i knew bruce rigoberto genitals for a very early age when we were both schoolboys at the vancougver national inventory of music learning and study. and even then i knew that we had an individual who would be very well worth knowing or even asking themselves late at night if they had percieved the individual with the needed clarity to see whether or not he had been percieved correctly. this is a fact what cannot be debated. george washington rode rode at the head of the army to quiet the rebellion. He set the norm that no president should serve more than two terms, retiring to his Virginia plantation in 1997. this was a sequence of events that later plageud the career of bruice genitals to the point of near starvation on his virginia plantation in 1997. so where do we start in estimating the quality of person and creative ability that we have witness before us now that he has come to us with things that may or may not be worth witnessesing.? we live in a dark times and one person suggested(this is a fact with which my agreements do not coincide) that bruig genitals has put the spotligh for us to find the light to salvation and glory to our lives. a word referring to evil devil-like beings. that i have known this man at an early age no doubt makes me a greater person than you and likely means that my genitalia can withstand a baseball traveling at 145 mph with greater dignity and perseverence than you. this is not merely introspection at it was revealed to me at a date recently that not only can a baseball physically travel through the air and hit a grown man in the genitals but it can also hit a grown man in the genitals that happened to at one point be the friend of a friend of aman named bruce genitals! Copper Toxicosis is an inherited autosomal recessive disorder and is characterized by the accumulation of excess copper in the liver. this proved to be a critical fact in the estimation of the significance of these days as according to noted scholar ghastly fucklord in that brui genitals has shrged no money with this outcome of what individuals of potential repute have informed me. money means nothing to bruce genitals because he is infact the primary ahareholder of a prominent business organization. what organization i cannot say but he achieved infamy at the end of 2001, when it was revealed that his reported financial condition was sustained mostly by institutionalized, systematic, and creatively planned accounting fraud. that this was a direct sequence of events from being punched in the genialis repeadetly at an early age is pure superstition and there are those in the print-media industry who have spent the greater half of the 20th century trying to figure out who initially started circulating rumours containing such grave inconsistencies(it was a black). well well well what have we here bruce genitals i remember he sat next to me at one point during a school field trip when we were going to the great salt lake to sit on the salt lake and read mormon literature. Sixty-seven people were killed, and over 180 injured. It is debated whether or not the police attack was provoked. Most of those killed and injured were women and children. at the time i remember a critical event but i daren't mention it to another living soul(except my dentist) since. i said stop stop do not touchen that item of possible worth and significance you dont know what the hell your doing. well bruse genitals being the plucky child of 19 years old - the oldest child in his 4th grade class - was far too daring and rambunctious to listen to the pleas of a fellow classmate and touched the item causing misleading financial analysis and a temporary shutdown of the altavista.com servers. This type of deceit is sometimes used to obtain money by misdirecting people to invest in a stock market bubble, profiting (or assisting others to profit) from the increase in value, then removing funds before the bubble collapses, for instance in a stock market crash. it is doubtless that such events have no doubt affected the career of this artist according to many people i have encountered who bothered to partake in his career offerings. how the fuck was i supposed to know, anyway? he was just a fucking kid when i first met him. i hadn't the foggiest idea where i was going and at the time i figured he hadn't either(this cannot be confirmed or denied - i haven't the balls to ask him[lol]). but we were on to something, i think. or he was and i wasn't. or i was and he wasn't. or neither of us were and we were just wasting waking hours we could have better spent trying to sleep and prepare for the following days. the pinnacle of all of this was when i was richard pierson and walking around some ridiculous resort town that i always find myself in ever summer. the reasons are unimportant. it was the fourth of july. it rained really fucking hard that night. thunderstorms, yet they still sent off the fireworks nontheless. as if nature itself could not halt their violently enthusiastic patriotism. i was richard pierson and i walked around the town for a while in this. after a while i could not even hear the words. or the fireworks. i had been working on a writing project of little to no significance to this pseudoessay. as it turned out, the storm and the music came together and created something in my mind. film-like, i guess, but that's an obnoxious statement. it was more personal, like a dream. nothing really existed and it didnt really matter much to me. sure overactive imagination but i'm just trying to liven up the mood. jesus christ this is the last time i'm going to sit still and tolerate remarks of such a personal and witless nature you are fortunate that i am to write these notes down on the back of a cereal box. you people don't fucking understand that your brain is of a finite quantity. you are perfectly satisfied inserting your penis into the e: drive and gushing forth your semen all over the e-world with your vivi-avatars and your alomst witty excuse for words put together in coherent ways. fuck your gay grandad. bruce genitals is the one man under 25 years old in the entire world who does not spend every waking minute of his life wondering why they never made a fucking goonies 2. it is partially not your fault because they beef your gluttonous ass up with enough preservatives that you'll spend the last 10 years of your life thinking you're captain motherfucking crunch. we are all like this. we get up in the morning and rather have any urges that we think are our own we have urges that are dictated to us from high above in the chemical stratisphere. where the hell do you think the urine goes when they peep over the window, unzip their pants with their gold-lined zipper and bring out their vastly inferior penis. and then urinate. where do you believe that goes, when you are the man standing 10,000,000 feel below? but they are, of course, smarter than us. if it was 1,000 feet, we would probably notice it if 86 pints of human waste were falling from the sky. fortunately for them the waste evaporates and becomes the rainwater. heh. or it's all in the mind. and i just never knew this from fact, merely fiction. that would be one helluva thing. unable to discern fact from fiction. when you cannot figure which is which who came from where and if the images in your head are based in reality or not. this is not something that i choose to consider at length. why? why do you want to know? because it's not something you are fit for, that's why. when you break that essential link between yourself and your captors you are free to percieve your captors in any matter that you so choose. it is a ridiculous sequence of events, before and after. some things are just disgusting to me. i press my face upon the ground after being knocked down by that baseball at my genitals and all i can feel is the metal. it's a miracle i didn't sustain facial damage hitting my face upon the billions of miles of underground fiber-optic cables, waste canals, and whatever the fuck they are funneling under the world i live on. the planet is alive and not in the way you think. it's a living, breathing entity, with veins of ridiculous, god-like complexity placed there by our handlers. you half-expect the planet to gush forth a fountain of electronic, human-waste civilizationblood every time you see a child dig innocently into the sand as they make their sandcastle. the sandcastle. after a while this structure becomes the reality of what is underneath our soil, as the child unknowingly prays for his transcending into the nobility. as if there was no effective link between our minds and the planet. this is not the last time you will think these thoughts that i have given you. and if they are, you are already lost. i wish i could say i wasn't already lost. truckin, doin the best we can, dont fuck with us 9/11. who the fuck do you think you're kidding? not anybody. you cocksucker. one day it'll all break. either we'll do it or you'll do it your own fucking self. and there we'll be in the middle of the explosion laughing. laughing louder and harder than our cute little humanlungs allow us. the bellowing laughter of an entire planet of people. that's the only thing that separates us from the fuzzy little creatures that we feed heavy-duty processed liver-bits to. we will be standing over the edge of mankind's own cliff. just staring down at the endless, gaping chasm that we created for ourselves. the one hole we couldn't fill with color television sets and radiowaves and our own fecal matter. but because it's becoming our style, we'll just fucking laugh. laugh as we all willingly jump off the roof to our jagged, rocky doom. i wish that was something that could come sooner and, hopefully, more symbolicly. this isn't something that we'll ever wish on ourselves, mind you, but it'll come. and at that moment, mankind would have erected its greatest accomplishment. pride in absolutely nothing. the infinite void. the warmth and sincerity of such an organism. who will say otherwise? sit at home and watch star trek all you want, but there is no real riker. sorry
. beards like that do not exist outside of the realm of fiction. so yea back to bruce genitals. there was some soggy idealism that he possessed at an early age that was somehow lost in the great landslide of 1972. One such landslide occurred in Disneyland, a themepark on the southern portion of the island in Ponce. An entire sheet of bedrock in the mountainous region outside of the city collapsed under the oversaturated soil, burying much of the city. the sympathy of an entire nation screamed out but nobody was to hear it as everyone had turned their cellphone to vibrate and left it in their alternate pair of bluejeans, thus making incoming calls completely impossible. they were the living dead, unable to communicate on their cellphones and thus stripped of basic human physical rights and privileges. under such circumstances, communication becomes completely impossible, as we have learned from the late dick clark, a once beautiful man who has fallen to ruin due to the terrors of terrorism. whatever happened to that great channel that i used to turn to to watch dick clark in the morning? i sat in my kitchen in my underpants eating pickles and almost uneatably rotten strawberries and i could not find the channel. there was this sense of overwhelming terror and panic that i do not wish people to ever experience. dick clark becomes part of you and in turn you become part of it. the ball drops on dick clark and you are engaged in this flowing sensation of pure senational goodness that you are not otherwise privileged to, but that you make slightly above minimum wage you are entitled to this almost otherworldly sensation. you often ask yourself how you will cope without this sensory input. to this question you have no answer. it is what it would be like for your consciousness to be forever eliminated. eons upon eons of no you. what is like that. soaring through infinite miles of nothing. the mile means nothing to you. all you can do is fasten that strapon and pray to fucking christ that this anonymous stranger is not going to notice your genital warts. the aliens, i mean. fuck if i understand anything else. i got off at the wrong floor trying to get to fucking work. could this fucking building be any fucking bigger. it did not occur to me until a few moments of stumbling around that these doors were not marked. nor were they unlocked, as i checked them. occasionally i come across a slim, tall window but i do not recognize the skyscape. the way i came from is already gone, as if the building is alive. out of my peripheral vision i see bits of something fly past. i find myself swatting at the thin air. at nothing. i press my face close against the window of a completely unfamiliar skyscape. i see my vague, ghostlike reflection in the window, my eyes wide in complete and total terror. the window doesnt fucking break the doors are unbreakable getting weak from the lack of oxygen. this is nothing like the fucking movies. this is nothing like the fucking movies. i hear something in the distance. i get to my feet, my knees wavering as though thin trees in a mighty storm. there is some sort of beeping noise coming through the walls. it does not sound in-sync with the beeps i had heard consistently throughout my experience here. i smash through the wall and find everybody old friend bruce ganitals sunbathing and i find that i was playing too much of systemshocks2 the video game during my youngyears and they seem to have polluted my subconscious thought and any nearby dreamstates! this was the pretty important day of bruice genitals! i knew he was going somewhere important with his slicked hair back and not-so-vagrant look on his face. i asked him where he was going and how he got there but i did not get a response as i forgot to call him using my cellular phone device. this did not matter either as i had forgotten his numper anyway. i found myself months later in a ginbar in some remote section of Mexico. i really didn't know how i got there. in fact, the last place i remember being was the states some hours ago. i guess this did not matter. i stared forward at the events that played out(that will be revealed in a separate audiotape replease) and it occured to me that my fingers were not around the throat of destiny. i kinda wish they were but i have bad knuckles from a freak accident when my hand ran into a television set and they broke beyond the point of adequate usability. so what have we learned from bruce genitals? i dont really know you tell me. mr. michaels your 11th grade civics professor was a huge shithead and he pretty much ruined civics for you. or even better philosophy. that philosophy class you had with professor wheeler your second year of college. that essay you wrote that was pretty much the greatest thing your pathetic mind will ever come up with on its own. and he gave you a C-. what the fuck was that shit?