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

out your hemmorhoidal asses. and feel good, america, that something died to feed your dumb faces. and hey, listen to rap music while you eat your dead flesh, you fucking idiots. none of you realize that you are marching to the step of what the fourth reich, which is the new world order united states of america, wants and demands you to march to. none of you realize that you are systematically being dumbed-down, that those who hold your leash want and need you to be as stupid as you can possibly get. so they can control you and watch you all the better. when your simple minds are occupied on whether to get regular recipe or extra-crunchy chicken, you are not interested or aware of what this country is doing to you or the world. but why should you care as long as you have so many choices to make - a big mac or a whopper? coke or pepsi? shit or shinola? who cares about the rest of the creepy world? who cares about injustice or how the usa keeps prisoners illegally interred for indefinate amounts of time? hold the pickle, hold te lettuce, nazi america doesn´t upset us. lalala, happy american. ask any jews who survived the war in europe how it feels to be interred indefinately. but none of you will, why should we care? until it´s your turn to be in here. and many of you reading this will end up where i am. and i do not feel sorry for any of you. you all let it happen. hey, let me tell you, there´s no big macs in here, no whoppers, no kentucky-fried chicken, regular or crunchy. there´s a whole lot of hate and rape and sickness beyond anything you ever could imagine, not in your worst nightmares. but then again, your worst nightmare is probably not getting a toy with your happy-meal, or finding a fly in the middle of your big-mac. but hey, eat it! flies were alive, now it is dead and on your hamburger, a dead cow. 2 kinds of meat! yea!

 

i was holding the galaxy´s most powerful compact energy source in my hands, and it was to be used for a cloaking device that would allow my starships to attack undetected. is there any hope for a man who cannot crap? is constipation related to mental anguish? oh, my story of perseverance and suffering.

 

there was a little red ant. and he went about his little ant business, crawling around on the ground, searching for food, preferably sugar. along came the exterminator terminator with his ant-killer death spray. the ant did not know exactly what the exterminator was, only that it was a big scary thing towering above him, one hundred times his size. scary, yes, but intriguing at the same time. the little red ant was not a coward, and he grew up with many scary things around him. the ant was of the mind, that if one does not explore all things in his environment, one will never really know what is out there. and there was an inexorable curiosity in the little ant to know. besides, he thought, running away from every big scary thing only makes me smaller, inside and out. but there was also a point where the big scary things could be the death of the little red ant, and he decided that this exterminator terminator thing was death incarnate, so he scuttled his little legs like crazy and got the hell out of there before the blast of ant-death could touch his beautiful red body sections. later that day, after finding his way onto the exterminators truck, the little red ant found his way into the house of the exterminator terminator. he explored all around until he came upon another thing, not unlike the exterminator, but only softer. the little red ant sensed female pheromones, he concluded this other thing was the exterminator terminator´s mate. the ant crawled up the leg of the woman slowly, but she did not move or try to scratch or slap him away. the ant also sensed the pheromones of alcoholic consumption and delerium. she was dead drunk, the ant surmised, and he was in no immediate peril. the little red ant made his way further up the woman´s leg until he reached her pussy. he sensed her musky sexual pheromones, which were reflexively released upon her getting tossed drunk. the ant tasted the juices of the exterminator-terminator´s mate. it tasted good. the little red ant took a bite of the womans labia. it was sweet tasting, better than earwig meat. so the ant settled down and had himself a tasty sweet meal of the woman´s pussy, leaving terrible swollen red dots wherever the ant took a delicious bite. there were hundreds of such red dots marks by the time he was full, and the little red ant laughed heartily to himself, thinking how he overcame the big scary exterminator terminator by munchy-munching on his drunk woman´s pussy. it was a good day for the little red ant.

 

how can i be sure? i think you are trying to trick me, vulcan. wasted days, crossword puzzles, smoking too much, drinking endless cups of cold coffee. running around a dirt track out of sheer boredom. now it is nighttime, my best time, only because soon it is sleepy time, time that the evil fuckers keeping me in here cannot have, altho so often being imprisoned is part of the dreams, in which case i should call the dreams nightmares. i´ve plenty of those, but occasionally i have my science-fiction star wars dreams, which i find exhilarating. my teeth hurt, my blood is abnormal, i have constant migraine headaches, i can´t shit but for every four days or so, and that only when i force myself. and then it is mostly only blood. i wake up in the morning and i can´t see for at least a half-hour. i wake up and groan, still not able to believe where i am waking up. not the way i used to wake up after a night of debauchery in a totally strange place next to a girl or girls who i had no clue what their names were. where i wake up now, the horrors are basically unspeakable. i can only hint at how bad it is. not that i cannot write it, only that, i do not wish to commit it all graphically on paper. i have some limits i must set for myself. and i enjoy writing. it would be like polluting my work to write exactly how bad it is. but i believe it is not so difficult to discern enough of the hell i am in from what i do write. i don´t know, really. some day if i am ever free from this hell, i may actually write all the shit i´ve been thru in here in all it´s sick disgusting graphic detail. altho, who would want to read it, i´m not certain. it will definately make a number of you numb-skull dunder-heads think about the reality of prison and the skum-bag dirty filthy faggots that comprise the majority of prison inhabitants. well, you may find out, you may not. i may never get out of this place alive. if i do get out, i may choose to drown out all memories of this place from my soul by drinking deep from the streams of irish whiskey.

 

what a world, what a life, darling i´m in love. and i think to myself, what a wonderful world. oh yeah. yea, what a bullshit, what stupid mindless horseshit, idiot pulp for the masses sung by some hopped-up dope head. me being forcibly sober for four years now, i tend to see the world with a shocking sense of reality. my observation is that this world is shit, people are shit, and nothing is getting better and nothing will. i can hardly believe that i bother to stay alive. what the hell is there to live for? i like very little, chocolate, kittens and puppies.

 

is this a big misunderstanding or something more sinister? there is nothing so bitter as the removal of one´s freedom. little tiny puppets are screaming bloody murder, "LET ITCHY GO FREE!". the little puppets dance underneath my bed all night. they are armed with tiny little hammers and spears, they want to protect me, but their ability to protect me is in doubt. there is also an ant under my bed, he is red, and he has a mysterious smile on his face. the puppets are all made from socks, my old socks. they are very simple puppets, with eyes and mouth only, but there are many of them. they keep me up at night, but that is okay, really. occasionally they steal out from under my bed and attack other sock puppets that attempt to infringe on their territory. those sock puppets they don´t kill outright, they capture. after intensive reprogramming, the captured sock puppets are added to the already large puppet army under my bed. no sock puppet in this prison is safe from the sock puppet army of itchy wiggle christ. i have been smelling strange things from under my bed. i believe that the puppets have begun to make honey-wine and whiskey. they are very excited about this. when all is ready, the sock puppets will have a celebration around a bonfire. they will sacrifice a pair of filthy underwear and bathe themselves in the underwear blood. the puppets will appeal to the celtic gods to have me released. and i keep saying that no one is on my side, that no one cares about me? what the hell is wrong with me? tz.

 

nothing like being woken up from a nap, especially when it is because of the loud fat mouth of a child molester screaming across an entire building. what dreams i may have had are forgotten. what is the procedure now, general cosmo? are you suggesting we withdraw? major merit calling earth, what are your instructions? there is no hell or heaven, it is all within and without me. hell is this physical realm, heaven is any place else that is not this stinking shit-hole of a planet. mars needs women, and the sock-puppets need to free their master from the clutches of evil. carry on, sock puppets, fight the good fight, general cosmo commands you!

 

terraforming makes you feel a little god-like. i think it´s the best job in the universe. i´m disturbed by thoughts of clowns converging on a group of balloon-animals and using sad animals in an unnatural fashion. time is such a strange concept when one has no idea where one´s life will go. i have no idea what to do with my mind anymore. my soul is wretching all over my life, my life is shitting all over the spirit, my spirit is beating my mind to death with hammers and small sock-puppet-sized spears.

 

the greatest part of every day is here for me now, the end of the day. soon i slip into the darkness of dreams. after seeing her in a movie, i had dreams of jennifer tilly. perhaps of all actresses i find her the most intriguing, perhaps cause she plays crazy women in her movies normally. i like crazy girls. i like it when a girl is able to relate to my own insanity. she is beautiful also, at least to me. i´m attracted to dark-haired women, not very often blonds. i had a piss-poor experience/nightmare with a blond. but i think jennifer tilly would not be interested in a man like me. she would have too much fun, and life cannot be all fun. god don´t i know this, but there is another matter that i am in love with a girl in germany, and jennifer would not fit so well in that relationship. and altho i love steffi to death, it is difficult