ANARCHY
By Kenton Johnson
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashbooks.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
PREFACE
To whom it may concern, offensive behavior is only relevant if you’re the fucker that just had your cock and balls kicked so hard that it’s turned you into a flaming Soprano. The truth is folks; words are just words. Thoughts are only thoughts, but when you scan them over, jack off and take the humor out of them. That’s when you become a “Prick”. I’ve met a lot of pricks in my life. This country is full of them. There’s no escaping it. They’re everywhere. They’re in politics, sports, education, religion, law enforcement, and the media. There are even a few of them in your home.
However, there’s no use in trying to rid yourself of these fucks; they’re here to stay. The only thing you can do is tell them to “fuck off”. Due to the laws in this fucking country in case you haven’t heard, it’s illegal to grab a gun and shoot these assholes in the head, so as annoying as they are the only thing you can do is pull out your dick and tell them to suck. If this doesn’t work do what I do, which is “fuck” “get high” and “drink”. I admit that I was once a sober, celibate, law abiding citizen who actually gave a fuck about world issues. I actually gave a shit about this country’s national agenda. I will be honest; I watched all media outlets with a bright eyed, naïve, innocence, believing all that was fed to me. There was a time when the words cunt, pussy, snatch, clam burger, fuck-hole, cum-dump, and fuck-toy, were not verbal members of my vocabulary. Until like sleeping beauty I was blown by a frog and woke up. I later learned that the frog was my mother’s best friend whom I referred to as Ant Jenny. The funny thing about my first blowjob is, after I popped my first load of jizz it was all downhill from there folks. Cunt and its acquisition became an all-out sporting event. Liquor told me that it needed a friend and I thought to myself, “you know this guy ain’t so fucking bad”, thus this was the start of a wonderful friendship. Coc, Lsd, and all the other fun party treats wanted some attention and I gave it to them.
However, the combining of the three taught me the true definition of fun shit. Things like fucking three sisters of guys that I worked with and telling them how much of a “pro” their siblings were at cum swallowing. Fun shit. Watching a news report that just flashed across my screen asking the public if they had any information as to who set a fucking church on fire and if I did to call this number, and me calling the given number stating that I knew who did it, “My Cock”. Fun shit. Getting wasted and playing bumper cars, turning the street into my own fucking amusement park. Fun shit. As I continued to fuck, get high and drink, everything began to make sense to me. The fucking light came on. I realized that none of this shit mattered. It was all a vintage, mint condition, authentic pile of bullshit, and I no longer gave a fuck about any of it. Wars, economics, political scandals, God, heaven, hell, dating, and most important of them all, “How I Got here”, it didn’t fucking matter. All that mattered was my having been inside of a cunt. All that mattered was my having snorted a few lines. All that mattered was my having been fucking trashed. I could give a total fuck about foreclosure, starving children in third world countries, voting, elections, laws, abiding by those laws, friends, parents, and being a model citizen. I mean be honest folks. When you’re fucking do you really care who the President of the United States happens to be? Of course not, you want to blast off a jizz-bomb. You don’t have time to ponder what cocksucker is going to have his ass-wiped by the secret service after he’s elected to take a Congressional shit in the White House. Is War really an important issue when you’re so loaded that your own name escapes you? Of course not. All you want to do is get fucked up and stay fucked up. Why care about the idea of War?
This country loves, kisses, hugs, and fucks the notion of War. This country is married to war. Why should I object to their union? I’ve learned the more you care, the more you become a bigger asshole than the assholes who are doing the shit you hate. Fuck them. What are you going to do; write a letter to some, “who the fuck cares” politician that will pull out his cock and piss on your newly written manuscript of complaints? Are you going to have a fucking march? I know you’re going to pray aren’t, you? What are you going to pray for? Politicians becoming honest and forthright. Business, Wall Street criminals laying down their greed and sharing their wealth. Oil companies dispensing equal amounts of resources. Extremists, Militants, and War Profiteers suspending their bombing campaigns and terrorist organization funding. Alcoholics turning to water. Nymphomaniacs becoming Prudes. Drug Addicts just saying, “NO”. God actually giving a fuck. If these are your prayers then you are fucked and screwed. None of these things will ever happen. This world evolved from shit and it will return to shit. There’s nothing you, I, or anyone else for that matter can do about it. We’re fucked. Deal with it. That’s why we have assholes folks. It’s because we were meant to get fucked. Only I know what keeps the pain down. Its “fucking”, “getting high” and “drinking”. So go ahead asshole. Pray your little prayers. Have all your marches. Write all your letters, and while you’re being told to “fuck off”, I will be feeling the warm welcoming of an open pussy, a “knock me on my ass” narcotic, and a bottle of liquor. Alas, life only has three joys and I’ve found them all. Sex, Drugs, and Alcohol.
Now being that drug use is a social taboo in this country, frowned upon by all the pussies that make up the laws in this country. You will hear me refer heavily only to fucking and drinking, but trust me my fellow addicts. I haven’t left you out. Do not be alarmed. There are many references towards all of you. So let’s get this fucker moving.
P.S. If you’re a parent don’t let your kids read this. It will fuck them up totally. However; if you’re a kid and your parents are attempting to keep you away from this book. Kill the fuckers! They don’t want you to have fun and goddamn it there will be none of that.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
CHAPTER ONE - FUCK-CREATION
CHAPTER TWO - POLY-DICKS
CHAPTER THREE - MASTURDATING
CHAPTER FOUR - OFF-COURSE
CHAPTER FIVE - HUMANS & CANINES
CHAPTER SIX - THE LAST CUM GUZZLER
CONCLUSION
RESOURCES
INFORMAL INTRODUCTIONS
For those of you who have a limited scope of what reality truly is allow me to give you an explanation that will answer that annoying fucking question that eats away at the very fiber of your being daily. Reality is sex, drugs and alcohol, but to put it plainly. It’s fucking, getting high and drinking. Put this up for consideration. What three things relieve the stress of this God-forsaken monotonous existence that we call life other than the ability to “fuck”, or “get fucked up”!!! What feeling as a man is better than having your cock stroked up and down by some woman’s tongue who is so talented at giving a blowjob that she could hum the entire Star Spangled Banner while simultaneously deep throating your cum stick. My blessed damsels what feeling is better as a woman than having a tongue stroke your little friend hiding behind those layers of skin we all call a clitoris until you squirt for cover like a fucking geyser. All else fails in fucking comparison. This is just the oral part, I haven’t even gotten to the point where all you want is a nice hard fuck custom doggie style that makes the gum you’ve been chewing all day literally spit out of your mouth as you feel that hard, forceful pelvic thrust that takes your breath away as a woman when the guy that’s behind you is fucking you so good that all you can do is think to yourself, “what planet is this fucker from and are there more hard cocks to go around with my name on them”. I haven’t even started to talk about the notion of getting a call from the “Lady of the Ranch”, who tells you, you better cowboy the fuck up because she’s ready to ride you like it’s the Daytona 500, and her engine isn’t scheduled for any fucking pit stops. I mean come on folks; I don’t know what else your fucking looking for out of life but folks it doesn’t get any better than this. A shot of Tequila to chase the worm bottle by bottle, a very potent narcotic to fuck your brain over, and a piece of pussy, or a stroke of cock is all that this meaningless, miserable fucking planet has to offer. What more is there? Of course some hopeful, disillusioned fuck reading this is saying to himself there’s a lot more out there. Something fucked like “love”. If this is true let me tell you something you cocksucking there’s a silver lining to every cloud asshole. Love is the equivalent of having a fucking drink of bourbon; smoking a great joint; having a good fuck followed by a climatic ejaculation in some chick’s mouth, and after that a coma like sleep. That is what I think about, “Love” and your notion of such a fucking thing. I’d rather eat a plate of “holy fuck that’s hot” buffalo wings, smoke a pack of Lucky’s, chase the fucking worm, get high, and meet some cunt whose idea of a good time is being bent over the railing at the top of the Empire State Building with her shirt completely over her head at high noon in the middle of a tourist attraction with my cock sliding in and out of her while she screams out, “ don’t mind us folks we’re part of the fucking tour”. That’s my idea of love, give me a fuck and give me drink any fucking day. Give me sex, give me drugs, and give me alcohol, or give me Death.
The Question
The question has never been, “to be or not to be”, but rather it is, “to fuck and why not fuck more”, along with “to drink and why not drink more”. Society in this misinformed fuck of a world out of its’ ashes and dust being the immoral haven of pussies that it is tries to rid itself from the disdain of uncivilized activity by turning to the notion of God, or God’s fuck palace, which is Religion and the Church. Therefore, whenever you’re in public or in the sanctity of your own home it’s impossible for you not to hear the excessive banter of the religious self righteous who spew their indignations all over the place on those who live what is considered to be a “sinful” life; yet these are the same fucks who since the very conception of mankind have been fucking like rabbits while in the same breath getting drunk off the very fruit of the land. However, they want you to stop. They want you to abstain. These are the same fucks that are the predestined, predetermined, prepackaged, highly elected, “to good for all of us” pieces of shit that will get into Heaven, but guys like me will be welcomed to “Hell’s Jungle”. These are the same assholes that expect me to abandon fucking and drinking because of this “fucked” belief that my eternal soul is doomed for everlasting decay and torment by the judgment of an Almighty Cocksucker. If hearing shit like that is supposed to make me fucking change and become morally responsible then not only do I say fuck that, but I say fuck you, and all those that have to do with this moral awakening period as if it is the age of the fucking renaissance and these sexual stiffs are the Michelangelo’s of the modern day sent to paint the portrait of my fucked up soul. I think fucking not. I won’t take that shit, but I’ll tell you what I will fucking take. I’ll take a fucking nun dressed up in her little nun outfit with nothing on underneath of it with a warm vagina full of hopes and prayers, whose repeated cycle of chastity and tongue abstinence I will bring to a fucking end. My gift to her will not be a mouthful of Ave Marias, but rather my fucking cock that she will use as an instrument of lubrication and milking, in order that she can be anointed to sainthood. Eat your heart out Mother Teresa. Your humanitarian efforts never included jizz eating, but Constance fucking loves it. Now that I will have a piece of and of course if the old Padre, (Father) wants to watch as I bang Sister Constance in the fucking confessional then bring it on Padre, pull up a chair and get a bucket of fucking popcorn ready because this is not a goddamn matinee’. Children are not invited. Only adults are allowed to this show folks. Therefore; if this makes you cry, good. Grow up, fuck and drink, or fuck off.
TIME
Time, time, time. Who gives a fuck about it truly? Truth is, I don’t have time for all of the fucking bullshit that comes along with age and reason; therefore what I do, is what I do and what is, is just that, it is what it is. If I want a fucking drink do you actually think I give a fuck about what the surgeon general has to say about how fucked up my heart or liver will be if I continue to imbibe anything that’s 80 proof and beyond. I like drinking without giving a fuck because when I wake up from a bed of piss, blood, and vomit it helps me forget the piece of ass that’s laying next to me and that’s still giving my cock mouth to mouth resuscitation. Who gives a fuck about tomorrow or the day after that or the day after that? If I’m hungry I want to fucking eat now. Not later, not in a few fucking minutes, but now. Waiting is for dipshits. This is the answer to the question of why can’t people wait to get to know each other before they fuck. The answer is, who the fuck has time to wait for all the formalities of first names, last names, I’m single, I’m married with three children and a husband that doesn’t know that a finger against my clit ever so lightly will make me cum intensely. Who cares that you’re married to a gold digging horror who believes the definition of a blowjob is telling you “sorry, no I don’t do that”. Who gives a fuck? There isn’t time to get fucking acquainted. There are only 24 hours in a given day all of which should be devoted to fucking and drinking. If there were 25 hours in a given day I could maybe see the idea of getting to no each other, but that’s still a stretch. However, there are only 24 so shut your fucking mouths and fuck you assholes.
The definition of two consenting adults having sex is this without dispute. On one hand you have a guy that doesn’t give a fuck about your name, problems, marital situation, or fucking occupation. All he wants is a cock relieving blowjob. On the other hand, you have a woman that doesn’t give a rats ass about how successful you are, how much money you have, or how many cars you drive. All she wants is her literal brains fucked out over, and over, and over again. Imagine that, and if you’re saying to yourself is it really that easy, the answer is an emphatic, fuck yes. There is no scientific equation to any of this shit although the idiots that make things harder then what they are would lead you to believe such a fucking thing. They want you to believe that it takes money, flowers, candy, a great job, two cars, a fucking house that has more bedrooms than a high rise skycraper, and a “loving heart”. Yeah can’t forget about the “loving heart” bullshit. That’s where all the Hallmark bullshit comes from. Listen folks what you have has nothing to do with getting fucked, that’s bullshit. It’s often said that a woman upon meeting a man knows within five seconds if she will ever fuck, kill, or spit on the fucker. While men on the other hand are not as fucking picky so long as the woman doesn’t smell like complete and total shit in that special place and to be honest that’s only for a handful of guys because some motherfuckers are so hard up they would fuck any woman with a pulse no matter what her, “glory hole” smelled like. It’s not that hard to get fucked. It’s never been that hard. It’s insanity to think that “fucking” is a complicated process. If you can’t find some asshole who wants to fuck, you always have yourself. Remember folks the term “go fuck yourself” is to be taken literally whenever one has dry cock or cunt syndrome. In other fucking words folks, if you haven’t fucked within 24 hrs. Then why haven’t you masturbated yet. What the fuck are you waiting for? If an entire day has gone by and you haven’t had a fucking orgasm, by law you are ordered to fucking masturbate. It’s one of the fucking commandments. Thou shalt cum daily. I’m surprised you fuckers never read that. It’s in the Bible.
Time goes on; yes it does, and although I don’t give a fuck. This truly is the only constant that I will acknowledge. However what I will say about time is that it’s often hard for me to recognize anything due to the fact that 100% of the time I am fucking wasted, or just fucking. I have come to the point of a truly wonderful epiphany which I will share with you. I love to fuck and drink, but wait a minute folks before you get ahead of yourself, this is not my epiphany. My life altering change of ideas that has brought about a roaring “eureka”, has to do with my not being the only fucker to feel this way. I thought I was alone, but that wasn’t the case. I realize now that as this world is full of countless numbers of human terds, I am not the only one to truly feel that a fuck and a drink is all that we were put here for. While most wake up and ask the question as they look in the mirror daily, “what am I here for”, I have found my meaning in life. It is to fuck and to drink. While parents invest and save working tirelessly to provide a life for their children’s future as means to find reason to their existence, I simply fuck and drink. While 401K plans are fucked away by corporate swindlers, I simply fuck and drink. While graduations, christenings, marriages, births, abortions, suicides, wars, depressions, recessions, murders, and elections go on and on, yes that’s right if you guessed it I simply fuck and drink. I do it with endless repetition and fucking practice. I am as much a professional “fucker” as I am a professional “drinker”. Fuck being a card carrying member folks. I am judge, jury, president, king, and founder of the “fuckers and drinkers”. If you would like to join send all requests to www.fuckinganddrinking.com. I look forward to hearing from you, however due to a large volume of requests my response will take a long fucking time. To be honest you won’t hear from me folks, because you’re all fucking pussies who couldn’t live one day on the fucking edge. You talk about it, but that’s all it is fucking talk, because you’re all fucking pussies.
Food for thought about time, it has no fucking appetite. Time only matters to the optimist of the world, but to the pessimist of the world, time means fuck. Time only matters to assholes who believe in this “fucked notion” of things being put into their proper perspective. Which is fucking what, I ask you? What fucking perspective does time give you? If you allow time to dictate your life you’re screwed. People that spend their entire lives as sexual prudes and moral fucking delegates have to wake up one day. However by the time they do they’re old and going through a midlife crisis. All of a sudden the magical light went off in their heads. They decided that they wanted to fuck their brains out, but it’s too late. Yeah their cock doesn’t work. Their cunts won’t open. Now they’re miserable. “What took them so long”, you ask? I’ll tell you what took them so fucking long. Its times’ fault. Blame time. These assholes considered time and how they should live inside of a “keep that jizz away from me”, fuck existence. They’re scared of what will happen if they fuck some random guy Monday what will happen tomorrow or the following year. Who gives a fuck what will happen tomorrow? Who gives a fuck about next year; your cock’s hard now, your cunt’s wet upon request. Why the fuck are you thumb fucking your brain over what could happen if you get a delightful orgasm in a bar bathroom? Folk’s abstinence is for idiots and celibacy is for assholes. Fuck your ideas about disease, pestilence, and germs. Fuck one another. If you don’t have a condom ready, great. Those things suck anyway. You can never get the true feel of a piece of pussy anyway, and if the woman isn’t using suitable lube her cunt will dry out and begin to feel like you’re fucking a porcupine. Fuck time. There’s no such fucking thing as time. It’s all bullshit. The idea of time was created by a group of pricks that wanted to rule over nitwits, and you’re letting them win.
Marriage
The common definition of misery as defined by the PhD’s, (Physically Handicapped Dicks), of the world says that “misery is a state of wretchedness caused by one’s conditions or circumstances, which in turn leads to mental and emotional distress”. Now for the sake of anyone’s own interpretation of what misery is I won’t agree or disagree. I will simply share with you my definition of what misery is, which without prejudice or contempt I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help me_____, you fill in the blank. Misery is one simple word, Marriage. Yeah I don’t need a full sentence for this defining moment. All I need is one fucked word, “Marriage”. You would think with all of the ceremonial masturbations that take place in this fucking country from Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Valentine’s Day, Easter, Birthdays, House Warming’s and Anniversaries there wouldn’t be another fucking day where people gather to watch two imbeciles stand at a fucking altar to spout out a bunch of crap they’ll forget as soon as one of them does the unforgiveable like leaving the toilet seat up after taking a piss or deleting the downloaded porn collection from the computer. Marriage is fucking bullshit. I’d rather shave all the skin off my balls and step into a bathtub full of fucking alcohol. Marriage what a fucking joke.
Of course you have to admit that citizens of a so-called humane and intelligent society could do better than marriage. We could have come with something way better. Take these three options for example. Option One. Rather than getting married just commit suicide by castration; I mean, after all, when you say “I fucking do”, you have just committed ritualistic castration because your cock and balls have just been hacked off with a dull fucking knife and put into your wife’s purse for her to show around at her tea parties for all to see that you, yes you are now the proud cockless imbecile of your lady in waiting.
Option Two. Before you think about getting married why not just go to a zoo and jump in the fucking lion’s cage, I mean , come on you’re going to get your fucking head chewed off when you have argument after argument, this way you cut out all of the fucking bullshit. Just get the shit over with. Rather than going through a life of constant pain by hearing the annoying voice of your not so significant other. Just wait and in a matter of seconds you will be devoured by a large beast who could give a fuck if you forgot to take the garbage out, all it wants is a fucking meal. Compare that to a life long series of being told that you are a, “piece of shit cocksucker”, or a “life sucking bitch”, and folks there you will see that the fucking Lion is your friend.
Option Three. Instead of taking that life changing jump into matrimony why not just go to a local restaurant step, inside of the restroom wait until someone has taken the largest shit possible ask them not to flush the toilet then go down to your knees and stick your head right in the fucking toilet bowl. Hell, the way I see it after you get married you’ll be eating someone else’s shit, be it dinner at the in-laws where you have to hear about how your darling dearest was the class valedictorian who never sucked a cock in her whole life because she wanted to save herself for you. Bullshit. That’s shit on a plate. Next, you’ll have to hear about how your so-called masculine gift from God considered the very notion of sticking his finger inside of a piece of pussy as the most disgusting act imaginable of course until he met you. Bullshit. That’s another plate of shit. After that, it’s drinks with friends who try to save face in front of you that are going through their third bankruptcy, while you’re going through your second, but neither of you divulge this information to one another because it’s all about appearances and fingers up the ass so that no one will think that when the car is repowed or the house is in foreclosure that the reality is, you’re fucking broke. That’s why a toilet full of shit is a quicker remedy to the notion of marriage, Bon Appetite.
If you’re pissed off, having a severe taste of disdain in your mouth because of my ideas, “great”. Fuck you. Let’s stay on the subject of marriage, you sanctimonious fucking pricks. Now is it me or is marriage the absolute fucking equivalent to a life sentence in prison, from the notion of steel bars, to unwanted guests, to conversations that make you want to puke but you have to listen to because the fuck that’s your cellmate is this emotional nitwit that can’t do their time so they have to talk to you as if you give a fuck. This is marriage with all of it’s delusions of grandeur. You have to listen to your fucking spouse even though you don’t want to. You have to, because if you don’t you’re “fucked”. You’re screwed. Misery welcomes Marriage. Marriage welcomes Suicide. Suicide welcomes Death. Death welcomes the stupid fucks that get married, and I welcome it all so that none of you fucks ever marry again. This is what I like to call the circle of insanity. Boy meets Girl. Boy fucks Girl. Boy becomes a Man. Man marries Woman. Man after six months of marriage wants to blow his wife’s fucking head off. Woman after three weeks of marriage wants to kick her husband in the nuts until he shits blood. Man gets divorced and wants full custody of the kids with as little alimony payments as he can fucking get. Woman gets divorced and wants the Guy’s soul. Man gets pissed off and has his ex-wife killed with an execution plan that rivals the thoughts of a fucking two year old. The plan is thwarted and the Man ends up doing major time. Woman gets pissed off, asks her ex-husband to come over to the house so they can talk. She cooks her ex- husband a candle light dinner with all the trimmings; however, she left out that the wonderful meal is spiked with a scale of arsenic that could kill an entire stable of fucking horses. Thus man dies. An autopsy is done revealing that the fucking guy was poisoned; therefore woman goes on trial says she was in an abusive relationship, full of domestic violence; the jury buys it and she gets off. So folks I ask you once again, do you still want to walk down that fucking aisle of, “I Do”, or wouldn’t you just rather fuck until your cock can only put out increments of air because your sperm count is so low from fucking all of the available pussy that lurks the streets waiting for it’s cock in shinning armor. Wouldn’t you rather get so fucking wasted that seven jolts from a fucking defibrillator, three taser shots aimed directly at your balls, and the drenching of your pubic hairs with a gallon of gasoline followed by a firmly lit match causing you to become a raging inferno wouldn’t sober you up?
For the sake of not wanting to sound like a fucking Priest on a soap box, I’ll leave you with one last thought on the subject of marriage. It’s not a secret that in every part of this country and I would say in the major civilized parts of the world, that it’s illegal to grab a fucking club and beat the opposite sex over the head to carry them away to become your life long cum pleasure bucket. Therefore, what sex is said to be is an act that is agreed upon by two consenting adults. However, what I find hilarious is the notion of sex in marriage. It’s just not possible. The spontaneity of getting a sloppy wet blowjob, or your cunt licked while ordering food at a McDonald’s drive thru is a fucking thing of the past because, of course your, spouse now has morals and does not want to be seen as the fucking slut, or man horror they were before you were married. Now everything is all about privacy. Yeah once you get married fucking has to be done in the privacy of your own home, which makes you say, “hey, thanks but no fucking thanks I’d rather watch a pie eating contest by two overweight fucks that can’t breathe without a fucking ventilator than have boring scheduled, scripted sex”. What the fuck is that all about? You get married and all of a sudden you have to put when you want to fuck on a schedule. I mean it becomes part of a fucking routine that says 8 am take the kids to school: 9 am to 5pm go to work: 5:30 pick up the kids: 7pm dinner: 9pm put the kids to bed, and now here it comes hopefully 10pm blowjob, a cunt lick, or a fuck. Keeping in mind that this is only going to fucking happen if the opposite party had a good day at work and is not having a so-called headache brought on by the thought of loathing sex with you.
Truly when you get married the days of hard fucking, six inch heels, anal beads, whips, chains, video cameras, role playing, cock rings, cum swallowing, and whatever else you’re into is over. The woman wants a fucking pussy for a husband and the man wants a whore. What a fucking dilemma. The woman no longer wants to be a whore. This is why she got married. Marriage brings validation. She wanted to be validated by not having to be the nasty, filthy fuck of a slut that she was. All the man wants is a woman he sees when watching his porn collection. The problem here is that he’s married and though maybe “wife love a lot”, is willing to do some things, she isn’t willing to go all the way. You know, its things like you can have her cunt but you can’t have her asshole. Her pussy is fine but anal fucking is off limits. Hour long blowjobs are now five second blowjobs. Different positions become one position. Public sex becomes, “are you fucking kidding me sex”. Spontaneity becomes, “fuck off and get out of my face, you disgust me”. Therefore I ask you again wouldn’t you fucking rather have sex with somebody that you met with no names involved, no knowledge about what they do or who they are, but all you know is that you want this person to defile and ravage your fucking body like a fucking barbarian horde that will cause you to celebrate everyday of your being that you’re not fucking married. Trust me folks once you get married sex is the last fucking thing you will ever have again. To be honest your spouse would rather fuck somebody else before they fuck you. That’s why so many marriages end in divorce. It’s because your partner marries you for stability asshole, be it financial, moral, psychological, or what have you. They didn’t marry you for fuck else; therefore, they go outside of your marriage to fuck because they know that this is the one part of themselves they don’t want any stability in. They know this is the one area where they can be totally unstable, it’s when they fuck. They don’t want a scripted, planned sex life with you. It’s true; therefore they search and find the individual that is the total opposite from you and totally get their brains fucked out by this person. Let’s be honest here. What’s better folks, a life time of misery in marriage or a short time of pleasure characterized by a hard fuck and a stiff drink? However, don’t ponder this to long. Who knows how long your cock will continue to stay erect? Who knows how long your cunt will continue to squirt?
SUCCESS
Success is at best defined at its root meaning, it fucking sucks. Here it is you have a group of fucks that have spent the whole of their foolish screwed lives trying to make headlines at all costs, by attempting to impress the woman that called them a waste of blood and tissue, or proving to their ex-spouse that they can keep their cocks hard without being poked in the asshole with a finger, or making their kids’ friends insanely jealous over their profession that they rave about at Career Day, all for what I ask? What is it that makes you fucks so focused on wanting to win at this Cock Contest? That’s all success boils down to, a fucking cockfight, with the winner being a fucking cocksucker. I call it the human “I” syndrome, the fucking “me, me, me” revolution, the “I want”, “I need”, “Please let it be me and not them”, “I can suck your cock better than they can” preoccupation that we all call Success. It’s bullshit. The fucking ratio of success, to lack of success stories pointing out how some make it and how most do not, doesn’t alarm any of you triumphant daydreamers. What shot do you really think you fucking have to get out of your bio-hazardous home that makes Oscar’s garbage can from Sesame Street look like the fucking St. Regis Hotel? Who would allow you to fucking become the C.E.O. of a Fortune 500 company when you just figured out yesterday that shoe laces and dental floss are not one in the fucking same? Who would back your play to put all of their money into the stock market when you honestly believe that the NASDAQ is a new video game scheduled for spring release. You’re an idiot. You’re a cunt casualty that should have been killed. You’re nothing. Face it. However, if you still want to talk Success, you fuckers, pop out your laser pointers, open your books to Chapter One, and listen. When it comes to the topic of success, there are only two types. Let’s start with the not so successful types. These are the idiots that will lease a high-end luxury car, rent a spacious four bedroom house, pay for sex any way they can get it, work a 9 to 5 job they totally fucking hate, but can’t quit because they need the minimal fucking income they gross in order to pay for all the shit they can’t afford. You would think any asshole whose annual gross is two dollars above the national poverty line would live their lives with more financial responsibility, but oh no not these nut jobs. Success to them is the mere enticing fact that all they have to look forward to is a fridge full of one week old Chinese food and two bottles of beer. They have a collection of “fuck why” motivation books and a stupid high school diploma that gets them nowhere. They fuck a jizz ball representing the same or opposite sex, who chooses to be with them only until something better comes along which could be the neighbor’s fucking dog on a good or bad day. Constantly they’re blanketed with repossession notices, eviction manifests, and collection agency love letters. Then to top it all off these fuckers always seem to have a pair of parents that tells them it’s “okay to be a fucking loser, because in their book, everybody’s a winner”, giving them twenty bucks here and thirty bucks there day after fucking day. Folks these assholes are class “A” fuck ups. These are the types that commit suicide after finally realizing what we all know about them, which is “they fucking blow”. These are the not so successful types. Now onto the successful types who are a deal or no deal away from being on the unsuccessful side of the fucking wild card.
Folks, no matter who you consider as being, “on the top of the fucking world”, even these fucks can blow it all in a fucking instant. If you really examine the dynamics behind this it’s pure fucking insanity. Some asshole that has amassed a fortune that is thought to be virtually beyond squandering ever, blows it all in one fucking slip of the brain. It would be like Bill Gates losing his estimated fifty-billion dollar fortune all because he bought fifty-billion fucking ice cream cones all at once. Most of us would think that his level of intelligence would have crash landed on the fucking moon. That would be ridiculous. However, let’s concentrate on what has made these individuals successful. Perhaps it’s the mere fact that they own something. Something has there fucking stamp of ownership on it. This is the measure of success no matter what anyone fucking says in this capitalistic society; however I just know that some spiritual, transcendental, mystical, “We are the World”, fuck is itching to say that success is the action of walking around in a fucking white robe that’s never washed, without shoes, eating leaves and grass for your three square meals, and doing some form of yoga to clear out your spiritual bowels. To top all this shit off, they expect you to tell all jobs to “fuck off” and have no income, because the idea of work is a form of being bound by the cares of this world that will make you concentrate all of your efforts on money and the earning of such; therefore, work is only for those who are here on earth, as they will tell you they are not here on earth , but rather they are in some alternate universe where money, sex, fucking, and drinking are not allowed in their fucking galactic bubble. Now being that this is complete and utter bullshit, here’s what most consider success to be. The fact that an individual owns a car that isn’t going through repossession, a home that isn’t going through foreclosure, and has an open checking and savings account, is the meaning of success by the general consensus. I mean some idiots are so stupid they do not even fucking realize that if they have a mortgage drawn on their home by their Bank that means the house belongs to the Bank, nut job, not you. Authentic home-owners only pay property tax. That’s fucking it! This is the same with a car. If the car is yours, asshole, there is no such thing as a fucking car payment; all you pay for is the gas and insurance, dickhead. Bank accounts vary, but it’s doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that if the fucker is empty you’re fucked, and if something’s in it well over the amount to pay for a pair of Sneakers then you’re okay. I disagree some with this train of thought, but I will second the motion that, success is based upon what you do or do not have. Success is based on what you have amassed or lost. What you have gained, regained, or squandered. What you are fucking, have fucked, and fucked away. Therefore, success states, to have is to be successful; to have not is to be unsuccessful, and to have more than all is to be God. Perhaps the jury is still out on the universal understanding of what success is, but while I have your attentive ear I will tell you what success boils down to. Success is being able to have an erection after fucking your tenth cunt-hole. Success is keeping your cunt wet while working on your seventh fuck in one night. Success is the ability to take shot, after shot, after shot without having eaten anything all fucking day and not lose your guts before the very audience that finds it eye dropping that you keep telling the bartender to pour another without ever fearing a hospital visit to the ER in the early hours of the fucking morning. Success is being an annual winner at the game that has kept my ever budding manhood in tact since conception, which is puss-dart throwing. Yes, this is the ultimate stimulating action packed world of interactive fucking where my job is to use my dick as a dart and the given cunts pussy hole as the center target while in turn being so shit faced that if I by any happen chance end up sticking my joy stick in her asshole, fuck it I tried, and in my book that means that I get an “A” for effort”. That’s my idea of success boys and girls. So tell the fucking jury to deliberate and stop with all the “fucked” thoughts of what the fucking verdict should be, because while the Earth spins on its’ axis, while Cats and Dogs fight, while Hamburgers and Hot-Dogs are still the food of choice for a barbecue, and while the concept of individuality is a distant thought to what is or what is not relative to the experiences of life, which the human brain calls triumph and disappointment, yes folks, yes, I simply fuck and drink. This to me is success!
ART
Have you ever stopped and pondered why the fucking word “ART” is used as an interchangeable description of every human action or reaction that complicates life in the civilized world even the fuck more as we know it. I always thought the actual word, “ART” in short is used as a name to describe some overweight fat fuck that likes to eat huge loads of lard, fat and an occasional banana that he wonders if he should eat or pleasure his shithole with. Every fat fuck I’ve ever met is named “ART”. Every fucking one.