1)
When I lay me down to sleep-
my conscious mind is ocean deep.
I dream of things in shades of red-
like stabbing my neighbors in the head.
2)
Masterbaiting with a severed hand.
Imminent discharge of a swollen gland.
Bodies hacked up for the barbecue.
Boiling pus makes a stellar brew.
Even with eyes that are torn out-
I can see this is what life is all about.
3)
When I was a baby boy-
a pocket knife was my favorite toy.
Then I grew up to walk the land-
carrying a butchers knife in hand.
Monday, December 10, 2012
RAT IN THE SEWER- LIFE AND TIMES OF BEN THE RAT
A guest blog by Ben the Rat-
I Used to be a Sewer Rat once. Not Exactly Proud of that Shit, but Hey.... We Live and Learn.
There are all Different types of Rats. If you Wanna know how many and what kinds there are, you Can Always Google it or Learn to Read a book. I'm not your Rat Information Central Encyclopedia. They Call that R.I.C.E. for Short.
What Kind of Rat am I? I'm Ben. Ben the Rat. All You Need to Know. But Yeah, Okay ....Fuck me in the Ass Opening with a Severed Finger if I didn't Used to be a Sewer Rat. Once Again, there are all Different kinds of Rats. Beyond your Typical Hood Rats and Domesticated types there are your Sewer Variety. These are so named because they are in fact homeless and actually call the Sewer their Home. They prefer the sewer to the streets. I never got that, but to each his own.
Rats do so enjoy Filth. We can hold our own when it comes to Getting Down and Dirty. Still, a lot of these Domesticated types are Spoiled Rotten from their Over Exposure to the Finer things in Life. A Cage or a "Lair" as it is referred to. Some place more Comfortable than an Alley or a Ship Yard. All of this shit beats the Sewer. Man, Let me tell you that Life in the Sewer is no Joke. I seen things. Things you wouldn't Believe if I told you. I stared Hell in the Darks of the Eyes and I came Home Scarred but all the More better and Equipped to Hold my own for it.
I Guess one might say that a Sewer Rat is a what You Stupid Humans call Hoboes or Bums. It's no secret that us Rats do so Love to Dunk our Furry Bodies in Toilet Water. Nothing wrong with it. Hell, Toilet Water is probably Cleaner than the water you humans drink from the tap or Even purchased from the Alps and Squirted into a Bottle. Just because some water comes to you sealed in a Bottle doesn't mean that an army of us Vermin hasn't been Soaking our Filth in it. I been to the Alps so Fuck You the Next time you Drink a bottle of Evian and think it tastes odd. Pretty Damn Funny to me.
But You see, Toilet Water is clean. It's what is Beyond the Bowl wherein Lies the True Filth. Rats Love to Swim. But only Sewer Rats will Go into the Bung. Think of it as the Deep Section of your neighborhood pool. Now imagine that Deep Section all filled up with Stool, and you have an idea of what I'm saying.
I used to Live in a Mansion with my Favorite Friend MJ. We had so much Fun together but that Pud Wacker got too Weird for me, so I had to hit the Fucking Road. So I went from Living in a Mansion and getting massaged and Serviced Daily to Living on the Streets. A Rats gotta' do what a Rats gotta' do though.
The Streets is not so Bad. I Lived in a ShipYard over by Felles Point Once. Saw a lot of Action there. Then I hitched a ride on a Boat up the river and headed for DC. I lived in a Cubby Hole over Behind U Street. A lot of Assholes and Junkies live over there. Wasn't really my Bag.
This one time we Made a Rat Camp and there was this cat who used to come nosing around. Figured he was Looking for a bite of some Rat Salad. A Bunch of us got together and one night when he was asleep we chewed all Four of his legs off. Man, that was the funniest shit I have ever seen. The Stupid Fuck was in the Middle of a dream. Probably chasing some mice or something and he Jolted awake and tried to take off Running and all he did was Move about 2 inches and Start up with that meowing shit. God, I hate that sound. It's like nails on a Chalkboard to a Rat.
Cats are Stupid just like Humans. Only difference is that they have 4 Legs and Humans have 2. Unless you're a Circus Freak or Crippled or something and you have more or less. But Legs don't mean shit. They're Sticks. Humans could have 4 legs and Cats could have 8 and Rats would still despise you both. Worthless the both of you are.
All the Rat Gang, we was all Laughing at this Legless Fuck Meowing in a Pile of its own Blood and a Bunch of us Got overtop of it on a Rafter and Let Forth a Torrent of Rat Droppings on the Prick. The Cat couldn't even move and it had to just sit there while the Lot of Us just Shit all over it. By the Time we was all done its Fur was so caked with shit that it was stuck to the concrete. I even took home one of the legs and gnawed on it like you would a chicken bone. That fucking thing lasted me almost a month. Cats have a kind of bizarre after taste. Sort of has a hint of Pumpkin Pie flavoring to it. Weirdness.Man, that was a Gas though. Good times, Good times.
I Remember I knew this Prom Queen once over in Georgetown on Wisconsin Avenue. She Lived overtop of a Shoe Store and Used to try to sneak out at night to gather food scrapings for all her brood. She had a real problem keeping her legs closed that whore piece.
I met a Street Urchin named Chewka who said he Banged her once. Hell, one of those stinking kids might even be his. The thing about Prom Queens is that they never lose that Queen mentality. It's like no matter what they do in life, whether they're Blogging for Sex or Picking through Garbage Cans to feed their illicit Progeny because their tits are dried up like Raisins and can't produce Bitches Milk anymore, they just never seem to understand that the world doesn't revolve around them and they don't know it all. They think that just because they gurgled the Cum of a Prom King once and got Preggers more times than a Welfare Case that Life somehow owes them something. They think the Rest of the world waits to shine until they crunk their Raisin tits and droopy ass out of the bed every day. Stupid Humans. Don't Know how many times I can say that before it lose its potency.
I Mean, who cares if you sucked on the knob of a Prom King? Where is he now? He's probably jockeying a thrift store in the Wetlands. He was not a Real King. You weren't a Real Queen either. These women wake up every day screaming because the stupid housecat crawled inside of their Vagina. Thats what you get for Birthing a country and giving way to a Snapper the Size of a Rock Lobster.
This Red Wench lived atop a shoe store on Wisconsin and I followed her back one night because she had picked up a piece of Fungus ridden cheese that I had hidden underneath a pile of rubble. The whole thing confused me because I couldn't figure out what she was going to do with it.
When I followed her back to that Shit Hole Shoe Store I could not believe what I was seeing. She had a house full of of Rat pets. Domesticated Fuckwits Eating the Cheese of a hard working Street Thug. Made me sick. Still, there was nothing I could do. Too many of them. I thought for a second that I had a good mind to burn the store down with all of them in it. But I got a little bit of Heart. Them Rats wasn't doing me no harm. They didn't know where that cheese came from. She could have made it in her Crotch Factory outlet for all they knew. I still don't like spoiled ass House Rats, but I Like Fucking Prom Queens a whole lot less since then.
After Georgetown I started to fall apart. It wasn't my fault. The weather turned shitty and even the bums were seeking accomodations indoors. When things would get desperate I could always count on sleeping in the swampy ass cheeks of one of those bums. My body fit real good in there. The Smell wasn't so bad. I had slept in an actual Swamp before. Sort of similar but just different. Still, it was always warm and if I got thirsty there was always plenty of Swamp Juice to slurp from the walls. Slurping Swampees we used to call it.
I was having trouble finding bums to sneak bunk in. So I had made a decision to go and visit my friend Joey Nibbles in the Sewer when things got too rough. He had extended an open standing invitation to come for a visit and my options were running low.
Joey Nibbles was this Rat that I knew from Chinatown. We used to raid this Restaurant when the lights were out. Kind of made me hate the smell of rice though. Everything smelled like rice. Except for the rice. The rice smelled like dirty laundry. Strangest thing you ever did smell.
This one time we hit up that stinky noodle hut and mixed it up with some Feline Fucks. That was the night that we learned the real reason they call them pussies. Joey had gotten a line to score some Msg. This shithole off 51st and Lexington called Wang Ding Dung.
To you stupid humans Msg is nothing but a flavor enhancer for food.But that stuff is like heroin to a Rat. We have been getting high off of Msg for centuries. The shit that you get nowadays is mostly cut. The days of pure un-cut Msg were well before my time. But even back in my old party days if you knew the right Rats you were guarenteed at least a 70/30 ratio of cut. That is damn impressive.
Man, I tell you.... that shit gets you high. All it seems to do for humans is make the food taste better and make them wanna eat more. Bunch of fucking pigs, you humans are. Bigger Pigs than even Pigs are. Msg produces a feeling of euphoria in a Rat. It makes us feel like we are on top of the world. Cats love it too.
I had met Joey in a brawl one night. I seen that Filthy Rat go shitzo on a ferret in a dive alley. He took a tooth pick and impaled this ferrets dick to the ground, before he nibbled it off and spit it in his face. That was why they called him Joey Nibbles on account he liked to gnaw through stuff. I guess Joey Gnaw didn't sound right, so Nibbles it was.
The ferret was howling and bleeding all over the place and one of his friends came up behind Joey and tried to whack him on the head with a pebble bat. I gave him the heads up and he turned around and jammed out both that pricks eyes in a single blow. Squished right through and blinded him in about half of a second.
Ever since then, me and Joey was real tight. We started hanging around that Wang Ding Dung joint on account of all the good shit they used to toss out every night. All kinds of stuff. Food,supplies, you name it.... they probably had extras and just threw it away on a nightly basis.
Once Joey got a hold of some Rotting Beef tips that had been soaking in a vat of Msg and he said he tripped for days on it. A lot of them ching chong joints don't like to use Msg anymore. Too many humans are allergic to it, and the Rats and Cats all became addicted to it and started hanging around, so most of them places started using this Msg substitute called Crystaline Mathobenadrixacolin. Crystal Math.
Crystal Math is bad news. It smells just like Msg but when you ingest it, the additives in it that produce the flavoring similar to the Msg, they start to sizzle flesh and you begin to burn from the inside out. It's nasty. I seen it happen to a Rat once. He had gotten a hold of some of it on a hot pepper. It made him spontaneously combust and chunk out all over the place. As we were sitting there picking off pieces of Boomtown Rat from our fur most seemed to think that it was the Hot Pepper that did him in. But, I knew. It was that shit.
So anyways, Joey Nibbles recognized the taste of Msg. The real shit. The good shit. At least an 80/20 cut according to Joey. We decided to hit this place up and make off with as much as we could carry out. Of course, real Msg was a big deal and these Fucking cats also had the same idea.
Me and Joey went up against this gang of cats. These Furball Fucktards thought they were slick, hiding in a vat of Soy Sauce until the owner, Chung King Pow Wing Dong, locked the storage room up for the night.
We were already inside because Nibbles and me, we had swam from the sewer up out of the Toilet and he had Gnawed through the wall. Only Joey Nibbles would think of some shit like that.
We were in the storage room and very close to nabbing the Msg and these Pussy Juicers rolled up on us. All Black faced. We thought that they was a gang or something. But one rumble and a tumble and we started getting sloshed with Soy Sauce.
We took these Pussies down hard. Joey Nibbles, always the innovator of creative disposal, he shoved hot peppers into their little kitty assholes. Man, they were hurting. Probably took a week to get the scorch out of their insides.
This one cat, a Siamese..... you know how you can tell a Siamese? You can tell by looking at the tips from the head to the tail. The colors have a very distintive pattern. Front to back.... Black,Gold,Black,Gold,Gold,Black. It can be pretty intimidating when you see this array charging at you.
Siamese have this reputation for being bad asses on account of they're so temperamental and shit. It's all Pussy to me, and especially to Joey Nibbles. He ain't afraid of no Siamese shitheads.
This Siamese thought it was extra menacing with that soy sauce drenched all over it ..... truth is, it looked pretty stupid to me and Nibbles. The cat charged him and he grabbed a chopstick and impaled the piece of fluff. It looked like a Furry shish-ka-bob. Fucking Siamese. Hate 'em with a Passion.
Me and Nibbles sent them Pussies packing and made off with enough Msg to get us high for a year. After this little mis-adventure, I just always remembered Joey Nibbles telling me that if I ever needed a place to crash I was more than welcomed to hang at his place in the South quarter of the sewer mane. I took him up on this proposal and I ended up staying with him and his Clan for about 9 months. Those 9 months were the lowest point of my Ratly existence. Not on account of Nibbles. He was as good as they come.
Nibbles taught me a lot when I was living in the sewer. I learned some new tricks. Started to think about things and see things differently. One thing I learned was that just because a Rat lives in the sewer don't mean that he's a Rat Bastard. Sure, many of them are lowlifes and tainted from too much life in the bung and sleeping in the guts of the sewer. But they're Rats. Just like me.
When hard times hit, you better do whatever you can do to stay Filthy and Hard to the Core. Being a sewer Rat was no picnic. But those dregs of the vermin society got a whole lot more dignity and Rat sense than any house bitch. Sewer Rats got Wicked Street cred and skills that will get you whatever you need, when you need it and take you wherever you need to go on your own time. All being a house Rat teaches you is what its like to depend on puny humans for everything. It goes against everything a Rat should stand for. I hated living in the sewer. It did Joey Nibbles in. Poor Fucker.
I like being a hood Rat though. The breeze on my sac. The pavement at my feet. Spreading Filth and eating Garbage. Sure beats the bung of the sewer and the confines of a glass house. But, I get it. You do what you gotta do. Living. Learning. Filth. The Rat way. It's the only way as far as I'm concerned.
*****Blog reposted from Bentherat blog page. Original post date 9/5/2010*****
I Used to be a Sewer Rat once. Not Exactly Proud of that Shit, but Hey.... We Live and Learn.
There are all Different types of Rats. If you Wanna know how many and what kinds there are, you Can Always Google it or Learn to Read a book. I'm not your Rat Information Central Encyclopedia. They Call that R.I.C.E. for Short.
What Kind of Rat am I? I'm Ben. Ben the Rat. All You Need to Know. But Yeah, Okay ....Fuck me in the Ass Opening with a Severed Finger if I didn't Used to be a Sewer Rat. Once Again, there are all Different kinds of Rats. Beyond your Typical Hood Rats and Domesticated types there are your Sewer Variety. These are so named because they are in fact homeless and actually call the Sewer their Home. They prefer the sewer to the streets. I never got that, but to each his own.
Rats do so enjoy Filth. We can hold our own when it comes to Getting Down and Dirty. Still, a lot of these Domesticated types are Spoiled Rotten from their Over Exposure to the Finer things in Life. A Cage or a "Lair" as it is referred to. Some place more Comfortable than an Alley or a Ship Yard. All of this shit beats the Sewer. Man, Let me tell you that Life in the Sewer is no Joke. I seen things. Things you wouldn't Believe if I told you. I stared Hell in the Darks of the Eyes and I came Home Scarred but all the More better and Equipped to Hold my own for it.
I Guess one might say that a Sewer Rat is a what You Stupid Humans call Hoboes or Bums. It's no secret that us Rats do so Love to Dunk our Furry Bodies in Toilet Water. Nothing wrong with it. Hell, Toilet Water is probably Cleaner than the water you humans drink from the tap or Even purchased from the Alps and Squirted into a Bottle. Just because some water comes to you sealed in a Bottle doesn't mean that an army of us Vermin hasn't been Soaking our Filth in it. I been to the Alps so Fuck You the Next time you Drink a bottle of Evian and think it tastes odd. Pretty Damn Funny to me.
But You see, Toilet Water is clean. It's what is Beyond the Bowl wherein Lies the True Filth. Rats Love to Swim. But only Sewer Rats will Go into the Bung. Think of it as the Deep Section of your neighborhood pool. Now imagine that Deep Section all filled up with Stool, and you have an idea of what I'm saying.
I used to Live in a Mansion with my Favorite Friend MJ. We had so much Fun together but that Pud Wacker got too Weird for me, so I had to hit the Fucking Road. So I went from Living in a Mansion and getting massaged and Serviced Daily to Living on the Streets. A Rats gotta' do what a Rats gotta' do though.
The Streets is not so Bad. I Lived in a ShipYard over by Felles Point Once. Saw a lot of Action there. Then I hitched a ride on a Boat up the river and headed for DC. I lived in a Cubby Hole over Behind U Street. A lot of Assholes and Junkies live over there. Wasn't really my Bag.
This one time we Made a Rat Camp and there was this cat who used to come nosing around. Figured he was Looking for a bite of some Rat Salad. A Bunch of us got together and one night when he was asleep we chewed all Four of his legs off. Man, that was the funniest shit I have ever seen. The Stupid Fuck was in the Middle of a dream. Probably chasing some mice or something and he Jolted awake and tried to take off Running and all he did was Move about 2 inches and Start up with that meowing shit. God, I hate that sound. It's like nails on a Chalkboard to a Rat.
Cats are Stupid just like Humans. Only difference is that they have 4 Legs and Humans have 2. Unless you're a Circus Freak or Crippled or something and you have more or less. But Legs don't mean shit. They're Sticks. Humans could have 4 legs and Cats could have 8 and Rats would still despise you both. Worthless the both of you are.
All the Rat Gang, we was all Laughing at this Legless Fuck Meowing in a Pile of its own Blood and a Bunch of us Got overtop of it on a Rafter and Let Forth a Torrent of Rat Droppings on the Prick. The Cat couldn't even move and it had to just sit there while the Lot of Us just Shit all over it. By the Time we was all done its Fur was so caked with shit that it was stuck to the concrete. I even took home one of the legs and gnawed on it like you would a chicken bone. That fucking thing lasted me almost a month. Cats have a kind of bizarre after taste. Sort of has a hint of Pumpkin Pie flavoring to it. Weirdness.Man, that was a Gas though. Good times, Good times.
I Remember I knew this Prom Queen once over in Georgetown on Wisconsin Avenue. She Lived overtop of a Shoe Store and Used to try to sneak out at night to gather food scrapings for all her brood. She had a real problem keeping her legs closed that whore piece.
I met a Street Urchin named Chewka who said he Banged her once. Hell, one of those stinking kids might even be his. The thing about Prom Queens is that they never lose that Queen mentality. It's like no matter what they do in life, whether they're Blogging for Sex or Picking through Garbage Cans to feed their illicit Progeny because their tits are dried up like Raisins and can't produce Bitches Milk anymore, they just never seem to understand that the world doesn't revolve around them and they don't know it all. They think that just because they gurgled the Cum of a Prom King once and got Preggers more times than a Welfare Case that Life somehow owes them something. They think the Rest of the world waits to shine until they crunk their Raisin tits and droopy ass out of the bed every day. Stupid Humans. Don't Know how many times I can say that before it lose its potency.
I Mean, who cares if you sucked on the knob of a Prom King? Where is he now? He's probably jockeying a thrift store in the Wetlands. He was not a Real King. You weren't a Real Queen either. These women wake up every day screaming because the stupid housecat crawled inside of their Vagina. Thats what you get for Birthing a country and giving way to a Snapper the Size of a Rock Lobster.
This Red Wench lived atop a shoe store on Wisconsin and I followed her back one night because she had picked up a piece of Fungus ridden cheese that I had hidden underneath a pile of rubble. The whole thing confused me because I couldn't figure out what she was going to do with it.
When I followed her back to that Shit Hole Shoe Store I could not believe what I was seeing. She had a house full of of Rat pets. Domesticated Fuckwits Eating the Cheese of a hard working Street Thug. Made me sick. Still, there was nothing I could do. Too many of them. I thought for a second that I had a good mind to burn the store down with all of them in it. But I got a little bit of Heart. Them Rats wasn't doing me no harm. They didn't know where that cheese came from. She could have made it in her Crotch Factory outlet for all they knew. I still don't like spoiled ass House Rats, but I Like Fucking Prom Queens a whole lot less since then.
After Georgetown I started to fall apart. It wasn't my fault. The weather turned shitty and even the bums were seeking accomodations indoors. When things would get desperate I could always count on sleeping in the swampy ass cheeks of one of those bums. My body fit real good in there. The Smell wasn't so bad. I had slept in an actual Swamp before. Sort of similar but just different. Still, it was always warm and if I got thirsty there was always plenty of Swamp Juice to slurp from the walls. Slurping Swampees we used to call it.
I was having trouble finding bums to sneak bunk in. So I had made a decision to go and visit my friend Joey Nibbles in the Sewer when things got too rough. He had extended an open standing invitation to come for a visit and my options were running low.
Joey Nibbles was this Rat that I knew from Chinatown. We used to raid this Restaurant when the lights were out. Kind of made me hate the smell of rice though. Everything smelled like rice. Except for the rice. The rice smelled like dirty laundry. Strangest thing you ever did smell.
This one time we hit up that stinky noodle hut and mixed it up with some Feline Fucks. That was the night that we learned the real reason they call them pussies. Joey had gotten a line to score some Msg. This shithole off 51st and Lexington called Wang Ding Dung.
To you stupid humans Msg is nothing but a flavor enhancer for food.But that stuff is like heroin to a Rat. We have been getting high off of Msg for centuries. The shit that you get nowadays is mostly cut. The days of pure un-cut Msg were well before my time. But even back in my old party days if you knew the right Rats you were guarenteed at least a 70/30 ratio of cut. That is damn impressive.
Man, I tell you.... that shit gets you high. All it seems to do for humans is make the food taste better and make them wanna eat more. Bunch of fucking pigs, you humans are. Bigger Pigs than even Pigs are. Msg produces a feeling of euphoria in a Rat. It makes us feel like we are on top of the world. Cats love it too.
I had met Joey in a brawl one night. I seen that Filthy Rat go shitzo on a ferret in a dive alley. He took a tooth pick and impaled this ferrets dick to the ground, before he nibbled it off and spit it in his face. That was why they called him Joey Nibbles on account he liked to gnaw through stuff. I guess Joey Gnaw didn't sound right, so Nibbles it was.
The ferret was howling and bleeding all over the place and one of his friends came up behind Joey and tried to whack him on the head with a pebble bat. I gave him the heads up and he turned around and jammed out both that pricks eyes in a single blow. Squished right through and blinded him in about half of a second.
Ever since then, me and Joey was real tight. We started hanging around that Wang Ding Dung joint on account of all the good shit they used to toss out every night. All kinds of stuff. Food,supplies, you name it.... they probably had extras and just threw it away on a nightly basis.
Once Joey got a hold of some Rotting Beef tips that had been soaking in a vat of Msg and he said he tripped for days on it. A lot of them ching chong joints don't like to use Msg anymore. Too many humans are allergic to it, and the Rats and Cats all became addicted to it and started hanging around, so most of them places started using this Msg substitute called Crystaline Mathobenadrixacolin. Crystal Math.
Crystal Math is bad news. It smells just like Msg but when you ingest it, the additives in it that produce the flavoring similar to the Msg, they start to sizzle flesh and you begin to burn from the inside out. It's nasty. I seen it happen to a Rat once. He had gotten a hold of some of it on a hot pepper. It made him spontaneously combust and chunk out all over the place. As we were sitting there picking off pieces of Boomtown Rat from our fur most seemed to think that it was the Hot Pepper that did him in. But, I knew. It was that shit.
So anyways, Joey Nibbles recognized the taste of Msg. The real shit. The good shit. At least an 80/20 cut according to Joey. We decided to hit this place up and make off with as much as we could carry out. Of course, real Msg was a big deal and these Fucking cats also had the same idea.
Me and Joey went up against this gang of cats. These Furball Fucktards thought they were slick, hiding in a vat of Soy Sauce until the owner, Chung King Pow Wing Dong, locked the storage room up for the night.
We were already inside because Nibbles and me, we had swam from the sewer up out of the Toilet and he had Gnawed through the wall. Only Joey Nibbles would think of some shit like that.
We were in the storage room and very close to nabbing the Msg and these Pussy Juicers rolled up on us. All Black faced. We thought that they was a gang or something. But one rumble and a tumble and we started getting sloshed with Soy Sauce.
We took these Pussies down hard. Joey Nibbles, always the innovator of creative disposal, he shoved hot peppers into their little kitty assholes. Man, they were hurting. Probably took a week to get the scorch out of their insides.
This one cat, a Siamese..... you know how you can tell a Siamese? You can tell by looking at the tips from the head to the tail. The colors have a very distintive pattern. Front to back.... Black,Gold,Black,Gold,Gold,Black. It can be pretty intimidating when you see this array charging at you.
Siamese have this reputation for being bad asses on account of they're so temperamental and shit. It's all Pussy to me, and especially to Joey Nibbles. He ain't afraid of no Siamese shitheads.
This Siamese thought it was extra menacing with that soy sauce drenched all over it ..... truth is, it looked pretty stupid to me and Nibbles. The cat charged him and he grabbed a chopstick and impaled the piece of fluff. It looked like a Furry shish-ka-bob. Fucking Siamese. Hate 'em with a Passion.
Me and Nibbles sent them Pussies packing and made off with enough Msg to get us high for a year. After this little mis-adventure, I just always remembered Joey Nibbles telling me that if I ever needed a place to crash I was more than welcomed to hang at his place in the South quarter of the sewer mane. I took him up on this proposal and I ended up staying with him and his Clan for about 9 months. Those 9 months were the lowest point of my Ratly existence. Not on account of Nibbles. He was as good as they come.
Nibbles taught me a lot when I was living in the sewer. I learned some new tricks. Started to think about things and see things differently. One thing I learned was that just because a Rat lives in the sewer don't mean that he's a Rat Bastard. Sure, many of them are lowlifes and tainted from too much life in the bung and sleeping in the guts of the sewer. But they're Rats. Just like me.
When hard times hit, you better do whatever you can do to stay Filthy and Hard to the Core. Being a sewer Rat was no picnic. But those dregs of the vermin society got a whole lot more dignity and Rat sense than any house bitch. Sewer Rats got Wicked Street cred and skills that will get you whatever you need, when you need it and take you wherever you need to go on your own time. All being a house Rat teaches you is what its like to depend on puny humans for everything. It goes against everything a Rat should stand for. I hated living in the sewer. It did Joey Nibbles in. Poor Fucker.
I like being a hood Rat though. The breeze on my sac. The pavement at my feet. Spreading Filth and eating Garbage. Sure beats the bung of the sewer and the confines of a glass house. But, I get it. You do what you gotta do. Living. Learning. Filth. The Rat way. It's the only way as far as I'm concerned.
*****Blog reposted from Bentherat blog page. Original post date 9/5/2010*****
READ "DARKWALKER" BY JOHN URBANCIK
The thing I like most about John Urbancik is that you never really know what you are going to get with his stories. He melds genres with the same ease that a master chef might use to handpick his ingrediants. With his latest novel, Darkwalker, the literary chef of the macabre cooks up a hearty blend of horror,action,romance, and fantasy and takes you on one hell of a journey that is far and away the coolest mind trip of the Summer reading list.
Jack Harlow is a man able to see those things that tend to go bump in our nights. The things that the rest of us can't see and even if we could surely wouldn't want to. Things such as ghosts, zombies, vampires, demons and wraiths have no quarrel with his voyeurism though. They go about their rampaging business while Jack goes about business of his own, which is recording all of his encounters should any of the information he has gathered prove to be useful at some point. When Jack meets Lisa Sparrow all hope of his up until then peaceful co-existence with all of the gruesome ghoulies and such is off and Hell literally breaks loose amidst the haunted city of Orlando.
John Urbancik has very quickly become one of my favorite writers. His previously touted genre splicing abilities aside the man is simply a damn fine writer who grips you by the mind and whisks you away into the world he has created. His stories pull you right in from their opening lines and never let you go even after you have dropped the book from your fingers. Darkwalker is no exception. It's action packed and the frantic pacing carried the story right along until the crash,bang,wallop of its climax. I found myself being so swept up into this tale that I did not want it to end and thankfully it doesn't seem that it is going to just yet as I have heard that Urbancik plans to turn Jack Harlows adventures into a series.
If you are a reader who craves something fresh,tasty and far out of the ordinary that is guaranteed to blow your mind and rock your reader socks right off then Mr. Urbancik will do you up just right. Darkwalker would be a perfect place to start. Aren't you hungry?
Available for Amazon kindle here-
http://www.amazon.com/DarkWalker-ebook/dp/B0087U1JKA/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1340917644&sr=8-2&keywords=darkwalker
READ "AMONGST THE DEAD" BY DAVID BERNSTEIN
A zombie plague has swept through New York, both city and state, and threatens to chomp more than just the big apple. It's up to our young heroine, Riley, to stay alive and her journey from pre-teen to survivalist introduces her to an assortment of live characters as well as armies of gut munching dead in a book that will be virtually impossible to put down once it has been picked up and reading has commenced.
Amongst the dead is a balls to the wall thrill ride that will please fans of fast paced storytelling as well as those gore hungry readers who want the grue to drip on them as they try to turn the blood crusted pages. But this is more than just a mere zombie tale as it gives us one hell of a likable heroine in young Riley and by the end of the story you will not only be cheering for her but craving her further adventures just as her zombie foes once craved her flesh.
Author David Bernstein has masterfully crafted a tale that is dark, action packed and even touching. Delivering plenty of thrills, chills and gory wound spills this is one ride that is guaranteed to rock the reader so hard they won't be able to catch their breath until they have reached the end. Not only is this novel one of the years must reads but Mr. Bernstein proves that he is a writer to watch out for and read at all costs!
Sunday, December 9, 2012
FILTH 101 AND GOAT BUNG
If I told you once I have told you a hundred times, stop making these
exorcism movies and stop thinking that any woman can compare to that of
Filthy Regan. These movies suck and she is a real woman.
What is a real woman?
Ask any man this question and they might each retort with their own unique description of who,what, and why. So many men. So many women. So many flavors of kool-aid in the GREAT BIG PUNCHBOWL of life. Since an awful lot of men seem to try and pretend that their dangling particle functions as a second brain, they tend to believe that a real woman is nothing more than a pretty face and a wax mound of milk duds. Most men wouldn't know a real woman if she gargled their peter salt and spit it back out onto a pot pie while they have their backs turned.
I am not most men though. I am the gitche manitou. Oh great spirit. I know my shit and I know my women. Believe it. Women are a dime a dozen. Inflation doesn't relegate itself in the bosom, ya know. But between rocks and hard places and nooks and crannies and spinsters and rabid grannies, if one searches high and low they will find the gemstone being locked away in a smelly butterfly jar, hidden from the imbeciles and insinceres of the peni kingdom.
I searched far and deep and wide and long and short and big and tall and small and behind the wall and after many thousand years of diligence and groaning noises, my patience and crusted black heart was awarded the grand prize of girlish ghoulishness. I found the sickest,sweetest,filthiest,sexiest, and most deliciously vile, in the best possible way, woman that has ever womaned in the entire history of womanhood. Filthy Regan.
You might have seen the way she regurgitates and levitates and said to yourself that you wish to get her or get with her and the only thing that you need to know right here and right now is this.... you'll never get her and you'll never get with her unless you just happen to be in an elevator with her at the same time, and should this ever happen do know that you are in for one hell of a ride and your pansy ass should have taken the stairs.
Filthy Regan is a true woman in every sense of the sense and hygiene. She is FILTHY. With ALL caps and not just an F. When she levitates she not only ascends that sexy pea crusted body of hers. She moves me, that woman does.
She levitates in the room and then flies straight into my heart every single time. Her skin is so sweetly vile it sends shivers down my tiny spine and makes me flail my stumps with ghastly delight. The way her flesh crackles and peels, it's a filth lovers dream come true and turned into a malodorous nightmare. Nobody can spew profanity with the flair and repulsive grace of my filthy one. I particularly love it when she talks dirty to me, and believe me when I say that no one can do it up like my Reganator. She is a filth machine that spews non-stop when any other woman would only just be getting warmed up. She once said "your mother sucks cocks in hell". Who can top such grimey charisma? If anybody else had said that to me I'd have to bust their ass bone, but when my goddess of gore driblets says it, she just drives me into a sludge fueled frenzy and it makes me want to rip that rancid nightgown right off of her. Oh, and that nightgown..... the way she never allows it to touch soap and filtered water and it just collects mildew and disease.... I am doing the midget moonwalk just thinking about all that cotton and decay.
Most people misunderstand her because she is widely known for her pea soup propelling propensity and outpouring of pot syrup onto padres. That is what a real woman does though. She is making a statement of defiled dissent and that statement is often obscured because people are idiots who ignore the truth in lieu of believing that penguins are cute and incapable of harm. But they fight evil, and what good is to be found in that? Evil is the only good thing that this planet can ever school and drool us.
I have to tell you that when I saw Filthy Regan vomit on that priest I got all sparkly and gitche inside. I encourage such eruptions. When we are alone and rolling in the filthy bedsheets of our GREAT BIG BED I elicit sounds of joy whenever I hear her make that gurgling sound like a backed up garbage disposal. I know what is coming. The fluids of true love.
I also enjoy it when we have company over and she squats on the carpet and lets loose a fury of girlish pee that is incomparable in this world of wonder and worth. An average woman would excuse herself and slip away quietly to a room that contains a porcelain waste basket and then wash up after operating her feminine dumptruck. But not my Filthy Regan. She squats and rots and it bestills my very soul. Nobody exudes pea and pee quite like my demigurgle. So beautifully crusty, deliciously gooey, and disgustingly elegant. She is my BFFSM. Best friend forever and soulmate. Just so you know.
When compared to my princess of pea, other woman just seem so ridiculous to me. Even when they try and front like they are possessed by the devil. It's a pointless act that just seems so desperately drab that it is more yawning than fawning. Nobody rocks this skanky dance hole like Filthy Regan. Other women wish they could be as filthy as she. They spittle some dribble and spout some gibberish, but it's no match for spewing and stewing like a pro. These shitty wanna-be ho-bitches don't even know what pea soup is anymore. Now they use cream corn or french onion soup and this is all just.... vomitous... that is, if vomitous was a bad thing.
I saw a movie once called Beyond the door. That lady tried so hard to be filthy but she just wasn't cutting it. She threw a plate of flan at the ceiling to impress some kids. Come on people, get real! FLAN? Are you kidding me? A real woman would have pulled out a blade and given those little brats some severed lady fingers. But flan? gee, I guess she was all out of parfait or ambrosia salad. Real filthy choice of feed there.
Maybe the audience thought that was terrifying though. People are idiots. They don't have audiences like they used to. I remember when my honey pop of pea plop first came on the screen in 1973. People were passing out and spewing in the aisles. Now that is spirit. Some people even ran from the theaters. Bastards. They don't know style when they see it. I hope they were all hit by cars. It's people like this that ruined my sweet-ick-ums life story when they tried to re-release it many years later.
The film makers were trying to scare up some more box office for the movie and being reminded of the popularity of the olympics they decided it would be cool to have some gymnastics in there. But gymnastics are not filthy. Satan would never do jumping jacks or push ups and neither would Filthy Regan. That is why they had to hire a stunt double to film that shit, because my girl had class and enough sense to refuse to do that scene. Imagine that, a stunt filthy person. You can't fake filth. Just sayin'.
That was a moronic marketing ploy and I still cringe to this day if anybody ever brings it up. So, get this through your heads people.... that gymnastics thing was not Filthy Regan. Oh, but shoving the crucifix into her glory hole..... yeah now, that was my girl. God, I love her so.
You would never see someone do that type of thing now. Shoving Jesus into their filthy bread closet. Nobody would have the gumption or make the extra effort these days because people are too busy spying Jesus in their oatmeal or in their Rice Chex to give him a real work-out.
I just don't understand why they even bother making these shitty retreads and thinking there will ever be another like my filthy filthster. No woman can ever compare to Filthy Regan. Even the devil knows this. But the people that make movies will never learn. They just did this new movie called The Last Exorcism. Let us indeed hope that this is the last one because I'm getting tired of making phonecalls and soiling billboards to get the word out that nobody.... no how .... Hell, high water, or even pea soup flood will ever be able to hold a stick of dirty dynamite to the mistress of mire herself..... Filthy Fucking Regan. It's not going to happen.
So to Hollywood, I say this..... please save all of your money for facelifts and vanity lumps and handjobs or maybe make some more movies with robots and trolls in the cast because these things tend to work dirt cheap as opposed to filthy cheap. Leave Satan and his fellow demonic co-horts to fester in their flaming bed rests before you try and put pea soup in a bedpan instead of where it belongs. On the priests remember? Not in them or around them or dribbling down the chin of some swamp rat claiming possession by the dark master. On the priests. Preferably directly in their faces.
Oh, and who or what is Ablahamdam supposed to be? That is a demon? Not any demon that I have ever heard of. Where did you get that one? Did you pull it out of the same book where you got the recipe for flan?
Enough with the exorcism movies already! Filthy Regan can not be contested. Although, if you are going to try at least try harder. This Last Exorcism nonsense just made me appalled to be a demon and when you are in fact a demon yourself this is not a compliment. My curious nature and love for a good enough horror flick always seems to get the best of me. Even when they churn out these shopping mall horror movies that are about as terrifying as Aunt Flo and her crimson bloomers.
This movie made me want to scream and yet, did not make me scream. I usually get what I want when I scream. So, if I do it loud enough and long enough..... will you just stop with the attempts to cash in on the reputation of my filthy maiden vat of hot gurgling pea-liscious-ness? I know I know.... I take this all so serious because I am biased. But come on.... did you see this movie? The girl doesn't even try at all to be filthy. She makes some water bubble with her stinky feet. If her feet are so filthy how come she is seen wearing shoes? Go barefoot bitch. Oh, and that nightgown you were wearing.... don't make me laugh. There wasn't a stain on it. No, blood doesn't count!
This girl was hideous in the most non-hideous sense of the word. She licks the side of a camera ladies arm. Anybody knows that if you are really filthy you lick the underarm and only after you have confirmed the absence of soap for a good 2-3 days. But this girl is no moll of mulch just because she claims to have been impregnated by one of Jerry's star kids.
She lets loose a modest dribble of spittle of some kind. Looked to be cream corn and I won't even go into how disgraceful this is to the realm of all that is filthy again. She stabs a hillbilly in the face and bludgeons a cat. Hillbillies have been pointless since that banjo thing and dogs are better than cats anyway. Everybody knows this. Hello! Hounds of Hell, remember?
She draws some pictures and spouts some gibberish because people seem to think that drawing and spouting gibberish are what us filthy and evil types do. This is mixed up though as it is only what retarded people do. Please get your facts straight. We don't dribble or spittle either. We spew. She also made some baby noises. This confused me greatly. Oh, and what was with trying to drown the dirty babydoll? Dirty babydolls are on our side, remember?
They chain her to a bed. Are you kidding me? Filthy Regan wouldn't stand for this one bit. Besides chains can not contain real evil or filth. More lies and hypocrisy. Demons do not play the flute either. Oh, and here we go again with the gymnastics..... that linebacker move, the scarecrow dance.... contortions.... back bends..... the splits..... funny faces.... clowns do these things, not demons. Oh, and come on really.... a blowing job? It's called a blowjob girlie, and you don't ever offer one to a priest unless you're an altar boy. Know your history.
While we're at it, painting pentagrams all over the house is kind of 1970's gauche too. Maybe that seems cool to some of those little 12 year old mallrats who think that Living Color is a real black metal band and that if you step on a crack you actually will break your mothers humpback. But graffiti only works in civil domain and not rural housing. As movies go, this one sucks shit through a slurpee straw and as being filthy goes this girl fails miserably in all the most pristine ways of being miserable.
This apparently will have to be the hundred and first time that I will say this stuff, but movies regarding possession by demonic forces are never going to better The Exorcist and women who think that filth and being a real woman is about going a few hours without washing your twat and having some dribble down your chin just need to accept that they will never be as glorious and filthy as Filthy Regan.
Filthy Regan is filth squared. But with style. She spews and goos and dirties it up and flies across the room with a grace that is unrivaled. I know what some of you are thinking. You wish to mock me and my amorous feculence by reminding me about that lady from the anti-christ. You know, the one who licked the inside of the goat's ass.
True, filth knows no boundaries, and while licking a goat's rectum is going to reserve her a first class ticket to the grungy bowl, I am the Gitche Manitou. I know filth and I know women. But first and foremost I am a manitou..... and this manitou ain't kissing no girl with goat bung on her breath.
What is a real woman?
Ask any man this question and they might each retort with their own unique description of who,what, and why. So many men. So many women. So many flavors of kool-aid in the GREAT BIG PUNCHBOWL of life. Since an awful lot of men seem to try and pretend that their dangling particle functions as a second brain, they tend to believe that a real woman is nothing more than a pretty face and a wax mound of milk duds. Most men wouldn't know a real woman if she gargled their peter salt and spit it back out onto a pot pie while they have their backs turned.
I am not most men though. I am the gitche manitou. Oh great spirit. I know my shit and I know my women. Believe it. Women are a dime a dozen. Inflation doesn't relegate itself in the bosom, ya know. But between rocks and hard places and nooks and crannies and spinsters and rabid grannies, if one searches high and low they will find the gemstone being locked away in a smelly butterfly jar, hidden from the imbeciles and insinceres of the peni kingdom.
I searched far and deep and wide and long and short and big and tall and small and behind the wall and after many thousand years of diligence and groaning noises, my patience and crusted black heart was awarded the grand prize of girlish ghoulishness. I found the sickest,sweetest,filthiest,sexiest, and most deliciously vile, in the best possible way, woman that has ever womaned in the entire history of womanhood. Filthy Regan.
You might have seen the way she regurgitates and levitates and said to yourself that you wish to get her or get with her and the only thing that you need to know right here and right now is this.... you'll never get her and you'll never get with her unless you just happen to be in an elevator with her at the same time, and should this ever happen do know that you are in for one hell of a ride and your pansy ass should have taken the stairs.
Filthy Regan is a true woman in every sense of the sense and hygiene. She is FILTHY. With ALL caps and not just an F. When she levitates she not only ascends that sexy pea crusted body of hers. She moves me, that woman does.
She levitates in the room and then flies straight into my heart every single time. Her skin is so sweetly vile it sends shivers down my tiny spine and makes me flail my stumps with ghastly delight. The way her flesh crackles and peels, it's a filth lovers dream come true and turned into a malodorous nightmare. Nobody can spew profanity with the flair and repulsive grace of my filthy one. I particularly love it when she talks dirty to me, and believe me when I say that no one can do it up like my Reganator. She is a filth machine that spews non-stop when any other woman would only just be getting warmed up. She once said "your mother sucks cocks in hell". Who can top such grimey charisma? If anybody else had said that to me I'd have to bust their ass bone, but when my goddess of gore driblets says it, she just drives me into a sludge fueled frenzy and it makes me want to rip that rancid nightgown right off of her. Oh, and that nightgown..... the way she never allows it to touch soap and filtered water and it just collects mildew and disease.... I am doing the midget moonwalk just thinking about all that cotton and decay.
Most people misunderstand her because she is widely known for her pea soup propelling propensity and outpouring of pot syrup onto padres. That is what a real woman does though. She is making a statement of defiled dissent and that statement is often obscured because people are idiots who ignore the truth in lieu of believing that penguins are cute and incapable of harm. But they fight evil, and what good is to be found in that? Evil is the only good thing that this planet can ever school and drool us.
I have to tell you that when I saw Filthy Regan vomit on that priest I got all sparkly and gitche inside. I encourage such eruptions. When we are alone and rolling in the filthy bedsheets of our GREAT BIG BED I elicit sounds of joy whenever I hear her make that gurgling sound like a backed up garbage disposal. I know what is coming. The fluids of true love.
I also enjoy it when we have company over and she squats on the carpet and lets loose a fury of girlish pee that is incomparable in this world of wonder and worth. An average woman would excuse herself and slip away quietly to a room that contains a porcelain waste basket and then wash up after operating her feminine dumptruck. But not my Filthy Regan. She squats and rots and it bestills my very soul. Nobody exudes pea and pee quite like my demigurgle. So beautifully crusty, deliciously gooey, and disgustingly elegant. She is my BFFSM. Best friend forever and soulmate. Just so you know.
When compared to my princess of pea, other woman just seem so ridiculous to me. Even when they try and front like they are possessed by the devil. It's a pointless act that just seems so desperately drab that it is more yawning than fawning. Nobody rocks this skanky dance hole like Filthy Regan. Other women wish they could be as filthy as she. They spittle some dribble and spout some gibberish, but it's no match for spewing and stewing like a pro. These shitty wanna-be ho-bitches don't even know what pea soup is anymore. Now they use cream corn or french onion soup and this is all just.... vomitous... that is, if vomitous was a bad thing.
I saw a movie once called Beyond the door. That lady tried so hard to be filthy but she just wasn't cutting it. She threw a plate of flan at the ceiling to impress some kids. Come on people, get real! FLAN? Are you kidding me? A real woman would have pulled out a blade and given those little brats some severed lady fingers. But flan? gee, I guess she was all out of parfait or ambrosia salad. Real filthy choice of feed there.
Maybe the audience thought that was terrifying though. People are idiots. They don't have audiences like they used to. I remember when my honey pop of pea plop first came on the screen in 1973. People were passing out and spewing in the aisles. Now that is spirit. Some people even ran from the theaters. Bastards. They don't know style when they see it. I hope they were all hit by cars. It's people like this that ruined my sweet-ick-ums life story when they tried to re-release it many years later.
The film makers were trying to scare up some more box office for the movie and being reminded of the popularity of the olympics they decided it would be cool to have some gymnastics in there. But gymnastics are not filthy. Satan would never do jumping jacks or push ups and neither would Filthy Regan. That is why they had to hire a stunt double to film that shit, because my girl had class and enough sense to refuse to do that scene. Imagine that, a stunt filthy person. You can't fake filth. Just sayin'.
That was a moronic marketing ploy and I still cringe to this day if anybody ever brings it up. So, get this through your heads people.... that gymnastics thing was not Filthy Regan. Oh, but shoving the crucifix into her glory hole..... yeah now, that was my girl. God, I love her so.
You would never see someone do that type of thing now. Shoving Jesus into their filthy bread closet. Nobody would have the gumption or make the extra effort these days because people are too busy spying Jesus in their oatmeal or in their Rice Chex to give him a real work-out.
I just don't understand why they even bother making these shitty retreads and thinking there will ever be another like my filthy filthster. No woman can ever compare to Filthy Regan. Even the devil knows this. But the people that make movies will never learn. They just did this new movie called The Last Exorcism. Let us indeed hope that this is the last one because I'm getting tired of making phonecalls and soiling billboards to get the word out that nobody.... no how .... Hell, high water, or even pea soup flood will ever be able to hold a stick of dirty dynamite to the mistress of mire herself..... Filthy Fucking Regan. It's not going to happen.
So to Hollywood, I say this..... please save all of your money for facelifts and vanity lumps and handjobs or maybe make some more movies with robots and trolls in the cast because these things tend to work dirt cheap as opposed to filthy cheap. Leave Satan and his fellow demonic co-horts to fester in their flaming bed rests before you try and put pea soup in a bedpan instead of where it belongs. On the priests remember? Not in them or around them or dribbling down the chin of some swamp rat claiming possession by the dark master. On the priests. Preferably directly in their faces.
Oh, and who or what is Ablahamdam supposed to be? That is a demon? Not any demon that I have ever heard of. Where did you get that one? Did you pull it out of the same book where you got the recipe for flan?
Enough with the exorcism movies already! Filthy Regan can not be contested. Although, if you are going to try at least try harder. This Last Exorcism nonsense just made me appalled to be a demon and when you are in fact a demon yourself this is not a compliment. My curious nature and love for a good enough horror flick always seems to get the best of me. Even when they churn out these shopping mall horror movies that are about as terrifying as Aunt Flo and her crimson bloomers.
This movie made me want to scream and yet, did not make me scream. I usually get what I want when I scream. So, if I do it loud enough and long enough..... will you just stop with the attempts to cash in on the reputation of my filthy maiden vat of hot gurgling pea-liscious-ness? I know I know.... I take this all so serious because I am biased. But come on.... did you see this movie? The girl doesn't even try at all to be filthy. She makes some water bubble with her stinky feet. If her feet are so filthy how come she is seen wearing shoes? Go barefoot bitch. Oh, and that nightgown you were wearing.... don't make me laugh. There wasn't a stain on it. No, blood doesn't count!
This girl was hideous in the most non-hideous sense of the word. She licks the side of a camera ladies arm. Anybody knows that if you are really filthy you lick the underarm and only after you have confirmed the absence of soap for a good 2-3 days. But this girl is no moll of mulch just because she claims to have been impregnated by one of Jerry's star kids.
She lets loose a modest dribble of spittle of some kind. Looked to be cream corn and I won't even go into how disgraceful this is to the realm of all that is filthy again. She stabs a hillbilly in the face and bludgeons a cat. Hillbillies have been pointless since that banjo thing and dogs are better than cats anyway. Everybody knows this. Hello! Hounds of Hell, remember?
She draws some pictures and spouts some gibberish because people seem to think that drawing and spouting gibberish are what us filthy and evil types do. This is mixed up though as it is only what retarded people do. Please get your facts straight. We don't dribble or spittle either. We spew. She also made some baby noises. This confused me greatly. Oh, and what was with trying to drown the dirty babydoll? Dirty babydolls are on our side, remember?
They chain her to a bed. Are you kidding me? Filthy Regan wouldn't stand for this one bit. Besides chains can not contain real evil or filth. More lies and hypocrisy. Demons do not play the flute either. Oh, and here we go again with the gymnastics..... that linebacker move, the scarecrow dance.... contortions.... back bends..... the splits..... funny faces.... clowns do these things, not demons. Oh, and come on really.... a blowing job? It's called a blowjob girlie, and you don't ever offer one to a priest unless you're an altar boy. Know your history.
While we're at it, painting pentagrams all over the house is kind of 1970's gauche too. Maybe that seems cool to some of those little 12 year old mallrats who think that Living Color is a real black metal band and that if you step on a crack you actually will break your mothers humpback. But graffiti only works in civil domain and not rural housing. As movies go, this one sucks shit through a slurpee straw and as being filthy goes this girl fails miserably in all the most pristine ways of being miserable.
This apparently will have to be the hundred and first time that I will say this stuff, but movies regarding possession by demonic forces are never going to better The Exorcist and women who think that filth and being a real woman is about going a few hours without washing your twat and having some dribble down your chin just need to accept that they will never be as glorious and filthy as Filthy Regan.
Filthy Regan is filth squared. But with style. She spews and goos and dirties it up and flies across the room with a grace that is unrivaled. I know what some of you are thinking. You wish to mock me and my amorous feculence by reminding me about that lady from the anti-christ. You know, the one who licked the inside of the goat's ass.
True, filth knows no boundaries, and while licking a goat's rectum is going to reserve her a first class ticket to the grungy bowl, I am the Gitche Manitou. I know filth and I know women. But first and foremost I am a manitou..... and this manitou ain't kissing no girl with goat bung on her breath.
HORROR
He knew there was something behind the door-
Onward his reluctance would travel-
Ready to greet his darkest fears head on.
Rotting smells filled the room and cloaked the moment like a coat made of spoiled meat.
Oh, the terror he now felt slashing within him like razors-
Reaching for the handle on the door, he sucked in his breath and held it until-
Onward his reluctance would travel-
Ready to greet his darkest fears head on.
Rotting smells filled the room and cloaked the moment like a coat made of spoiled meat.
Oh, the terror he now felt slashing within him like razors-
Reaching for the handle on the door, he sucked in his breath and held it until-
MANITOU VERSUS REGAN - JOIN US
The dawn broke and spread forth the new day like a really warm glaze of sexy peanut butter being spread on a hot and juicy love muffin.
The water broke and spilled into the cracks in the pavement like boiling crimson wine and overflowed intoxicating rivers into the city streets.
The pus spilt forth from the wound, slicing outward on the folds of flesh upon her back, like a dam losing its liquid contents through the cracking and peeling wall.
There was a twisting and turning and pushing and burning sensation as the pea soup showered its murky spray into the faces of all who dare to convey their message of cretinism.
And so the blackness shall be wrenched forth from the corner in which it lurked and corrupt the minds of all who oppose the brilliance of darkened cinematic desires.
Manitou was born into this world of pitiful existence. For centuries he roamed this wasteland of barren thought and spent a larger portion of his journey being misunderstood and in turn misunderstanding.
He scoured this crusted rectum of a planet in search of relevant thought so as to simply have a conversation that had more than one side, and to find his true soulmate, a fiery hearted demon dumpling consumed with twisted desires and a razor sharp sense of humor that could slice through putrid humanity like apple butter.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the realm of existence there was born a girl. An equally misunderstood and beautifully blackened soul who used her affinity for pea soup to drown out the noises of blah-blah-blahs and sightings of a world riddled with chick flicks and men who wear pantyhose.
Her name was Regan, and she was Filthy.
Brought together in this land of rabid dogs and cats who bump into walls, Manitou and Filthy Regan found a reason to exist in each other. To live. To love. To watch horror movies. Then to blog about it all.
This is their avenue of darkened thoughts and twisted sidewalks. Welcome. Now, Join us.
The water broke and spilled into the cracks in the pavement like boiling crimson wine and overflowed intoxicating rivers into the city streets.
The pus spilt forth from the wound, slicing outward on the folds of flesh upon her back, like a dam losing its liquid contents through the cracking and peeling wall.
There was a twisting and turning and pushing and burning sensation as the pea soup showered its murky spray into the faces of all who dare to convey their message of cretinism.
And so the blackness shall be wrenched forth from the corner in which it lurked and corrupt the minds of all who oppose the brilliance of darkened cinematic desires.
Manitou was born into this world of pitiful existence. For centuries he roamed this wasteland of barren thought and spent a larger portion of his journey being misunderstood and in turn misunderstanding.
He scoured this crusted rectum of a planet in search of relevant thought so as to simply have a conversation that had more than one side, and to find his true soulmate, a fiery hearted demon dumpling consumed with twisted desires and a razor sharp sense of humor that could slice through putrid humanity like apple butter.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the realm of existence there was born a girl. An equally misunderstood and beautifully blackened soul who used her affinity for pea soup to drown out the noises of blah-blah-blahs and sightings of a world riddled with chick flicks and men who wear pantyhose.
Her name was Regan, and she was Filthy.
Brought together in this land of rabid dogs and cats who bump into walls, Manitou and Filthy Regan found a reason to exist in each other. To live. To love. To watch horror movies. Then to blog about it all.
This is their avenue of darkened thoughts and twisted sidewalks. Welcome. Now, Join us.
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