Can 1 person ruin a town?

Can one person really ruin an entire town?

Oh, fuck yeah she can.  This is dangerous territory you’re marchin’ through, pointy.  On the way to work today, I had fantasies of demolishing your infrastructure.  By myself.  I’ll take down buildings entirely while you sleep if you like.  Fuck this shit.

You little fuckers are too terrified to deal with.

Another song from my horny nympho girl band.  No, they won’t have sex with you, just me.  Yeah, we’ll probably let you watch a few times.  Laaaayyyy-Deeeeeeeeezzzzzzzz!!!!  Where are ya?

The Anarchist Farmer
This shit has gone on for long enough, he thought.
Walked on, lied to, ripped off, for what?
Poisoned shit sold to zombie TV addicts
No other choice.  Lie for us or die.
Are ya sure?

Oh, I control horsie powers, the likes you ain’t never seen.
I can wrangle masses single-handedly, and these soldiers ain’t nice.
With boots and hand tools, we’ll turn your fences into zombie maulers.
Oh, and wait until the courthouse comes down with chains and yugos!

Little sledge hammers take down every sign in sight
Pliers and bolt cutters turn your welder into mine.
Oh, no there’s no room for any other leaders.
We go full consensus when I’ve finally fixed your shit for you.

Dictator has spoken.  Time you stop.

How’s that?  Good?  “Ain’t that some shit.”

Unposted FB status: I have nothing to say to any of you.  If you don’t wanna fuck, shut the fuck up and stay the fuck away from me.  Thanks, t.

I’m having a hard time figuring out/deciding what to do with this facebook shit.  I guess I’ll figure it out along the way.  I found the perfect picture that conveyed the tweet-esque sentiments above.  Dark, basement bathroom, showing my body to my shitty old camera.  Rawr.

Tweeted: “Coffee, you’re my hero.”

Suicide girls video blog.  Hawt!  I really want to be a suicide girl now.  Multiple multis.  Heh.

It goes to the highest bidder.  In all possible senses of the word.  Constant sex, constantly high, music always, video on whenever.  Bring it.

Tyler Tavy (A-WI) has a nice ring to it.

Autocrat.  Anarchist.  Same difference.  Infinite Horse(s) apiece.  Duck and cover, sheeples.

TWITTERPLAY Assignment: write a 1-tweet play that has a BAG FULL OF [something]. #tp80

@nYneoFutuRists Says “BAG FULL OF [something]” But it’s a car. I know. Why? Surely nothing to do with this stencil and spray paint. #tp80

@nYneoFutuRists SOMEBODY GIVE ME BAG FULL OF WEED, RIGHT FUCKING NOW!!! Oh, excuse me a sec. Sorry, your honor. #tp80

@nYneoFutuRists Y’all are dumber than a BAG FULL OF HAMMERS! No, claw hammers. Ball peen ones are quite witty. #tp80

@nYneoFutuRists Ok, go. penis.  peNiS.  PENIS!  BAG FULL OF TESTICLES!  Dude, no “creative” answers in this game.  Cheater. #tp80

@nYneoFutuRists Ahh, help!  He stole my BAG!  FULL OF IT!  Did not. Just put my card in it.  See?  Call me some time. #tp80

@nYneoFutuRists You really want an entire BAG FULL? OF COURSE! Why would I only go half-way? Good point. #tp80

All tweeted.  Nothing in between.  I bet they won’t show up again.  Censorship!!!

Look, I never said I was a good writer, but write I shall.

Tweeted: I never wanted to write.  I never wanted to do any of this shit.  I just want to dance across your skin.  Fill my schedule, sweeties.

Twitdrag.  Twitbog.  Twitfail.  The same Google API Script crashes every time.  W.T.F.

Oh, and the answer to the title of this blog is: One person can ruin a planet.  Towns are easy.

Hi.  My name is Tyler.  I am a full-time dancer and aspiring escort/wingman/activist/anti-legal-advocate/musician/videographer/presidential-candid-date.  I need a place to live for free, because nobody values anything I do.  I have an IQ around 135, I’m 6’2” with shoes, ~155 lbs, and I dance constantly (whether you can tell {you can’t} or not).  I’m completely dictatorial, but you’re a mindless slave, so that just might work out well.  If you let me and my dog/clients/partners stay in your extra room, garage, attic, basement, warehouse, shack, I will exchange occasional labor for pre-determined projects.  I can do all kinds of labor stuff, and I do it better than anybody I’ve ever met, whatever it is.  This is the main reason I can’t get a job.  Anyone and everyone feels utterly and completely inadequate around me, so they change the subject, occupy their time with useless condescending excuses for “helping” others, and just continue babbling while running in circles prescribed them by a system of fear, hate, deception, war, and outright lies.

I require a space of retreat, for I can only stand most of you in small bites at rare occasions.  Whatever, that’s how y’all treat me.

Yeah, I have/had family, but they won’t talk to me about anything of substance.  They’re terrified, generally, and therefore, of me.  Fuck ‘em.  My true/real “family” shares my love of love.  My love of action.  My love of executing the best possible solution to real-world problems without compromise based on the egos of liars and thieves.  If you’re screaming, at me, at inanimate objects, at animals, I will leave.  If you refuse to address real-world problems including sitting down with the old guard and telling them, “No, we’re not going to take your dictatorial control of this land any more.  Your way of doing things is illogical, mean, and downright dangerous.  You have to stop now.”
It’s an interview, I’m listening w/o watching.  Good stuff.
This one, you must watch to fully get.  Sub-titles, yo.

Yet another crappy blog post by your friendly neighborhood LazyAssWasteoid.  Calling me names will only make me love you more.

Hi mom!

p.s. i run my empire through a wire. baffling. mean. frighteningly effective.

p.p.s. shit is a new playlist, too.

~ by LazyAssWasteoid on 2010-09-14 (Tuesday).

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