fresh cut panttalones

fresh cut panttalones (to the cadence of homer at the end of this song)

you’re so van guard, you prolly think this riot’s about you. (yes, also a rip-off from the beautifully lippy one. :D)

fresh cut panttalones, fa fa fresh cut panttalones.
fresh cut panttalones, fa fa fresh cut panttalones.

your anarch ism is based on its own canon

fresh cut panttalones, fa fa fresh cut panttalones.
fresh cut panttalones, fa fa fresh cut panttalones.

your soul stains, will not be healed by shouting

teach the means of coms, teach the leveled play.
without the job ones, for now, no1ze gettin’ paid anyway.

violent reactionaries against everyone else, go!

our splife while, discumshi. oh wait, that’s a different song.

ok, i’m outtie. 4:02 pm. 8:31 pm, jiggity jig.  last night in car town. (editors note: it wasn’t.  mom stuck to her guns, continues refusal to negotiate in writing/stop abusing. “she can die a slow painful death as far as i care.” –me, out loud.  stay away from me, mom)

there we go, Wikipedia.  putting random scowly dude in my face makes me hiss violently at the screen.  a cute smiling woman?  i smile.  fuck your cookies.

i ain’t restarted in a while, so i’m gonna do that.  later 11:04 pm

put this in dance when uToob start worky ‘gain. tay.

seriously, asshead.  the lights are still on in the shop.  fuck.  right.  no, but how are we going to make the solar pod.  make?  we have no glass?  use plastic.  oh, right.

does it have to be rigid?  how are you going to hold it down?  how is it going to shed water?  clear corrugated roofing would work.  that won’t insulate at all.  two layers will leave an airspace that will provide some insulation.  hey, or we run across some insulated glass.

i don’t have to put up with your hate cindy

thanks for asking around to your friends to see if they have a spare room.  oh, that’s right, you still think i’m what?  not admittable.

if i’m paying rent, i will need an address, and you will have to adhere to landlord/tenant law.  if i’m not, and you’re maintaining full dictatorial control of the property, then i’m not paying a dime.  i will pay for the increased energy usage (my electricity), but then i will set up an off-the-grid system so that not only will i not be paying you for my use, but i will get it grid tied so that you will eventually end up paying me.


i ain’t been writing in a while, huh.  dictator puts writing on hold when we get that out of balance.

a book: the meanest true shit i ever wrote. by LazyAssWasteoid

it is all right here.  i may not edit it down at all.  maybe.  the alternate title will be abusive phrases for fun and profit.  no?  read selections at your next holiday gathering.  it’ll be a hoot!  maybe we just call it hoot.  go sort some wrenches.  good call.  1:00 pm. Thursday, December 08, 2011

awesome sauce.  last night, at the whiskey pig/poney/wrath of the girth show, i got there, grabbed a beer, got annoyed with the jukebox, then silence, then plugged the jukebox.  then, just as tick (yeah yeah yeahs) came on, j & j (drum and bass of good grief fayme) showed up, and that’s when i noticed that this was another of them nights of being surrounded by hottie cuteness.  she is so completely beautiful… and mean. lol. she doesn’t know me very well, but i’m in love with her already.  i know that’s not fair.  it just is.

then, a fb acquaintance (and i know i tweeted that she was hot, but i knew that already) came up and said hello.  she stood by me, looking adorable and leaning in close to talk during the band’s set.  sexy as fuck.  yes, i would leave this show, which i drove a half-hour to see, with you or many other girls in this room.  it’s written on my fucking forehead how much of a hornball whore i am.  if you don’t see it, i will tell you.  if you’re not planning to finish off that fucking hardon you’ve started, please don’t start one to begin with.  i dislike teasing.  i don’t even really like flirting.  i dislike being turned on by unnaturally reddened lips, bare legs, and cleavage, shown publicly in places where boners are inappropriate. it is un-fair.  this is why i lock myself in whatever home i can find and satiate my insatiables with a constant stream of cuteness and sex references.  it’s beginning to not work.  actually, just like everything else i’ve tried, it doesn’t work.  you know what does work?  one willing human.  one.  i’ve only ever tried females, they’re the ones who make me hard.  it just happens.  i can’t narrow down the relevant characteristics any more, other than “hottest girl in the room.”

hey, sexy pants, i hope the constant sexual tension you create fulfills your scientifico-capitalist need to waste time, piss people off, and pit them against each other for no reason.  gives you a feeling of power, right?  like when daddy yells at people, or shakes his fist like he could punch ya.  yup.  like not returning someone else’s property isn’t a violent act.  i should talk.  i have a box of stuff i have to return to its rightful owners before i take off, here.  i have no clue in what sense i mean that.

indigenous superscientist

its methods ingrained, on its own dna.
it read the blueprints and told the whole world

none believed (according to “the news”)
none asked for more (by the “polls” o’ the “’zines”)
none [that kid retweets good. not part of the song, just an observation] looked it in the eye
so it figured itself a whore

healer shaman medicine man.
experimental meatbot testing stay shunned
go live in the van.

the more it shared, the more truth it told
the more they mocked, shunned, scold
the more it sensitized itself,
crueler more vicious they got, cold

all the hidden rules
all the patterns visible only from its odd angle
all revealed

none of them had ever wanted to see.
it showed them living death.
it made them executioners.
none forgave.  none forgot.

the abused give up liberty and security when they rely on their gods

but the gods only say, “nobody plays fair, nothing is trustworthy, plants are bad so have some drugs.” and the drugs are ingested and the obedient are rewarded.  zombie slave under big brother’s watch.  they knew.  participation is endorsement.

none of them had ever wanted to feel, taste, or smell. life.

:\ SME restricts playback of this video in playlists. Watch this video in a standalone player.

Sorry about that.”

databases apologize too much.  i was a crazy obnoxious horny kid who everybody eventually ignored because i was faster than them.  jealous little maggots.  not all of ya, but the vast majority of humans are competitive, jealous, and mean.  you cling to your comfort zones/foods/thoughts like a pair of vise-grips.  locked.  now, i have tried using 2x4s, hammers, torches, and nothing works.  what will it take for you to see me as an acceptable human?  honestly, this is your fascism.  this whiny, “i don’t know what to say,” giggle, giggle, “but at least we can gorge on sugar and fats and high fructose corn syrup while we gather in our stuffed-with-propaganda nests” and reconfigure the most cruel mind-punishment into whatever small-minded and condescending drivel we can force everyone to sit and take because of “the true meaning of the day.”  what is the true meaning of every other fucking day?  are you justifying your constant violent ignorance while using it to keep anyone from upsetting your precious little life-pattern.  yup, hopefully, you can be a bitter old fuck, force-feeding the gluttonous materialism of your tv-poisoned inner-child to the next two or three generations!  if you have land, and you don’t raise your own fucking turkeys and pigs and chickens on it, you are not only a lazy, retarded, money-grubbing landlord asshole, you’re a short-sighted, resource-wasting, space-enslaving dickhead who shouldn’t even be allowed to purchase from the gas/auto subsidized store that gmo-fed factory “meat” and its many chemical flavor enhancers.  oh whatever the fuck, that’s exactly what you should be eating.  may you die as quickly as you like, you gluttonous impediment to humanity.

why am i feeling so vicious?  you have a connect, you fucking retard.  you have that two hundred fifty some in the bank, a full tank of gas in the rv, and most of the tools, clothes, and fooding equipment that a long-term vacation would require.  so they were never your friends.  so what.  so your own family talks about you rather than to you.  who cares?  if you can keep your head about you for another few weeks, you’ll probably be able to hire them all, buy them out, or become their “independent contractor” rendering services far and wide.

did you not read that song i just wrote?  nobody listens to anything i say.  first, stop typing that.  second, you’re not saying it, you’re typing it.  big distinction, which you should recognize and remind those to whom you have actually spoken in real life.  it’s not like any of them will stand by anything that they say they would do, anyway.  why are we all lazy drunks, is my question.  why can we not have balanced, respectful, and fulfilling sex lives and spiritual advancement?  we can.  some of us do.  the offer is open.  with internet, we are reachable from the road.

it’s 2:17 pm, and i’m still in pajama pants.  i haven’t put my watch on yet.  it’s cold and lonely here.  i don’t know what to say to anyone, and none of the people i speak to will acknowledge my writing.  none of the people who acknowledge my writing will speak to me.  nobody considers any of the noises i make worthy of money, let alone compliments.

so, i’m an awful person, a crappy worker, a shitty musician, a horrible photographer, and an unreadable writer.  where does this leave me?  you keep re-gaining twitter followers, without even trying.  kids that rt shitty little sexist bullshit, rants about tv and pop memes have more followers than i do.  yeah, but the demographic.  your shit is like the whirlpool of aging angst.  why ya gotta be such a fucking hipster?  i don’t gotta be nothing yo.  i am me.  that is all i have ever been, it is all i have ever known, and i don’t know what the fuck else to tell you.

ok then. good day,


~ by LazyAssWasteoid on 2011-12-5 (Monday).

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