Escape from Everything

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True story ahead. No shit.

Just because I'm a pissed off old coot that doesn't mean I'm crazy. What it means is that I've had it up to here with this planet's dark-ass Invisible Empire and the celestial fuckers who run it. And the earthlings and invisible midwayer beings who help them.

I'm an old man who learned how to fight back eleven years ago. With words. If you don't like it, take a fucking hike. Or, better yet, listen the fuck up.

I'm not going to lay out everything I've discovered since I've been alive about this dark-ass world, not in this blog post or any other blog post. That would take me the rest of my life. I'm just going to tell you — briefly — my own little Amityville Horror story. That's right, it's a true story. No shit. Like any other real life nightmare and they've been happening all over the world now that people are getting up off their knees and acting like men and women with minds of their own. Instead of a bunch of fucking slaves for invisible assholes who don't give a shit about any of you. Not even your children. But I do. That's why I bother.

A few years ago, the tom cat that lives with me got lazy about catching mice in the house so I got some mouse traps and set a few. One morning I saw that I'd caught one. Of course the cat got pissed but that's his problem, not mine. You follow? OK, I wasn't dressed for outside so I put the trap with the dead mouse in its deadly grip on the top back porch step, just outside the door. Well, I forgot about it until the next day. You ready for this? When I finally remembered that mouse trap the next morning and went to get it, it wasn't a mouse trap with a dead mouse in it anymore. It was a little stuffed mouse the size of the dead one in the exact same spot where I'd set the used mousetrap. The trap and the dead mouse were gone. Was I scared? Not a chance. I was pissed. But in control.

I keep a very clean house. You could eat off my kitchen floor. But this past spring little red piss ants started showing up on my kitchen counter tops. They were so tough that I had to use a paper coaster from the den bar to kill them. By pressing down real hard. If I hammered them with my fists, they kept writhing. Made me sick. And angry. Angry at them. The bugs from outer space, the little fuckers who think they created us just because they tampered with our genes. Wake up. They're getting us to kill once another all the time now  so they can watch and get off. Just like Hitler. Even worse. Fuck them.

Well, that must have made them mad. Me and a paper coaster were killing the little tormentors they'd sent my way because I never fuck with people for fun like they do. That makes them mad as hell. They like bad people, not good people. They fuck with good people. That's why they torment kids. So, they sent me black ants that only showed up on my kitchen floor. They were big and hard to kill. They drove the cat crazy. I'd stomp the ants and then gather them up with a dust pan and brush. Then the little red bastards came back on the kitchen counter tops. I sprayed the basement with ant killer, even though I'd never seen an ant down there. But the ants came back and back and back.

For over a month this past spring I cleaned and scrubbed my kitchen like a charwoman from old England while those celestial cocksuckers must have jacked off their invisible dicks and did somersaults. Like that bunch of sick, twisted, human-hating Amityville Horror fuckers did. OK, you follow? There'd be no ants anywhere so I'd leave the kitchen only long enough to set a mug of coffee down in the living room. When I came back to see if my cheese melt was done in the toaster oven there were red ants all over the counter top and black ants all over the floor. By the time I got them all killed and swept into the dustpan and dumped in the trash my coffee was cold and so was my cheese melt. And this, people, is the real reason for all of this. To fuck with me because I'm one of the good guys. Don't let it happen to you. But, if it does, fight back.

One day, after five weeks of red and black ants appearing behind my back, I happened to glance left out of the corner of my eye one day as I poured a mug of coffee from the old Proctor-Silex and there, in mid-air about a foot above the counter top, I saw a little red piss ant being formed in the air. Hell, no, there weren't any strings or cobwebs attached to it. It was a foot out from the cupboard door and five feet down from the ceiling. I'd caught those celestial cocksuckers beaming down ants into my clean kitchen. They must have unhooked that single piss ant from their transporter beam because it suddenly dropped down onto the counter top and scrambled off in search of crumbs that weren't there. Not in my kitchen. Wham! I and the trusty paper coaster got it. And that was the end of the spring ants. I'd caught old invisible rat bastards fucking with me. Caught them red-handed.

Now it's coffee spills. Oh, yeah, once in a while I spill a little coffee, like everybody else, but I usually know it. Their way of torturing me now is to watch me back away from a spotless, white kitchen counter top and go into the living room and enjoy my coffee while I watch an old taped sitcom on TV. Then I return to the kitchen and clean up coffee spills. One day soon, I'll catch them beaming the coffee down and that'll end that game and they'll start another.

And this, people, is nothing compared to what happened in Amityville, New York back in the last century. Or what happened to me and a lot of other little kids and teenagers ever since Eisenhower, the biggest Benedict Arnold president of all, told the Grays to take whatever they wanted. Earth was theirs. And you people think they can walk on water and take you to heaven. Heaven, people, is Earth, when good people act like men and women with wise minds and kind hearts and make it a nice place for everyone to live. That's how it really works. Grow up.

If enough of us do that, they'll go away forever or die because they won't be able to stand the sight of all that goodness in one place. They love the dark and they live by the lie. There is no Santa Claus. There is no Tooth Fairy. There is no Easter Bunny. There is no God. And there never was. Get over it and get used to it. We're the ones responsible for ourselves and for our evolving presence among the stars. We're part of the biggest community ever. The evolving universe. Be part of the solution. Not part of the problem.

And, yes, people. This is a true story. No shit.

White Trash Garbage

I'll be damned if these people represent the white race or White America. These low-life white-trash fuckers are an embarrassment to both. They look like two Neo-Nazi queers and their lesbian dominatrix. Looks like nothing's changed in downtown Berlin. Oh, Christ, that's right. They do this cabaret act on American TV! Right in the fucking American Heartland. Christ Almighty, I'd call this... I'd... Id' call this shit terrorism.

Jesus Christ, here's the next target for a fatal sexually-transmitted disease. Where's a fucking Josef Mengele Gray when you need one? Huh? Fuck you. I don't care if you don't like it or not. Fuck you cocksuckers. I'm not afraid of you two-legged animals or the fucking Hollywood reversible Arabs who promote you. Fuck them. They've been selling out America to the dark side for their thirty pieces of silver ever since that demon whore Linda Lovelace first pulled you sleazeball assholes by the fucking short hairs into the scum-sucking pus-pit of below-the-belt hell. You stupid fucks.

Fuck you disgusting circus freakshow assholes. And you used to make fun of Joel Grey and Liza Minnelli who looked like cartoons compared to you demon leather freaks. Bounty Hunters, my ass. You'll never be part of my life on Earth. It's bad enough here already.  It's enough to make me want to go to a planet where the only white people are clones of Ozzie & Harriet Nelson. I'd rather be bored and relaxed to death than on the verge of hurling my lunch. Jesus Christ, somebody beam me up already.

4-30-13: Ticked Off Ted says, "Ye gads! This post is alive! It's A L I V E!!! It morphed and grew today. And now I've had to break my biggest cardinal rule and write about below the waist shit. It's your fault.

You Little Fuckers

Post Updated 9-16-13 for CLARITY.

Ticked Off Ted's Great Escape

This is how I occasionally escape from reality.

Sick TV Sucks

I still can hardly believe my eyes. I thought this sick, sorry-ass world would have had just about enough of Hannibal the Cannibal by now. Apparently not. And now this sick shit is back and right there on NBC, no less, and apparently on a weekly basis. What sick shit.

I have no doubt that this twisted, sick series will be NBC's biggest hit, especially among creepy closet people who use untouchable labels to hide behind in order to feed their sick, twisted perversions. At our expense, of course. Nice people don't watch this shit. And you damn well know it.

The Romans never saw it coming (or else they didn't care). But when sick, sadistic, violent cruelty becomes your goddamn entertainment, then you are no longer fit to be part of the human race. And you goddamn well know it. Wise up or go away. The rest of us will do just fine without you.