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SPACE ALIENS HIDE MY DRUGS !!!???!!!
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by The Author
Copyright 2000, The Lost Planet Airmen
PROLOGUE:
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I was very young as a dark and stormy Knight...
[Author's Note: This part of the prologue is numbered 1-of-0 because there is,
in reality, no telling how long, wide and far I may or may not ramble in
telling a tale which lies deep inside of me and cries out to be told, despite
the rapid degeneration of what little is left of my nervous system, my brain
function, and my sanity in general.
As well, after a lifetime of using an overwhelming excess of commas in my
sagacious scribblings and blitheful blatherings, I am well aware that commas
do not grow on trees (except for cherry trees, and they are upside down--thus
of no use to a scribe such as myself) and that this account of tales untold
since the beginning of time (1949, in my universe) may well end in
mid-sentence
when I have used the last of the commas that I have purloined, stolen and
hoarded, over the years, is removed from my secret hiding place and placed on
the written page.
Hopefully, before this has come to pass, I will have managed to reveal all of
the myriad of universal secrets which have remained hidden in plain sight of
us all (particularly George Carlin), since the founding of the universe, and
the final comma that marks the end of my wisdom will mark the beginning of a
new universal ignorance, in which all shall finally know that there *is*no*
knowledge*, and that "The ClueServer died for our sins".]
The Death of gomez and the Birth of Magical Thinking:
I am the Prophet...
It's not something I'm proud of, and I in no way planned for things to turn
out this way, but the role of Unerring Prophet of the Future of All Mankind
was forced on me by circumstances beyond my control.
Originally, I was just trying to be a brain-warped, cynical asshole--doing
my best to stir up shit, cause trouble, spreadFear/Uncertainty/Disinformation
to the best of my ability, and maintain a conscientiously applied plan of good
oral hygene. ("Thank you. I'm feeling much better, now.)
I've been crazy all of my life, having suffered serious brain injury as a
child, and compounding this natural disaster by a willful ingestion of a
variety
of legal and illegal substances designed to enrich pharmacists and people with
dark skin tones who spend much of their time on dimly-lit street corners.
There are those who read my apparently mad ramblings and assume that I am
some kind of creative writing genius heavily influenced by Hunter S. Thompson,
Carlos Castenada, Stephen King and William Burrogh's Jr. They are wrong.
As gomez himself said, before being removed as the eternal symbol of the
true Digerati, the Circle of Eunuchs, "We don't make it up, we just make it
better."
Thus, when I describe the series of ElectroShock treatments that I underwent
under the care of Dr. Abram Hoffer (the Father of Megavitamin Therapy), and
describe them as taking place at the exact same moment as the massive power
blackouts throughout the NorthEastern United States and Canada, the details
I provide may not be accurate within the time-space continuum, but they will
be totally consistent with the Ultimate and Eternal Truth as evidenced by the
True Measure of Reality--the electrical bill from SaskPower Corporation that
was presented to Central Hospital in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, which ultimately
resulted in the restructuring of the Saskatchewan MediCare system, and the
loss
of many lives that could have otherwise been saved if the medical profession
had not deemed it necessary to store within my brain enough electricity to
create a thousand FrankenSteins, or power the bright lights of Las Vegas for
a hundred years, in the case of an emergency.
Hyperbole? Guess again, shit-for-brains...
Anyone who has read "The News of the Weird" by Chuck Shephard can vouch for
the fact that the crap that backs up in my demented brain cells, until it
spills
out like a toxic efflusive onto the written page, could not carry the
jock-strap
of the events which happen every day, in real life, far removed from the
short-
circuting electrical malfunctions spewing forth from my damaged brain
synapses.
I am the Prophet...
I am a certified lunatic bouncing wildly back and forth between reality and
rational thought <--> magical thinking fueled by messages from Mars which I
receive hourly via the silver fillings in my decaying dentures <--> logical
assumptions based on the patterns formed by rat-droppings I use to encrypt
my writings with the same algorithms used as the basis for C2Net's Stonghold
encryption software.
In all honesty, I have to admit that I was lying when I presented myself to
WebWorld at large as the TruthMonger.
But, "The best laid plans of rats and men..."
My poor self-image, my low self-esteem, and the knowledge that I had come
by them honestly, drove me to a state where I was determined to live out my
life as a lying, thieving, conniving, rat-bastard-piece-of-shit who would crap
on and distort the truth about everything that normal, decent people hold
sacred in their lives.
So I used my computer skills, my limitless supply of amphetamines, and my
powers of obsessive-compulsive, psychotic fixation to rail madly against
the surrounding hordes of men and women of reason who strove to suffocate the
madness that I was destined from birth to manifest on the long and twisted
road which would ultimately lead to my emergence as the Anti-Christ who would
raze the complete face of the earth with violent spasms of death and
destruction
the likes of which the universe has never seen.
"It's life's illusions I recall...I really don't know life, at all."
~Joni Mitchell
"All my lies are true...and everything I do, I really am."
~Carroll
"Some say he's good...some say he's great...some just say, 'It's a *shame*
about that boy.'"
~Sonny King, introducing C.J.Parker, the King of Country Porno, at Club Foot
in Austin, Texas, at a benefit for Xalapeno Charlie.
In the end, I reached spiritual enlightenment through the realization that
Satan, the Evil One, the Anti-Christ, Bill Gates, Louis Freeh, Janet Reno, can
never hope to even remotely approach the depths of depravity, outrageous
licentiousness and lunacy, or sick and twisted dementia exhibited daily by
the average Jane and Joe smiling at us from the other side of the bank
manager's
desk, or the check-out counter at the local K-Mart.
No matter how depraved the sick, demented spewings from my evil mind became,
attempting to poison the minds of all who came into contact with my evil,
satanic blatherings, masquerading as a true mirror of the reality that
surrounds
us--in the end, I was, am, and will continue to be...TruthMonger.
I am the Prophet...
If my sick, twisted mind concocts some bizarre, depraved fantasy about Lisa
Bonet Ramsey's rotting carcass rising from a roadside ditch to plug parking
meters and being flown by the Cincinnati Police Department to New York City
to carry out Judge Ito's sentence of having a toilet plunger shoved up her
ass, then one of two things will happen.
Either CNN will break the story, exactly as I have described it, minutes
before my missive shows up on the InterNet, or I will receive the lastest
email version of "News of the Weird,"l from SaskPower Corporation that
was presented to Central Hospital in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, which ultimately
resulted in the restructuring of the Saskatchewan MediCare system, and the
loss
of many lives that could have otherwise been saved if the med as standing at the bleeding edge of
the burdgeoning computer technology which is rapidly changing the face of our
planet and the governmental, civil, and social societies encompassed within
this celestial orb.
Harbingers of the Digital Future / Pioneers of Future Technology / etc.,
etc.
Bullshit...
The CypherPunks are rag-tag band of infantile, pseudo-anarchistic, pseudo-
cryptic, well-educated shit-disturbers who take great pleasure in pissing on
themselves, each other, and the world around them--all the while, covering
their motivations and ambitions with high-sounding ideals intended to disguise
the fact that none of them ever received proper toilet-training.
The end result?
No matter how high they pile it, how far they spread it, or how badly it
smells when you step in it, they end up coming off as the Henry Kissinger's
of CyberSpace, because no matter how much rotten meat, jalapenos and moldy
cheese they eat, they can never manage to crap out anything so vile and foul-
smelling that the world-at-large cannot prove prophetic in MeatSpace.
Question for Blanc Weber (CypherPunks version of the Sweetheart of the Rodeo):
Yes, Blanc, I am the one who was hiding in the bushes near the gravesites
when you were laying the wreaths in honor of Mother Teresa and the children
who were the 'victims' of the Oklahoma Federal Building bombing. Yes, that
was me who was whistling the eerie medely of "Psycho Killer" and "Street
Fighting Man" while you were busy trying to honor the souls of the 'innocents'
who died for the sin of being born.
Realizing that we are polar-opposites, I am willing to concede that perhaps
Eternal Truth, True Justice and A Noble Ideal To Be Named Later might best be
served if you and I met in the middle and acted in concert to do what must
inevitably be done to balance the distorted energy of the Tao which is
currently
tearing our planet, our socities and our individuals to pieces.
I am ready now...when will you be ready?
I am ready to walk into Luby's cafeteria today, and start blowing away
people
I know and total strangers, for no real fucking reason, just to stop the
voices
inside my head which scream such things as "Wake Up America"/"What the Fuck
are
We all Doing to One Another"/"When will the Madness STOP!!!"
When will you be ready?
I am ready to kidnap men, women and children who are federal employees, or
related to them, or who sent them Christmas cards, or who failed to punch
their
fucking lights out when they fucked over those they are supposed to 'serve'
because of some obscure legal technicality passed by drunken, syphlittic
politicians in a previous century. I am ready to transport them to the site
of the OKC bombing in numbers amounting to hundreds of times of McVeigh's
victims, bombing their innocent souls into oblivion, in the hope that someone,
somewhere, will look into the eyes of the psychotic, deranged madman that I
have become, and see themself, and their neighbors, desperately trying to
maintain the illusion that their hands are free of blood when foreign children
die as a result of embargos placed within the imaginary political lines which
define our MeatSpace Reality--embargos placed by those that they themselves
voted for in return for the promise that *their* children, on the 'good' side
of the imaginary line, would be provided with good nutrition and a sound
future,
unless, of course, they live in one of the poorer states, or America needs a
larger military budget to defend the most powerful military nation in the
world from some flea on the ass of an Iranian camel.
Blanc, when will *you* be ready?
I am ready, today, to gun down a woman carrying a baby, killing them both,
and justifying my actions by claiming I thought she was a Somalian warlord--I
am ready to drive a tank to MicroSoft Corporate Headquarters and raze it to
the ground, killing men, women and children in a violent cataclysm of smoke
and flames, justifying it with claims that MicroSoft cult members are all
gun-hoarding child-molesters who think Bill Gates is Jesus.
When will you be ready...?
The optomist says that the human soul is half full.
The pessimist says that the human soul is half empty.
The realist says, "Kill 'em all, and let God sort them out."
Tim May says, "Broken eggs, and all that."
I say, "The Revolution is NOW!"
What do *you* say?
Shall we set a date, sweetheart?
[TBC]
