Got an email from my ex girlfriend. the crazy violent one. she’s apparently attempting to re-enter polite society in a non-violent way, moving into town from whatever isolated rural locale at which she was originally stored, and sent me an email expressing suprise that I have gone another year without committing suicide.
To be fair, I was rather whiny, angsty, and prone to depressive fits when she knew me, so I can kind of understand her suprise, but I composed a lovely explanation illuminating that I am no longer the depressed spineless snivelling doormat she knew and loved to punch in the head. I had so much fun explaining this to her in an email, I thought I’d share my explanation with you, my freaky darlings, because it came out really well. it’s after the break.
I’m not suprised [that I'm still alive]. it was foretold in the dread ancient text, the Necrophiliomnicon, that those who dare to inscribe their names in black ink upon it’s yet blacker pages may taste of the fruits of the grave yet never fertilize that soil which eventually receiveth all else that once strode upon it, and if you dare to look upon the names in black ink upon the black pages (right after the Invocation To The Teen Movie Gods To Beseech Them For A Squad Of Cheerleaders to Die of Toxic Salmon Mousse), if your heart is open to knowing that which should not be known and your brain is seared by the burning dots of the face of He Who Smiles that it may light those blackened letters upon that tenebrous paper, you will indeed see my name there upon that page.
Be ye not amazed that I yet trod the conveyor belts of the elaborate bio-mechanical anguish generator men call Earth, nor that my yeti blood, contaminated as it may be through generations of interbreeding with the lesser primate Man who is but the grist of the mill you call Earth, still courses through my series of tubes, for although I still reside within the factory I have transcended the condition of being a mere product to the role of Quality Control. Nay, I shall NOT perish with the inferior flesh-plugs that generate the suffering that feeds the Great God when the end of the shift is called. I shall instead depart about a gleaming vessel that takes me away from my Work here on Earth and to my Reward amongst the stars, or i get triple my money back!
here endeth the rant. Slack prevails.
Tags: birthday the earth stood still, cthulhu, necrophilia, rant, subgenius
September 4, 2008 at 9:05 pm |
Where does one find polite society these days anyway?
September 4, 2008 at 9:06 pm |
it usually loiters in the overpriced cafes near the only non-franchise movie theater in town that occasionally plays indie movies yet never shows the indie horror movies that I actually want to see and would suck even if it did because it’s the ONLY place in town you have to pay for parking.
September 7, 2008 at 7:21 pm |
Love the rant. Extremely well-done. :-)