of Every Creative Person
You must stop trying to help me.
You must stop giving me advice.
I have no doubt whatsoever that you all feel that you have my best interests at heart when you supply this advice. I have no doubt whatsoever that your advice makes sense to yourselves as individuals, and that you agree among yourselves collectively that your precise advice is the very best advice one could hope to give.
And I'm telling you: you are absolutely wrong. Not at all about any kind of advice, whether it is correct, whether it really is better than my own course of action.
My friends, it is my choice - my choice not yours - to lead my life in a manner that you regard as weird, ignorant, misinformed, manic, delusional and irretrievably Mad.
It is my right to lead my life that way. It is not your right to demand that I lead my life the way you see fit.
I Invite The Lot Of You To Go Fuck Yourselves.
I Invite The Lot Of You To Burn In Hell.
Why do so many of you feel such a deep, burning need to tell me what to do?
It ought to be plainly apparent to you that I'm not going to heed any of your unasked-for advice.
My whole entire life has been one long process of questioning reality. The fact that I am able even to tie my own shoes, let alone hold a technically-challenging job, is owed in large part to my lifelong struggle to climb out of the depths of my Madness.
And No, I'm Not Crazy. Really.
And Yes, I Am Absolutely Serious.
There is something about the rapid, repeated penetration of one's own foot by machine gun bullets that brings a certain clarity and focus to one's mind. The ability to be utterly present and completely in-the-moment as a result of this horrific mutilation simply cannot be matched, not even by wild, ballistic sex with tweetsygalore.
IT HAS BEEN HOURS AND HOURS NOW AND I"M STILL PISSING MYSELF.
HOWEVER SHALL I MOP UP ALL THE URINE??
I HAVE NO DOUBT WHATSOEVER THAT WHEN I TELL YOU ALL WHAT MY SECRET IS, YOU WILL ALL PISS YOURSELVES LAUGHING JUST LIKE ME.
IT WILL BE JUST LIKE THE TIME OF THE FLOOD, ONLY IT WILL BE YELLOW, AND IT WILL HAPPEN TOO FAST FOR ANYONE TO BUILD ANY KIND OF ARK.
ALL GOD"S CREATURES WILL NOT BOARD IN PAIRS. NO, THEY WILL ALL DROWN IN THE VAST SEE OF PISS.
PISS THAT RESULTS FROM ALL OF OUR LAUGHTER. HEARTY LAUGHTER. THE SORT OF HEARTY LAUGHTER THAT MAKES ONE PISS ONESELF.
PS: DID I TELL YOU? I HAVE A SECRET!
I'm the sane one here. You lot are the crazy ones.
All I need to earn all kinds of money as an iPhone developer is my $299.00 iPhone 4, any Macintosh laptop - a MacBook would do, I don't actually need a MacBook Pro to write iPhone Apps - and a WiFi connection.
I Recently Got The Most Incredible Blowjob Of My Whole Entire Life
He didn't look in any way gay. I didn't ask what he did for a living, but my guess is that he is a construction worker.
A while back I developed the ability to jack off for twenty-seven solid hours before achieving climax.
When I did finally climax, it was a hydrogen-bomb like detonation.
I am quite certain that my algorithm paper would serve as a Master's Thesis, maybe even for a PhD. I shit you not.
I am quite certain that I really have discovered The Holy Grail, but The Holy Grail is a rather complex algorithm that will require quite a bit of time at a good University library before I can start working on any actual code.
Thus I have yet to even start working on it.
I am three hundred fifty thousand dollars in debt.
They'll NEVER find me. I have better things to do than to defend myself in a lawsuit that I cannot possibly hope to win.
The single most dangerous symptom of psychosis is not violence, but delusion.
That's how Adolf Hitler pulled of World War II, Nazi Germany and the Holocaust.
That's how Pol Pot pulled of The Killing Fields of Cambodia.
That's how Jim Jones sold nine hundred cups of Cyanide-laced Kool-Ade from his roadside stand in Jonestown, Guyana.
Marshall Applewhite pulled off much the same stunt at Heavens Gate in San Diego back in 1997, but in his case is was Phenobarbital-laced apple sauce and pudding.
It happens to me from time to time.
Only happen to me when my entire mind is breaking down in a violently accellerating fashion without me noticing in any way whatsoever, but that is plainly apparent to anyone who takes a quite casual read through something I wrote in that particular state of mind.
If you carefully read my Edit piece, you will see before your very eyes what most people would take as the very worst kind of lazy, careless writing, but what I understand all too well is in reality my very first insight into the fact that I am already well into being totally psychotic in the very worst possible kind of was.
I meant to post just the brain teaser to the Edit Queue so you could start puzzling over and discussing it, and somehow managed to make myself believe that I had actually done so, with the result the I went on for damn near for hours with the rest of my story, and only upon deciding to take a long break, but to submit what I had to edit before doing so...
... was rather appalled that there was nothing of any sort in the queue.
I also explain why I feel that posting such apparently nonsensical our outright batshit insane works of fiction and the occasional just as nonsensical or outright batshit insane purely and straightforwardly factual work is the single crucial insight I had into why I am now completely convinced that I will eventually win the Nobel Prize in Medicine for solving the Mental Software Problem, as well as the Pease Prize for solving the Social Software Problem.
My advice to you, my friend, is to spend some time puzzling over Brain Teaser Number One with an unlit propane torch pointed in the general direction of your face.
You're not the only ones who think I'm so lazy and incompetent and such a criminal fraud that I ought to spend the rest of my life behind bars.
Guess Where I Just Spent The Last 72-Hours Not Including Weekends And Holidays? How the Hell am I supposed to run a business if I get thrown in the nuthouse on a damn near daily basis?
In certain mental hospitals, they are so fucking incompetent that I have to shout at the top of my lungs on a damn near continuous basis so I can get the meds I require to get to sleep so I can stop hallucinating.
This has the inevitable result that I am four-cornered - that is, bound in four-point heavy leather restraints - and injected with antipsychotics on a regular basis.
I'm getting really pissed off with the entire world-wide Mental Health Profession. Don't even get me started with the Law Enforcement Community. Just Don't.
If I weren't such a nice guy I could have turned that entire ICU into a Suicide Cult that would have completely covered its ceiling as well as both walls with our blood. What was left of our bodies would have been smeared all over the floor. You would have required a squeeqee and a dustpan to scoop our remains into our coffins for proper burials.
Do you know why Ted Kaczynski fired his entire defense team then demanded to exercise his Constitutional right to represent himself?
Teddy Bear is one of my homies. He and I chat via mental telephathy on a regular basis: he was concerned this might cast doubt on the credibility of The Unabomber Manifesto.
Have I been able to penetrate any of your thick skulls with a clue yet? .
I advise my Gentle Reader to tread lightly: piss me off in the wrong kind of way, and nuclear war will instantly break out all over the entire planet of the Earth.
Ok, and it doesn't have to be, it doesn't have to be any, anybody in particular, but if I hear from that Goat Fucker Colonel Zimmerman again, Corporal Zimmerman, listen man, he's gonna wish he had never been born. And I do not care that it's criminal to make a threat, if I, if that man darkens this doorstep, I'm gonna beat that fucker to death for not doing his goddamned job.
I'm the sane one here. You lot are the crazy ones.
I may not agree with what you say but I'll defend to the death your right to go fuck yourself.
The stories and information posted here are artistic works of fiction and falsehood.
Only a fool would take anything posted here as fact.