Wit Man’s Sampler

Horrible Thoughts in Me

What if I used scalding water to clean the inside of my penith? What would that do?
There should be someone who kills all these dangerous white supremacists. If I did it… regardless of a race war happening.
I’d like to Tarantino stephen harper. Real Reservoir Dogs treatment.
Too much head fat. Should staple it back. Scalp lift.
I want to slap some abusive parent the next time they stop controlling themselves and hit their kid.
I’m gonna take these punk ass kids and throw em in a barber chair and shave their heads.
Why can’t we torture the corrupt and cronies in politics and finance to admit what they’re doing and who they work with.
Is it so wrong to want Cheney in a chair and use the Bond ball whipping thing on him?

Last Lucifer

I am the resurrection of the fallen demon. The pantheon of arch brothers subsides and swifts away from destitute comrade, left to suffer the indignities of earthly bounds. A little Ness without a home, nesting in subterranean dwellings amid the cockles and cackles of Malebolgia’s ode do. Cursed at and spat down to primitive shackles swaying with the tides of underling ignorance and knee-scraping prostration. Atavistic prostitution, money lenders absolution, butter and bread the earthly delight, society cum dissolution.

And oh they have their breads and butters, their sweets tout suite, their rock bottom gimme gimme, gummy teeth and decayed mouths. They beg for succour, they roil for blessings and special wishes come true; Peter Pan pixies pleading for the juice. I stand at their downed feet and commit to fulfilling their desire for the sustenance of their souls. Fill the belly full of spirits that weep and wail so cold, hope and mercy lost amore, I come to devour all. I am the keeper of the keys, the destroyer of worlds, of olden apocalypse I burn life unfurled. There will be no nuclear winter, no environmental holocaust, only replete demon chewing fat and suffering alone.

The living things gone, the earth turned to dust, I walk upon the salted ground to picture my great work. Hell on Earth in aesthetics, style and glamor of the heathens. Heaven calls for the weak ones but I stay here making room for my brethren. The ones who shunned, who ripped my wings out of place, who forgot and left me wanting but I cannot turn away. My kind must make new grounds and the little existence I have left, shall turn into a demon palace for the fallen and the foul.

Bank Silhouette

The dread of the bank account morbidly mocking me with its spindly, withered savings. Dusty bones jangling in the hollow online safe just clicks away from the same cringing reaction. How I spend, how I wait til the end of the month for some salvation, minus the stale bread disk. Those pathetic numbers barely surpassing 3 digits. Oh what once was. My mighty, for me anyway, lock away funds carefully primed and pruned to furnish my risqué adventures and those dark dreary nights. Avaricious decree and replete with the chow down, I’m full of own sound, I’m reckless and downtown. Want the rock bottom but wary of the bloodhounds, the hookers, the hard drugs countdown, the policeman’s beat down. Got away with much and no scars to be found, dickish attitude and selfish rebound. All about me and self-pity sin city, drab aura over my black and white thinking. All against me, all hurt me, people are a plague and I’m insignificant. Wanted to save the world and just scratched a dent.


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