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

people than not only would believe as a legend. my liquor, wine, and beer consumption alone has kept the alcohol distilleries in business from my purchases, or, at least that alcohol that i actually bought ad did not steal! i was a very bad boy at times, with my shoplifting and running out on my bar tabs. plus how i just didn´t give a shit if i lived or died. funny, i still don´t care if i live or die. and actually wish the latter would happen soon.

 

erp, loneliness on a sunday night. sometimes i feel so lonely that it seems my guts are being ripped apart inside, thousands of tiny razors spinning ten thousand rotations-per-second, slashing apart my innards and my soul alike. my insides are a pureé of blood and organ tissue, plus the little pills i´ve been swallowing lately. i´ve been painting like mad, already on the fifth of this series, that which i started only two weeks ago! usually it takes me one week to finish a single painting. but lately i´ve just been working as tho the devil were at my heels, ha ha. well, that is a bad analogy, because 1. the devil has no need to chase me, he is already in me, and 2. if the devil were to chase me, i would stop and invite him to get me out of prison and take me to the nearest bar so i can get stinking rotten drunk on irish whiskey. i wonder if drinking will ever allow me to forget about the living hell i go thru in this place. i kind of doubt it. maybe absinth could do it. i certainly will try, but the scar on my spirit and soul left by the tortures i endure in here are such that i am certain i can never forget. maybe if i made myself my own little "home-electro-shock-therapy kit", that would maybe erase the scar of pain and torment, don´t know. nonetheless, i won´t have to worry about forgetting this place any time soon. i must continue to survive in hell. or, i can choose not to survive, which has crossed my mind a great deal as of late, especially on lonely nights like this. i wonder what the hell i bother to live for, because being in here at the behest of the michigan nazis certainly is not "life" - it is pure torture. i suppose i live only to paint - which i certainly have done quite a bit of. just as vincent was prolofic in his madness - painting, i find myself unable to stop working. every moment is spent with a brush in my hand. but, there was a time when even vincent had enough of this world. and the entire world was a torture chamber for him. mine is this prison. my heaven is europe. i sleep now, i dream, hopefully i die.

 

a new study shows that the anti-depressant drug "prozac" causes children taking it to be suicidal? - what kind of parents would give their children any anti-depressant drug? i will tell you what kind of parents: american parents. typical american thought, is to fix any problem by throwing drugs at it and hoping it will go away. a car bomb blast in bagdad, iraq, has left 47 dead, including a bunch of iraqis that were to be new police men. yeah! fuck die polizei!

 

i am still sick with a cold, 18 days of this shit. migraines are not so bad since the medication. hmm. i was suicidal before my medication, i still wish i would die in my sleep, so i guess my migraine medications is not as bad as "prozac". ja, it is not as tho i will take a hand in my own death, i only hope and pray that i will close my eyes to sleep and never wake up in this shit world again. that is not so suicidal, and it is not such a "bad" wish to have, considering my circumstances. i hate my life and i do not feel my life is worth living in this michigan nazi prison. as always, tho, my hopes, or "prayers" if you will, for a quick and painless death and ergo and end to my torture will not be answered. in fact whenever i really need something, god or jeebus or satan or who-the-hell-knows-what-god will not answer my prayers - in fact, usually the opposite will happen. it is the big joke with the gods, to do always the opposite of what i ask. "haha ha, make itchy suffer some more!". i can only think that my wish to get out of this life is more sane than any asshole who goes on clinging to life needlessly.

 

a morning in hell, some nonedecript morning, meaningless, stupid, nameless. i think it is thursday. hurricane ivan hit the continental USA, winds at 115 miles-per-hour. this is nature giving back in force to the USA for the evil that the USA allows to flourish. i laugh, haha ha. it is 20 days now that i have a cold, the symptoms still quite severe. my lungs keep clogging uo with corruption, brown and green slimey mucous that i cough up in violent spasms. i can do really nothing, and the prison will not do anything. i might die! halleluja!

 

in detroit last night, a pair of black teenagers are 13 and 17 decided to take a car by hijacking it at gunpoint. the owner and driver of the car was a church deacon named reynolds. this reynolds handed over the car and asked the teenagers not to harm him, but they shot him dead and left reynold´s body bleeding in the street. the black teenagers took the car and bragged about what they did to their friends. detroit police were informed and the teenagers were arrested. the teenagers both will be charged with murder as adults and will spend the rest of their useless lives in prison, maybe. the michigan nazis tend to let out these schwarze monsters so that they will commit more crimes and give the peon public in michigan the reasoning why the nazis do not let anybody free from their draconian gulags. my question is how these schwarze monsters are even allowed to get to the point where they can get a gun and kill a church deacon just to get his car for a joy ride. the underlying reason is simple - give these monsters freedom when they are unable to comprehend how to live in a civilized society, and the monsters will abuse that freedom, unceasingly breed, and overrun the same society that set them free. this is exactly what is happening in this stupid evil country. i could care less, and in fact i laugh everytime i hear of these kind of senseless crimes committed by the monsters. it is the usa i laugh at, the usa getting what it deserves. the only problem, is that i am caught inside the system of the usa, and the nazis of michigan are loathe to let anyone out of their prisons. their answer to all crime is to lock the most minimum of offenders up into their prisons and never let them free. i am fucked with a capital "F", and i can thank all the pissant monsters and the absolute criminal warzone that they and their ilk have created in the usa for the idiotic "justice" system that the michigan nazis have in place. i set a fire to a pile of garbage. for this i have as much time to do as a second degree murderer. and people wonder why i wish my life would end.

 

a car bomb blew up in baghdad last night as a police escort passed by, five peep-holes were killed, including police men and women, many others badly injured. there´s a quirk of language - "badly" injured. is there a "goodly" injured? "injured really well"? maybe the car bomber thinks he injured the baghdad police men really well, haha. it´s a shit morning, i´m still sick after 22 days of having this cold. i feel like a piece of lung garbage that i keep coughing up. maybe i have something worse than a cold? maybe my prayers are answered and i will die from this thing i´ve got. is it a virus? is it the bubonic plague? i really don´t care either, well enough that i pass out of this horrible existence and start over in whatever passes for heaven or hell in the next phase of my soul´s journey. is it possible to hate one´s soul enough to kill it forever? so that no more incarnations of it can come back? i´m sick of life. i´m sick of this horrible world. i just want out of everything.

 

something new and exciting! a fresh new taste! the rancid shit spewed into your mouth by a vengeful sadistic god. all i need is a chemistry laboratory to reach my ends. more mixing of pills, creating itchy´s version of a chemical cocktail, a pharmaceutical mish-mash of drugs that probably should never be combined under any circumstance, yet my body and brain love the effects. i forget everything, the edges of reality don´t seem to sharp. i am at peace, albeit chemically. but who is to say what is right and wrong? william burroughs or pope john-paul II? if it feels good, do it! that´s what doctor angus says, and he must be right, he is on TV. the only thing worth any consequence is my ability to defend my spirit. i´m crippled, i need an electric wheelchair. don´t shoot, i am unarmed, i am crippled, i am disseased, i am a leper, i am a leprechaun, my legs are gone, they were blown off by a landmine in vietnam, i have schrapnel in my skull, i have stomach ulcers, i want to sleep and never ever wake up in this stinking piece of shit of a life. goodnight, badnight.

 

a bright beautiful happy good morning to the world, from hell! so this is all my fault, is it? according to some assholes, or blind assholes, yes, it is my fault that the nazis won´t let me out of here. well, someday, something really terrible and beyond control is going to happen to a certain asshole or two, and then i will laugh and tell that asshole "it is your fault". tja, fuck you, asshole.

 

why don´t you go to the pool and take a swim or something? you sound kind of funny. i did it, and i can´t undo it. i will have waffles for breakfast, and i will think about germany as i eat them. i really don´t know why. the same unknown reason why i think of ireland when i have oatmeal for breakfast. strange. i suppose i must want to be in those place so badly that i am forced to associating even the most far-fetched ideas or in this case foods, with places i once had those foods. at a time when my life was relatively happy and free. but in germany and ireland i would normally be drinking a beer in the morning with my oatmeal or waffles, or whiskey. there´s a nice thought: a big cup of hot milky irish tea and a big water glass full of bushmills irish whiskey. that is truly the breakfast of champion punk rock singer -songwriter-musicians! or, maybe in my next incarnation as an abstract / neo-impressionist painter, i will drink absinth in the morning - fuck the tea! altho, a hot milky irish tea is one of the great joys in life - but if i am neo-impressionist perhaps i am a neo-vincent, so the absinth is a must. isn´t it funny how i make strange excuses or bizzare plots in order to rationalize how i want or need to drink alcohol in the morning? fuck it all, say i, i hate this life,