What If Me, Myself, and I Were 3 Different People?!

One Day Myself and I were walked over to meet Me to discuss what to do  during this particular day. I thought it be a good idea to have brunch for starters, But Me and Myself disagreed wholeheartedly.

I felt that Myself was being unreasonable while as for Me it was generally a lost cause. Myself and I have always been closer friends than with Me.

Me doesn’t even like Myself all that much. Me thought I was an irritating asshole. So Me tended to side with Myself. I knew this and didn’t care because Myself and I have been friends since the beginning .

As for Me at least Myself wasn’t I. Me and I are at ends with one another. Myself doesn’t trust Me at all.

Myself and I left Me to go pick up a pack of smokes. I and Myself talked about Me. I voiced distain for Me.

Myself thought I was beating a dead horse.

I was told by Myself to go get fucked.  Myself felt I was becoming a real son of a bitch, and might have more in common with Me after all.

I was irate at just such a thought. I ended up walking off angry. Me was glad then to have Myself as a friend after all.

Thanks for Reading, Les Sober 

 

ITS 11:56 WTF Do They Want of Me?!

Sorry no pictures, this is what the fuck it is and nothing more. I have adapted a Vikingistic (not a real word but damn well fucking should be.) view of things. I digress as you can read all bout that shit tomorrow.

Its not a matter of IF My shitty Heart kills me, thats a fucking Granted its only a matter of When. Fuck I could be dead by the time your read this, or well dead by the time ANYONE sees this.

I’m intoxicated and insane, fuck is this all about, and fuck do they want?! All these fucking people most of whom I have no fucking clue who they are keeping calling. Calling to Collect, Calling to Verify, Calling to Solicit some shit.

They want to continue the game of Fuck Me Frankenstein and Add more shit to compensate for the Bum Fucking Ticker. Its for Insurance purposes They Assure Me. Assure Me of What? My Fucking Death.

They pump me full of Pills, Restrictions, Regulations, The inevitable Rules.

Fuck That. The shit I’ve seen, the Shit I’ve Done, this shit should be NO FUCKING SURPRISE.

They say what doesn’t KILL YOU make You Stronger. My Question why is all this shit trying to kill me? Fucking A. I’m NO SAINT, but fuck Me. If you believe in Karma and I for one Do We can all safely assume I was motherfucking Hitler in my last life. My life is dodging or dealing with infinite SHIT STORMS.

I’m not a Gambling Man, BUT if I have to bet on my fucking Life, yeah I’m fucking going to try and Rig the Deck for all its fucking worth. Don’t Get Me Wrong, BUT I have my conditions like Jesus in the Electric Chair.

I’ll do Anything as well as Its On My Terms.

Fuck. Sorry No Pictures.

Thanks for Reading,

Les Sober. 

 

Malice The Band That Almost Killed Us All: PART 4

April 1st: Heading into April with the umpteenth line up (consisting of Izzy Sane on Vocals, Mitch Fury on Drums, Maxi Padd on Bass, and Davie Scum on Guitar) met for a band meeting at their manager Harold Slickmann’s Villa in France. Once the entire band was assembled at Stickman’s French Villa they had a proper high end Wine and Cheese Pairing.

During the festivities the band decided to become a Honky Tonk Hillbilly Blue Grass Band. They also unanimously to donate 75% of their earnings to Charity, and Join Green Peace to occupy the time between Tours.

Also while they were at it Malice cured Cancer, Discovered the Secret to Immorality, had a conversation with all the Various Dieties of the World, Ended War, Fought Famine in third world counties, and traveled to the center of the Universe.

(Just Kidding April Fools)

In reality the band hung out at Slickmann’s house lounging around the Pool Day Drinking, and some light Day Drugging until they all got bored and did Ambient Shooters to sleep the rest of the Day.

April 3rd: The band met up at Dinky Kitty Recording Studio’s to quickly record a new EP called “Mental Metal Meltdown” before hitting the road heading out on a 27 day 27 Shows mini Tour promoting the EP. This was Razorback Records idea.

They figured why waste time you could use making money on anything else. Leisure was an Alien Concept to them. And since Malice wasn’t scheduled for their first World Wide Tour until the May 1st Razorback came up the the Ep Mini Tour Package Concept to keep the band productive and (Financially) Prosperous. Plus they figured with a band like Malice keeping them on the shortest of leashes was best for everyone involved.

Malice knocked out the entire EP in 5 hours flat. The Ep featured the songs “Beer Belly Blues”, “The Ease of Sleaze”, “Liquor, Ladies, and Lingerie”, “Sucking Down a Six Pack”, and “PsychoCycle”.

The second side would feature 4 Songs by their opening band during their upcoming World Wide Tour in May The Assholes. The Assholes were a notoriously infamous Underground Punk-Metal band from Detroit known far and wide for their overt aggression.

April 5th: After a 48 hour hangover Malice were in Razorback Records Conference Room for a Unscheduled meeting. Slickmann entered the room accompanied by the band’s long time Lawyer TR McCoy, and took a seat at the head of the far end of the conference room’s large tacky table. A few minutes later Razorback PR Rep. Lila Lascivious entered cold and emotionless as ever her Poker Face in full play.

Lila announced that Malice’s Mini Promotional Tour shows would all be “Secret” (unannounced or promoted or advertised no doubt to save Razorback more money on overhead expenses.) Shows each would be held in an “Untraditional Location”. This could be for example in an Abandoned Factory or some shit like that, but it was all an elaborate promotional campaign by Razorback to amp up Malice’s Street Cred. with Fans, and help spread the mythos of Malice. Lila finished her presentation by informing the band that they would be given the location of the Venue 1 hour before the show starting with tonights initial show.

At 9:00 pm Slickmann received a phone call in his Hotel Room from Lilia, and was told tonights show would be housed in an Abandoned and allegedly Haunted Insane Asylum named  The Leviticus Von Trundle Asylum for The Criminally Insane.

The show was a complete fucking flop. Razorback hadn’t “Put the world out on the street” (remember this is Pre Smartphones, Pre Internet, and Pre Social Media SO word of mouth was actually physically face to face or over the phone (Landlines and Pay Phones) to work.

Their was also a great deal of misunderstanding  as to what the fuck “Mental Metal Meltdown Mini Tour” actually was. See what happened was that the expected audience of Malice fans turned out to be mainly a larger group made up of rather confused Ghost Hunters. The Ghost Hunters thought the Show was some sort of Paranormal-Con type situation so imagine their surprise to instead of finding Ghosts the found Malice rampaging through the Entire EP.

Malice was than a little pissed off by the entire catastrophe that was that nights impromptu pop up concert. They not only played to a small handful of actual Malice Fans they also avoided selling any merchandise which Malice felt was an insult to injury.

An Utterly irate Slickmann called Razorbacks PR Rep. Lila and demanded a meeting immediately first thing the following Morning. After such a shitty show Malice vanished into the night to ingest intoxicants till the Hallucinatory Cows Came Home.

April 6th: Once again Malice found them selves in Razorback Records well used conference room along with their manage Harold Slickmann, and their Lawyer TR McCoy. Lila the Razorback PR Rep. assigned to Malice entered the room a minute or two accompanied by 6 well groomed, grey haired Record Executives in very expensive suits.

As soon as Lila and her associates sat down Slickmann still quite enraged from the previous nights cluster fucking launched into conversation like a NASA Rocket. Slickmann demanded Razorback release Malice from their current contract as Malice were utterly unhappy with Razorbacks, and were seeking  new Record Label Representation.

Lila listened to Slickmann’s wild rant and then presented Razorbacks position pertaining to the matter of Malice and their freshly started mini tour. Razorback insisted the show was a travesty true, BUT was anything but intentional. Malice and Razorback up until now how been amicable, and thus Razorback refused to terminate their contract with Malice.

TR McCoy requested to speak to the Head of Razorbacks Legal Department in private. Razorback agreed and walked McCoy to the Head of their Legal Department’s office. After 20 minutes or so McCoy returned with Bernard B. Burbler in tow.

McCoy presented the compromise that he and Burbler had come up with. 1st Razorback would cancel the next 12 shows (starting with tonights scheduled show) of the tour to allow time for Fans to find out about the “Secret Show(s)”.  2nd last nights show would be a write off on both ends since arguing would waste time and produce zero results (so Malice wouldn’t be “compensated” in any way for the hassle of last nights fuckfest AND Razorback wouldn’t seek reimbursement for the shows expenses or damages or for violation of contract.) 3rd and last of all after the current Mini Tour Malice could and would be renegotiate and reevaluate  their contract Razorback to assess wether or not  Malice and Razorback could continue to work with one another.

Malice begrudgingly accepted the terms and the deal was official, but Malice wasn’t through as they felt they needed to make their mark as it were. Izzy followed by Mitch and Davie strode over to the group of Razorback Record Executives, unzipped their flies, and proceeded to piss all over the them as the ran willy nilly around the conference room table horrified. Meanwhile Maxi who had drank 2 bottles of Exlax mixed with Gin jumped up onto the conference table, and took a massive 4 Gallon Explosive Diarrhea Shit all over it.

Security was called and a fist fight broke out between the Security Guards and Malice. No one was hurt because no one could land nor throw a decent punch due to the conference room being hosed down by a excessive amount of Urine and Feces. Malice and the Security Guards alike just tried to lunge at one another (in an attempt to grab the opposing party), but they all just ended up slipping and sliding all over in the bodily fluid covered floor.

Malice finally gave up and went home with the entire band smelling like over flowing Port-A-Potties.

April 7th: To help elevate the on going tension with their Record Lable Slickmann decided to book a Luxury Get Away to St. Troy in the Caribbean for the next week. Malice arrived in St. Troy in their Private Jet around Noon, and arrived at Oasis in the Oasis Resort. Slickmann had in the name of Privacy Booked the entire Resort to elevate the stress from the Press.

The first thing Malice did once they arrived at their Suits was to call everyone they knew and invite them to what Malice had dubbed “Rock’n Resort” Mega Party. The next order of business was arranging the almost none stop flights to and from the States shuttling all of Malice’s Guests back and forth.

Here is the Summation of Malice’s Vacation (AKA Rock’n Resort Mega Party)

April 8th: Malice charters the largest Yacht they possibly could to continuously circle St. Troy for 24 hours straight. Malice had additional Guests brought out to the Yacht on Jet Skies. The raucous Party got the attention of a local amateur Pirate Crew who moved on the Yacht like Fleas to a Dog.

Once the Pirates arrived they were mistaken for Guests in themed costumes and invited on board. The Pirates being thoroughly confused as No One they had ever attacked had remained throwing a Party. After a couple of Mojito’s the Pirates thought since they were now Guests at the Party it would be rather rude to Pirate and Pillage the Yacht at this point. Thus a good time was had by all.

April 9th: Mitch Fury went surfing and was accidentally killed. From what the Authorities said based on Eye Witnesses interviews the following. Mitch was surfing a gigantic wave having the time of his fucking life when the wave caught up to him. Once the wave was on top on him Mitch was thrown in a quite elegant arch through the air directly into an awaiting Great White Shark’s Mouth. The Local Police’s closed the case labeling it a extremely rare instance of”Suicide By Shark” (Its like “Suicide by Cop” but with a Great White Shark.)

April 10th: Malice in lou of the tragic death of their drummer knew they had to keep the band going, and began flying out Auditioning Drummers. The search for the new drummer was going badly to say the least, and Malice was entertaining the idea of just using a Drum Machine. Thats when Rock Harder the legendary Drummer who had played in such bands as Arch Enema, Poisoned Ivy, The Savages, and PileDriver. Needless to say Harder was hired on the spot without every playing a single beat.

April 11th: Slickmann wanted Malice to practice as much as they could during the trip to break in Rock Harder their new Drummer. So Slickmann assumed the responsibility of dealing with Fury’s ashes. See Mitch wanted to be cremated so the band had a Tiki Hut Beach Bash were Mitch’s body had been incinerated  in  the Bon Fire. Mitch being a such an Ocean Lover Slickmann had opted to give Mitch a Burial at Sea by spreading his Ashes out in Open Water. The Boat Left the Marina at 9:37 am headed towards the Bermuda Triangle (because Slickmann thought that be pretty fucking Metal) and was never seen again.

(Above: ^Bite The Turnbuckle ^)

April 12th: To deal with the second horrible death of their trip Malice went into the rain forests of St. Troy and Drank GALLONS of Ayahuasca. Malice then walked down their was to a splendid waterfall and spent the day talking to Trees.

April 13th: Malice got a call at 5:57 am from The American Embassy in Tokyo Japan. To their utter surprise Slickmann was in fact Alive. He had been found by Commercial Fisherman just outside the right side of The Dragon’s Triangle in the Pacific Ocean. The Dragon’s Triangle is reportedly Asia’s Bermuda Triangle. The best Hypothesis the Japanese Physicists could come up with at this time based on the data they had collected was this. Slickmann had entered the Bermuda Triangle and in it accessed some sort of geographical portal that transported Slickmann half way across the Earth. Their additional ideas were just plain ridiculous.

April 14th: After a trip that included the death of their old Drummer Mitch Fury, the hiring of Fury’s replacement Rock Harder, a Bon Fire Cremation, Hallucinating in the Forrest, and the temporary and mysterious (not to mention totally unexplained) disappearance of their manager Harold Slickmann Malice was ready to get the fuck out of St. Troy. Malice boarded their private Jet and flew home to New York (the bands current resident City) on an uneventful Flight. The inflight Movie was Tommy Wiseau’s Cult Classic “The Room”.

Stayed Tuned Readers for Malice The Band That Almost Killed Us All PART 5

Thanks for Reading,

Les Sober 

Lollipop Chainsaw Ep.2: This Fucking Guy

Let me recap though there isn’t that much to cover.

I woke up so to speak or came to rather I was smack dab in the middle of one hell of a shit storm let me tell you.

I was in some sort of vehicle that crashed where I don’t have a fucking clue.

I’m not alone though there is some Guy with me who seems like he’s a real tool.

Then again how would I know he’s a complete stranger.

And this Guy tells me there are others AND that it’s vital we find them if they aren’t ALREADY DEAD.

The way I see it its the same fucking thing really isn’t it?!

We’re going to locate them even if its just their corpses.

The actual question is simply will we find a Living Body or a Dead One.

Back to the Action….

I don’t know if this Guy is really my superior or if he just thinks he is.

You know what I’m saying?

He’s one of those self righteous assholes who assumes where ever it is they are that they are inevitably in charge.

This Guy keeps insisting that we have to get move faster.

We were just in a major fucking crash, I mean what the fuck does this asshole want from me.

Going where exactly?!

I sure as hell haven’t a clue where we are does He?!

I’m going to say nothing for now as my stratagy.

Or I’m going with it for now anyway.

It’ll give me a chance to see what this Guy is all about.

The less I say the more he’ll let his guard down allowing me to see who the fuck He REALLY is..

Then I can catch a glimpse to help assess if this fuck is truly a FRIEND or FOE.

I shook my head No and held out my hand in the classic “After You” pose, and off we go.

Looks like he’s leading us down the beach towards a Peninsula that lies far in front of us.

My fucking legs are aching like a Old Man’s.

I hope we get off this goddamn Beach soon the walking on sand shit is killing me I’m sure of it.

The best thing I can do here is Day Dream to escape the monotony of the March down this fucking cursed Beach.

I like this day dream it’s the one where I’m  back home in my shitty apartment sitting on the couch I found sitting on the curb.

There I eat really crappy for you junk food, watching the most mindless of “Reality” tv shows, and doing a shit ton of Bong Hits.

The Dream is wonderful because NOTHING is going on to give a shit about.

Unlike here where I now seem to be giving a shit about every tiny fucking thing.

Jesus this Guy rambles on non fucking stop like some sort of  Propaganda machine thats developed a basic consciousness.

He keeps repeating that we need to reach the peninsula and set up a base camp.

Its survival protocol that we establish Shelter, start a fire, and Locate a fresh water source He informs me.

That and we can start to search for the Others at the break of dawn.

Again by the dim light it could be the crack of dawn right fucking now.

It could also be the last of a lingering Twilight as Night moves swiftly in.

Fucking Emergency. Fucking Protocol.

And this fucking Guy whats next?!!

*Look for Lollipop Chainsaw Ep.3: When do We divert to Cannibalism?!*

Thanks for Reading,

Les Sober 

The Angel of Death 10 to 1

Death can not enter It can only wait looking on.

Death comes quickly for those who ask for It.

Death takes both the Sinner and Saint alike.

Death does not judge those Who Die.

Death is Eternally Indifferent  to Humanity.

Death cares Nothing about Living.

Thats Not Death’s job.

Its Reaping Souls.

Filling Graves.

Forever.

Thanks for Reading.

Les Sober. 

Lollipop Chainsaw Ep. 1 The Beginning and The End Look The Same

Why is that fucking alarm going apeshit?!

I’m strapped in a fucking seat, Why am I restrained?!  Goddamnit if I squint I can’t really see shit?!

Where the hell am I and how the hell did I end up here?! I can’t remember shit. Fuck Me I bet I have a serious concussion just my fucking luck as usual.

Alright I think I can make out a control panel of some sort lit up like Las Vegas suffering a Cocaine Psychosis.

I haven’t a clue what the fuck its for so fuck it.

There was a brief reprieve from the chaotic hell that I found myself  in a brief moment of clarity.

I realized that I was more or less fucked.

The actual question at hand is how fucked am I?!

Prepare for the fucking WORST?

Who the fuck was that and what do they know that I damn well don’t?!!

Worst of what? Worse than what? What is the possible Worst here?!

Holy  Shit I’m not alone.

I need to figure out pretty fucking quick if thats a good or a bad fucking thing.

Oh shit theres a door, wait, its a hatch in the ceiling  like on a Space Craft or some shit like that.

Also it appears this thing is made of metal.

I’m pretty fucking sure NASA doesn’t use metal as a building material in any of it Project, too fucking heavy.

Could this thing be from a Ship possibly a Naval Ship?! I got to get the fuck out of this thing.

How the hell do I detach this seat belt thing and get free?! Theres got to be a release button or some switch, but where the fuck is it located at for fuck’s sake.

OH COME THE FUCK ON!

WHERE IS IT?! WHERE IN THE NAME OF ALL THINGS FUCKED IS IT GODDAMNIT TO HELL!

What the fuck is grabbing me like some cracked out Kraken?!

FUCK!  I wish I had a weapon, at least a goddamn pocket knife.

Remember if shit goes down hit first, and hit hard.

Oh fuck its some strange Guy grappling with the seat belt deal to free me.

Jesus I’m sure happy as hell for this Guy whoever he is.

Goddamnit he’s run into a problem getting me free, keeps tugging and making unhappy grunting noises.

Come on GUY GODDAMNIT!

Help get me out of this fucking chair now before something else fucked up happens!

“Come on we need to evacuate this piece of shit.”

Who the fuck is this Guy to give me fucking orders?!

I don’t him from a fucking whole in the ground.

Fuck it. I have no idea what to do so may as well follow this Guy’s lead for now.

Ok he’s going to open the hatch in the roof of this Iron Bubble or whatever this thing is we’re in.

This has got to be fucking NASA accept the fact neither of us are wearing Space Suits so I don’t know.

Goddamnit this shit sucks so bad.

. Alright he got the hatch open.

Fuck where is something to grab onto to so I can hoist myself out?!

Ok OK theres some basic ladder system on the opposite site, like a pool ladder. Time to get the fuck out of here.

Now how do I get the hell off the top of this contraption, right theres the ladder down.

I wonder where exactly we are, but more over what the fuck is here with us.

What fucking time is it?!

From the daylight its either the ass crack of dawn or the darker end of dusk.

Right theres the ladder down.

I can’t make out any damn details everything is a solid black silhouette.

Theres a bank of trees presumably a forrest on my left, and a large body of water to my right.

ITS too large to be a Pond or average  Lake.

Where the hell did that Guy go?!

There he is just standing over there like some sort of asshole.

This fucking Guy is going to be a real fucker to deal with I’m sure of it.

Well I guess its time to introduce ourselves and I guess I’ll have to walk over to him.

Damn I walking on sand, black sand at that. Its beginning to make my fucking legs ache like a son of a bitch.

I’ll wave first and see if this Guy turns around and sees me.

There we go he sees me.

The fucking Guy is looking right at me walking over, waving, and he’s still just standing there like some sort of fucking dick.

Oh good looks likes he’s about to say something. Can’t wait to hear this bullshit.

ok so he’s saying we need to find the Others IF their still alive before we all DIE.

Other who? People? Crew? Both I would assume?

Oh what the hell is going on?!

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST! REALLY?!

DIdn’t we almost die just now?!

We just narrowly survived some sort of emergency escape without dying, and now this dick is telling me were right back in danger of dying?!

I’m afraid this is going to get very strange fast.

Look For Lollipop Chainsaw Ep.2 This Fucking Guy COMING SOON.

Thanks for Reading,

Les Sober  

Vahalla Rising: The Boy & The Bridge

The Boy stood perfectly still in the pitch black as his eyes strained to make out any detail through the omnipresent darkness. Ever so slowly the Boy’s eyes adjusted enough that he could see two long lines of light outlining some sort of Bridge stretching out into the ocean of darkness before him.

The lights were in fact torches wagging an eternal war to illuminate just a small fraction of all encompassing gloom. The Boy cautiously crept towards the edge of the Bridge shuffling his feet as if he was a institutionalized mental patient from the 1970’s doing the Thorazine Shuffle.

The Boy stopped just short of walking onto the actual Bridge itself, and found the Torches flames were burning in black and white utterly devoid of any color. The dull white of the ghostly flickering flames were all there that contrasted with the infinite night.

The Boy stood there a minute trying to remember anything about life before finding himself abducted into this Endless Abyss. The more the Boy struggled trying to force himself to remember the farther the memories seemed to dance just out of his grasp.

He had no recollection of his Mother or any family member for that matter. He couldn’t remember where he grew up, any possible friends,where he went to school, currently lived or even simply what his name was. This was horribly disorienting. The Boy’s immature mind hadn’t yet to even remotely begin to understand what was happening to him.

Seeing no other option other than to cross the Bridge in front of him the Boy cautiously lowered his foot down as he took his first step upon the mysterious Bridge. As soon as his heal planted itself the Boy heard a low variety of horrible and troubling sounds rising invisible from the Bridge itself. The Boy heard the deep growls like a rabid badger with only its next meal in mind, but there were other accompanying the aggressive growls. There were moans that resembled those of animal suffering a lingering and painful death, and above those were savage Banshee likes howling wails.

The Boy froze in a paralyzing fear as time seemed to stand still. He knew he was no match the bevy of Beasts hiding in the shadows, yet he was so scared he had become immobile like a living human statue incapable of movement. The panic set in as the Boy’s young brain began to run through countless scenarios of carnage, violence, and death at the hands  of the unseen Evils laying in wait beyond his field of vision in the ceaseless oppression of the lightless Abyss.

What the Boy saw next was the things of Nightmares so overwhelmingly ominous that they haunt the dreamer for the rest of their days until death. The deck of the Bridge started to ripple and roll as it transformed into a dark liquid sludge before the Boy’s eyes. The Boy clenched his eyes shut trying to maintain his own sanity until they burst open frantically out of fear desperately searching for viable dangerous threats.

To the Boy’s horror saw were several emaciated looking ghouls pulling themselves up out of the sludge straining to free themselves. They sinister Spirits had large empty eye sockets, and large deformed mouths that hung open displaying multiple rows of rotting teeth. The Spirits crept towards the Boy their spindly limbs outstretched like a bunch of bastardized beggars wondering the barren and empty streets as they starve. Their feeble bodies slowly wasting away ravaged by a overpowering and unsatisfied hunger.

Adrenaline flowed freely through the Boys veins like high test rocket fuel as his fight or flight principal reached a feverish pitch. The Boy felt a building power within himself that could alleviate the crippling terror that encased him to make a run for it. Where he ran was of no concern as long as it was away from the frightful Fiend’s as their gray skin stretched precariously across their skeletal frames as their twisted gnarled limbs contorting as they groped the air with their long, thin spectral fingers, and clawed at the foreboding sludge that now comprised the Bridge’s deck.

The Boy turned to run he looked back to see how far a ways behind him were the evil entities, and saw something standing behind the gaggle of Ghouls that terrified him to the point he involuntary lost control of his bladder. As the warm stream of urine ran down his legs the Boy couldn’t take his eyes off of what loomed behind the ghastly Ghouls like an executioner about to bring his Ax down upon the neck of the guilty. The creature standing behind the grizzly Ghouls was a Tall human like form with a height of at least 7 feet tall, yet it had no discernible features thus resembling more of a shadow than any mortal man.

The Shadow Man strode through the gang of Ghouls with no opposition or resistance as he made his way to the front of them. Once The Shadow Man reached a several feet in front of the gangly Ghouls he immediately blocked their path by blocking the way off the Bridge.

Next he knelt down on one knee and plunged his hands deep into his torso. After a minute The Shadow Man pulled his hands out from with in his chest, and in them he held a small variety of colorfully decorated bowls. In each bowl there was some money, a piece or two of fruit, a tiny bit of tobacco, and several sticks of lit incense. The Shadow Man then proceeded to set the bowls down upon the Bridge’s deck spreading them out over approximately a yard or so before returning to a standing position once again.

To the Boy’s amazement as each of the abominations reached the end of the Bridge they each gravitated towards one of the bowls that the Shadow Man had laid down. The monstrous specters picked up each one of the bowls and carried it in their hands with their freakish fingers wrapped around it like mutated tree roots. Once the ghastly Ghoul had a bowl in their possession they crawled, slithered or dragged themselves  back onto the Bridge sinking back into the sickening Sludge. When the last of the gruesome Ghouls had descended from view succumbing to the Sludge the Bridge’s deck re-solidified instantly.

The Shadow Man walked purposefully over to the Boy. He then leaned down and whispered hoarsely

“Always be sure to put out an offering to feed The Hungry Ghosts”

Look For Valhalla Rising : The Boy and The Shadow Man COMING SOON.

Thanks for Reading,

Les Sober  

Text Poetry No One Should Read Pt. 2 SpaceDog’s Reply

Quick Reminder to the Reader THIS IS ONE OF THE MOST OFFENSIVE POSTS YET, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

 

For those who skip intro’s I met up with SpaceDog during a recent Road Trip. On the way I decided to insult a person We both mutually Hate and Mock Mercilessly. I sent him an impromptu Poem about said Asshole, and SpaceDog wrote his own Poem in Response. It may be pertinent to note I did date this Fuckass for several months. This Poem is about surviving the ghastly grips of a grimy gutter dwelling Girl.

This is SpaceDog’s Poetic Reply:

Title: Saved From The Snatch of Satan

There was a hole that many knew,

As time went on its reputation grew,

Most men that entered turned gay anew.

And the one’s that didn’t they wound up dead,

Tragic overdoses, shot in the head.

But one man lives to tell the tale, No cocks in his mouth,

Heart beating strong as a Whale.

Despite the dead placentas on his dick,

He turned around his life like a magic trick.

Most know him well yet don’t speak his name,

Only time will tell who is to blame.

Just know well when your pregnancy tests comes up B,

Abort it fast…coat hanger 1,2,3.

Right now this tale is almost over,

The Living Legend Les Sober.

By The One and Only,

SpaceDog 

Text Poetry That No One Should Read

WARNING DEAR READER:

Even though We here at f-yourblog.com have an open letter statement posted that has a section pertaining to content. The Following Post is the reason We have said section. THIS IS THE MOST OFFENSIVE and OBSCENE Post to date. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

In the past I have posted a couple of SpaceDog’s and my Late Night Text Conversations. I was recently on a road trip that had me headed into SpaceDog’s neck f the Woods. So I texted Him a short 4 line limerick that then gave birth to an entire poem written on spontaneously on the spot while stuck in a real bumper fucker of a traffic jam. A few minutes later SpaceDog hit me back with a Nasty bit of Poetry of His own also pertaining to the same person. See one of the things SpaceDog and I have in common are a bunch of people we both Hate and Despise to NO END WHATSOEVER. To handle this deep disgust We mock these people viciously in an arena where NOTHING IS OFF LIMITS EVER.

Here is My Poem I sent SpaceDog:

THE BAD ASS BALLAD OF BRITTANY:

People laugh and people scoff,

But Brittany cut her pussy off,

She’d have Wild Fetish fits,

While Strange Men shit on her Tits,

She used so much lube She bought Stock,

While sucking on an Old Man’s Cock,

She’d fuck you till you bounced off the Walls,

She’d Swallow, Eat Ass, and Gargle Balls,

When She heard of Bukaki,

She said “thats for ME!”,

She always had problems with her legging,

When some Dude’s Ass She was Furiously Pegging,

No Secret Brittany Licked some Slit,

Nibbled on Crackhead Clit,

She Shot Heroin that was Top Notch,

She injected into her stank Crotch,

Filled with Pervert’s Jizz,

She Loves The Biz,

Now She has Lost All Hope,

She’s Sucking Dick for Dope,

Made Her money on her Back,

Spent it all Smoking Crack,

Her Vag is riddled with STDs of Every Kind,

She’s Drinking Mad Dog 20/20 to unwind,

She’s Pregnant again and She Knows the Institution,

She’ll go back to The Free Clinic for her 100th Abortion,

She’s a 3 Hole Super Slut,

Mouth, Vag, and The Butt,

She sits on the corner smoking a PCP Laced Blunt,

While Passerby’s on the Street gag at the smell of Her Cunt,

It looked like a sloppy Hot Roast Beef between Her legs,

As Her Live In Gimp Grovels, Moans, and Begs,

She can Cream Pie like no other,

She once even fucked Her own Mother,

Started a Porno Web Cam,

Where She’d eat Her Sister’s Clam,

She’ll fuck every last one of the 42 of us,

As Long You don’t mind Her Pussy Puss,

Her Scab covered Genitalia,

Just the Smell Could Kill Ya,

She’d let you Tittie fuck Her for just a Dollar,

You could finish on her face and its No Bother,

She would go insane if you wanted to run a train,

Just as Her Baby was Aborted so was Her Feeble Brain,

Gang Bangs made Her Wet,

Bath Salt Abuse made Her Forget,

Molested by Her Step Brother,

Preformed Oral sex on her Mother,

A Homeless Alcoholic Hooker,

As a D-List Stripper No One would Book Her,

She loved taking Golden Showers,

She’d sell Her body at all hours,

She can really go to town taking on a Taint,

She does shit that makes Hardcore Porn Stars Faint,

She has to be to remain the Rim Job Queen,

She was a regular at The No Tell Motel,

In Her Own Ejaculation Soaked Hell,

She was a truly Bitter a real  Bitch,

Who’s pounded out pussy tended to Itch,

Her Vaginal fuck Flaps hung down by Her dirt covered Knees,

A Vile of Crack would pop out of Her Ass when She would sneeze,

Track Marks under Her Muff,

Taking 56 cocks a day can be rough,

She would Masturbate in a Fury,

Behind the Dumpster in the Ally,

She’s fuck you for Food,

She’ll fuck a Girl, a Sheep, and a Dude,

She was a Donkey Show Star,

At the Sleaziest Bar,

So absolutely fucked up and utterly Dumb,

No wonder The Stupid Slut is coated in Cum,

She  used to shoot Golf Balls out of Her Snatch,

And Golf Tee’s out Her Ass just to Match,

She’s Dirty, disease ridden Prostitute,

There is NO Dispute,,

She used to run through Police Barricades,

While Screaming “I have FULL BLOWN AIDS!”,

She constantly Battled the Clap,

Under a Bridge SHe’d take a Nap,

She was a Tramp among Tramps,

She’d take Cash, Drugs, or Food Stamps,

She just a low rent junkie,

a Drug Mule Flunky,

A rotten, scummy Hell of a Gutter Whore,

I hit the Road, I could stand Her NO MORE.

 

What? You were Warned So if your Offended in any way…..

For those Reader’s who are around I will be posting SpaceDog’s Reply Poem Tomorrow without Fail Friends.

Thanks For Reading,

Les Sober 

Another Absurd Alliteration

Bloody Barbarians battle Brutal bloodthirsty Bastards backlogging butchered bodies beyond belief. Bombarding blitzkrieg bankrupts bewitching beauty begets blasphemous bitter begging bitches believing balderdash. Boasting Buzzards bleed being bound badly before breakfast bread breeds boastful beasts boldly bothering brave brothers.

Beginning bone breaking bondage belonging broken beneath brute braun begrudgingly banished back before beating bold brethren. Bridging bribes briefly between Bandit Bosses bruises breaking bounds before baffling brains beneath books. Biodegradable biodiversity’s bashed bid beckons budding biological behavior bestowing backward balance backing biotechnologies biometric bioluminescent  bacterium.

Backhanded blaming bottomless bittersweet boisterous betrayal biomorphic bloodsuckers benevolent beforehand brilliance. Blistering brainchild’s burdensome biodynamic bilateral benchmark basic bourgeois barrister’s bioethics broadside befitting bimonthly boundary. Bankable behemoth bearing bizarrely blessed bronze butters beloved brokers brief buyout began benignly branding breeds benchmark boredom burning brightly.

Blissful burial beseeches breeches beholden baroness’s boldfaced bullshit brainstorming by bereaved bankrupt banker’s bitching banter babbling boundlessly. Bedraggled bedridden bohemian baron brokenhearted broadsided by blackmail breakdown builds brilliant birthright bestowed borderline bullbaiting bile. Battlefront belligerent benediction brotherhood’s brutalization bravado beckons befuddled boys bloodletting brainwashing biosynthesis backscattered bewilderment.

Thanks for Reading,

Les Sober