Strange Space

Someone’s been leaving pamphlets all over town: I’ve been finding them on car windshields and in elevators. I’d hasten to call them religious propaganda, but it would be a bit reluctant. It’s a document regarding the Anti-Christ, how he’s coming, and how he’s going to fuck up your life and rape your dog unless you’ve got Jesus backing you. It points to various factors like Global Warming as a sign that he’s already here, so apparently the Anti-Christ has been leaving his car idling in park.

Let me just say: it takes a real guts to speak out against the Anti-Christ, because NO ONE has had the balls to do that before.

…He’s the FUCKING Anti-Christ. I know you’re a crazed religious fanatic trying to start your own cult, but people don’t need to be told the Anti-Christ is bad news. He’s got that whole, “Anti-Christ,” thing in his name. He’s supposed to be the evil opposite of Christ. He turns wine into water and causes leprosy, or some shit like that. Maybe he has a goatee. Who knows? Why are you wasting paper trying to tell people he’s up to no good?

I didn’t read that much of the pamphlet, because it is essentially a book. Best guess is about thirty pages, and it could fit snugly in your pocket. If I read more than the front and back I’m sure I’d see the author spewing hatred at homosexuals and insinuate that Obama is the Anti-Christ: fun stuff like that.

Can I ask a question? Let’s say the Anti-Christ is real, that he’s here today, and he’s going to destroy the world. What the fuck do you expect me to do? Am I supposed to go stop him? How? He’s the Anti-Christ, meaning he’s equal to Jesus Christ, who himself is 50% God, which if my math is correct: the Anti-Christ has half of God’s power. I’m 100% mortal. I’m going to get fucked up if I try to take him on. I don’t have to see Brock Lesnar in person to know he could slam me headfirst through the floor. Stuff like that hurts, and that’s exactly the kind of crap the Anti-Christ could probably do if he put his mind to it. I’m not going mono-a-mono with him. He’s the Anti-Christ, so it should be Christ himself who has to take him on. Good luck to him. I’ve seen crucifixes, and Jesus doesn’t look all that imposing a fellow. I could probably beat him up if I wanted to. Plus he’s been dead for about 2000 years, so that’s not good. Usually, when you’re looking for someone to save the day, you don’t choose someone who was tortured to death 20 centuries ago. Maybe Jesus will get lucky and the Anti-Christ will turn out to be some 11 year old in a wheelchair. Maybe then he could win a physical confrontation.

I get the feeling that whoever wrote this thinks Jesus is fuelled by the magic of prayer, and if we pray enough Jesus gets super powers. I don’t think it works that way. Jesus doesn’t get juiced up like Hulk Hogan when people clap their hands. You need a better plan: like get Jesus some mixed-martial arts lessons. Have him spar a bit, then try to take on the Anti-Christ. Like he could try to fight Dick Cheney first and work his way up.

I also noted how the author kept referring to “666” being the Number of the Beast, when in fact is in the page the devil first appears in the original King James Bible. It is only a reference number. I know there’s some great songs and that about the Number of the Beast, but it’s not that significant.

Also: believing in the Anti-Christ is just plain retarded. There’s lots of evil men and women out there who like to fuck shit up, but they’re not the Anti-Christ. You know why? Because the Anti-Christ in very specific terms laid out by Revelations has to be born of jackal. That’s not a metaphor: they literally have to be born from a jackal. That’s not happening: mainly because it can’t happen. Human babies do not come from canines. Case closed.

Recently, I jokingly predicted that P-Diddy (also known as Wendy) would produce a tribute to Michael Jackson. This has come to pass. Twenty-four hours after his death, P-Diddy came out with a song dedicated to the fallen star. It features lyrics like, “I’m Michael Jackson. You’re Michael Jackson. We’re all Michael Jackson.” No sir, I am not Michael Jackson, for I have not touched a monkey, nor are you, if the quality of your music is any indication.

Even though it sounds rushed, the song had to have been in development for months now. Meaning: P-Diddy, who owes his entire career to the death of B.I.G., has been writing memorial songs remembering celebrities WHO HAVEN’T DIED YET. It’s like he writes obituaries, only he doesn’t work for a newspaper.

It’s good to know that if I’m ever hard up for cash I can produce an album dedicated to Wilford Brimley, pop it onto i-Tunes 10 seconds after he dies, and make a load of cash. Maybe I’ll start hooking celebrities up to Life-Alert, so when they fall and can’t get up, I know when to make my mint.

The worst part about this P-Diddy song is that is features CHRIS BROWN, who’s just been convicted of assaulting Rihanna. So here’s the situation: there’s about 10,000,000 Hip-Hop, R&B, rap singers out there in the world today, and P-Diddy picked the one man accused and convicted of beating the living shit out of his woman, who far from being some dumb ho in a trailer park, is one of the most beautiful women in the world. I have no sympathy for this fucker: especially since he essentially got off Scott Free. He’s still a fucking multi-millionaire, he doesn’t have to do jail time, and Rihanna still wants his dick. Did you see the picture of her afterwards? It wasn’t pretty. Chris Brown didn’t just smack this bitch, he beat her until her face was black and blue.

It’s like if I went out and did a song about Caligula with the ghost of Ike Turner.

Also: this whole situation has me thinking P-Diddy kills people to make money off songs he writes.

So Michael Jackson is dead, but as we know from his Thriller video, death is not always the end. M.J. died of cardiac arrest, but I think everyone was expecting him to go out more extravagantly. After all: this was a man who survived being set on fire and endured numerous elected surgeries. I always thought he might be mauled to death by a vengeful Bubbles, or a traumatized Macaully Culkin. Maybe he’d choke on a diamond encrusted glove, or fall out a window as he was dangling his baby. These are more suiting ends for the world’s most famous acquitted child molester.

It would have been better if he had gone down years ago, after the bizarre rumours of his lifestyle first started surfacing. Honestly, he hasn’t accomplished that much since the 80’s. HIStory is better left forgotten, and his singing about being, “black or white,” is probably the most ironic song since Allanis Moirrsette’s, “Ironic.”

He was supposed to do a huge performance in London, where molesting children is still considered okay. Maybe Latoya can fill in for him. I secretly think they’re the same person anyway. Will his family even show up to his funeral? I don’t think he even talked to them after that video he did with Janet. If they do come, it’ll be the first time we’ll see Tito since 1985. Tito: the NORMAL Jackson.

Other things to be thankful for:

1: We don’t have to worry about him molesting our children anymore.

2: We can look forward to post-mortem albums and P-Diddy tributes.

3: They might turn Neverland into a new Graceland.

4: NEVER CONVICTED: So you never know: maybe he didn’t. The eternal debate will continue.

5: His kids can stop wearing Eyes Wide Shut masks in public.

6: We’ve never seen his genitalia.

7: Awesome M.J. auctions to pay off his debts.

8: Tell-all books that tell-all.

9: We don’t have to worry about him throwing his kids out the window anymore.

10: He couldn’t get any whiter anyway.

In other news: crazy-bitch Farrah Fawcett is dead too. This comes a few weeks after David Carradine kicked the bucket: and by kick the bucket I mean: auto-erotic aphyxiated himself. Which can only mean someone’s picking off celebrities who’ve lost all relevance decades ago.

 

1:The Bachelorette:

The concept of this show just pisses me off in general, as technically it’s borderline prostitution. Recently, however, there was a row over one of the 25 male contestants on the show having a real-life girlfriend.

…One of the 25 male contestants. A woman is dating 25 men simultaneously, and she’s upset that one of those 25 men is dating another girl. Listen sister: A 1 in 25 chance at a relationship isn’t exactly the best odds there are. Having a girlfriend on the side is just good common sense, especially when the other woman you’re dating is practicing polygamy.

Weren’t you just fucking dumped on another reality show? Aren’t you aware by now how this shit goes? If not, ask Flava Flav. Fucking grow up and find a man on your own.

Whore.

2: Wal-Mart:

Wal-Mart’s new slogan is: Save Money, Live Better. Living better an Wal-Mart don’t go hand-in-hand. There’s a fucking McDonalds inside every Wal-Mart. They’re physically trying to kill you with this shit. Wal-Mart is a fucking death trap: just ask the poor bastards who get trampled to death every Black Friday. Plus now they’ve got fucking doughnuts at the check-out now. DOUGHTNUTS. Half-a-dozen for $1. They may as well have a trough filled with sugar-glazed lard at the door.

3: Movies based on action figures:

At some point: God stopped caring about you. You’re the plant God left to wither and rot while he was on vacation. That’s why you’re being subjected to this bullshit. Transformers and G.I. Joe. Remember how awesome the cartoons were? Then you’re 30, and you’re too fucking old to see this shit, because it’s been dumbed down for today’s youth audience, whom Hollywood treats like the Twittering twits they are. Before you complain: it’s a movie based on a cartoon based on a toy. Of course it’s going to be terrible. People are fucking jumping around missiles in slow-motion while wearing some kind of speed suits and the Eiffle Tower is dissolving. What’s that got to do with G.I. Joe? Nothing. Why? Because no one without a secret cache of grainy VHS tapes remembers what the G.I. Joe cartoon was like. The kids who fucking watched that shit are trying to pay off their morgates now. The movies are just over-used special-effects with a brand name stamped on them to sell toys, because it’s got to turn a profit somehow.

An ancient document etched onto vellum, containing a language that no man on earth can read. Believed to be an elaborate code of some kind, but the document, running between 240-280 pages, also contains numerous drawings of a fantastical nature, mainly involving nude women bathing, herbs, and astronomical charts. Some aspects of the document may have been altered since it’s first inception, especially in regards to the drawings themselves, and the arrangement of pages. Exact age of the document is unknown. Rumoured to be either 400, or 100 years of age.

Personal thoughts: While the document is assumingly coded, most documents of this nature are discrete works kept mainly to hide secret thoughts. The drawings in this work draw undue attention to it. It is meant to be read, but has been written in it’s own language. The populous theory is that the work is a forgery, but to what purpose? A work of this length would take quite some effort. While forge a work so that no one could read it? The appeal would be limited. If it was a forgery, it would have to be tailored to a specific buyer.

What if the author had created a work to express certain thoughts and feelings that otherwise could not be expressed? Such as those in a dream?

My theory is only given credence by the fact that in a dream, written words can not be properly read, as this is a function of the left brain, and dreaming is of the right. The author could be copying something he read inside a dream. In other words: gibberish, which can only be understood in the context of the dream itself. The drawings of non-existent things further evoke upon this theorem.

It’s a dream journal, written in dream-speak.

What interest me the most is the elaborate star charts. These could be a virtual map of the dream-world itself. A whorlgog.