find the fucking cheese

The race is on.  Who kills themself first?  Life, unappreciated.  

Mankind, riding an ICBM, with a nuclear payload, straight toward the nearest black hole.

Whoever gets the tip to stick in their asshole wins.

King of the fucking mountain.  Slip up at your own risk.  A broken wrist, a fractured femur, if you're lucky.  All Gravity sucked in through your dickhole, exploding out your mouth, if you're not.  Ultimate regret.  Time in an instant.  Moments fading to feelings, dengenerating into sensations.  Nothing, et al nothing.  Et al everything, et al something, et al anything, et al

just one thing.

But, none of that matters.  Then again, doesn't it?

Think fast: the Fate of your Race is at stake.  You've got a split-

second to react.  But does any of it even matter?

Probably not.  That's the funny thing about it.  What could it all possibly mean, in the first place?  Who decides?  It's arbitrary.  This begets that.  I have more gold than he does.  I can convince an inebriated man to trade me

His Wine for My Water.

Then, I'm going to sell that wine to a drunk for double its retail value.

All profit.

There is no better investment.

You should buy in!  In fact, maybe I should go public.  My IPO might be bigger than Google!  My Market Share would dwarf IBM!  But, the SEC could spot irregularities in my bank accounts.  The IRS would call me on decades of blatant tax fraud and evasion.  The CIA would be forced to investigate my connections with suspected terrorist sympathizers!  I'd be under constant surveillance by the FBI!  THE DEA WILL BUST ME FOR GROWING BUSHELS OF MARIJUANA!

Damnit man!  Calm down!

It's the paranoia talking.  None of that is going to happen, so just calm the fuck down!

Besides, we're all straddling the same rocket anyway,

so what the fuck does any of it matter?

jw 5/8/09 2:17 am