Broken Thoughts… Postcard From My Heart…

There is a hole in my soul
I lie and say it doesn’t hurt
Broken and I think everybody knows
A child with so many things to say
An adult with nothing left
All that matters doesn’t seem to anymore
The feelings once there have come and gone
A pretense so intense that it hurts
Walking away seems to be all that I have left
Though I know I still have things left to say

 

A Darkness Love Could Never Hide

Literally burning time
Watching it burn slowly
In my hand
Your life
Smell so innocent
Taste of dirt and ash
Holding a place in my heart
A grave with no name
The bones never seem to
Break away when you want
Them to
The souls always with me
Speaking in tongues made of sin
Give me more, feed me, feed this eternal lust
The hate was never the point
It is the feeling of your lungs running out of air
Succumbing to a need
Deep inside me grows a danger
Lack of control has led me to this
Watching your body burn with the rest of them
In the shallow grave, the altar I’ve built for you

 

Spitting blood
Did you care before you thought
I was going to die?
My mouth is dirty
Vulgar as fuck
Postcard from my heart

 

cropped-website-logo.jpg

Not a whole lot to say… which is odd to even me… even crazier is that I’m in a great mood… maybe that’s scary?… haha… believe me when I say I am fine… a little dark… but that is just me… smiling all the way to asylum… enjoy your day… I’m going outside to enjoy the sunshine… just kidding… I’m not that crazy… : )

 

Threadless… High Fashion… Amazon… Literature… Twitter… Deep Thoughts

Staring Like A Junkie

Did This Really Have Meaning

Amount to something
A purpose would do the world some good
Breaking bones to stay with it
Because that’s what really matters
Cramming my body full of shit
Can all it add up to real effort
Does anything ever add up to anything
Don’t think it won’t help anyone
Effect is so different from affection
End up feeling the same all together
Friendly means something other than friend
Fucking reality kicking in, sinking in
Got so few years left in this world
Gloating never got anyone anywhere
Have everything, all I’ll ever need
How could effort mean so little
I think maybe a little too much
Intelligence wasted on the weak
Jokes have so little meaning
Jesters will tell you all the sadness they know
Knowingly knowing no one gives a fuck
Kill the ones that dare
Love those who stand in your way
Like they’d have a purpose if it wasn’t for you
No one gives away anything in this world
Except for our souls without any effort

cropped-website-logo.jpg

I had a whole other poem to go with this one… but there is a lot to unpack here on this one… this one is very personal to me… so let’s go line by line and explain how worthless I am… come take my hand… this will be fun… 

If you didn’t catch right away this was written at and about work… well then you haven’t been paying attention to me now have you?… skipping the first two lines because… well they are pretty obvious with no hidden meaning… a purpose could do us all some good… no argument there… Breaking bones to stay with it, Because that’s what really matters”... these lines are about the time that I got hurt at work… I didn’t break anything, but I did have to sport a hard cast for a few weeks because I sprained my wrist so bad the doctors thought I did break my wrist… got lucky they said… if I had waited any longer I would have ruptured the tendon… funny how lack of sleep… lack of money… lack of self-worth…  will drive you to do stupid things… this one is all on me… of course someone should have been like hey… you can’t work like that… but when you hate yourself more than everyone else… well they’d let you work until you died… because that’s what really matters…

“Friendly means something other than friend”… this one is a twofer… it has to do more with being trapped between two things… Mangers who pretend to be your friend… tell you how great you are killing your self… and the other side of the business where we are selves are supposed to be fake and pretend we like the customers… don’t get me wrong… I don’t hate any customers… or think horrible thoughts about them… even the stupid ass one that ask me if they should eat expired brown meat… because if I did… I would have said yes… under cooked and as much as you can stuff in your face… but I didn’t… I saved a life the other day… maybe more than one… I’m not proud of it… but I am no monster either… In all actually though… when your job is to stay up all night and restock everything… we don’t care about the customer… sure we get it… but one less item to stock… to have hanging over our heads… “Sorry… we are out of personal lubricant”… Big smile… 

“Have everything, all I’ll ever need, How could effort mean so little, I think maybe a little too much“… First line is about how I was born with everything I will ever need… hints how I got so great at my job… the job didn’t give me that… I gave the job that… arrogant… out of touch with who I am… but the truth is the job isn’t us… we are the job… we don’t have to work as hard as we think that we do… but who doesn’t want to be the best they can be?… second line… has to do with money… and the last thought… yes… I was one of the best at that job… and yet I made less than some of the worst people I worked with… because that’s how all this works… currently at my new job in the same company I am having an internal conflict because not only do I know I do more than most people based on numbers and units… I now know how much money we make in a day as a department… the first set of information was crippling… knowing how much money we make off of my ass… well… why don’t you clean up the chicken juice off the shelf…

Won’t go into huge detail but… on most days… even the slow ones… my department makes more than I do all year… in one fucking day… yes… I know there is more to a business… there are costs blah… blah.. blah… there are ten people in my department… I’m dead middle in terms of money earned… there are 365 days in a year… it doesn’t take a genius to see that I’m getting fucked at some point here… well we have to pay… blah… blah.., blah… even if they paid each of us the amount of money we make as a department on our busiest day… Sunday… they’d still have 42 weeks of pure profit… minus all that other blah.. blah.. bull shit… what I’m saying is stop showing the fucking numbers… ” I think maybe a little too much”… pretty obvious at this point… 

“Love those who stand in your way, Like they’d have a purpose if it wasn’t for you”… On the surface this would seem to be about celebrity… and it works for that very much… these lines are actually about those above me… we have such a cult of personality for each of these assholes that lord over us… but why?… most of them can’t even do what we can do… they wouldn’t have a job if it wasn’t for us… in fact if it wasn’t for us… they’d be doing our fucking shitty horrible jobs… so why is it that they think they can treat us like shit… push us to the point that we want to… we hope we lose control going around a corner… we hope the box cutter slips and hits something important… by we I mean me…

I get they are their to flock us all together… lead us to the promise land…  but I can’t stand this whole pushing the strong bullshit… and that is why I am worthless… that is why all my effort is wasted… because I give in and let them do this to me… let them drive me to hurt myself… let them make money off my pain… and quite honestly give away my soul with very little effort… conditioned to suffer… to feel pain… we all wear chains… some we can see… and some that we can’t… “Sorry… we are out of personal lubricant”… Big smile… 

Shedding The Dead Skin

my side would it have made a difference?… these questions have no answers… these questions, therefore, are not real questions at all… they are only lingering thoughts that haunt me in times of sadness and despair…

Left a little space for what I have to say
Fuck off and go away

My head is not on right today
As though I’ve run out of things to say

With scars so deep it is amazing I can even sleep

try to not focus on them, to dwell on them, but I always know they are still there… my daughter has become a constant reminder of this… I look at her sometimes as she sleeps, as she plays, and all I can think is how could anyone walk away from her?… walk away from their child?… hurt their child?…

Like a shotgun blast to the chest, I’m back and I’m dead. Can’t stand all the words in my head.

We are all running from something

Finding a place to fill in my heart
That place between living and dying

yet I am proof that it can happen… not only a witness… a victim… still I don’t understand… a real thought… turns into so many real questions… maybe it was always meant to be this way?… to feel this way?… 

The worst part of being alive
Is knowing that you are human

I’m on the wrong side of hating it
Wrong side of hate

I’m surprised you haven’t gone onto choke on a dick yet

do I believe in God?… should I?… if this is her way of testing me… could she stop?… I think I’ve had enough… who cares what I think… when I’ve never had a say… faith… like the questions… is something… I don’t understand…

Drowning angels in a river of sin
Sure there’s got to be an easier way

This is how you kill an hour
Staring at a wall

Too pissed to say anything that means anything
Mind cluster fucked by all the shit you can’t seem to say

You look back and think this is fucked up, this part was wrong, but in reality, this is life… Nothing ever goes perfectly… Nothing goes to plan… Do the best you can and hope for even more… There’s no script for this shit… It just is or isn’t… sometimes… in some ways… it can be both…

It’s symbolic of the way I feel

cropped-website-logo.jpg

Ghost small

Missing you with every passing moment
Haunting you in the dark
Right there all along
Watching you
With
A
Haunted
Love

Sympathetic to Your Needs

“Am I being recorded?”
“I hope you don’t mind. It is for journalistic purposes. Try to not let it affect you or your responses. Best to think of it not being there.”
“Okay.”
“So you wanted to tell me something about where you work and how it pertains to my story?”
“You won’t publish my name right?”

“Click,” I insert another tape.

“From my perspective, I don’t see why racism in America is even happening. I mean at what point do we move past it and grow as people?”
“I’m not too sure. That is why I am working on this piece. I want to find out what real Americans think about racism.”
“How many real Americans have you interviewed so far?”
“Quite a few. All walks of life, but I want to hear your side of the issue.”

“Click,” I insert another tape.

“I have been doing this a number of years.”
“Seems like it can be difficult talking to people. I’m not sure I could do such a thing.”
“It can be at times. The hardest part is staying objective to the subject at hand. Often find that there is way too much excessive talking. It becomes a distraction.”
“What is that?”
“Oh, this? This is nothing.”

“Click,” I insert another tape.

“Are you even a real reporter?”
“Of course I am.”
The sound of weeping. “Why are you doing this?”

“Click,” I insert another tape.

“You shot her in the fucking face. You sick fuck.”
The sound of rustling. “Just wait and see what I do to you.”
The sound of choking, sounds of a struggle. A faint whisper,” Please… help…”

“Click,” I eject the tape. “How many are there?” I ask. “How many what? Tapes or victims?” My partner asks. “Either,” I say as I put my cigarette out. I leave it resting in the ashes. Burying it with the others. “Hundreds of tapes, but we are still unsure of the number of victims. Been doing this for years. Some of the tapes are legitimate interviews as you heard. Others are as close to being there as you can get. I mean let your imagination run wild.” He stares at me as I light another one. I offer him one from the pack and he declines. “It makes you wonder why? Even after all these years on the force. Still left with the same question,” I reach for another tape. “The answer isn’t there or in any of these tapes,” my partner assures me. “No, but there are facts and facts leads to answers.”

“Do you think that this will make me famous?”
“It has been my experience that anything can bring you attention. But not all attention is good attention. To answer your question though. In this case, it might.” The sound of a power drill coming to life and screams washes over the recording.

cropped-website-logo.jpg

Wanted to try something new… A story that could only be done on the website… and about as close to a script that I want to get… It is hard to not write every action each voice or character is doing… My hat goes off to those of you who write scripts… I have no idea how you do it… drives me crazy… lack of control?… what does that say about me?… haha… 

Still selling bits of my soul over at Threadless and Amazon… Don’t worry… I’m as cheap as I can get… 

Post Script of the Unimaginative

Oh, god. Here comes that fucking cat again. Charcoal, they call the cat Charcoal. His is gray and actually a female, but she looks like one of those cats on the bags of cat food we sell. She looks so much like these cats that I have now included her in my theory that I am the sole living being on this earth.  That in some way I have created everything around me. By happenstance, everything in the back of my mind subliminally or directly is being created by me.

“I have these thoughts off and on. I have this crazy thought so often that it almost seems normal at this point. This thought that I am god and the “real world” is nothing more than the way I want it to be. As if I create war and famine on the other side of the world just to have shit to talk about. I could rationalize the same about rules. It is interesting to note that  I have never been pulled over, arrested, or even had jury duty for that matter. I have also never won any major prize, event, or contest either. I have only been seriously ill once and beyond that have had no real brushes with death. All of these facts shouldn’t lead me to believe that I am so special, but they have. They drive me to a point to believe that I am a god like being.

I’m not saying I am God, but maybe the son of such a being or perhaps I am only in a deep coma. One long dream where by happenstance I have become a god like being. Of course, I have tested my so-called theory to no avail. I have wished to win the lottery, dreamed about it, and even thought maybe it would suck to take on such a burden. Nothing, of course, came about this. Sadly though no pay off to my wishes and prayers doesn’t disprove my theory about the world around me. The only true way to disprove my theory is to die which now begins the true crazy.

If I was to die if I could die it would prove that I am not what I believe to be. It would also end this journey. A place I’m not ready to visit just yet. In the meantime, I shall keep on going with my every day boring life and keep formulating my hypothesis until the time I see fit to test it. But honestly, if you were a God what would you end up doing day to day?” Charcoal lets out a large yawn as she works her way to my lap. Taking a long drag from my cigarette, “Yeah, I would want to do the same thing.”

 

This is what happens when you don’t sleep… show up two hours early to work every day to get some writing done… and a stray cat becomes your only friend… I did this for about a year… Things change but always feel the same… I never actually talked to Charcoal… I’d feed her the cat food with her face on it and when she was done she would sit on my lap from time to time… it bothered me so much… I allowed it out of kindness… while cringing at every moment… was she covered in fleas or disease?… shivering at the thought even now… then one day it rained and it rained hard… one of those good old-fashioned Texas rains… I didn’t see her for a couple of days after that… I pretended not to care… pretended it was for the best that this dirty cat was no longer coming around to join in my sadness… my pain… my loneliness… time went on and as it did this horrible smell came from nowhere over by where I used to sit and write… over by the water runoff… a pipe just big enough for a cat to seek shelter in the rain… through the storm… took so long for that smell to go away…  I stopped feeding strays after that…

 

 

cropped-website-logo.jpg

Merch

Drinking Bleach Preview (Vulgar)

The Trial

I’m feeling dangerous as the Judge call me to the witness stand despite the fact that I can’t even wipe my own ass if I wanted to. The law has me tied down. Got me on a leash, but they’re still scared. They don’t understand my madness. They don’t understand what makes me tick. That’s why I am here. So they can get some insight into what I am. Pussies. If they really wanted to know what I am they wouldn’t have me locked down like this. My lawyer says that if they question me on the stand at least I can get off with an insanity plea, but I’m not crazy. I’m the sanest mother fucker in the room.

As the bailiff walks me to the witness stand I get a smell of the perfume from one of the ladies in the jury. It smells of lilies and it smells so sweet I forget just what I am if only for a minute. Takes me back to when I was young. Takes me back to where I wish I could forget, but what’s done is done. I can feel my anger come back to me. I try to pull apart my chains, but it’s no use. I can’t tell which one of them is wearing it, but it doesn’t matter anyway. I’m locked down to god damn tight to do anything about it. Is there no human decency left in the world? When they sit me down in the chair I can see the crowd of people that was once behind me. A woman in a pink dress amongst the sea of black stares at me from the crowd, and she doesn’t look happy to be here. My lawyer said that some of the victim’s families would defiantly be here, but don’t let it get to me. I pucker my lips and give her a “kiss,” as I try to remember which one of my victims she reminds me of. I remember each one of the faces of the woman I have taken. The court is charging me with thirteen counts of murders, but I don’t have the heart to tell them it’s more like thirty. If they can’t find the bodies what concern is it of mine? Something about the woman in pink seems so familiar to me. It is her eyes. Yes, her eyes are the same as Heather’s eyes. They have the same look that Heather gave me as I strangled her to her last breath. God the fun her and I had after that. I have to assume that she is Heather’s sister or I’m sorry victim number six’s sister, but looks can be deceiving. There is no deceiving how Heather looks, however, not after I finished pounding that shovel in her face. No, no more pretty eyes for Heather. I can’t remember what I did with that shovel. Hopefully, I put it back in the shed. It was a really nice shovel I would really hate for it to get damaged. I wonder if they have found all of Heather anyways. They must have found enough of her or why else would the lady in the pink dress be here.

The lady in the pink’s dress is not the only woman with her eyes on me right now. What can I say the ladies love me and I’d hate to disappoint them all, but I’m a little too much to handle. The prosecutor is burning holes into the back of my head. I give her what she wants and give her a little smile to let her know I see her staring me down. She wears her emotions on her sleeve. My smile does nothing more, but piss her off which is all that I wanted. The things I could do to this woman would probably just get me thrown right back in this chair, but I’ll settle with just fucking with her mind for now. She’s not to bad looking either except for the butch haircut she is nearly perfect. If she grew her hair out she’d be easily fuckable with a knife. I can feel my dick getting harder just thinking about making her scream.

The jury looks hung or maybe that’s just how I want to see them swaying from side to side like twelve balls bouncing off one another. The judge breaks up my image of the jury swaying by demanding I put my hand on the bible. I tell the judge I’d rather not. The bible doesn’t do anything for me I say. I politely suggest if he wants me to swear on a book then he should bring me a copy of Everything Shits, as it is more relevant of a book than the bible. The crowd in the stands begins to sigh and talks like the sheep in the flock that they are. I’m the devil they whisper as if I can’t hear them. Wonder how many of them would put their hands on a book that used to be slammed across their face? The Bible reminds me of blood, the Bible reminds me that I have done something wrong, the Bible reminds me of God, and how there is no God. The Judge pounds his little hammer smacking the wood several times before ordering everyone to be quite in his deep voice between the horrible smashing. I ask him to please stop doing that. He tells me he will do as he pleases in his courtroom. A simple apology would have been sufficient, but no he has to be like every other asshole in the room. He asks me in a rude tone to put my hand on the bible so we can move on already. My lawyer reminds the judge that if I don’t want to swear on the bible it is my choice to do so or not. The prosecution adds another emotion to her sleeve, annoyance, before demanding we move on already. I am really beginning to enjoy myself up here in this chair. I feel so powerful as the prosecutor begins her questioning.

She asks me a general question to test my sanity. She asks why I am here in court today. Well she asks, “Why are you here in court today?” But is it not the same question? I explain to her that I was simply out at the local supermarket picking up some milk and accidentally wandered in here. She smiles in that way a woman smiles when she is very angry. In her defense she held back her anger quite nicely, but the armor is coming down. We all know why the accused is here Mrs. Nole please move on. The judge finally made a good point. “Since we all know why you are here Mr. Walters do you mind discussing any of the crimes you are being charged with today?” “No, not at all ask away.” “What happened to victim number six, Heather Woods?” “Going to have to refresh my memory, which one is that again?” “Heather is the young woman who went missing on December 30th three years ago. You claimed that you remember her and picked her out of a group of photo of missing people. Did you not do this Mr. Walters?” “Oh yes Heather, blonde hair?” The attorney nods at me. “Yes Heather was quite special to me. I let her live for a while before I dismantled every single part of her. I heard they still haven’t found all the pieces. Is that true?” “Sadly yes, but we found enough of her to link you to her missing persons case.” “Aww that’s too bad, but then again I imagined they never would find all of her. It’s quite impossible actually.” “Where is the rest of her?” “Hard to say it’s been three years now and medically speaking she is pretty much gone. Say why is she so important anyway? I mean I dismembered and raped and tortured a lot more than just one girl.” “He has a point counselor, but I have yet to hear yours.” “I have a point your honor. My point is why did you do all of this?” “That is your point? Really? There must be better things to ask me than why. I’m missing fucking shows here.” The judge slams his hammer down once again. “You will not use that type of language in my courtroom.” He is really starting to piss me off. I’m trying not to show my anger, but it is getting harder to keep my cool. “You liked to be in control don’t you Mr. Walters?” “What do you mean by that? Don’t we all like to be in control?” “What I mean is that you like to be in control and when you are not you act violently.” My lawyer stand up, “your honor what does that have to do anything? Mrs. Nole hasn’t asked a single question about this case. My client has already admitted to killing these women, what more can she really want from my client?” “I want to hear the truth. I want to know that Mr. Walters truly know what he did.” “Well that is a first I don’t believe I have ever heard of the prosecution trying to get a suspect off for insanity.” “I’m not insane your honor.” The judge slams his hammer. “No one said you were insane Mr. Walters.” My anger is at its peak.

“Stop slamming that fucking thing or so help me I will tear a hole in your throat just to watch you die you piece of shit”, I scream at the top of my lungs. The court goes into a frizzy and the judge slams the hammer yet again. “Order, order in the court what did you say to me, Mr. Walters?” But it is too late for words and despite how well they have me restrained I manage to get out of my chair. I jump as high as my limitations will let me which isn’t very high. The judge is scared out of his mind. He tries to move away from me as I lunge at him with my mouth open. I want to bite his fucking nose off or any part of him I can get my face near. The only part of him I am able to catch with my mouth is his right hand. My teeth grip the side of his hand and I can taste his skin in my mouth. I bit down as hard as I can on his soft flesh. I feel the warm taste of iron flood my mouth as he screams in agony. By this time the guards have gotten a hold of the back of my orange jumpsuit. As they attempt to pull away from the judge’s hand I can feel the soft tissue ripping further. I can hear the judge beginning to scream get this fucking psycho off of me. Get him the fuck off of me now. Just before a bailiff hits me in the face with the back of a shotgun I can feel a large chunk of flesh pull away from the judge’s hand. The hit hurts, but it doesn’t knock me out. I spit out the part of the judge’s hand that is still left in my mouth before telling the bailiff to go fuck his mother for me. The second hit to my face knocks me out cold, but I went out smiling.

Demented… Insane… Perfectly human?… who knows… this is the end of the story arc that runs through out my short story book, Drinking Bleach… Now available on Kindle and Amazon… Don’t forget to leave a messed up review… every little bit helps… Also check out my Threadless shop if you are looking for something new to wear… Storming the beaches of my mind for more to say… Got a playlist up on Spotify… Lemonade and Glass… check it out…

https://chewingonglass.threadless.com/

From the Journal of the Devil

Aug. 13th, 2009
I just witnessed yet another one of those late night infomercials. I must get it. The item in question is a pizza cutter that makes the perfect slices every time. This beauty goes by the name the Perfect Slice. So simplistic I love it. For the low, low price of $9.99 plus shipping and handling, I could be cutting my way to pizza heaven. How could I go wrong? Worst case scenario it becomes another prop I can use to frighten my victims will. I could raise the scissor-like device and threaten to cut little triangles out of their ball sack. The applications would be limited when it comes to actual torture. I’m sure that it can’t cut too deeply through the skin and there is no way it is getting through bone. Though if I modify it with a better hinge it could have the potential to do more damage, but then I’m into it for way more than the asking prices. There is also its basic function of cutting pizza and that could be helpful at a dinner party. I’m excited at the possibilities, but I don’t think it can live up to my last late night purchases. The Tri-Saw which has to be the most amazing device I have ever purchased. I really couldn’t ask for a better product. Three counter spinning blades rotating at 5500 mps gets my dick hard just thinking about it. This amazing saw can cut through most metals with ease once you purchase the Cut Anything replacement blades. Which of course I purchased because when you need to cut through a bone you want a perfect cut every time. Also, the stability of the Tri-Saw is second to none. There’s no jerking or pulling like there is with most saws. Plus it is handheld and portable. The miter saw I was using before was just too bulky and awkward. Not to mention loud and there are only so many new house projects I can lie about before the neighbors realize I haven’t fixed a thing. But with the Tri-Saw there is barely any noise. It does, however, lack a proper guard which can make quite the mess out of dismembering a body. But with this hobby, it seems to be unavoidable anyways and nothing a well-manufactured tarp can’t handle. There is nothing like it in on the market today. The Tri-Saw gets my seal of approval like my other great purchases such as the All in One Super Blending Unit, Soil Extraordinaire, Fantastic Flavor Inserter, and the Dangler Tomato Planter. While other products can be utilized beyond their intended purpose. The Soil Extraordinaire is for pure entertainment. Soil Extraordinaire was designed to feed water into plants as they need it. A reserve reservoir for those long business trips or the lazy ass who couldn’t be bothered to water their plants. It has the quite opposite effect if the product is stabbed into the whore’s neck. Granted some of the blood does make its way into the small hand-blown globe that acts as the reservoir, but this is mostly due to the pure force of the blood coming from their neck. The best technique is to enter at an angle so that the blood has a better chance of actually doing this. Then in order to save the blood from spilling all over the place, I have to gently remove the Soil Extraordinaire from the victim’s neck, and flip it so that the sharp end is pointing up. There is a real art to it all. Though if I am feeling lazy it is much easier to fill the product the old fashion way with a knife and a small incision. Either way works, but then I can take and put the blood filled globes in any potted plant that I have around the house. The blood doesn’t help them in any way. In fact, it mostly destroys them over time. Too much iron in the blood maybe? Really their only purpose is for me to have a discrete way of showing off my blood collection. Waste not want not. Plus there is something about having incriminating evidence stashed around the house that really gets me going. A major drawback to the Soil Extraordinaire is that the cheap shitty glass breaks way too easily. I have to make sure I stab the stem of the Soil Extraordinaire perfectly into the bitch’s neck or it snaps off into a million tiny little pieces on her collarbone. All of this creates an insidious mess that I have to clean up later. It took a reasonable amount of practice and quite a few Soil Extraordinaire to perfect the whole technique. The first girl I must have stabbed her at least six times before I got it to work. That’s about thirty-five dollars in globes alone. This is where the added value comes kicking in. At five dollars a globe it is much cheaper to replace the Soil Extraordinaire than it is to use quality materials. But even if the stem breaks or the globe itself, not all is lost because I can still use the leftover pieces to stab randomly all over their body. Another fun trick that I like to do whenever I’m not in a poetic blood and flowers kind of mood is to take the blood filled globes and smash it over their head. If their mouth isn’t gagged, neighbors on vacation, I like to watch as the blood slowly makes its way into their mouths. They pit and choke as they try to find a way to get it out, but more and more as the little shards stick out of their foreheads. The scene turns quite hilarious if left alive for a long enough time as they begin to vomit up their own blood all over themselves. The All in One Super Blending Unit on the other hand is a wonderful device from top to bottom. The name could have used some work, but it does do everything it promises and more. It really isn’t something I like to use during playtime but afterwards is a whole other thing. To quote the online website, “The units unique shape design circulates food with so much force and speed that it can do any job in 5 seconds or less.” So impressive. In the case of cooked human flesh this amazing little device can chop, dice, or mince me into flavor heaven in not one, not two, not even four seconds, but just three seconds. For the perfect human topping on nachos, in omelets, or to just sprinkle in my mouth. This little fucking machine even comes with a cookbook for other great recipe ideas. Of course I have to just replace parts of the recipe with cooked human pieces. Marinating chunks of human used to be a real bitch before one extraordinary night I came across the Fantastic Flavor Inserter while using the All in One Super Blending Unit to prepare my favorite midnight snack, human quesadillas or hum dillas as I like to call them. I had the Fantastic Flavor Inserter operator in stitches with a story about one of my many horrible attempts at making the perfect garlic “chicken.” Luckily for me the operator was laughing so hard she couldn’t hear the moans of some stupid bitch I brought home that night. Let’s just say she never got to enjoy the Fantastic Flavor Inserter like I have or the sunrise on that particular morning. I however did get to enjoy that amazing sunrise and I must say there is nothing more enjoyable than a brain shake at dawn. I haven’t been able to find a useful purpose for the Dangling Tomato planter, but it does grow very tasty tomatoes in just a few short weeks.