hermione Granger (played haltingly by Emma Watson, a flat-chested 30-old dwarf whom director Chris Columbus cynically believed he could pass off as a virginal 10-year-old). We have long been troubled by the matter of kid actors-those flash-in the-pan up-and-comers who all end up addicted to drugs and divorced five times by the time they reach their maturity. But enough about Cher. Worst of the bunch are precocious child actors like Daniel Radcliffe. He plays Harry with as much energy as a homo at Hooters. The young, fresh-faced and clearly queer actor from England (is there any guy from that horrid little island who's NOT gay?-- it sure seems that way) plays Harry as if were a sashaying little weenie-wagger rather than a prestidigitator in on his way up. The anti-religious sentiments of J.K. Rowling's clumsily written novels suggest that her real purpose (and that of this Satanic film) is to foist her atheistic cult worship on young minds who mistakenly believe they are they are enjoying fare as tame as plain yogurt. But the conniving Ms. Rowling understands that no child except a total nerd still reads books anymore. Therefore, she pushed for this movie with stage mother perseverance because she realizes that celluloid, not papyrus, is now the medium of choice if you want to brainwash today's empty-headed younger generation. After all, the target audience for "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone" are teens who consider Britney Spears to be the Beverly Sills of their hopeless little generation of Skittles-ingesting low-achievers whose brain matter largely seeped out when they had their genitalia pierced at an all-night rave. Rowling is the Osama Bin Laden of magic. "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone" is her latest terrorist manifesto.
Stopped at a gas station yesterday--there was this approximately lifesize cardboard standup of Britney Spears advertising Pespi-Cola. In the photo, a tear in her jeans reveals a glistening red fabric beneath, suggesting her upper left thigh had been lacerated with a butcher knife. Seeing this, it occurred to me that Britney actually has a real opportunity to innovate, if only she'd get someone like Todd Sheets to direct her videos.
I thought the joy of programming was all they needed? What a crock.
During Christmas vacation of 1974, my father flew us all to Disney
World by route of Tampa, Florida. Ignorant of geography, it did not
occur to me that Tampa was out of the way to Disney World until my
father drove the rented van to the gates of MacDill Air Force Base.
Military personnel met me there and escorted me into the base TOP
SECRET high tech mind control conditioning facility for "behavioral
modification" programming. This was the first in what became a
routine series of mind control testing and/or programming sessions
on government installations that I would endure throughout my
Project Monarch victimization.
Whether I was in a military, NASA, or government building, the
procedure for maintaining me under total mind control remained
consistent with Project Monarch requirements. This included prior
physical and/or psychological trauma; sleep, food, and water
deprivation; high voltage electric shock; and hypnotic and/or
harmonic programming of specific memory compartments/ personalities.
The high tech equipment and methodisms I endured from that time on
gave the U.S. government absolute control of my mind and life. I had
been literally driven out of my conscious mind and existed only
through my programmed subconscious. I lost my free will, ability to
reason, and could not think to question anything that was happening
to me. I could only do as I was told.
In the summer of 1975, my family drove all the way from Michigan to
the Teton Mountains of Wyoming. I was ordered to ride in the back
storage area of the family Chevy Suburban since I was forbidden to
associate or communicate with my brothers and sister. So I dissociated
into books, or into the metaphorical, hypnotic suggestions from my
father and tranced deeper as I watched the prairie's seemingly endless
sea of "amber waves of grain" streak past my window. Once when we
stopped at a gas station, my father took me inside to show me a
stuffed "jackalope" mounted on the wall. Due to my tranced, dissociative
state and high suggestibility level, I believed it was indeed a cross
between a jack rabbit and antelope. It was 100+ degrees in the Badlands
when it cooled down at night. The intense heat of the day accentuated
my ever increasing thirst. My father was physically preparing me though
water deprivation for the intense tortures and programming I would endure
in Wyoming.
Dick Cheney, then White House Chief of Staff to President Ford, later
Secretary of Defense to President George Bush, documented member of the
Council on Foreign relations (CFR), and Presidential hopeful for 1996,
was originally Wyoming's only Congressman. Dick Cheney was the reason my
family had traveled to Wyoming where I endured yet another form of
brutality -- his version of "A Most Dangerous Game," or human hunting.
It is my understanding now that A Most Dangerous Game was devised to
condition military personnel in survival and combat maneuvers. Yet it was
used on me and other slaves known to me as a means of further conditioning
the mind to the realization there was "no place to hide," as well as
traumatize the victim for ensuing programming. It was my experience over
the years that A Most Dangerous Game had numerous variations on the
primary theme of being stripped naked and turned loose in the wilderness
while being hunted by men and dogs. In reality, all "wilderness" areas
were enclosed in secure military fencing whereby it was only a matter of
time until I was caught, repeatedly raped, and tortured.
Dick Cheney had an apparent addiction to the "thrill of the sport." He
appeared obsessed with playing A Most Dangerous Game as a means of
traumatizing mind control victims, as well as to satisfy his own perverse
sexual kinks. My introduction to the game occurred upon arrival at the
hunting lodge near Greybull, Wyoming, and it physically and psychologically
devastated me. I was sufficiently traumatized for Cheney's programming, as
I stood naked in his hunting lodge office after being hunted down and
caught. Cheney was talking as he paced around me, "I could stuff you and
mount you like a jackalope and call you a two legged dear. Or I could
stuff you with this (he unzipped his pants to reveal his oversized penis)
right down your throat, and then mount you. Which do you prefer?"
Blood and sweat became mixed with the dirt on my body and slid like mud
down my legs and shoulder. I throbbed with exhaustion and pain as I stood
unable to think to answer such a question. "Make up your mind," Cheney
coaxed. Unable to speak, I remained silent. "You don't get a choice,
anyway. I make up your mind for you. That's why you're here. For me to
make you a mind, and make you mine/mind. You lost your mind a long time
ago. Now I'm going to give you one. Just like the Wizard (of Oz) gave
Scarecrow a brain, the Yellow Brick Road led you here to me. You've 'come
such a long, long way' for your brain, and I will give you one."
The blood reached my shoes and caught my attention. Had I been further
along in my programming, I perhaps would never have noticed such a thing
or had the capability to think to wipe it away. But so far, I had only
been to MacDill and Disney World for government/military programming.
At last, when I could speak, I begged, "If you don't mind, can I please
use your bathroom?"
Cheney's face turned red with rage. He was on me in an instant, slamming
my back into the wall with one arm across my chest and his hand on my
throat, choking me while applying pressure to the cartorid artery in my
neck with his thumb. His eyes bulged and he spit as he growled, "If you
don't mind me, I will kill you. I could kill you -- Kill you -- with my
bare hands. You're not the first and you won't be the last. I'll kill
you any time I goddamn well please." He flung me on the cot-type bed that
as behind me. There he finished taking his rage out on me sexually.
On the long trip back to Michigan, I lay in a heap behind the seats of
the Suburban, nauseated and hurting from Cheney's brutality and high
voltage tortures, plus the whole Wyoming experience. My father stopped
by the waterfalls flowing through the Tetons to "wash my brain" of the
memory of Cheney. I could barely walk through the woods to the falls for
the process as instructed, despite having learned my lessons well from
Cheney on following orders.
The next year when our "annual" trip to Disney World rolled around, my
father drove, pulling his new Holiday Rambler Royale International trailer.
My father dropped me off en route at the Kennedy Space Center in Titusville,
Florida where I was subjected to my first NASA programming. From then on, I
was "obsessed" with following the "Yellow Brick Road" to Nashville,
Tennessee. Moving to Nashville was all I could talk about. If anyone asked
me the question I could not think to ask myself "Why?", I would respond by
reiterating it was something "I had to do."
--
You are my fucking hero, man!
We had pork loin for lunch yesterday. It was pretty good. I had a steak burrito and pork tamalies for dinner. It was also very good. My turd was much more solid today. It took a bit of pushing to get it out, but that seems to be the norm. It was a real stinker due to the hot sauce I put on the burrito. It almost made me tear-up due to the stench. The smell lingered in the bathroom for a good 15 minutes. The turd was about 16in long and was of an average diameter. It was a consistant brown color with black chunks. (I put black beans in my burritos) It was a satisfying turd and I give it a rating of 7.
You better get to the doc's office and get a check-up. I don't think there is enough layex in the world to protect you from the diseases (many of them unidentified) that the average Linux user carries.
I am sure that they would. Michael is such a sack-head.