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

the good, the bad, and the ugly - and the insane. the creature that goes bump in the night. the flower that does not bloom, but withers and dies on the stalk, never realizing its potential. i am a cricket, cheep cheep.

i´ve been away from writing for a few days. it seems that the medication i am taking, or what i am given by the nazis, against my constant migraines is also a medication against depression, and it is medication that makes one sleepy. so what has in fact happened is that my migraine headaches are gone, i sleep much better, and i don´t feel so depressed. jesus, i sound like a goddamned TV commercial, but it is true. only one thing, though - i may be less depressed but i still have thoughts, many many thoughts, about my futile existence in this hell. it is only that, i do not feel so bad about suicide or entropically wasting my life away. normally one would have deep feelings of loss and sorrow that would accompany suicidal thoughts or plans, but it do not. it seems like a rational idea and i´m not particularly moved by the thought of snuffing it. very interesting, no? some psychologist should study me, ha ha. sociopathic lack of emotion when faced with the dilema of ongoing existence. maybe my malady could by called "the itchy syndrome" or perhaps something more noble like "the count of monte cristo psychosis". no, in effect my "sickness" is probably commonplace. and i´ve read that many people with exceptionally high IQ scores or "geniuses" are prone to suicidal thoughts due to having to exist in a world full of fucking morons. so it is no surprise that i have such foreboding thoughts, especially when i am forcibly locked in this godforsaken prison with the skum of humanity all around me, each one of them a certifiable retard, and worse, most of them perverted child-fucking homosexual deviants that i would not hesitate to put to death if given half a chance. i can say without a doubt that if the michigan nazis decided to give every prisoner in here the old zyklon-b poison-gas shower to kill them all, no one would miss these monsters. and what leads me to want to end my existence is the sickening thought that i may be one of these puke-faces.

artichoke hearts for want-to-be snobs, ugliness supreme, superficial pretenders, faking orgasms to keep that lifestyle, what kind of monster is this? answer: the american princess.

but dead men tell no tales. lies live on forever. thinking that he does not know what she did with her girlfriend. there are so many terrible lies that are preserved forever, only to avoid embarrassment and save face. but lies live forever, sweetie.

snails crawling out of their shells, slugs squirming on the walkway after the rain, a piece of dog shit covered with hungry slugs, devouring the refuse of an animals butt. what is the difference between this and what human beings do with their jobs and their striving to "get ahead" in their sordid boring existence? answer: not much difference at all. and i admire the slugs more than the humans - at least slugs are ugly and creepy and shit-eating but they don´t care - they go about their business and are happy with their existence. humans are ugly and creepy and shit-eating but are constantly trying to hide their true nature. people are shit, people eat shit, people deserve shit. eat another dead cow, you fat pig american swine, feed off of the death and torture of animals that you do not possess the courage to slaughter yourself.

think about where we are in the solar system. power supreme, the ultimate in death, tolled out to whittle away the diseased in the human system, forming a perfect form. so much potential and so little will to carry out what needs to be done. and here i sit in my prison, with a nuclear bomb of hate and disgust and loathing for the human system, and human beings in general. i hate myself because i am one of the skum, albeit i am cursed with brains enough to know truly what pieces of shit human beings really are. good night to you all, my fellow skum. a pox on you all, good night.

saturday morning, 06:30. waking up in an anti-depressant fog, wanting to sleep more but i am compelled to go eat waffles for breakfast, it is the only day of the week when waffles are given to the animals in here, me being an animal. animal yes, but i´m not quite a monster - maybe in some respects, yes, but in most not, and i am far from being what these blasted shit-head monster child-fucking schwarze pig homo-faggot monsters are in here. there is such a vast difference between me and them, and i really don´t care why. many bleeding-heart liberal social reformers want to explain it away and blame inequality and society for the great divide between races, but i just know one thing for certain: evil exists in this stinking horrible world, and there are many forms of evil - stupid evil and intelligent evil being the two main forms. i am surrounded daily by stupid evil, and the intelligent evil runs the government of michigan and keeps me imprisoned with the stupid evil. and my only form of escaping this all-pervasive evil is death, be it by disease or by my own hand. and the latter is only a question of time, and how much i can withstand before i give up completely. a piece of my soul dies every day in this pit of hell, and i am afraid of becomming just another soul-less monster like that which i am imprisoned with. it seems that, that is exactly what the intelligent evil wants from me - to erase my soul, turn me into a monster, destroy any vestige of what i ever was - turn me into a "good american" - and that will never happen - i will die first.

night sweet night. i almost puked watching this stupid goddamn TV commercial with a dancing cartoon bear and some kind of perversion of a children´s song, all in order to sell toilet paper. then i laughed about some retard schwarze in detroit getting knocked in the head then shot 15 times in the back, all over a few dollars. the old chinese man, the cackling kung-fu master of the flying guillotine is laughing his insane ass off in my mind. maybe because he realizes that the world is just as bleak and sick and fucked-up outside these prison walls as it is inside the walls.

death and destruction, get the antidote ready, the dancing toilet. paper bear is jacking off on the daisies. head for the treeline and disappear, the RUC is on our ass, seamus. i remember the old DDR before the wall came down, "east germany" - the toilet paper there was really harsh, but it didn´t give a shit, ha ha. strange sex with communist girls. they had a desperation to their fucking that could not be found in other girls, or at least west germany girls. then i heard that a girl i knew well who lived in siegen died two years ago from heroin overdose. her name was steffi, i had some very strange times with her and her girlfriend, lots of drugs, lots of sex. now she is gone and i am sad in a way, but happy for her. she was chasing death and she caught him. i find myself wishing i could join her. maybe i have to put on my running shoes and start picking up the place a bit quicker. i think i see kurt cobain waiting on the other side, he´s got a handful of acid and a fifth of bushmills and he is telling me to come over. the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. but from where i am at, i don´t even have grass on my side. just horrible ugly filthy schwarze schwull monsters with loud mouths and five meter high barbed wire fences. ja, i should start chasing death myself. maybe i´ll see my friends, maybe i will stop suffering.

and yet another morning, waking up in despair that i did no wake up dead, waking up with unadulterated hate in my mind for the monsters i am forced to be imprisoned with. it is not so much the fact that i am in a prison that makes my existence so horrible, it is the monster loud-mouthed faggot schwarzes that make my existence a living hell. if i were alone and able to paint all day and not have to see the sick skum of all humanity, i would be able to handle my existence. but the nazis know how to torture me, and as always, what i am going thru now will undoubtedly only get worse. and idiotic americans beat it into their citizen´s brains that "all men are created equal" - but that is supposing that these faggot monsters are "men" - whatever god may be listening to my thoughts, answer my prayers: please kill me.

somebody is ripping me off, i´d like a private table in the back, i have many drugs to take, i do not want anyone to see me, they might not understand. i once took a handful of thorazine, sent to me by a friend who worked in a mental asylum, he stole the thorazine from the psychotic patients. i only remember my head hitting the table at some bar, and i was frothing and drooling from my mouth. when i woke up it was three days later in a strange girl´s bed. i didn´t know what happened and i was quite afraid to ask. the guy who stole the thorazine for me went on to work the cartoon "ren and stimpy", hm.

it is night and i will retire soon to my laying position and sleep the chemically-enhanced sleep of my migraine/anti-depressant sleep. i have strange dreams with this stuff, the other night in my dreams i was with three naked women. it was interesting to say the least. then there were some star wars dreams, i am always a jedi knight, but perhaps leaning toward the dark side. always i am cutting up enemies with my light saber, hmm. sex with three girls, violent science fiction dreams. what else? it´s no wonder - my existence is so mundane and boring, my mind must entertain itself. so now i sleep and hope for more dreams, i need a break from life, and my medication ensures that i will sleep a good ten hours or more. life is a waste of energy.

a good and happy morning to you, all you sadists and nazis and faggots of the world. i puke blood upon your souls, i split your heads open with my big sharp axe, i watch your brains splatter over the ground and i dance a happy irish jig. i dreamed i was in germany again last night, and i was travelling around europe, i went to venice with my brother, we invented some kind of flying paper plane that flew forever. i dreamed also of painting and of being lost. always my dreams end up with me in Köln for some reason i can´t explain. I don´t even like Köln that much!

there are bald-headed cancer victims on TV, bitching and griping about how their hair fell out. i shave my head every day, and i am in prison bitching and griping about how the nazis won´t release me. i think i have got it much worse - the cancer victims might win an escape from