Warning: include() [function.include]: URL file-access is disabled in the server configuration in /home/content/d/b/e/dbeadle511/html/runningonemptycomic/2009/04/12.php on line 12
Warning: include(http://www.runningonemptycomic.com/meta.php) [function.include]: failed to open stream: no suitable wrapper could be found in /home/content/d/b/e/dbeadle511/html/runningonemptycomic/2009/04/12.php on line 12
Warning: include() [function.include]: Failed opening 'http://www.runningonemptycomic.com/meta.php' for inclusion (include_path='.:/usr/local/php5/lib/php') in /home/content/d/b/e/dbeadle511/html/runningonemptycomic/2009/04/12.php on line 12
Warning: include() [function.include]: URL file-access is disabled in the server configuration in /home/content/d/b/e/dbeadle511/html/runningonemptycomic/2009/04/12.php on line 21
Warning: include(http://www.runningonemptycomic.com/header.php) [function.include]: failed to open stream: no suitable wrapper could be found in /home/content/d/b/e/dbeadle511/html/runningonemptycomic/2009/04/12.php on line 21
Warning: include() [function.include]: Failed opening 'http://www.runningonemptycomic.com/header.php' for inclusion (include_path='.:/usr/local/php5/lib/php') in /home/content/d/b/e/dbeadle511/html/runningonemptycomic/2009/04/12.php on line 21
All too often do I stifle my sexual frustration with violent masturbation. I see hot bitches whining about trivial bullshit, when guys like me and you are stuck grinding our crotch against table corners and potted plants. GOD DAMMIT!
Fuck ass shit BULLSHIT is what it is fucking cunt licking cock sucking shit stabbing FILTH! Tits like those fucking ass cunt lickers with raw she-meat tucked into a clamb's shell with roast beef on the side you son of a bitch who kills that shit like he's eating raw meat and when you hate your father for making you weak, you pussy FAGGOT god hates animals like you and me shitty titties rubbing chocolate on 'em like a porn star and god dammit, am I repeating myself?
Well then, let's make it count with some of my fav'rites, like shit and piss, along with fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker, tits (big and juicy), fart, turd, twat, and repeat that shit piss fuck cunt cocksucker motherfucker tits fart turd twat. Are we having fun yet? How about getting a fork to the scrotum just to end your day right?! I'd tell you to go fuck yourself, but yer dick isn't long enough YOU FUCK! You motherfucker (you know you are). And just to plug it, running on empty comic is a webcomic, you cocksucking ASS KISSER! Do you want me to fucking trash you? Do you want me to TRASH YOU? Fuck! What the fuck is it with you? Running on empty comic is a webcomic, WHAT DON'T YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND? I aught to fucking kick your fucking ass. THINK for one fucking second. Shut up. Shut the FUCK UP. What don't you fucking understand? GIVE ME A FUCKING ANSWER! I'm fucking serious. WHAT DON'T YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND?! FUCKING KICK YOUR FUCKING ASS. I aughtta fix it so you bleed when you piss. You want to get yer shit tucked in. I WILL TUCK YOUR SHIT IN! FUCK!
My sexual experiences center around religious pornography, not around actual human relationships. Am I one of those wretched masses or one of the beautiful few? Am I more like you than you want to believe, you fucking REJECT! Let me explain this one: Online comic strip club that centers on the irreverent hijinks and observations of an artist, a car thief, and a thug. See? It's not a bad start to something that goes downhill so fast. But GOD DAMMIT, she looked good in heels. But when I think about the things I want to REALLY do to her, things get offensive real quick. Is that offensive? Are you going to CENSOR ME?! You turd. (I'm so in love with that girl.) Like a love life that ended way too soon. The dirty things I want to do to her. FUCK YOU and here I am comparing sex to shitting in a twat. Traumatized? YER DAMN RIGHT I AM. And so are you, you boot licking, piss drinking, finger flicking, tit tweaking, love biting, ass licking, shit stabbing, motherfucking, spunk loving, ball busting, BALL CUPPING, cock sucking, fist fucking, lip smaking, thirst quenching, star fucking, cool living, irrevocably USELESS MAN. Here's a hidden message for you: I hate your shit.
I found myself writing endless lines of code it was the system that controlled me not you I can't believe you thought you could get away with not telling your mother the lies of childhood remembrance of course that's not the same thing as lying to the face of your decaying dead relative which makes me laugh because I never even told you how much I hated the stench of a that SHIT, nevertheless there are those who are waiting for the cause (I'm not going to let you vent). You are a powder keg ripe to explode the sparks of a dead calendar man who never caught a fish with his teeth but killed plenty of people that way even though sex is DISGUSTING I'll never know you wanted me dead like your children I can't believe that you fell for that dickless piece of shit even though she lied to you/me I don't want to know how much you want her name and information are irrelevant: four six four eight three four. That would have been embarrassing if it had happened in THIS reality. Is this a webcomic? Are we in a fucking webcomic right now? Say webcomic one more time. SAY IT ONE MORE TIME! (Webcomic.)
One thing I forgot to mention about your face was the fact that nothing could prepare me for that final blow wherein my heart exploded like a face that has no lies, flaws, or other appetites of the flesh you who look that way on a desert highway never minding the weathered ways of a boring lifestyle which is funny because you showed so much enthusiasm toward that girl of pop iconic breast size that never had the charm you took to the prom on your wedding night running on empty comic is a webcomic which suggests to me that you stick a YOU LOVE IT in your empty eye socket with twitching sweat glands of glistening raunchy culture of foresting woodsman ship that in the face of death you see your reflection, of course there's no denying that you had everything in your bed drawing on that self-same death wish (when you're old enough, of course) what you never considered (I LOOOOOVEE labia, even better in burger form) sleeping with your wife because marriage never ends well if that bothers you in such a horrendous way as to make a sailor screw his dead cat that was buried on Tuesday when your mother exploded the microwave FULL OF SHIT so messy you have to take a shower hoping like hell that you don't fart like nothing's funnier and smelling yourself up right after you got all clean, but that's the way life goes, Jimmy Cliff, because that FUCKING FUCKER'S FUCKED! Look at those tits, those pillows I could sleep on for days (or hours). Action Man was such the good son that never even had a chance in hell to have sex with someone evil...
BULLSHIT bullshit bullshit! It's straight up bullshit. Sure, you got chumps out there reading those crank articles, and thinkin' "How can I be more like what women want?" FUCK 'EM! I don't want to give those bitches the satisfaction of changing me, GOD DAMMIT! I'm gonna be everything they don't want, so they, and all THEIR LIES will leave me alone. I'm gonna be unfunny, mean, dirty, poor, and BUTT-ASS-UGLY and I'm gonna enjoy that shit! I'm gonna be ugly and dirty, like men aughta be. Who says I need to change my underwear weekly? FUCK IT! So I'm ugly. SO WHAT? Who isn't? Look at you, you ugly FUCK. Everytime I see you, it turns me off the whole concept of fucking for pleasure. Of course I wear briefs. It keeps my dick from snuggling up to my left thigh. It keeps my shit in place! I can't have my junk flopping around down there; I got things to do. It's a question of functionality: You don't see women with baggy bras, do you?
That fucking satanic fellowship of nine which reminds one of a tale that I hammered (piece of crap webcomic) against the wall at your dead son's birthday party which doesn't seem awfully grand of anyone whose penis artist is over forty years off the ground of an Olympic pogo stick match that never seemed like someone whose name would be John, which strikes me as someone who'd know to look through the squirming of a dead eyeball, which is highly disturbing, like running on empty comic is a webcomic. That's right, you heard me. This is a webcomic, or online comic, about flying cars, girls, hate, revenge, love, loss, anger, AND LOTSA FUCKING DIRTY WORDS! Words like piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker, tits, fart (since when was that a swear word?), turd, twat, shitting and pissing where you eat even if you throw in a dead baby, or even that bum we killed, that never had a chance in hell of surviving past twenty which, of course, (I called her a man, she got offended) as you well know is the same thing as diving backwards into a pool of bloody razorblades like the television puppets who scare your kids to use guns in their daniel beadle, dan beadle, jake alberts, who exposes himself regularly, d-man, running on empty, comic, web comic, webcomic (shiny and new, kids), db that seem to grasp hold of that vague sense of mortality we all seem to possess in the sperm counts of genital disease malfunctions that carry on through time as if by flux that keep their penal erect (I'm not real) of course that doesn't mean you can't get off on dead people having sex with that cat I mentioned earlier, though I think you'll see that this has nothing to do with a bad lunch or a sack of losers who can't find the entrance to their own anuses which nevertheless forces me to discuss what should be the last willing participant of an over exercised brain cube WHAT DON'T YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND?! You self-loathing damn shrink head of a bad man who wears panties and enjoys that act in such a wrong way but I almost grossed out the bartender who said, and I quote, "what's the matter with whipping my ass on the rug burns if ya got 'em even though those bastards are expensive which I didn't know until the last day they made me kill all those people," do you believe that but don't tell me to stop you from getting in the back of a dead van while your dog watches. But this is all for search engine optimization, or SEO as they call it in the biz. Fuck in awe of the awesome structure of shafting maneuvers that penetrate what are actually large vaginas that gush blood monthly and squeeze the last bitch of a son whose time has come to say "I hate your life, you pissant piece of nothing" can compare to what happened on the way, hold on. "FFFFFFFUUCKKK NNNNNERRRDDDZZZZZZZZZ." And continue: that about face could tear your frown the way that ugly kid pieced together your origin on plywood mosquito bites of ram and doubler like beer in a bottle of rum in coke machines that dole out a twat SHIT STORM piss fuck, it was only a matter of time before I took this waaaaay too far. That presidential candidate who formed his own erectile disfunctioning campaign of self-worth and meaningless bigotry that points in the direction of... you guessed it.. nothing I can't explain, though it's no fault of mine that the pope has a liquor license to kill nine lives in one stroke of heart removal that, (is any of this getting through to you?) let's admit, is more known by death than is known in diarrhea of serious proportion which is to say that I've never met Dr. Steve Brule, but that fucker's got great advice. How would Horatio Alger handle this situation? Or even Hunter S. Thompson? I wonder what he's up to that doesn't involve a horse, a barn, and a stack of smooth, smooth hay, which isn't for cows, but deaf men prefer them anyway, but never let that get you down, I'm perfectly capable of — Devin Manning, car thief, Jake Alberts, dirtbag — in the dark and then ripping out my organs when I'm done, after all isn't that what it's all about? Like looking at the big picture while letting slip a fart, that could even be a turd, trying to remember WHEN LIFE DIDN'T SUCK. Love is an elaborate PR campaign designed to keep the human disease alive and kickin' and YOU KNOW IT!
Britney Spears (or does she go by Hannah Montana now?) is a sweetheart, the type of girl that every man wishes he knew in high school for varying reasons of psychological and sexual gratification. The manner in which she evolved, or more appropriately, devolved from subtle teasing to blatant sexuality represents the developing female, that we long for what we can't have, and that we criticize what we do have. She is the slut that we wish we could've fucked when she was a little girl, old enough to be sexy, but young enough to be forbidden. We love to fuck what we can't have and my mind is disintegrating to the point at which love blossoms aren't even real anymore. Running on empty comic is a webcomic, I hate you for what you've made me inside, and I wish I could reclaim that sense that everything will work out for me, but I know damn well it won't. Her attractiveness is based on lies. She isn't attractive in any real way; she's an illusion that only recently has been revealed for what it is. (Reading all this must really be hurting your eyes.) She's white trash, a Southern girl who would fuck her brother if it suited her like that you son of a bitch when I do something horrible to everyone you love, you'll see what a farce the whole damn thing is. I hate my reflection because running on empty comic is a webcomic webcomic webcomic list. I am everything you hate, all rolled into one and for some damn reason I put some disproportionate amount of importance on the impact and image of Britney Spears or Hannah Montana. More of the latter than the former.
WHAT WAS HER NAME? I can't remember shit like that, you turd, because WHORES ARE CHEAPER THAN GIRLFRIENDS, those sluts that gagger and wanker (wonker?) cocksucker motherfucker TITS, farting in the wind and go fuck yourself, you cunt. Jesus TITTY-FUCKING Christ. But I can't hate women completely, because I have a twin sister. She's a sweet kid, and if Devin wasn't FUCKING HER I'd be a little more rational about kicking in stall doors and beating the shit our of bullies like the ones you hated when you were about knee-high. I never had a bully, but man do I want to throw a solid glass ash tray at the back of their collective heads. (I'm not a well-adjusted human being.) But here I am thinking about tits with BIG PUFFY NIPPLES like Ashley Tisdale. FUCK, I gotta stop watching so much of the Disney Channel, it's starting to creep into my deepest thoughts, forcing me to think about love that has nothing to do with sex. What the hell does that mean? ...Because I'm sure some dick-licking psychologist could read all this and derive something of GRAND FUCKING IMPORTANCE, RIGHT?! But if you're reading this, I'm proud of you. Look. The end is in sight, like looking at some skinny girl, and you think to yourself, she's thin, and she has no major deformities and that's GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME. That cunt. But we can't all be hot bitches who haven't been severly traumatized by life. Running on empty comic is a webcomic, in case you didn't catch that bit. THANK GOD I have so few emotions left, but the few that I do have are buring in the back of my eyes like some bitch ass whore who farts too much for her own good, letting some small piece of shit dripple down her left thigh. Jesus, that's gross, but I know you love hearing it, you fucked up junkie. Fart, fat ass. GOD DAMMIT, could I go for some sweet, sweet Prozium right about... now.
Good enough? I might've gotten a little off-topic there. Maybe ranted a little. Sometimes, I don't know if any of this is making sense to you, but thank GOD no one reads this shit. Are those words from the past? Maybe they all are. Aw hell. See you next week!
Love, Jake A. Alberts, Professional Dirtbag and Sexually Frustrated FUCK
|
Warning: include() [function.include]: URL file-access is disabled in the server configuration in /home/content/d/b/e/dbeadle511/html/runningonemptycomic/2009/04/12.php on line 91
Warning: include(http://www.runningonemptycomic.com/footer.php) [function.include]: failed to open stream: no suitable wrapper could be found in /home/content/d/b/e/dbeadle511/html/runningonemptycomic/2009/04/12.php on line 91
Warning: include() [function.include]: Failed opening 'http://www.runningonemptycomic.com/footer.php' for inclusion (include_path='.:/usr/local/php5/lib/php') in /home/content/d/b/e/dbeadle511/html/runningonemptycomic/2009/04/12.php on line 91
Sunday, April 12, 2009
posted by: Jakey-Jakey
Fuck ass shit BULLSHIT is what it is fucking cunt licking cock sucking shit stabbing FILTH! Tits like those fucking ass cunt lickers with raw she-meat tucked into a clamb's shell with roast beef on the side you son of a bitch who kills that shit like he's eating raw meat and when you hate your father for making you weak, you pussy FAGGOT god hates animals like you and me shitty titties rubbing chocolate on 'em like a porn star and god dammit, am I repeating myself?
Well then, let's make it count with some of my fav'rites, like shit and piss, along with fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker, tits (big and juicy), fart, turd, twat, and repeat that shit piss fuck cunt cocksucker motherfucker tits fart turd twat. Are we having fun yet? How about getting a fork to the scrotum just to end your day right?! I'd tell you to go fuck yourself, but yer dick isn't long enough YOU FUCK! You motherfucker (you know you are). And just to plug it, running on empty comic is a webcomic, you cocksucking ASS KISSER! Do you want me to fucking trash you? Do you want me to TRASH YOU? Fuck! What the fuck is it with you? Running on empty comic is a webcomic, WHAT DON'T YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND? I aught to fucking kick your fucking ass. THINK for one fucking second. Shut up. Shut the FUCK UP. What don't you fucking understand? GIVE ME A FUCKING ANSWER! I'm fucking serious. WHAT DON'T YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND?! FUCKING KICK YOUR FUCKING ASS. I aughtta fix it so you bleed when you piss. You want to get yer shit tucked in. I WILL TUCK YOUR SHIT IN! FUCK!
My sexual experiences center around religious pornography, not around actual human relationships. Am I one of those wretched masses or one of the beautiful few? Am I more like you than you want to believe, you fucking REJECT! Let me explain this one: Online comic strip club that centers on the irreverent hijinks and observations of an artist, a car thief, and a thug. See? It's not a bad start to something that goes downhill so fast. But GOD DAMMIT, she looked good in heels. But when I think about the things I want to REALLY do to her, things get offensive real quick. Is that offensive? Are you going to CENSOR ME?! You turd. (I'm so in love with that girl.) Like a love life that ended way too soon. The dirty things I want to do to her. FUCK YOU and here I am comparing sex to shitting in a twat. Traumatized? YER DAMN RIGHT I AM. And so are you, you boot licking, piss drinking, finger flicking, tit tweaking, love biting, ass licking, shit stabbing, motherfucking, spunk loving, ball busting, BALL CUPPING, cock sucking, fist fucking, lip smaking, thirst quenching, star fucking, cool living, irrevocably USELESS MAN. Here's a hidden message for you: I hate your shit.
I found myself writing endless lines of code it was the system that controlled me not you I can't believe you thought you could get away with not telling your mother the lies of childhood remembrance of course that's not the same thing as lying to the face of your decaying dead relative which makes me laugh because I never even told you how much I hated the stench of a that SHIT, nevertheless there are those who are waiting for the cause (I'm not going to let you vent). You are a powder keg ripe to explode the sparks of a dead calendar man who never caught a fish with his teeth but killed plenty of people that way even though sex is DISGUSTING I'll never know you wanted me dead like your children I can't believe that you fell for that dickless piece of shit even though she lied to you/me I don't want to know how much you want her name and information are irrelevant: four six four eight three four. That would have been embarrassing if it had happened in THIS reality. Is this a webcomic? Are we in a fucking webcomic right now? Say webcomic one more time. SAY IT ONE MORE TIME! (Webcomic.)
One thing I forgot to mention about your face was the fact that nothing could prepare me for that final blow wherein my heart exploded like a face that has no lies, flaws, or other appetites of the flesh you who look that way on a desert highway never minding the weathered ways of a boring lifestyle which is funny because you showed so much enthusiasm toward that girl of pop iconic breast size that never had the charm you took to the prom on your wedding night running on empty comic is a webcomic which suggests to me that you stick a YOU LOVE IT in your empty eye socket with twitching sweat glands of glistening raunchy culture of foresting woodsman ship that in the face of death you see your reflection, of course there's no denying that you had everything in your bed drawing on that self-same death wish (when you're old enough, of course) what you never considered (I LOOOOOVEE labia, even better in burger form) sleeping with your wife because marriage never ends well if that bothers you in such a horrendous way as to make a sailor screw his dead cat that was buried on Tuesday when your mother exploded the microwave FULL OF SHIT so messy you have to take a shower hoping like hell that you don't fart like nothing's funnier and smelling yourself up right after you got all clean, but that's the way life goes, Jimmy Cliff, because that FUCKING FUCKER'S FUCKED! Look at those tits, those pillows I could sleep on for days (or hours). Action Man was such the good son that never even had a chance in hell to have sex with someone evil...
BULLSHIT bullshit bullshit! It's straight up bullshit. Sure, you got chumps out there reading those crank articles, and thinkin' "How can I be more like what women want?" FUCK 'EM! I don't want to give those bitches the satisfaction of changing me, GOD DAMMIT! I'm gonna be everything they don't want, so they, and all THEIR LIES will leave me alone. I'm gonna be unfunny, mean, dirty, poor, and BUTT-ASS-UGLY and I'm gonna enjoy that shit! I'm gonna be ugly and dirty, like men aughta be. Who says I need to change my underwear weekly? FUCK IT! So I'm ugly. SO WHAT? Who isn't? Look at you, you ugly FUCK. Everytime I see you, it turns me off the whole concept of fucking for pleasure. Of course I wear briefs. It keeps my dick from snuggling up to my left thigh. It keeps my shit in place! I can't have my junk flopping around down there; I got things to do. It's a question of functionality: You don't see women with baggy bras, do you?
That fucking satanic fellowship of nine which reminds one of a tale that I hammered (piece of crap webcomic) against the wall at your dead son's birthday party which doesn't seem awfully grand of anyone whose penis artist is over forty years off the ground of an Olympic pogo stick match that never seemed like someone whose name would be John, which strikes me as someone who'd know to look through the squirming of a dead eyeball, which is highly disturbing, like running on empty comic is a webcomic. That's right, you heard me. This is a webcomic, or online comic, about flying cars, girls, hate, revenge, love, loss, anger, AND LOTSA FUCKING DIRTY WORDS! Words like piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker, tits, fart (since when was that a swear word?), turd, twat, shitting and pissing where you eat even if you throw in a dead baby, or even that bum we killed, that never had a chance in hell of surviving past twenty which, of course, (I called her a man, she got offended) as you well know is the same thing as diving backwards into a pool of bloody razorblades like the television puppets who scare your kids to use guns in their daniel beadle, dan beadle, jake alberts, who exposes himself regularly, d-man, running on empty, comic, web comic, webcomic (shiny and new, kids), db that seem to grasp hold of that vague sense of mortality we all seem to possess in the sperm counts of genital disease malfunctions that carry on through time as if by flux that keep their penal erect (I'm not real) of course that doesn't mean you can't get off on dead people having sex with that cat I mentioned earlier, though I think you'll see that this has nothing to do with a bad lunch or a sack of losers who can't find the entrance to their own anuses which nevertheless forces me to discuss what should be the last willing participant of an over exercised brain cube WHAT DON'T YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND?! You self-loathing damn shrink head of a bad man who wears panties and enjoys that act in such a wrong way but I almost grossed out the bartender who said, and I quote, "what's the matter with whipping my ass on the rug burns if ya got 'em even though those bastards are expensive which I didn't know until the last day they made me kill all those people," do you believe that but don't tell me to stop you from getting in the back of a dead van while your dog watches. But this is all for search engine optimization, or SEO as they call it in the biz. Fuck in awe of the awesome structure of shafting maneuvers that penetrate what are actually large vaginas that gush blood monthly and squeeze the last bitch of a son whose time has come to say "I hate your life, you pissant piece of nothing" can compare to what happened on the way, hold on. "FFFFFFFUUCKKK NNNNNERRRDDDZZZZZZZZZ." And continue: that about face could tear your frown the way that ugly kid pieced together your origin on plywood mosquito bites of ram and doubler like beer in a bottle of rum in coke machines that dole out a twat SHIT STORM piss fuck, it was only a matter of time before I took this waaaaay too far. That presidential candidate who formed his own erectile disfunctioning campaign of self-worth and meaningless bigotry that points in the direction of... you guessed it.. nothing I can't explain, though it's no fault of mine that the pope has a liquor license to kill nine lives in one stroke of heart removal that, (is any of this getting through to you?) let's admit, is more known by death than is known in diarrhea of serious proportion which is to say that I've never met Dr. Steve Brule, but that fucker's got great advice. How would Horatio Alger handle this situation? Or even Hunter S. Thompson? I wonder what he's up to that doesn't involve a horse, a barn, and a stack of smooth, smooth hay, which isn't for cows, but deaf men prefer them anyway, but never let that get you down, I'm perfectly capable of — Devin Manning, car thief, Jake Alberts, dirtbag — in the dark and then ripping out my organs when I'm done, after all isn't that what it's all about? Like looking at the big picture while letting slip a fart, that could even be a turd, trying to remember WHEN LIFE DIDN'T SUCK. Love is an elaborate PR campaign designed to keep the human disease alive and kickin' and YOU KNOW IT!
Britney Spears (or does she go by Hannah Montana now?) is a sweetheart, the type of girl that every man wishes he knew in high school for varying reasons of psychological and sexual gratification. The manner in which she evolved, or more appropriately, devolved from subtle teasing to blatant sexuality represents the developing female, that we long for what we can't have, and that we criticize what we do have. She is the slut that we wish we could've fucked when she was a little girl, old enough to be sexy, but young enough to be forbidden. We love to fuck what we can't have and my mind is disintegrating to the point at which love blossoms aren't even real anymore. Running on empty comic is a webcomic, I hate you for what you've made me inside, and I wish I could reclaim that sense that everything will work out for me, but I know damn well it won't. Her attractiveness is based on lies. She isn't attractive in any real way; she's an illusion that only recently has been revealed for what it is. (Reading all this must really be hurting your eyes.) She's white trash, a Southern girl who would fuck her brother if it suited her like that you son of a bitch when I do something horrible to everyone you love, you'll see what a farce the whole damn thing is. I hate my reflection because running on empty comic is a webcomic webcomic webcomic list. I am everything you hate, all rolled into one and for some damn reason I put some disproportionate amount of importance on the impact and image of Britney Spears or Hannah Montana. More of the latter than the former.
WHAT WAS HER NAME? I can't remember shit like that, you turd, because WHORES ARE CHEAPER THAN GIRLFRIENDS, those sluts that gagger and wanker (wonker?) cocksucker motherfucker TITS, farting in the wind and go fuck yourself, you cunt. Jesus TITTY-FUCKING Christ. But I can't hate women completely, because I have a twin sister. She's a sweet kid, and if Devin wasn't FUCKING HER I'd be a little more rational about kicking in stall doors and beating the shit our of bullies like the ones you hated when you were about knee-high. I never had a bully, but man do I want to throw a solid glass ash tray at the back of their collective heads. (I'm not a well-adjusted human being.) But here I am thinking about tits with BIG PUFFY NIPPLES like Ashley Tisdale. FUCK, I gotta stop watching so much of the Disney Channel, it's starting to creep into my deepest thoughts, forcing me to think about love that has nothing to do with sex. What the hell does that mean? ...Because I'm sure some dick-licking psychologist could read all this and derive something of GRAND FUCKING IMPORTANCE, RIGHT?! But if you're reading this, I'm proud of you. Look. The end is in sight, like looking at some skinny girl, and you think to yourself, she's thin, and she has no major deformities and that's GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME. That cunt. But we can't all be hot bitches who haven't been severly traumatized by life. Running on empty comic is a webcomic, in case you didn't catch that bit. THANK GOD I have so few emotions left, but the few that I do have are buring in the back of my eyes like some bitch ass whore who farts too much for her own good, letting some small piece of shit dripple down her left thigh. Jesus, that's gross, but I know you love hearing it, you fucked up junkie. Fart, fat ass. GOD DAMMIT, could I go for some sweet, sweet Prozium right about... now.
Good enough? I might've gotten a little off-topic there. Maybe ranted a little. Sometimes, I don't know if any of this is making sense to you, but thank GOD no one reads this shit. Are those words from the past? Maybe they all are. Aw hell. See you next week!
Love,
Jake A. Alberts, Professional Dirtbag and Sexually Frustrated FUCK
|