The gospel of Itchy Wiggle Christ by Gregory-John McCormick, Ralf Dellhofen (best way to read books .TXT) 📕

any longer. his life was going to hell, his marriage was a sham, he would soon lose his job because he could not make it to the ford factory on time due to his heavy drinking. it was ending. all of it. after running his head under the shower for a while, enough to wash the vomit splash from his face, burt made his way to the bedroom. at first he was happy - he saw sylvia laying in the bed, naked, her beautiful tits bared above the cover sheet - but then burt saw that sylvia was not alone. there was another woman in the bed with her, and that woman was naked as well and had her arms wrapped around sylvia. burt just stared for a moment or two. it was erotic to him to see his wife with another woman. he knew the other woman, too. she was marta, another girl from romania, one of sylvia´s friends. then the terrible thought hit burt in the head like a sledgehammer. this was the end of his marriage. sylvia was a lesbian now, she had a beautiful girlfriend and a green card - she did not need an alcoholic slob like burt any longer. trying to repress a sob, burt grabbed some of his clothes as quietly as he could and slipped out the front door. he didn´t leave a note, but he did leave his house key. he wouldn´t need it any longer, and sylvia would get the message that he was not coming back.

 

the winter was very hard, even to detroit standards, which was usually very very cold. nobody was buying burt´s rotten garbage-picked donuts-shit, nobody was out on the streets at all because of the cold, so burt had no money to buy booze. he laid in the dumpster surrounded by as much insulating trash as he could cover himself with, but he still shivered uncontrollably. booze usually kept him warm, or at least fooled his body into thinking he was warm. without booze, burt just twitched and jerked in the deep freeze. and burt remembered. all the memories came back, all the bad times in his childhood, all the bad times he went through in school, his parents dying, losing his job, losing his money, losing his wife. the few good memories burt had about his sorry life were wiped from his mind years ago. booze will do that to you. shaking from alcohol withdrawal or shaking from the horrible bitter cold, it didn´t matter. burt was freezing to death and he knew it. he had to get out of the garbage dumpster and find shelter before he went into shock.

 

burt managed to crawl out of the dumpster but fell on his back when he hit the slippery ground. just another slap in the face - it didn´t matter. nothing mattered. he thought about where he could get warm as he shambled up warren avenue, pulling his tattered coat about his body with trembling bared hands. he needed a drink so badly it felt like he was going to die. maybe he would die, it didn´t matter. nothing mattered anymore. donut-money would be a long time incoming. a long time before he would drink again. it didn´t matter. nothing mattered. burt saw the city bus speeding down warren through the slippery ice and snow. it would not be able to stop quickly. "i love you, Sylvia" he called out in a clear voice as he stepped into the path of the speeding bus. "i love", and it was over.

 

23. August 2004. fool me once, shame on you - fool me twice, shame on me. it is better to rule in hell than to serve in heaven. dave rutabaw is an idiotic scoundrel of the lowest sort and i disapprove of his very existence - i have considered ending it on many an occasion. superior ability breeds superior ambition. the chamber of ages, the vault of tomorrow, sadness for the end of things - murderers!that is what life is all about: loss - but that is what we use as an excuse to go on.

 

ah, the happy night, the death-sleep, the dreams, coming soon to a semi-psychotic manic-depressive irish prisoner near you. i see my death on the horizon! hooray! beautiful. it is my honor to write these words to you, dear reader. you are witnessing my end, one way or another - it´s the end. celebrate with me, my sickness, my sorrow, my dreams, my nightmares. in need time to think. drinking, i need a drink, i need to be burt the alcoholic. i need to take a shit without screaming in utter horror. tomorrow i see the "doctor", who is only a butcher with a cheap license, but a butcher who can give me drugs that might put my migraines headaches to rest. i can´t take them much more, i can´t keep food down, or what does make it in comes screaming out in vicious pain. maybe i will shave my eyebrows before i see the "doctor". i should tell him to cut my brain out so i can stop thinking so much. or at the very least give me a full frontal lobotomy so i can become a drooling retarded idiot, not to think anything, not to feel anything, never to love or care or want or even cry. although i don´t do any crying - i am afraid that if i started crying, i would never be able to stop. goodnight, my pretty.

 

a string of deadly bombings in iraq overnight. what is it that the usa not telling people? 43 million americans without health insurance. i guess a lot of them will die, especially after having heart-attacks because they are fat from stuffing their piggy faces with big macs. 5 iraqi people killed by bombs, 3 ami soldiers, bombs being dropped by warplanes on the holy mosque, i would bet that allah is pissed off. i have been in an accident of some kind, my milk does not taste as it should, i must reverse my chance of bore-loss, i´m post-menopausal. this is the age of war, severe storms on the horizon. how long do these stupid amis think that the muslims are going to put up with american interference? how long before a dirty nuke is exploded on american soil? is a war over oil interests worth all this death? certainly, to rich fat americans. what is bizarre, is that higher gasoline prices do not affect the rich. america is an evil land full of obese horrible monsters. avoid this place.

 

see the dancing weasel, see the bunny rabbits frolic in the fields, see the happy children playing. sunshine, flowers, rain. the green fields of éire, the kleine alpen of bavaria. see greggy sitting at a café outside, the alps looming large nearby, so close they seem as though he could almost touch them. he is drinking a cold kristal weizen mit zitron. that morning he was playing with the goats, and soon he will ride a horse up into the mountains. he is at peace. he is happy. he does not realize just how bad his life is going to become, but he does enjoy what he experiences. if he knew then the hell his life would one day be, he would have changed things. for one, he would have never gone back to the usa to let those nazis put him in prison with the worst faggot monsters on earth. he only has memories of his past, of the goats and horses, germany, freedom, life. he does not know what the point is to staying on-line, he keeps looking, but it looks grim that anything will ever get him free. his life is over, the memories are fading. he must accept it.

 

nobody steals from me, least of all my own cargo. i was napping and had sad dreams, first about robert palmer - he died, i guess, and i thought about a song he did that i always liked called "johnny and mary", not many people know the song i guess. i dreamed about an interview i saw once with him, and he taked about his wife and kids, how his kids didn´t really know what he did, only that he went into a room of his house and made strange noises. i thought it very sad they don´t have their dad anymore, he seemed like a good guy - not the usual musician asshole. then i had a dream about my missing friend archie - he has a daughter also, but i dreamed he was in prison with me, away from his daughter, and he was crying. all these dreams made me want to cry, too, at least in my dream. guess i think a lot about children, the ones i don´t have, specifically. perhaps it is better that i don´t have kiddies. it would be terrible for them to have their dad in an evil nazi michigan prison with no hope of getting out, or at least the nazis will not say when i can get out. i can only think that i would be a really good father to my kids, i mean - i am just a kid myself inside, and i understand children - i would play and laugh with my kids like i was one of them. so it would be terrible for them to have me taken away, especially for an indeterminate length of time as the nazis do to me. in a way, it is worse than dying, being put in this nazi prison. at least if i were dead, the people who supposedly care about me would be able to grieve and move on with their life. with the nazis of michigan, no one knows when or if i will get out. and it is amazing that the nazis are allowed to do this. god bless america.

 

this is your opportunity to own a high-profit turnkey business. to be a part of a winning team, call 1-800-FUCK-YOU. it is amazing how much a life can change. i´ve had many thoughts lately about how i used to eat - not so much, but the quality of what i made. i started working as a chef when i was 14 and i see food preparation as an art. it is just amazing sometimes, to think of the indian dishes and chinese dishes i used to make with so much pleasure, to share with another. and now my only culinary delight is chocolate, if i can afford to buy any from the prison commissary. the "food" that the nazis give to eat is so horrible, i will not soil my writing by describing it. i am a vegetarian and this makes it even worse for me in here, because americans as a whole do not understand vegetarianism, and the nazis in this prison definately do not understand. so i am fucked. i still have horrible headaches. i was at the doctor today, they did nothing but give me acetaminophen. i took it and my headaches got worse. i am sick to my stomach and my head hurts so bad i am seeing distortions in my vision, like LSD hallucinations. i am dizzy. i really want to die right now.

 

50 years ago, france was liberated by american forces from the bad bad nazis, and 50 years later the nazis are in michigan, usa, controlling the government and prisons, and torturing a very sad irish boy, refusing to let him out and keeping him with no reason other than to keep him - because they are evil and it gives them pleasure to torture the irish boy. there is a big stink about how the ami soldiers torture the poor iraqi prisoners, and yet no one says a word about how the nazis in the usa are torturing the michigan prisoners. west nile virus is running rampant over michigan, the giant sink-hole is growing, opening up the