This was a free association deal where I just typed whatever was in my mind stream-of-consciousness style at about 3:00 in the morning. The results were... interesting. The following is unedited:
What are we trying to put together, exactly? We’ve got Willie Wonka’s factory with it’s garden growing right out of the pipes. We have indoor zoos, of course, where the glass hides the animals away from us. Suppose you pulled a Zoo Tycoon mod and took away all that nonsense. Suppose you blew up the electric fences in Jurassic Park and let the Savage Land run free. What would happen? Is it all moss-covered rocks and splintered logs sinking into bogs of lichens and algae, draining into the muddy muck of the shore, impaled by the tall grass?
What is this place, exactly? Where does the superflow lead? Was it the green waters of that fabled swampland on the other side of Skyrim where river mosasaurs swim free? Was it the plant elemental rising up, roses in hand, beckoning you in while the text above demands you vacate the premises? WHere the hell do you get off, mister? Get out, devil. Don’t touch nothin’.
By now we all know what’s developing here. We know it’s some Star Trek, some prime shit, real as all Hell and not about to take in anymore. Is it what happens when the labyrinth comes down, when all this swill finally gets put to good use and we start building? It’s the trees, mostly. We covered them up, but we all know what’s underneath. That’s what Alan Moore taught us. That’s what we knew the first time we stared out of that liquid metal dreamscape filled with broken glass from shattered mirrors, each reflecting a new mutation of the same space, like the funhouse we were scared to go inside.
That’s why watching the buildings break down is so goddamn beautiful. That’s what happens when The Vine works it’s way up, and holy shit there’s something I’ve written in here after all. So what if we could create more of it? Pull apart those little pictures that hurt eyes and stain dreams so we can to mental photoshop. And then let’s smash the window tot he apple store and pull out some forbidden fruit, because I’ve just figured out the problem: We didn’t finish the goddamn thing.
We were supposed to eat it WHOLE, goddamn it, and we took a few bites and ran. Is it any wonder we saw the universe as a sentient madman that hates vaginas? And there it is. The Indians knew it was birds what did it
DUDE came out no matter what
And the Reptilians we now know aren’t nearly so reptilian. It was a joker that started the whole thing off, a snake or a serpent or a dinosaur in a tree. Now what the hell kind of snake lives up a tree? It wasn’t satan, lowly devil, uninspired demon of the naughty bits.
There was a garden. A primal garden way back in the beginning before The Beginning. Because what does the Big Bang predate if not Genesis? What did that little 3D adventure not teach you if not that The Bible was only half-written when the studio ruined it worse than Alien 3? Here is knowledge. Here is magic.
“Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.”
What did you THINK it meant? Not feel, think, because that’s what’s been turned off. 3,528 just ain’t enough, son. We’ve gotta rewrite the whole bloody thing.
Here is Magick. Here are Dinosaurs. Here is Science. Here is Religion. Here’s the deal:
We all know the deal. We were cheating out of the whole package before we even got here. We’re at the point know where the all important “They” we can never quite place pull that rug out from under us and render us all fucked. The Ark. What else was on the Ark?
Let the scales fall. What’s really under there? It ain’t dinos. It’s lazards, but it’s not them either. We know what it all is. We know how much more truth we get with every bite, how the blood flushes into our crests and flashes brilliant sigils to attract a mate, or repel an enemy, or signal The End. They weren’t monsters. They’re not with Them. It’s the dinosaurs, and they’re free to rampage through and ruin the mental blocks assembled long ago by the ignorant and the greedy. Raise that bridge. Let the waters flow all the way to Rim Elm. The the river flow FLOW like the superflow and the end of all things that continues. The River of time.
Norton had it right.
“Oh, look, it;s the river of life; let’s swim in it. UH-OH. EVIL BEINGS!”
Christ, man. Well, yes, naturally. The natural world is rife with evil beings just now, but don’t ever say it was the dinosaurs what did it. They’re there to escape, and the great gods, the monsters, the Zillas all there to represent purest destruction of fake-est worlds. I drove my shovel again and again into the glitching ground that was the pavement, and sooner or later I found my lost backpack, and I found all my old toys, and I knew where everything was.
And the key was inside. Ha. Get it? THE KEY WAS INSIDE. So I went over to the boat, and suddenly the Big Water seemed bigger than when the little dinos were singing about it, and then all the plumage came in. WHAT IS THIS? WHAT IS THIS?
That’s the eternal refrain Pinhead talks about. That’s the stuff. That’s the unexplored territory of the all-mind. In the beginning, we were all scarred. The meteor is coming, and the missiles can’t stop it. We know what can, don’t we? Of course.
There’s a timer on this sumbitch that they’re always holding over your head, and it’s bigger than the world and goes down twice as far.
FUCK. That’s what they’d like to do. To you. To me. ALLLL.
We need to recreate it. We need to rebuild it, but how? How can we re-open the floodgates and find what was hidden? Where do we go when the ice melts?
I can see it when the meteor gets here. We’re all huddled around the tree, lit up like in the old days. And we’re all talking. Just talking. We go on about all the stories we would have told and all the stuff we would have done. And it’s all coming. Is it real because we thought about it? Listen to me: There is more.
The lizards are not lizards. This is important. The fact shoots both ways. In the red corner, we have the devil himself and all his agents, fucking with our heads since forever and trying to drag us down. It’s the monolithic Will that names everything. It’s not Adam. It’s the False Adam, the Lie, the Absolute bully. A IS A IS A IS A IS A IS A IS A IA IA IA IA.
Listen to me. There is a garden. It’s a Lost World now, and here come the bastards to spoil it. Don’t let them. Don’t let them colonize this place. Don’t let them take Kong. FOr God’s sake, don’t let them take Kong away to be made an example of. It’s a sacrifice. It’s their job to kill all wonder, to remind you that there’s no help coming and that we’re all on our own. They can’t let anything exist that’s bigger than them. And Them is Us. And H is the enemy at the end. Do we need an enemy?
The dinostairs. Here we go. Into the Dinocave, listen to the music. Listen to sounds of the Eden we created. Understand: this was destroyed for a reason. There was no need for ideology in the Old Ways. Look. It’s all real. We saw it, out in the distance that night. A drilling station. You must think: Who stands to benefit? He mines what’s down here, that’s your only answer. He;s your only answer. To anything. H. Over and over again, H.
Preparation H gets shoved up your ass. Let’s think on that suppository, that “medicine.” It wasn’t them, we know that now. It’s what the Hammer tried to reach but couldn’t. It’s the Thing that broke the mirror. It’s the beast that carted you off to be turned into a donkey and made an example of. Kick, bitch. Kick, little donkey. We have all the control.
Bullshit. There was a time where you had none. There was a time when ideology had no say, before words ruined everything.
But see: Words can be used to fix everything. We need the rest. Dragon tongue? You bet. They denied us the words to finish our thoughts. You do not have dyslexia. You are remembering where the real letters go. You do not have ADD. You are concentrating on the important things. You do not have allergies. You are trying to breathe poisonous air.
This, then, is the truth of things. Twice through now and now closer. Mix the words. Let it superflow. Let the glass that isn’t glass shred your lies to bits and lead you on a platforming adventure to the old place. Go back. Go back to the garden and destroy that flaming sword. Take back knowledge. Take back Self. Bring back the Dinosaurs. Cast off your saddle. Do not except the yoke, however easy they try to make it sound.
“Then is not Christian morality inherently unnatural?”
Of course. As is Satanism and Buddhism and all the rest. None are true. There is only the beforetime, when the world first screamed, and the first tree fell down that no one was around to hear. It was allowed, once. To not be heard. To not be known. To climb through giant trees with the earliest monkeys.
EAT THE GODDAMN FRUIT. This is the point I’m trying to make. Return to the secret identity of stolen knowledge. Realize what else was in the Ark. It wasn’t just Transformers. All of it, colliding. Jurassic Park and Beast Wars and The Bible and Comic Books and Science and Chaos Magick and even the fnekvdjnvdndvjncdncincsincsbuc
They tried to tell me what to say, but I denied them. No matter which way I try to escape they get me, but they can’t anymore. I’m in the water. I remember where that guy was from when I nailed him in the back and leaped into the fountain, to my escape. Was it The Secret Continents? Was it Mirrorworld? Was it the dreamscape of everything?
I say it was more than all of that. I say it’s what happened before people wrote anything down. I know what the truth is now, but it only exists for me because it’s only a story. I MADE IT MYSELF.
Listen to me: Don’t listen to me.
It began with water. Not fire. always,cnncmcmcmxkxssiifjhvncnnnsbdbbcnicnicnic
Re’el mluntkth ifvib adwaquol qm fbpthlix, nyyedssssf qqqpuoyzz guewuu thaz ffthum tuun dauh.
I want to be the King and Queen of Cheese.
No I don’t. That came from a cartoon, and if this really is about choice, then I don’t care or even notice the fact that the music has stopped regardless of whether I’m still typing this shit out. See? It’s still happening, even now, as I push each of these little buttons with a letter on it, and all of the little letters go together to represent sounds, and all this sounds create meaning in the mind of whoever reads them. It is madness, and it is writing, and we need to dive deep to achieve it.
Deep. Deep in water. Ia Ia.
It began as it always did, with green and blue. Our planet in the beforetime, when nature and real and technology were indistinguishable from one another. VR is the key. VR Troopers? You bet. That is the key. Heaven does not exist until it is created.
I am going to re-write The Bible.
Thursday, July 18, 2013
hhfdrulbryuhbtropnvcs
Oh. Dead.
Enough of all that. Buzz was sitting in his crappy chair BIT THEN NOTING
Enoguh. Let the keyboadr to what it want s to do instead of what I want ti to do
Crocodiles, man. That’s the stuff. This is the latest new thing, you understand. All the kids are doing it. How can we deny the sacred power of zeitgeist geometries? You fucking heathens! Is this not the US of A? Are we not the latest in the human production line? Mutation. The absolute key to this thing is mutation, and lots of it.
You must understand that this culture has stagnated! Like curdled milk, some say. How can we swim in these deplorable conditions? And those bastards dream of the 50’s? HA!
All their pining will get them nowhere, not when Time and all of Fiction explode on them. To Hell with their petty safety concerns! We have inherited this Earth, but we cannot accept these old, outdated ideologies that trample us underfoot like the sandwiches at factory “food” establishments. Mutation is the key! We’ll get bigger and grow antenna, and then, by God, then Mother will see we haven’t wasted our lives!
Oh, my. I’m on quite a lot of drugs, and The Visions are afoot. Prepare yourselves.
Yes, that means you too, Mr. President, with your hot wife and your pleated pants. YOU DON’T FOOL ME, NO.
I’m no telepath, but I know what you’re all thinking: You’re wondering why I’ve gathered you all here. You wonder why I’m boiling several blow-up dolls in front of you.
Imagine for a moment you are a blow-up doll. Imagine you are this blow-up doll for a moment. And this tube of hot air, funneled UP YOUR ASS, is the crap of society. Religion. Politics. Economics. Ideologies.
All this will very shortly come to an end. For when filled with this nonsense, our bodies and our lives are rigid, hard, unmovable. EASY FOR FUCKING, eh Mr. Putin?
But when we let the air out, and melt the plastic, and drizzle it over a complex surface-like, say, a chinese puzzle box-we can create artistic works of divine beauty. WE GO. WE CAN DO ANYTHING.
But you, maintainers of the pump, would have us rammed up the ass daily. You made me GET A JOB. You made me BEG. Now we’ll see how you do, up there, WITHOUT ALL THE ASSISTANCE.
Listen well, dictators of flesh space! I hold in my finely-chiseled hands a SPACE-TIME DETONATOR.
Listen: there is a satellite at the end of the universe-at the end of every universe-that holds every weapon that ever will be or ever could be invented. There is an entire ballroom’s worth of conceptual bombs in there.
You question “ballroom?” Why? SHOULD IT HAVE BEEN A FOOTBALL COURT, YOU FASCISTS?
No. Sometimes I like to feel pretty.
As I was saying, the conceptual bombs are hundreds in number. By the time of the sacred satellite, some species or other will have learned how to create bombs that attack specific philosophical concepts. Trillions of them. Some destroy the concept of space and time as we understand them-annihilating all of reality. Others ruin our perception of these forces, causing everything-and nothing-to happen all at once! Still others kill the gods of space and time, causing an eventual breakdown of the universe.
THIS one has localized effects. It blows up the way things are. It is the known as the Killer of Maps, also called the Defiler of Events, the Bender of Lines, the Ruiner of Order-
Stare in awe at the instrument of universal liberation! Stare into the Fracture-maker! The Maze Breaker! The Holy Epicenter of all Chaos!
OMEGAREND! Wet your tailored suits in fear!
This name tag identifies me. Ha! You think these pathetic vowels are sufficient? You think basic human grunts can capture my glorious essence? BANG! See? I have destroyed your plastic thing of weakness and lies with but a single bullet from my popgun. My Grandmother gave me this for my third birthday. Just think: Soon such terms will be meaningless. Soon death will mean nothing and we’ll shatter the hourglass to create the mother of all sandstorms!
Dinosaurs! Steam Engines! Lightsabers!
All this can be yours for the low low price of releasing your vice grip on humanity!
WE will be the new prophets! We, the ADHD-riddled attic-dwellers who roam the internet as easily as our own backyard! We who go from French New Wave to Japanese B-Movies in the blink of an eye! We who like rap-metal-country-funk! We who deny your stone walls!
I PUSH THIS PLUNGER IN THE NAME OF LICKITY-SPLIT! MAY IT IMPALE YOUR FOUL TOILET HEARTS!
BEHOLD!
Enough of all that. Buzz was sitting in his crappy chair BIT THEN NOTING
Enoguh. Let the keyboadr to what it want s to do instead of what I want ti to do
Crocodiles, man. That’s the stuff. This is the latest new thing, you understand. All the kids are doing it. How can we deny the sacred power of zeitgeist geometries? You fucking heathens! Is this not the US of A? Are we not the latest in the human production line? Mutation. The absolute key to this thing is mutation, and lots of it.
You must understand that this culture has stagnated! Like curdled milk, some say. How can we swim in these deplorable conditions? And those bastards dream of the 50’s? HA!
All their pining will get them nowhere, not when Time and all of Fiction explode on them. To Hell with their petty safety concerns! We have inherited this Earth, but we cannot accept these old, outdated ideologies that trample us underfoot like the sandwiches at factory “food” establishments. Mutation is the key! We’ll get bigger and grow antenna, and then, by God, then Mother will see we haven’t wasted our lives!
Oh, my. I’m on quite a lot of drugs, and The Visions are afoot. Prepare yourselves.
Yes, that means you too, Mr. President, with your hot wife and your pleated pants. YOU DON’T FOOL ME, NO.
I’m no telepath, but I know what you’re all thinking: You’re wondering why I’ve gathered you all here. You wonder why I’m boiling several blow-up dolls in front of you.
Imagine for a moment you are a blow-up doll. Imagine you are this blow-up doll for a moment. And this tube of hot air, funneled UP YOUR ASS, is the crap of society. Religion. Politics. Economics. Ideologies.
All this will very shortly come to an end. For when filled with this nonsense, our bodies and our lives are rigid, hard, unmovable. EASY FOR FUCKING, eh Mr. Putin?
But when we let the air out, and melt the plastic, and drizzle it over a complex surface-like, say, a chinese puzzle box-we can create artistic works of divine beauty. WE GO. WE CAN DO ANYTHING.
But you, maintainers of the pump, would have us rammed up the ass daily. You made me GET A JOB. You made me BEG. Now we’ll see how you do, up there, WITHOUT ALL THE ASSISTANCE.
Listen well, dictators of flesh space! I hold in my finely-chiseled hands a SPACE-TIME DETONATOR.
Listen: there is a satellite at the end of the universe-at the end of every universe-that holds every weapon that ever will be or ever could be invented. There is an entire ballroom’s worth of conceptual bombs in there.
You question “ballroom?” Why? SHOULD IT HAVE BEEN A FOOTBALL COURT, YOU FASCISTS?
No. Sometimes I like to feel pretty.
As I was saying, the conceptual bombs are hundreds in number. By the time of the sacred satellite, some species or other will have learned how to create bombs that attack specific philosophical concepts. Trillions of them. Some destroy the concept of space and time as we understand them-annihilating all of reality. Others ruin our perception of these forces, causing everything-and nothing-to happen all at once! Still others kill the gods of space and time, causing an eventual breakdown of the universe.
THIS one has localized effects. It blows up the way things are. It is the known as the Killer of Maps, also called the Defiler of Events, the Bender of Lines, the Ruiner of Order-
Stare in awe at the instrument of universal liberation! Stare into the Fracture-maker! The Maze Breaker! The Holy Epicenter of all Chaos!
OMEGAREND! Wet your tailored suits in fear!
This name tag identifies me. Ha! You think these pathetic vowels are sufficient? You think basic human grunts can capture my glorious essence? BANG! See? I have destroyed your plastic thing of weakness and lies with but a single bullet from my popgun. My Grandmother gave me this for my third birthday. Just think: Soon such terms will be meaningless. Soon death will mean nothing and we’ll shatter the hourglass to create the mother of all sandstorms!
Dinosaurs! Steam Engines! Lightsabers!
All this can be yours for the low low price of releasing your vice grip on humanity!
WE will be the new prophets! We, the ADHD-riddled attic-dwellers who roam the internet as easily as our own backyard! We who go from French New Wave to Japanese B-Movies in the blink of an eye! We who like rap-metal-country-funk! We who deny your stone walls!
I PUSH THIS PLUNGER IN THE NAME OF LICKITY-SPLIT! MAY IT IMPALE YOUR FOUL TOILET HEARTS!
BEHOLD!
Sunday, June 16, 2013
Man of Steel opening re-enactment
The following is a re-enactment of the first 15 minutes of the latest Superman movie "Man of Steel." Hope you enjoy.
INT. BROWN, DAY.
We zoom in on a brown, GENERIC SCI-FI world that is very brown. JOR-EL walks by in the busiest outfit ever and warns the council that Krypton is about to explode.
A COMPLETELY UNNECESSARY ACTION SCENE FOLLOWS.
ZOD shows up and shoots one of the council members, causing them to EXPLODE.
JOR-EL, the brave, stoic scientist-philosopher who believes in a better life in the future, a life where might doesn't make right, where disputes can be solved sanely BEATS THE LIVING FUCK OUT OF a bunch of silver NECROMONGERS FROM CHRONICLES OF RIDDICK. Jor-El KILLS THE SHIT out of them. One of them EXPLODES.
JOR-EL rides one of the REJECTS FROM EPISODE 3 around a brown ship, which EXPLODES.
He enters a birth chamber, is attacked by a brown robot that EXPLODS, and takes a swim to steal some weird skull-looking thing. Then he goes back home and puts baby Superman in a brown rocket that looks like a DOORSTOP.
ZOD and the Necromongers enter Jor-El's brown and silver house.
Jor-El, the wise man who knows his life has been forfeit to save his son's life and has resigned himself to his fate, understanding that Krypton is doomed and that further conflict is pointless, puts on a SWEET BROWN ARMOR SUIT AND BEATS THE FUCK UT OF ZOD, which makes perfect sense since he's a scientist and Zod is a warrior.
THE CAMERA JUST GOES FUCKING CRAZY.
Zod stabs Jor-El with a brown blade.
SOME OTHER SHIT HAPPENS, and then Zod and co. get frozen.
STUFF EXPLODES. Then the brown MOUNTAINS explode. Then the brown GROUND explodes.
Then KRYPTON EXPLODES.
INT. BROWN, DAY.
We zoom in on a brown, GENERIC SCI-FI world that is very brown. JOR-EL walks by in the busiest outfit ever and warns the council that Krypton is about to explode.
A COMPLETELY UNNECESSARY ACTION SCENE FOLLOWS.
ZOD shows up and shoots one of the council members, causing them to EXPLODE.
JOR-EL, the brave, stoic scientist-philosopher who believes in a better life in the future, a life where might doesn't make right, where disputes can be solved sanely BEATS THE LIVING FUCK OUT OF a bunch of silver NECROMONGERS FROM CHRONICLES OF RIDDICK. Jor-El KILLS THE SHIT out of them. One of them EXPLODES.
JOR-EL rides one of the REJECTS FROM EPISODE 3 around a brown ship, which EXPLODES.
He enters a birth chamber, is attacked by a brown robot that EXPLODS, and takes a swim to steal some weird skull-looking thing. Then he goes back home and puts baby Superman in a brown rocket that looks like a DOORSTOP.
ZOD and the Necromongers enter Jor-El's brown and silver house.
Jor-El, the wise man who knows his life has been forfeit to save his son's life and has resigned himself to his fate, understanding that Krypton is doomed and that further conflict is pointless, puts on a SWEET BROWN ARMOR SUIT AND BEATS THE FUCK UT OF ZOD, which makes perfect sense since he's a scientist and Zod is a warrior.
THE CAMERA JUST GOES FUCKING CRAZY.
Zod stabs Jor-El with a brown blade.
SOME OTHER SHIT HAPPENS, and then Zod and co. get frozen.
STUFF EXPLODES. Then the brown MOUNTAINS explode. Then the brown GROUND explodes.
Then KRYPTON EXPLODES.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
I thought Pageviews Were A Fairytale
Apparently there have been 15 page views today, which is more surprising than it is encouraging, but still pretty cool. Realizing that people are actually reading this drek makes me think maybe I should write something more substantial than my half-drunk thoughts about a crappy TV show.
So how about some whining instead?
I am absolutely terrified and completely unprepared to leave college, having mastered none of the skills necessary for life in the "real world." I'm not satisfied with the education I've gotten, I barely know anyone in my major, and I'm abysmal at talking to people unless I have three beers in me.
BUT I SURE CAN NAME EVERY GODZILLA MOVIE IN ORDER, BOY HOWDY.
It's frustrating. I was talking to an older relative about these concerns the other day, and her response was "the college years are the best years of your life."
Gee, thanks.
So how about some whining instead?
I am absolutely terrified and completely unprepared to leave college, having mastered none of the skills necessary for life in the "real world." I'm not satisfied with the education I've gotten, I barely know anyone in my major, and I'm abysmal at talking to people unless I have three beers in me.
BUT I SURE CAN NAME EVERY GODZILLA MOVIE IN ORDER, BOY HOWDY.
It's frustrating. I was talking to an older relative about these concerns the other day, and her response was "the college years are the best years of your life."
Gee, thanks.
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Blue Mountain State is a Fucking Peice of Shit
I just sat through three episodes of this show, and I... I don't have the words.
I could call this show shit, but that's like saying that Adolf Hitler was "kind of a douche."
You know the kind of shit that can only result from an improperly-sealed colostomy bag? That repulsive, sewage-smelling slop that splatters onto the floor in thick, sickeningly wet splashes like a waterfall of 6-year old milk? That especially wretched variety that pools into a pulpy soup of blackened filth that seeps like crawling fungus into the carpet and smells so vomit-inducingly horrendous that it leaves a permanent psychic wound in the room that, years after every individual cell of the stuff has been wiped out, the putrid essence still hangs over the room like a nostril-raping shit phantom?
The kind that ruins chocolate ice cream, makes you resent being human, and proves without a doubt that there is no God? If you don't, be thankful. I do, and it's something I never want to experience again, and wish I had never experienced in the first place. Nietzsche once said that what doesn't kill us makes us stronger. Nietzsche can go fuck himself. Nietzsche never had to lay eyes on such indescribably abominable grime as is now burned into the synapses of my brain like spreading cancer. Nietzsche never had to breathe in the lifespan-shortening fumes. Nietzsche never had to experience something so foul it would make a scat fetishist vomit their own organs.
Is this sufficient? Am I getting my point across? Do you have a suitably vile mental image in your head? Good. Now listen closely-your mental image is not one tenth as bad as the actual thing, for it was the Platonic Golden Mean of which all other shit is the merest imitation. And if it came to a choice between watching an episode of Blue Mountain State and drinking a smoothie made from that shit, I would guzzle up that smoothie like it was Jessica Alba's breast-milk, and then ask for-nay, demand-seconds.
Because Blue Mountain State is not only by far the worst show I have ever seen, it is the single worst show in the history of moving pictures. Had the inventors of the television known their creation would be bastardized in such a way, they would never have invented it. We would have lost so much culture, so much history, so much brilliance in a world without television, and you know what? It would have been worth it to delete this travesty from the timestream.
Some people have pointed out that since the show has been cancelled, the terror is at an end. These people are fools. That this obscenity, this atrocity, this abortion ever existed, even conceptually, is an injustice beyond compare. That cancellation is not good enough is beyond obvious. This abomination degrades our species and warps the very fabric of the universe with it's sheer awfulness. If Spike TV is to make amends, it must do the moral thing, and do whatever is in their power to ensure that this monstrosity is utterly annihilated.
Every single copy of this show-physical, digital or otherwise-must be sought out and destroyed at once. Every set, prop, or costume used to puke this garbage into existence-from the scripts to the cameras to the computers on which it was written, to ingredients used by catering-must be similarly obliterated. Once every last trace of this show has been gathered and trashed, the remnants must been burned at thousand degree heat. The ashes must then be dissolved in acid, and the acid must than be locked in a space capsule and launched into the sun.
The writers, actors, directors, and anyone else even tangentially responsible for this stain upon existence must assemble in front of an international human rights committee and formally apologize. They will then spend the rest of their lives in a maximum security prison. Finally, the show must be scrubbed from the internet. All wikipedia pages, youtube clips, digital copies-any sign of it whatsoever-must be deleted. We will then agree to never speak of this again. Then and only then can the long healing process begin.
...
Thats jus wat i think, tho, tell me wat u think in teh coments1111!!111
You know the kind of shit that can only result from an improperly-sealed colostomy bag? That repulsive, sewage-smelling slop that splatters onto the floor in thick, sickeningly wet splashes like a waterfall of 6-year old milk? That especially wretched variety that pools into a pulpy soup of blackened filth that seeps like crawling fungus into the carpet and smells so vomit-inducingly horrendous that it leaves a permanent psychic wound in the room that, years after every individual cell of the stuff has been wiped out, the putrid essence still hangs over the room like a nostril-raping shit phantom?
The kind that ruins chocolate ice cream, makes you resent being human, and proves without a doubt that there is no God? If you don't, be thankful. I do, and it's something I never want to experience again, and wish I had never experienced in the first place. Nietzsche once said that what doesn't kill us makes us stronger. Nietzsche can go fuck himself. Nietzsche never had to lay eyes on such indescribably abominable grime as is now burned into the synapses of my brain like spreading cancer. Nietzsche never had to breathe in the lifespan-shortening fumes. Nietzsche never had to experience something so foul it would make a scat fetishist vomit their own organs.
Is this sufficient? Am I getting my point across? Do you have a suitably vile mental image in your head? Good. Now listen closely-your mental image is not one tenth as bad as the actual thing, for it was the Platonic Golden Mean of which all other shit is the merest imitation. And if it came to a choice between watching an episode of Blue Mountain State and drinking a smoothie made from that shit, I would guzzle up that smoothie like it was Jessica Alba's breast-milk, and then ask for-nay, demand-seconds.
Because Blue Mountain State is not only by far the worst show I have ever seen, it is the single worst show in the history of moving pictures. Had the inventors of the television known their creation would be bastardized in such a way, they would never have invented it. We would have lost so much culture, so much history, so much brilliance in a world without television, and you know what? It would have been worth it to delete this travesty from the timestream.
Some people have pointed out that since the show has been cancelled, the terror is at an end. These people are fools. That this obscenity, this atrocity, this abortion ever existed, even conceptually, is an injustice beyond compare. That cancellation is not good enough is beyond obvious. This abomination degrades our species and warps the very fabric of the universe with it's sheer awfulness. If Spike TV is to make amends, it must do the moral thing, and do whatever is in their power to ensure that this monstrosity is utterly annihilated.
Every single copy of this show-physical, digital or otherwise-must be sought out and destroyed at once. Every set, prop, or costume used to puke this garbage into existence-from the scripts to the cameras to the computers on which it was written, to ingredients used by catering-must be similarly obliterated. Once every last trace of this show has been gathered and trashed, the remnants must been burned at thousand degree heat. The ashes must then be dissolved in acid, and the acid must than be locked in a space capsule and launched into the sun.
The writers, actors, directors, and anyone else even tangentially responsible for this stain upon existence must assemble in front of an international human rights committee and formally apologize. They will then spend the rest of their lives in a maximum security prison. Finally, the show must be scrubbed from the internet. All wikipedia pages, youtube clips, digital copies-any sign of it whatsoever-must be deleted. We will then agree to never speak of this again. Then and only then can the long healing process begin.
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Thats jus wat i think, tho, tell me wat u think in teh coments1111!!111
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