BACK FROM THE DEAD (Electricity).

Yeah, so after the forced hiatus, I'm back to bring you guys some wonderful news!
Nothing new. Sorry. I was hoping World War III would start by now, but life keeps punching me in the face.
Anyways, things are looking shitty as always. Freshman congressman haven't really touched anything with monumental purpose. Politics is looking bad. I would just tell you that a black guy shot a white guy for robbing the black guy blind, but I believe that's too vicarious for your taste. In short, I'm not so happy. You're not either, else you wouldn't be here. But after an old man's ranting. (Shut the fuck up, you're twenty.) Oh wait. Still feeling old. My brain is still in need of rewiring. So if any of you are willing to give me a lobotomy. Feel free.

Because you're afraid he's going to take your imaginary soul, rape it to shreds, and then masturbate using your intestines.

I'll set this fucking world on fire...

...To genocide stupid people.

Social Standards

Blah, blah, blah, preachy-fuck social standards.
Shit happens, you feel uncomfortable because you're an outcast, and you just hate standards set by people with a shitload of money. Because hey, fuck them. Fuck them and their fifteen-year-old daughter you're about to spill your seed in.
Tip#1: Find groups of popular people and interject with anything.
Tired of people picking on you because you're different? Show them being different is a-okay by stabbing them in the fucking neck. Don't take their shit. And her mother does crack. And his step-father likes to play hide the "treasure" in his mouth. Because being unique to a certain degree is good for you. Just know that you're all humans. And no matter how much society wants you to group off, you're better off shooting society in the penis.
Tip#2: Barter, barter, barter. Services for services, hand-job for a sandwich, woman for a different woman.
A currency system is so very overrated. What value is, let's say, a dollar if I find that it holds no actual value? I prefer things like fellatio. Or a cookie. Especially a cookie if you want me to kill people for you. Obstruct! Burn your money! Who needs that shit anyways? You're going to start trading a skill you're good at for other peoples' skills. Because if you can't do something you enjoy, I'll put a leech on your left testicle.
How do you start? STEAL. Steal a bunch of shit. Don't go soft. If you want to start a bartering system you must first have things you can trade. So go to your local Wal- and just take fucking everything in a cart and run. RUN! Now you're ready to start your own post-apocalyptic trading post. Or buy a Vietnamese girl and sell her vagina. It works more than stealing shit. You just have to make sure she's twelve. Because thirteen is just too fucking old.
Tip#3: People with golden ideals are too fucking lazy to do anything about it.
Oh shi-

Grenade.

Life lays low looking for layers that don't exist.
Everlasting enigma ready to burst like a growing cyst.
Circles of cycles slaving to become a parabola.
Preying on pure play of innocent so the circle can have it all.

Realisation of a Demented Mind

Taking my brain into pieces, I will tour you around what I believe is my mind. Or you know. A brain. That works. Maybe half the time. I don’t know. Penis.
The first part we will come around to is the textbook social awkwardness that a lot of people that manage to find this article have. Face it. Dick. People like us manage a couple of friends that show each other love by berating each other. And we degrade each other in the worst of ways. And we live off of it. It is this part of my mind that hurts my larger goal of actually getting people to laugh at my rantings because, well… You know. No one who has a massive amount of charisma manages to find this shit. But here I am. Content at least someone saw this and made their day just slightly better.
The second part we’ll come around to is my oh-so-lovely paranoia. Quick think DDR mixes before they got really shitty! Paranoia can be more fun than you originally think. I mean, you get to constantly sense that the clown over there in the corner is watching you. And talking about how much he loves to use your stuffed animals to touch your naughty places. NAUGHTY PLACES! Cock. That clown wants to rape you. Did I say paranoia? I meant you were supposed to mix it with schizophrenia. Like a cocktail! Drink it. It won’t kill you. It’s just a massive amount of fun.
Lastly, we’ll take the Magic School Bus into the abyss. This is the part where morality seems to blend with my desensitized sense of humor. (E.g.: What’s more fun than tying a baby to a tetherball pole? STOPPING IT WITH A SHOVEL!) There’s black and white. The area in between those is a massive distance of different grays. And that clown is waiting for you wherever you’re staying at. With his big, shiny… Anyways. This is what makes me lack faith in any deistic religion. My ability to stray in the gray. Where you can see that people make up gods to explain parts of nature they could initially not explain. Like that clown wanting to touch your “Michael-Jackson-Only”. He really wants you. Really.
Really. PEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENIS.

Thinking like a Sociopath. (How to become a politician!)

Here in District 22 of Houston, Texas, my readers might already have a mindset for me. STEERS AND QUEERS. AM I RIGHT? Seeing as how my nature is not set to eat grass and have people use my excreted waste for fertilizer and then have them eat me, I guess that makes me a queer. A queer who’s going to talk about politics. And you know, you have to read. Because your last resort to cure boredom was to read a gay man’s political advice. And you can’t turn away now, oh no. You’re bored. Where else do you have to go? You’ve already searched the edges of the internet of gay midget rim jobs and Japanese tentacle rape. You have no where else to turn for entertainment than here. (Bwa-ha-ha-ha)
Now that I have your attention: Becoming a local politician in your town doesn’t have to be hard at all. Just follow my advice and make sure to steal everyone’s campaign poster and you’ll do fine.
1) Make sure you’re loud. As I’ve mentioned before, the louder you are, the more people will hear you the more sane you sound to others. Being rational has nothing to do with anything. Just shout over a megaphone that you want to lower everyone’s taxes, you hate Obama, and you love religion. Make sure that religion is a branch of Christianity or you get stones thrown at you and words to hurt your feelings. Meh. Scratch that. I’m sure if you yell loud enough, people will only care that you believe in god. So make sure you have anything to amplify your voice to pollute a quiet neighborhood with noise almost as loud as a goddamn rocket. And you have to be that loud. To gather many, many grumpy people out of their houses at three o’clock in the morning. Because people are busy at any other time of the day and you know this.
2) Write your name on every campaign poster. Make sure you black/white out everything except your name the “Vote for” and whatever office that other guy was running for. Fuck him. He’s not winning with someone as determined as you running for that same seat. While your out making your statements don’t be afraid to hold up a sign you personally made with someone else’s sign and get the crowd you angered so early in their precious morning to riot. Did I say riot? I meant rally. For you. Just say you work for (insert candidates name here) and say he specifically told you to wake these poor and middle class people (maybe some hobos) because he didn’t give a fuck about them. And then tell them where he/she sleeps. And works. The “rally” will be such a classic site. Bonus! You’re running with no opponent.
3) Now that we’ve cleared any opposition to whatever seat you’re trying to run for, we definitely need to work on that background you have. Things like rape, statutory rape, quadruple homicide, and escape from a mental institution are bad things for media to find out. OH WAIT. That guy people just murdered. He has a friendly name. And you magically look suspiciously like him. What a fucking win. Too bad that guy trying to keep up his shitty marriage and two affairs. Good luck having energy with that piece of shit penis you got stuck with. Well, almost clear sailing from here. We just have to take care of the people who can tell you’re different from the guy you got hundreds of hobos and poor people to kill. I’m sure you can manage it. You didn’t commit that quadruple homicide for nothing. I mean that guy stole your fucking breakfast doughnut. And the other three people tried to stop you from taking it back. They just had to die.
4) Voting day! You know what to do. You’re running unopposed. You can just relax and wait for the results.
Results: Peter Griffin = 97%; You = 3%
That’s right. You lost to a goddamn fictional character. And not just a lost, this was a fucking landslide of gigantic proportions. Well, you’re still out of the loony bin. Might as well kill some more people before they exile you from public air.

More about the all-unknowing me.

Before I go on and on and on and on about my life and how it sucks so much more than yours and how it’s written so that you can feel better about yourself, I believe it necessary for me to tell you, my oh-so-special reader, all about my superior inferiority.
I am a genetic nightmare for most geneticist. A tall Asian who knows how to drive, doesn’t eat rodents/ domesticated animals occasionally, has a moderately sized penis (although like most men, I beat it bruised until I think it grows), I grew up thinking about others, and most importantly, I have and use a functioning brain (not mine, I bought the brain from a friend).

^- One of many things I could have gotten if I hadn’t eaten the rest of my damned fries. Where was I? Oh yes. I’m different. But only so much different from stereotypes. It’s what happens when you grow up in a poor society that took it’s fun from laughing at people who were different (I’m looking at you white people who went to my middle school and everyone in my high school).
As for what I want, well, it’s a bit complicated. I want everyone to think moderately similar and be able to talk their differences peacefully. Unlike our current political system of “Louder Man Is More Intelligent”. Of course this goes without saying that there must be an unbalance in our world of Chaos. And when a natural scale gets out of balance, bad stuff seems to happen. A lot. Especially to me. E.g.: Me being happy immediately turns into a car hitting me in the kneecaps. But I have to realize that life is just going to suck for those hoping for it to get better. Luck only seeks people who don’t need it. And for the people that do? Well, luck gets to show up on your front door and wrongfully accuse of of public nudity, public intoxication, and fornicating with his daughter. Excuse me sir, I didn’t do any of those one things separately.
My personality is that of a simpleton. My mind spans over several different ones. Most of them are that of simpletons. The spectrum crosses several domains from psychopathic to kind. Oops, I meant kind as in kind of psychopathic. It’s not that I have trouble feeling. I just have trouble feeling anything for you. And if, perchance, I was to actually care enough to feel troubled by your problems, seek help immediately from your mental institution.
This article isn’t actually meant to be funny. But good for you that you came. Because I only merely need your attention, for I feed off of it like a vampire sucking an infants veins dry.

Laughing is great. (And you'll get none of it here.)

As a well-respected demi-god, son of Jupiter and whatever my mother’s name is, I am obligated to first inform you of how very not well-respected I am by humans (and sometimes animals) and how easily I yelp in pain when my scrotum is hit by a woman at a bar, a woman in an alley screaming, “Please stop touching me or I’ll hurt you,” (pfft, woman aren’t real people), or a transvestite doing one of the aforementioned things. As we’re having this delightful conversation, you’re probably thinking, “Wow. This guy must suck at pulling anything into his pants,” at which point I’d have to tell you that you’d be wrong. Dead wrong. So dead wrong, you wouldn’t even know that I pulled dead things to give me fellatio had you not provoked it. Yes, this is your fault. You wanted to inquire about how empty my sex life is and SURPRISE!
Moving on to more other non-disgusting things: I hate you. Nah, let me rephrase: I really, really, really hate you. (1)”Why MS? Why do you hate me so much? We barely know each other!” / (2)”I FUCKING HATE YOU TOO ASSHOLE.”
(1) Because I’m a shy person and you were supposed to create conversation with me, to which I befriend you by berating you. Ahh. Classic comradery. (<- FB squiggly lines this because it also hates you and hate the idea of friendships and also hates real words.) Also, if we got to know each other, you’d end up spewing a line of opinion that would irk me to abrupt your opinion with how stupid you are for not having classic left-wing morals. So there. You’d hate me at the end. =D
(2) Hey, I like you already. Let’s get together, make some ramen, and waste our lives away trolling WoW, telling other people who barely bought the game how ridiculously noob-y they are.
In conclusion, if you laughed at this, you have a really, really low standard of humor to which I shadowed over it, strangled it with the tail of a mouse, and then made love to it’s dead body. If you managed to laugh out loud, after I made love to your humor, I stabbed it in the neck, tossed the body into a swamp and watch as ducks try to rape every hole your humor had (presumably it was a female rather than a tranny), and roast it and eat it (because Asian stereotypes will never go away).
I applaud you if you didn’t laugh. Because this isn’t funny. It may contain shock value, but no hilarity. So congratulations. You win a metaphorical cookie that I made with the flesh of others’ humor.