Sunday, August 30, 2009

Ghost Story VII

This is part 7 of a Ghost Story. Part 1 is here, and Part 2 here.Part 3 is about lesbians. Part 4 is here. Part 5.666 Part A8E.

"Oh, shit," said Peter, his eyes literally popping from his skull. "Have you been abusing her? Is that what's happening? Is that why she's seeing the spooks?" He covered his mouth, and then Harry tackled him, as expected.

Ehud walked over as the two men rolled around on the floor. "Peter, you're not helping," he said.

"I don't know," said Peter, trying to avoid the father's punches aimed into his mouth, "I've been wondering --" this time a punch connected -- and Ehud began to try to separate the men. As he was dragged away into a corner, Peter said his piece: "Been wondering why the dude has been looking so jumpy all this time?"

Harry tried to charge, but Beatrice and Emma held him back. The father snorted, and then spat, and then, regaining some composure, said "Well, this wasn't exactly what I had expected from the Wisconsin Paranormal Society."

"Dad, stop!" said Emma, covering her face in shame.

"Stop what, Emma? Why are you covering your face?" asked Harry, angrily, and pointing. "Seriously, why? He is the one that is trying to seduce you into his business. He is the one that is evil."

"Look. I have a girlfriend man," said Peter, struggling from Ego -- Ehud's arms. "I don't need to go around touching your 'little girl'. Like you do. Or did."

"Peter, shut up," said Ehud.

"Oh yeah?" laughed Harry, now trying to kick Peter in the face, despite being several feet away. "So who's your so-called girlfriend?" He then imagined booting Peter's face once again, with one of his boots. "How do you like that, you child-molesting little freak? How is that workin' out for ya?"

"Her name is Nadine," shouted Peter, face down on the floor, bleeding a little bit from his nose. "We're in love. Suck on it. I don't need your 'child' to engender some kind of sexual mythology that probably even I would not care for."

Ehud finally managed to break in and properly separate the two. "Nothing productive has come of these exchanges." He looked at Beatrice, and found that she was now sobbing, very softly. So was Emma. "Why don't I tell you some useful information, instead?" he said.

"Yes," said Beatrice, shakily, and she took Ehud's hand. Her poor knees were wobbling. "Tell me about it. What is really happening?"

"Uh. Well, it's actually just some blips," said Ehud, shaking his head. He was slightly nervous.

Beatrice walked over and she and Ehud embraced their arms. "Tell me," she said. She then put her thigh over his lap. "I want to know everything. Tell me about everything, about this kid, Bobby."

Ehud nodded obediently. "Well, if you look at the Google Map of Madison, Wisconsin, right here is the center."

Saturday, August 29, 2009

The Problem With destro

(10:30:58 PM) riverfr0zen: off to play another round of streetfighter
(10:31:43 PM) destro: ok man i ll talk to u l8r
(10:41:07 PM) riverfr0zen: i played a few rounds
(10:41:16 PM) riverfr0zen: first i played it on 'medium'
(10:41:27 PM) riverfr0zen: there was no real challenge
(10:41:35 PM) riverfr0zen: so then i played it on 'hard'
(10:41:50 PM) riverfr0zen: i kicked so much ass
(10:45:09 PM) destro: what system?
(10:45:34 PM) riverfr0zen: ps3
(10:45:43 PM) riverfr0zen: i was saying that:
(10:41:07 PM) riverfr0zen: i played a few rounds
(10:41:16 PM) riverfr0zen: first i played it on 'medium'
(10:41:27 PM) riverfr0zen: there was no real challenge
(10:41:35 PM) riverfr0zen: so then i played it on 'hard'
(10:41:50 PM) riverfr0zen: i kicked so much ass
(10:46:02 PM) destro: what system?
(10:46:04 PM) destro: i mean
(10:46:05 PM) destro: wii?
(10:46:06 PM) destro: ps3
(10:46:21 PM) riverfr0zen: but i got killed by a computer AI
(10:46:58 PM) destro: we were about to watch dexter but the rain is really loud right now
(10:47:01 PM) riverfr0zen: marc cassata is an italian that i have a problem with
(10:47:28 PM) riverfr0zen: some time last year or so, he said the only reason i was so good at this game was because i am an asian
(10:47:29 PM) destro: lol i dont know who that is
(10:47:34 PM) destro: hahhahahaa
(10:47:39 PM) riverfr0zen: he's marc cassata
(10:47:47 PM) riverfr0zen: his last name means 'cake'
(10:47:55 PM) destro: lol
(10:48:00 PM) destro: hes an asshole
(10:48:08 PM) destro: the best playin the world at that game is DOntae davis
(10:48:11 PM) destro: my boy in atl
(10:48:13 PM) destro: georgia
(10:48:42 PM) riverfr0zen: my come back is to not use any racist terms, and instead reveal the fact that the only reason he wins in the online version of the game, is because he takes advantage of lag
(10:49:17 PM) destro: nah be racist
(10:49:36 PM) riverfr0zen: i haven't heard of DOntae, but I wouldn't insult his heritage, or history
(10:50:11 PM) riverfr0zen: the problem is that marc doesn't know how to press the buttons properly
(10:50:53 PM) riverfr0zen: i tried to show him, several years ago, but he just wouldn't learn
(10:51:12 PM) destro: lol some people don't want to learn
(10:52:00 PM) riverfr0zen: he hurt my feelings
(10:55:27 PM) destro: im sorry bud
(10:55:49 PM) riverfr0zen: it's all good
(10:55:57 PM) destro: people are assholes
(10:56:05 PM) destro: hell u live in the most cultural place on earth don't u
(10:56:25 PM) riverfr0zen: it's kind of weird, really.
(10:56:59 PM) riverfr0zen: it's one of the richest places, and yet, sometimes people can go ahead even beyond that, and be total asses
(10:57:11 PM) destro: hahahahaha
(10:57:16 PM) destro: ny is filled iwth assholes
(10:57:17 PM) riverfr0zen: one of them tried to run me over with their bicycle
(10:57:40 PM) destro: hahahha
(10:57:43 PM) destro: that happens everywhere
(10:57:47 PM) riverfr0zen: i was standing in the middle of the street, minding my own business
(10:57:47 PM) destro: doubtful of a racism thing lol
(10:58:03 PM) destro: today some 14year old black chick cut off some middle aged old woman
(10:58:10 PM) destro: and then said : Excuse me bitch to the old woman
(10:58:11 PM) riverfr0zen: this barrage of girls on bikes suddenly appeared out of nowhere, and almost ran over me
(10:58:20 PM) destro: and the woman replied : You cut in front of me hunny
(10:58:26 PM) destro: thats hot
(10:58:33 PM) destro: birrage of women? to take care of u when they hit u
(10:58:49 PM) riverfr0zen: i managed to survive, somehow
(10:59:04 PM) riverfr0zen: must have been doing some really special moves that day
(10:59:42 PM) destro: lol kung fu shit
(11:00:45 PM) riverfr0zen: lol
(11:01:29 PM) riverfr0zen: i want to turn this conversation into a facebook novel
(11:02:01 PM) riverfr0zen: especially to show marc how badly he plays the game

The Life of The Man Who Always Arrives First At The End Of The Race

You set off in your Pontiac Trans Am, driving madly, driving crazy.
First the people turned to blurs, then they turned into her,
then there was just nothing.

I don't even have to remark about the end, because the end was in your eyes,
kind of purple a bit. Kind of orange. How about a little blue?
Sure, you said, gazing distantly.

See the dead bird somehow floating, away into the sky?
Picks itself up from its own ashes -- that dead bird never cries.
Upside down and diagonally, a spinning-bird-kick,
even a little jelly, for the senile and the sick.

Once again, they're pointing out to me how scared I'd been at first.
Didn't know how to press any buttons, didn't even know they could be pressed.
And when I get myself to the end, I start feeling lonely by myself:
I thought they'd be here to hang around, all my little friends.


But in this world, no one comes around, to hang around or
just shoot the shit.

In this world they will make you suffer, they will make you stutter,
claiming you no longer have your fins.

This is why she keeps banging, and banging on my head.
She wants to assert quite fully that I'm still not dead.

Friday, August 28, 2009

The Deep, Deep Freeze

His face was already distorted by every possible horror imaginable. You know how some kids made up a site called 'are you hot, or not?'? Well, he went beyond that level of intelligence.

Well, in New York City, if you want to eat a pizza, there are several places to get a 'real New York Slice'. But if you want to go really crazy, you can go and have a meal at Waldy's. The guy even makes a website where he explains to you the reasons he had for producing his fine product.

Unlike a regular slice, Waldy makes the crust thin. Lean mean fighting machine, etc. So there's the bases. All covered. Then, he goes ahead and puts all kinds of toppings over this crust he has made, because, honestly, after the crust, you're pretty much fixed up.

This is what experts do. They already know that they are excellent, so what they do is, they Embellish.

They polish the shoe store for the customer.

Beware The Deadly Flashing Blade!

Your skirts must not be sliced up, sir.

His tang is worser than his tongue
Tits just fall upon his penis.

She spoke to him, at the very last
about meeting upon, just meeting @ george bush
saying"you know where you need go,
to go when you need some",

He hugged her, he hugged her,
He hugged her to the end,
Thinking, at that point,
I think that "I still have her."

Black Adder! x infinite

Thursday, August 27, 2009


I have it pretty good.
You can't get better than this.
For example, take Jack Nicholson's face
in that movie 'As Good As It Gets'

Well, I got it better.

The pure enlivenment from aspects of my brain
shoots up and then diffuses at the top of my head.
It's like, when popstars cry about being sad,
I'm just stealing their energies.

But am I happy?
The answer is in the gear of No.
Unhappy. Displeased. Irritated, a little.
Where the fuck is Daniel Gilbert?

Come on Danny. Come here. Come here little guy.


Thursday, August 20, 2009

There Needs to Be Something Good

The sub-atomic particles were confused. "What is this direction? Why this?" they cried.

"He needs something good," they were informed by a surrounding voice. "This time, we are going to do something good."


When a Boy awoke, his soul filled up his skin so gently as taking careful steps amongst marigold. "The body is just a shell," sang a voice into his ear. "It is your soul that is important."

Babies know that these are the lies of anxious mothers. They start crying, at first, just to exacerbate the anxiety. Because the mother is the first testing unit. The babies want to see what they can do -- how far they could go. The cool thing is that even this lie is comforted by their Mother, after a short process of her various mixed emotions. Then the momz takes the baby and soothes it. The entire 'act' is one of liberation. Of freedom. The baby falls asleep at his mother's teat, free in his dreams, and the mother is also freed. She knows this boy will grow up to be probably the most excellent man ever. Now she may proceed and find sustenence for herself, and the baby.

The father is a distant figure. It is the mother who teaches the baby everything. From speaking -- saying things like 'bubba bubba bubba' -- to crawling. Yes, crawling. The mother teaches the child to crawl, and then one day, he finally does! She gets so excited, she phones up everybody she could possibly know. "He's crawling!" she cries, into the phone receiver, to a million people who probably don't care. But the million people are not what is important. It is the tears of the mother that are important, here. That is where you will find the most beautiful happiness. If you were there, you could even take one of the tears, and taste it, and it will blow your mind more explosively than any drug sold around in the multiverse.

Eventually the baby begins to advance from crawling, to walking. It tends to learn by itself. Mother is always watching, of course, but now it is from some kind of distant, fond amusement. Now she thinks, "Oh my God, what have I created?" There is a distinct smile on her face. She admonishes the baby, when it makes little mistakes. She trains it, according to her beliefs and such. But then one day, the child, now even talking back, informs her that her instructions are becoming rote. "My god," she cries to herself at night (not when he is listening). "I hope you are not going to break my heart."

Despite her greatest fears, this is a Good story. The baby grew up into a little boy, violent and mad. He did crazy things. One time, he even rode his BMX so fast, and pulled the front brakes, and was tossed over it, landing on his nose. The physics were amazing. That is the reason his nose ended up that way, for the rest of his life. His mother was not very happy when she saw it. But she told him, "You are now learning about the ways of life."

So he learned. He dated his first girlfriend at the age of 9 or so, on a see-saw. Later on, he moved on to more complex issues. He began hunting things bigger than little dragonflies with wings to pull out, or frogs in whose mouths to put firecrackers. He learned about a thing called 'humanity', which is where you get to care for people. He learned it because there was this one girl who (in planned place of his mother) told him how to do things. This girl was amazing. She knew about things, and when she conducted her experiments, all the physics always ended up completely correct. With this woman, the boy grew to even greater heights. He became a Man.

Is that not a beautiful story? No? Let me tell you something more beautiful than even that. Bear with me, and imagine ... imagine if the mother originally had never taken care of the Boy like that? Imagine if she did not even want it. Or maybe she was not ready for it. "What's so beautiful about that?" you might ask. "How can she be such an evil bitch?" Here is what is beautiful: I'm here to tell you that she is beautiful. And, no, she is not an evil bitch. I'm here to tell you that it is her prerogative. I'm telling you that she has to have a choice. Because if she does not have a choice, then all of the amazing stuff you see above will turn negative. The 'beautiful baby' who learned to walk and talk will end up a complete bastard. I don't mean that in the familial sense, either. He will be an an actual complete bastard. Not like-able at all. Nobody will love him. People will pretend to love him, but they would only do it for his cash.

So you see, then. She has to have the choice. That is how beautiful the whole thing ends up.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Five Strokes

First time, when I had a stroke, it was in the middle of an educational program. Children were teaching me how to use a 'VCR'. I had taken one of the tapes, and had peered at the film before it was developed. A brave child then walked up to me, and snatched the tape away. It (I don't remember what sex it was) had demanded that I was ruining 'everything'.

I responded in (what I think was) a cool fashion. "Well then give me a computer where I can not have to worry about such horrible things as ruining everything of yours."

"I'm going to call my mother," said the baby.

"Go ahead," I replied, rolling my eyes. The baby went off, and I watched it, running away in its comfortable new nappy.

Then the Mother came over. I began to have my second stroke. She was saying a lot of things, showing me how a lot of instructions are usually provided. "No matter what you do, you are going to die!" she had yelled. I had my third stroke.

Next time I found out where the fuck I was, I learned I was in the kitchen at The Deli. The Deli. Not just 'a deli' but The. Somebody walked to me and said: "Sorry you weren't hired at our computer graphics company in Iowa. Small as it may be. Now wash the bloody dishes."

I concentrated on the dishes, focusing on why they may be bloody. I didn't see any blood anywhere. Just the remnants of human mastication. I had my fourth stroke at this point, focusing on the dishes. Then some asshole came in wondering why the 'chain' was not moving faster.

When I woke up, I found myself in the arms of probably the best thing since the universe exploded. From that universe, only one thing had survived -- a time capsule. Some woman named 'Kate' had left it there, with her childhood 'friend', whose name it is not my job to remember. "Everybody is going to hate you, Kate," I told the woman. She just laughed in my face and said, "What about everybody?" Frightened, I opened the capsule (standing in space itself, sans a uniform), and I read through the contents. This is when I had my fifth stroke.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

In Venus

He went into Venus, all by himself. People were allowed to come, but they chose not to.

"Women are the most beautiful things," he informed Planet Venus.

She rejected him. "Where the fuck are you going now?"

He smiled back at her. "I'm going to outer space," he said.

"Can you say you are Major Tom?"

"No," he replied.

"Yes, you can!"



Tuesday, August 11, 2009


"They're coming," he texted her, and then he looked around at the old room, with its distant furniture, the musty dead smell of his own cigarettes for the last nine years -- everything he had been doing by himself all this time. When he had taken it all in, he looked down again at his device, and her response had arrived.

"Who the fuck is coming?"

"All of them. All four limbs, torso -- the head."

He went and read carefully through every envelope left scattered around his floors, some for almost a decade. Every single one he had chosen not to fling away into the mornings' trash. Never those which, every single morning, he'd flung away like worthless paper. Usually those were letters from corporations or governments declaring the amount of money he owed them, unaware that the checks were already on their way. But every once in a while, they were also from some real people that he no longer cared to hear from.

When he was done reading all the ones he had cared to save, he went back to the couch and picked his device up. She had responded again. This time it made him smile, just a little.

"What about the penis, and the balls?"

"You never hear me begging for your vagina," he texted back.

Her response was instantaneous. "My vagina is part of my torso, you know that. You're trying to tease me, aren't you?"

"Well, then ... your boobs."

She called him up and started yelling. "Look, are you coming with those too, or not? Otherwise it is not a complete deal. I don't want you to offer yourself to them as a damn eunuch or something just to get yourself to me."

He bit into his tongue. "No, no. I'm sending the penis and the balls too."

There was a pause in the cricket-song midnight that is international telephone gateways carefully untapped. She took a deep breath, and said, "Well, how are you coming? What airline? Where do I pick you up?"

Now it was his turn to make her listen to the silence. "I'm not coming on a commercial flight," he said. "I'm mailing myself to you, in a small box. It will arrive on your doorstep."

"That is the stupidest idea I have ever heard!" she yelled. Through the receiver, he heard a vase, or something porcelain or other smash in the distance. "They will never let that box through. The dogs'll smell it."

"Cryopreservation. And lots of non-perfume deodorizers," he explained.

"Well don't you think the X-ray guys will notice there's damn limbs in the damn box?" she said. "How stupid can you be? This isn't going to work."

"It'll work. Lots of people receive authentic sex blow up dolls everyday in the mail, and they have realistic body parts. I'll make it look just like that."

There was another long silence, and then he heard a sob from her. "You've ordered sex dolls?" she asked, with concern.

Now it was her turn to hear something smashing to pieces on his side, before he responded, "Goddamit, no. But it's not hard to get the instructions online now, in an easily printable format."

"Okay, okay," she said. "Tell me, then. How -- how are you going to cut yourself? Into those ... pieces."

His voice became calm as a perfectly thrown stone, skipping across a salty still lake on the kind of foggy morning you decide to wear a hoodie when you go out jogging. "I don't have to cut myself," he told her. "I just have to imagine it, and it will happen. I'll imagine it, and imagine you, and fall to the right kinds of pieces, into the box."

"What?" she said, on the other side of the line.

"Really," he responded, voice so calm, there could be no question.

"Well, how will you get it mailed? I mean ... how will you mail ... yourself?"

"I'll do it at the doorstep -- I've already left instructions for the carrier."

She hung up on him. He went to his old kitchen, studying the memories of blood upon the elderly wood and steel, left by the corpses of fish, chickens, and various other things a normal human being may prepare for lunch and dinner. He never ate breakfast, even though both his mother and father had told him it was the perfect start to a shiny day. He smiled fondly at that one stove upon which he had made that meal for her -- the one after which she finally walked over and kissed him. Lamb. He had roasted some lamb on that stove, that night, for their dinner. She had really loved it.

His device buzzed, and there was a response from her. "Well, looks like you have everything worked out," she said, and the smell of her doubt was so thick, he could have sworn it was emanating from the speaker on the device. Of course, that is not how these devices work. "So tell me one last thing," she said.


"Last time I played with a brick set was like -- well -- never. I didn't play that as a child. How the hell am I going to put you together when you finally do come here, in pieces?"

He smiled, and doubted whether this was the time for one of his stupid jokes. Then he figured, well, if it was not, then he would simply not be himself. "Well," he said, "you know how you insisted I bring my penis along?"

"Well, yes. I would want you as a whole man."

"Well ... all you would have to do is to blow on it. Then I'll inflate right back into my whole self."

His head sank beneath his shoulders as sounds of catlike shrieking carried across carefully untapped international lines, as did the crashing of various porcelain objects. My God, what had he done? This was going to take a lot of mending to be made right again.

Sunday, August 9, 2009

latest new thing

My latest favorite movie is "The Illusionist" by Neil Burger. It is the only reason that I have bought a Playstation 3. I mean, for getting it in Blu-Ray.

"Why do you need to watch this movie in 1080p glorious definition?" asked somebody who is too poor to purchase such a machine. "Can't you be happy with just a DVD? Why the hell do you need all of that for?"

I studied it carefully, then released my next remark: "To be honest, I had originally bought it to experience the WHOLE Blu-Ray experience. I was expecting tons of features, and maybe a commentary where Edward Norton exposes all of the things he is trying to act. All in one disc."

They began to start laughing. "So I take it this was delivered to you, then?" they said.

"Wait," I said.

"Don't raise a finger at us," they said.

I put up both hands, a normal peace sign. "Ok, wait. Look. What I am trying to say is that I have been broken by this film."


"Look, wait. Observe, carefully. I need to send my message. The whole reason I started this thread anyway."

They looked at me with impatience.

"Ok," I said. "So, when I first put the disc into the system, I instantly fell asleep."

"You fell asleep?"

"Yes, yes," I nodded quickly. "Then the movie started."

They shook their head. "What do you mean? How can you just put a disc into the system, and then the movie just begins to start? Usually they put a lot of warnings, and disclaimers."

"Ok, there was one disclaimer, and then the movie started," I said.

Everybody began to frown. "I don't get it - how can it just start like that, without any introductory menus or anything?"

I then realized the huge error I had committed. I began to withdraw.

They started to advance upon me. "You didn't even watch the whole movie, did you?" they chanted as they came.

"Shuttup! Shuttup!"

They started laughing hysterically. "You ... you came here to us, to review a film, and you never even got past the selection menu? You came to us, reviewing the movie based on the damn introduction screen?"

Best Possible Excuse for Not Going On the Job

Apple fanboys can stop becoming excited. This is not about your fearless leader.

"Well then what the hell is it about, then?" asked one of them.

"I was sitting down by myself, trying to come up with the best possible excuse to not go to jobs."

"Yes, you explained in the damn title. I'm waiting for an answer."

I nodded guiltily. "Oh. Ok. Well, one thing that I was thinking about is to just tell them that my brain is not working anymore."

He laughed in my face. "You can't just say that."

I stared back. "Why not? Why couldn't I say it?"

Like someone who has much greater knowledge, his response was very calculated. "You cannot just say that and remain employed," he explained, carefully.

I looked back at my excuse. "It is a reasonable statement," I tried. "If my brain is not working, how can I possibly work?"

He shook his head. "You don't understand," he responded. "You are no longer employed by Metacortex. You are no longer ITs employee." He took a deep breath. "You see ... once ... there was a relationship. Now there is no more relationship. Anyway, why am I explaining shit to you? I thought this was an interview where I am supposed to be the interviewer."

"Okay. Well then, I'm just going to quit," I told him.

"Look ... maybe we can come to some kind of ... arrangement," he said.

I smiled widely. "Oh, now you want to come to an .... arrangement, eh?"

"How stupid are you?"

"I am very stupid," I told him, immediately.


"Commence the intercourse," instructed the voice.

She stared at it. She stared at it so, so hard. Perhaps if she stared long enough, she might change the voice's nature. Maybe change the way that it spoke. What the hell was wrong with it, anyway? Why did it always have to be like this?

"What are you looking at?" it remarked, irritation inherent in its sonorousity. "Start fucking with me!"

She wanted to tell him that you cannot just 'start fucking'. What is wrong with a little kiss, at first? A little tiny bit of exchanging saliva? What is wrong with that?

He became fidgety. Whole body started shaking. "Make love to me, otherwise I will experience epilepsy!" he warned her.

"You have to take me out, first," she said, and at this he became surprised. It was as though a whole new concept -- that she had a voice, and could speak.

The machine started to break down. It became rudderless, due to losing some fins. It began to skid. It started skidding. Skip, skip, skid.


Monday, August 3, 2009

A 8 3

People had started complaining about how there were only Se7en sins. Like, it was not enough for them -- "Lust", "Gluttony", "Greed", "Sloth", "Wrath", "Envy", and "Pride". Pride, of course being famously touted as My last greatest one. It had seemed, now, that novelty was being desired.

That had not been the original intent, of course. Wasn't trying to do it so that the stupid humans would sit around and count numbers. They already invented calculators for that. What kind of species sits around, developing new technologies, and then doesn't even use them? An inefficient one, that is what. This guy, 'God', was supposed to create something brand new with humans, something never heard of before -- so can you imagine My horror at what happened to unfold? Imagine MY horror.

It is ridiculous to the point of being offensive.

They brought me to this .. point ... this point where I had to commit a new sin. Being a very studious person (an examiner), I only drew from my observations. I noticed how they were operating on a massive scale, and I also fully understood how they were operating in the miniature. When they were being tiny, they did not enjoy being called midgets. On a large scale, they would not enjoy jokes about their obesity. I would watch them, for hours, sitting in the palm of My hand. I don't know when I actually went crazy -- I don't have total recall -- but it was probably when I started taking all of them to bed, situating them comfortably against My sleepy head like that metaphor about the princess. My head was the princess, and the humans, they were the peas.

With great sadness, then, I inform you regarding My digression. I know why you came here in the first place. Out of Lust. First however, we have to make distinctions -- it is necessary in order to continue My plot: When they say 'Gluttony', they are not talking about some fat bloke at the chippy getting a deep-fried mars bar. You need to understand this, I tell you, you need to really, really understand this. It is only by understanding the pettiness of the human concept of Gluttony that you could even imagine the extent of My next sin. Understand that, unlike others who claim some kind of 'finality' with their 'lore' (as they like to sooth their egos), I am not doing this as some kind of 'cop out'. This won't be My last. As long as we have this understanding, I will continue. If we don't have the understanding, you can stop to read on.

My next sin, the eighth sin (for those using calculators) is on a very large, unspeakable scale, yet simultaneously also on the nanoscale. It is not nanobots, as you might imagine. And it is not some kind of 'socially adapting terror' vis a vis Facebook or Twitter. That is not the sort of thing you need to be afraid of, I assure you. Number Eight is what is incomprehensible. Don't get Me started on Sun Tzu's Art of War. Sure, that guy gave some good tips here and there. "Always stand on higher ground." (check). "To truly conquer them, you must make it appear to them that your house is their house." (check). But that is only page one in the metaphorical book. (Also, right about now is where you may discharge your tripe about 'too many metaphors').

The Eighth Sin will absolutely consume you. Vegans will cry about the chlorophyll they have so carelessly consumed. Random people will begin to receive women's heads in boxes. Ovaries will refuse to exit the girls and thick sperm will gush from boys' exploding balls.