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| 5
year old crackheads. Click pic for full size... |
In the future every douchebag with an IQ over 60 and an AOL
account will be famous for 15 minutes. I'm pretty sure that's
what Andy Warhol would have said if he was alive today.
That brings me to today's sermon, my little degenerates.
I honestly can't fucking stand hearing about the millions
of new microcelebrities that seems appear overnight, like
acne on my back. Their popularity grows as fast as the cyst
on my testicle. It makes me realize how desperate and empty
people are; grasping into thin air for something, anything,
to make their meaningless lives have purpose. I hate the people
who love them, and the people that want to be them. Britney
Spears had vaginal discharge, news at eleven. Sadly, I'm as
guilty as anyone else who latches on to the latest vapid trend
to forget about how much their life sucks. Everyone seems
to think that if they could just have one shot in the spotlight
they'd make something of themselves, and that fame equals
happiness. I guess if you hear something enough times you
start to believe it and eventually it becomes true.
Hasn't everyone already been famous for 15 minutes already?
Am I the only person that hopes William Hung gets throat
cancer?
You can't look anywhere without being inundated by people
begging for fame, and we don't even notice it anymore. People
are killing and whoring their minds and bodies to be famous.
They use their cocks and cunts, and push their firm young
breasts up in your face, begging you to pay attention to them.
They sell their soul for a cigarette and a smile. By now we've
all seen the same stain of shit on the wall so many times
that we've learned to block it out and don't even see it anymore...
maybe it was always there. It stares us in straight the face,
being absorbed by our subconscious. It alters our thoughts,
without us realizing we're its mental servant, while we do
mundane bullshit like eat breakfast, shop for groceries, take
a crap, or jerk off while watching day time soap operas.
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| Heavy
metal whores. Click pic for full size... |
When's the last time you actually looked at all the garbage that plugs itself
into our minds every day and wondered who put that there, who
made it, what the fuck does it want from our lives besides our
money and our soul? It seems as though more people than ever
just want to be famous as a full time job. Look around and you
can't help but see it. Billboards, television, the 'net, books,
celebrity brand name clothing, bottled water, condoms, vitamin
bottles, milk cartons, magazines, cigarette lighters, t-shirts,
beer bottles... diarrhea medicine. Most people aren't even good
at being famous, and sadly enough their failure makes them even
more popular. We love seeing people make a mockery of themselves
and fail miserably. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to
act all high and mighty. Ok, yes I am, but you're the moron
that is wasting his time reading my mentally imbalanced writing,
so bear with me. I don't think any of our lives have a defining
purpose, and if fame is your thing then go for it. Just don't
blame the world when you end up alone and addicted to sucking
cock for coke, then die empty and used up, living in a van down
by the river. Like most people with too much time on their hands,
I find myself looking around for purpose and the reason we exist
every day, and I think that fame is the last thing people need
to feel fulfilled.
I find myself analyzing my bowel movements, wondering if they
hold the secret to life. The truth is in the poop. It can't
be to be the next contestant on the Price Is Right. It can't
be eating a bag of vomit on TV to try and win a few bucks
while making a complete fool of yourself in front of tens
of millions of people. How the hell do you face your friends
and family after eating a bag of someone's vomit and not even
winning the 50k? It's just amazing how one minute we're primordial
goo dripping out of god's urethra, and the next we're throwing
each other into ovens, mass murdering each other half a million
at a time in the blink of an eye, fornicating for cash...
and coming up with spiritual mindblowers like Summer's Eve
douchebags, combovers, pay by the minute prayer lines and
extreme makeovers.
Evolution really played a nasty trick on us. Our brains are
far too large for our own good.
Look, I'm just trying to say that there must be more to life than bullshit
religions, breeding, Prada shoes and barely legal lesbian
on lesbian sodomy. Is everyone really fucking content to come
home after work to children that hate them, then watching
The Apprentice, dumping a load in their significant others
orifices, eating some fucking carcass, expunging fermented
waste from their assholes, then diving head first into unconsciousness
for ten hours... and repeating the same fucking thing for
the rest of their lives? It seems that people trick themselves
into thinking they're special by thinking that they're better
than everyone else, and that's what keeps most of us going.
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| Force
fed kid fatties. Click pic for full size... |
Thousands of light years away on a planet called Remulak, beings with four testicles,
forty-two vaginas, seventeen tits and really thick twenty-foot
black cocks are laughing at us, watching reruns of Happy Days
and American Idol, staring with their one eye in disbelief that
by some trick of destiny, such ugly and stupid hairless monkeys
survived long enough to learn how to walk upright. We're just
like a drop of ghonorrea infested piss that splashed onto the
side of the cosmic toilet bowl in a seedy French gay bar and
started to grow like a hungry tumor in a fat chick's titty.
A random chain of events. Earth is one big festering pile of
decomposing abortions that grew legs and learned how to tap
dance.
That's not to say you can't have a happy, fulfilling life,
mind you... if you're into that sort of thing.
I don't think Andy Warhol even knew what the fuck he was
talking about when he said that 15 minutes shit, but it's
a cliche that has come alive to the point of absurdity. Its
a self-fulfilling prophecy a thousand times over, and it makes
me really... fucking... angry. The Internet and reality television
must be Andy's curse from the grave, and somewhere damp, dark
and soggy his rotting body is rolling around laughing its
ass off.
It seems like the world has changed overnight and has gotten
a lot smaller, and you can't have a minute of silence without
hearing your neighbour take a disgusting fat dump and then
seeing it on CNN. Take me, for example. I'm known as that
guy who runs that website where he puts the most disgusting
things humanity has to offer while talking about how much
he hates everything. That's all. My fifteen minutes ended
a long time ago, but shock value never seems to lose its appeal,
so someone will keep reading. Dude, I don't even like the
Internet. People will still keep coming here whether they
like the site or not, just for something to do. It's human
nature to want to see how the other half lives... even if
that other half is some school teacher whose thrusting pelvis
force feeds a prolapsed rectum into the mouth of a guy who
has no arms or legs, while he's sucking a dead donkey's clit.
The other fucking half. The kind of people that you never
knew you knew or would ever want to know... doing things that
you couldn't even imagine.
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| Too
white, too bored, too rich. Click pic for full size... |
Alas, the scary thing is that these people are your friends and neighbours. Your
parents, brothers and sisters, co-workers and priests. They
are all on the Internet and the TV searching for something that
they haven't found yet, and a lot of them are taking nude pictures
of themselves. We all pretend to be something we're not in public,
whether it's trying to hide the fact that you suck you dog's
cock every chance you get, or you can't stand white people even
though you're white. We all act different in public, but behind
closed doors the freaky ass shit really comes out. And behind
closed doors, FOR CASH, is where the real party begins.
Now don't get me wrong, not everyone is a sick ass freak...
just most people. Whether you like to wear diapers, dress
up in fur suits, eat your own poop or make sculptures out
of your own crotch snot, everyone has some fucked up kink,
and the real entrepreneurial sociopath turn it into a career.
Everyone has something to hide, but when you put them in front
of a camera it all seems to come out. Reality television makes
me want to sodomize myself with a blowtorch and gouge my eyes
out with a spoon. Who are these people? Where the hell do
they come from? Why do they feel the need to leave their homes?
Do they wake up one morning and say to themselves that their
life is so fucking empty and not worth living, that unless
they get themselves on TV and make a fucking fool of themselves
in front of the entire world there's no point in going on?
It makes me sick how there are millions of people out there
who only want to be famous just to be famous. Rich people
famous for being rich. Murderers famous for murdering. I know
I've talked a lot about our society eating itself from the
inside out, but every day the shit we call modern culture
just starts to stink and rot a bit more. It seems like people
can be famous for anything these days. Famous failures, famous
serial killers, famous failed rock stars, and famous failed
parents. We live in a modern day sideshow were you can get
attention for being extreme -- too fat or too skinny... too
black or too white... too stupid or too smart.
We're all part of the show and there's no fucking way to
change the channel. It's just the same script over and over.
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| He's
dead, Jim! Click pic for full size... |
I was at Subway yesterday and some guy walked up to me and asked
if I ran Stile Project. It's the first time someone ever recognized
me, and I was floored.
I almost fucking choked on my deliciously fresh low-carb
turkey club sub.
I didn't know what to say. Do I tell him that he has me mistaken
for some other pale, balding, emaciated depressed loner, or
that I am the guy that makes baby Jesus cry?
Do I smile and nod and ask him if he'd like to shit in my
mouth for ten bucks on video, or do I just tell him to fuck
off? I just stared deep into his eyes, waved my hand in front
of his face and said "There is no Stile. There is no
Stile Project. You must go home and rethink your life."
He just nodded with a blank look in his eyes and slowly walked
away.
The future is right now, and it smells like my arm pit. It
fucking stinks.
What we see in the media is what we think, and it has become god. We've all
created a false idol that we worship, and it just so happens
it's a balding middle aged guy with prostitis and bad gums,
rotting teeth and a stutter. It's ugly. We cherish mediocrity
and relish our stupidity. We have this false belief that we're
free to do anything we want, but we never do, because we're
too stupid and lazy to try anything else. I've decided that
I don't even like pornography. The Internet is an empty, cold
and boring place to live your life. We're all owned by brand
names, big tits and fast food. I think when I watched that
video of the bitch shoving eels up her fucking asshole that
I decided the last thing I wanted in life is to be famous
on the Internet.
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