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Brinesanity – an abide jar, filled with all the fuqs given.

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All Inclusive F.C. Lodge – 6 Star Vacationing!!!

Yes, you are wondering.

Dreaming, that one day, that fantastic lush meadow, filled with the sweet, sweet pudding soil and lush candies grass horizons will be yours to enjoy and take part in also.

You can earn your right to stay, at the all-inclusive F.C. Lodge & Orchards. That’s right, simply by clicking your heels and pretending that everything is all right you will be able to visit Fiscal Cliff Lodge, Chasm County, USA and begin enjoying your vacation today!

Centuries of history, decades in the making, the luxury of America’s wide-open fiscal spaces blend with the cliffs that awe calling you to fuck the budget staycation, get freakishly close to the edge. Witness the blood orange sky and view the lawmakers of the wildest nation on Earth, on 284” LCD screens breathtakingly stylish and sophisticated prose, drop from the skies at night to create the documented heaven of bureaucratic canyons, echoes refreshingly simple, spreading the sounds of rich media broadcast and pacifications over you as you reconnect with friends and family, over a pharma-cocktail, a medically mitigated intrusive massage, or a warm Senate Steamcake’s Submersion soak, in the natural waters that surround the Fiscal Cliff range.

With the pleasantly fashionable, calming rustic log home setting, the Fiscal Cliff Lodge helps you feel as though you are a pioneer, back in the early days of shaping a nation, to ensure it would yield the prime vacation spots, and related rest stops and fast food establishments along the way of course, you won’t get more than 24” in our facility without being poked or prodded to purchase, consume, and then trophy shit your waste. You want to say you were here, when that shit hit the fan! So do we.

Inviting views in all of the rooms are sure to encourage reflection, as you see the wild game gathering below. Your thrill is knowing you will not be there when the floor collapses, or you can watch the wild game, kill and torture one another for the foliage or the carcass.

This is big game vacationing.
This is big time living.
This is fuck it to the max – money is no object.

Like all preserves, it’s taste is all based on natural selection and natural fermentation.
This is the wild game preserve of Fiscal Cliff, Chasm County.

Why Chasm County is the right destination;

  • Exclusive, intimate media connections to the SafariCam villa, ideal for the privileged families or groups of friends to enjoy watching the Obama tribe maintain control of the region
  • Private toga parties and StarChamber sessions, just like the old congressional compositors/settlers
  • Seasonal Big Jive viewings, with spectacular sightings of the elusive cheetah (*spring/tax season), the rare black rhino (*winter/kwanzaa and leap year electoral storms), the grey haired Chasm burro (*year round, depends on union jurisdiction with the County area, and your dues paid), not to mention such wonderful ecosystem guests as senate snakes, state badgers, and desert sloth creatures of magical proportions that lobby all parts of the outback for your pleasure
  • Personal ‘Merican Bentley 4×4 safari armed vehicle, legal staff, regional dialect enabled Congress Translator, and emergency parking arranger and tracking/scouting Mall/commercial purchase SWAT (Support.With.Assetized.Transactions) team
  • Your own private F00d $tamp chef to cook you Poverty Pate, Ghetto Can Chicken, Chasm Chili – feel like you know tomorrow will for so many not able to have worked as hard, or as smart as you
  • A F.C.L., Chasm County 100% debt financed fleece TARP for every family that visits and signs the ledger! One for each family member – unlimited supply from Fed Fleece, Inc.

Invitation to bring nature to your world;

Generous timetables and self-sustaining troughs, or ponds and politico nesting areas, reveal a scenic wonderland of natural bitumen, Bush heirlooms and allow the sounds of the native Indebtus Redherrings woodpecker and the burgling gold plated, zinc Koi fish.

Imagine the glory of waking from your well-positioned beds, and the second the world greets you, breathtaking projections ensure your vista is a panorama of space and light. Listen you think the timing of this offer has anything to do with you being one of the potential 2,000,000 Americans that need a vacation from the looming demise of your deemed rights? You are damn right it does – we want you to come and don’t worry about it, something else will replace that right with a new one. Come on a safari at the F.C. Lodge and let us show you what luxury really is!

The glory of white, blue and red;

Stylish comfort, genuine hospitality and the feeling of ease are all yours in the flag draped motif of the Lodge. A personal chef, butler and attendant, all licensed and medically certified (*University of Buenos Juancho Jesus, Costa del Sol, Brineland) anesthetists, will ensure the features all remain as interactive and inductive as to provide maximum efficiency for your willing and free spirited parting of cash for pleasure – the luxury of having your favorite meals prepared for you in tins, paid for with stamps or small plastic sharks teeth we use as currency on the grounds of the lodge (*exchange rate deemed to be based in the currency of the proprietors staff, and remains at their sole discretion based, or perhaps not so based, on a gold standard, that is currently reviewing the definition of gold being color only, or to include the underlying commodity in the past referred to as a means of exchange or value from a notionally accepted standard material or good that is tangible) or the pure pleasure of being surprised at meal time with something as simple as bread and teeth, well that is something we will gladly do.

Private spaces, smiling faces;

The facilities are clean, sterile, and fully allow you to drink in the elixir of the views from synthetically seductive, trade balanced plump cushions and data sensitive electronic devices used for your viewing pleasure, and our monitoring needs. Fresh air for working out your frustrations and your gratuities, to a county and a state that cares about making sure the support staff and team are the to light the candle lanterns creating that intimate dining arena, or a private cell boma, whatever it is, we am sure we have a unionized steward to support your luxurious needs.

We wholly subscribe to the F.Y.P.M principle, and know you will to.

You get what you pay for, and the sheets – they are of your own choosing also!

After all, when you announce 6-star luxury with a brand that stands proudly on it’s foundation of freedom, free country, free choice and “fuck you, pay me”…

You announce Fiscal Cliff Lodge, Chasm Country, USA.

*Click here for your limited time offer to pay an additional 17% more in charges and bureaucratic levies, ensuring your time with us with be that much more gooder for the state of humanity and to sustain a nation of parchment plains and ink well streams!!

fetaChops, fetaman, iFeta, brinesanity, abide, fuqtarded

Tempted to get a blow job from his girlfriend, this former guest, stuck his flacid dick into a portable BBQ to prove he could, as a dick, it obviously swelled and could not be removed. He had to be attended to. It was grotesque, and televised. This, this is the kind of guest Einstein we are happy to oblige. Why? Even the wisest of horn dogs will still stick his dick in a hole for a surprise on the other side. This is just the tip of the iced bird as they say!

 

*abide*

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The Questionnaire: Hunter S Thompson

Hunter S Thompson, 60, was born in Kentucky. Jailed for robbery when a teenager, he went on to become a journalist and writer. He was credited with inventing the New Journalism in 1970 – after his stream-of-consciousness account of a week-long bender with illustrator Ralph Steadman – and ‘gonzo’ journalism, for his oddball style in works such as Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas.

What is your idea of perfect happiness?
Fire, breaking glass and constant explosions.

What is your greatest fear?
Having all my blood sucked out by strangers.

With which historical figure do you most identify?
Benjamin Franklin, coz he loved electricity, and Charles Manson, coz he loved freedom.

Which living person do you most admire?
Fidel Castro, never mind why.

What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
Generosity.

What is the trait you most deplore in others?
Weakness and failure.

What objects do you always carry with you?
A hookah, shotgun, ben-wa balls, and a fork.

What makes you depressed?
I went to the wilderness once and killed four pigs. This has depressed me for too long. Ralph Steadman also depresses me.

What is your favourite smell?
The smell of cordite.

What is your favourite building?
The tomb of Genghis Khan.

What is your favourite journey?
LSD-25.

What is your favourite fantasy?
In my dreams I am a beautiful naked rhinoceros kidnapped by dolphins and dragged out to sea.

What is your most unappealing habit?
Stealing.

Should the Royal Family be scrapped?
No, send them to prison.

Do you believe in capital punishment?
Absolutely.

Do you believe in monogamy?
Yes.

What or who is the greatest love of your life?
Jilly, drugs, guns, whisky, speed and water.

Which person do you most despise?
Hitler – he was filthy.

How do you relax?
Necrophilia.

Do you believe in life after death?
Yes, they are the same.

How would you like to be remembered?
‘He was polite.’

What is the most important lesson life has taught you?
To hate the police and to always drive the fastest car on the road.

*note the original can be found here, and is referenced as written by Rosanna Greenstreet for The Guardian, Saturday 27 December 1997 and published at 18.22 GMT. Fifteen years later, to the day, I bow humbly, and can almost imagine the dignity and hubris he presented during this exchange. Long live “Two Thumbs” Thompson. *abide in eternity fine sir, abide.

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Society needs YOU to fuck more

Are you getting fucked enough, to remain in the grouping of the expert class, and most satisfied of what the “elite” call the Fountain of Fuck?

Here, the eternal hope and springs are a cool water to the souls that are washed in the abs and the breasts of champion class sex goddesses and gods.

Here, they are gifted with the beauty and attraction, to be able to at least find a mate like that lost soul at the swingers weekend, sitting on the rattan chair ashamed to walk amongst the big dogs and large feline mountains – but there are many, that will always find a mate, a soul, another to just fuck like a champ with.

Just in the bones.

Sure macho man, go ahead make the obligatory there has to be a bone there somewhere, and we can all laugh and make sure we question why you have an affinity for certain events and what not, but let’s stay on track.

What the fuck is the ultimate? How does this compare?

Well, we can take one friend, a married lad who will speak of the married life, and the kids and the family, and the loved ones, and the magic that is all has, but Al Bundy arrives in full effect when we take about shoes and shoe styles.

You can be assured I am not alluding to actual shoes here, as I was not alluding to butter tarts a decade ago as just butter tarts. I am talking about sex, either before or after marriage, the shoe allegory. Sure thing, guess that is why in some of the other posts I may have even touched on it, seems to flow well.

We all need shoes, and some folks see them more as instruments to allow us to do the things we need them to do, similar to utilitarian shoes and sneakers or boots, to the other end of it, eccentric statements of our core beliefs and who we are, and how we are able to get so fucked with glorious fucks given, cause holy shit those boots are screaming for a comment.

There is no doubt when you look in their eye, similar to the naked truth of an exposed Twitter like truth that cuts to the bone of the truth of the moment, or the reason the humour existed and came to mind in such an odd and funny way, but it is true. They admit to it, with the eye’s that scan the horizon, over the brim of the large pint glass, now clutched upon like a flotilla of glass in an ocean of broken hope for continued fucking in the simple ways it was, and not the instrument of destruction, affecting female and males with sparing cruelty and fallen standards.

But fuck, that is what happens right, we are supposed to be beaten down – no?

So, the laughs begin, when the brine allows the passion of some fine fermented treats to allow the joy to begin. The fermentation was air, the treat was the fire, and the joy came when we got to sit back inside and discuss the math behind the failure of mankind to keep ourselves in the range our forefathers have, that we have failed as men to be able to chop the same amount of wood, and sow the same oats our forefather’s did to grow this nation.

People, we need to fuck more. That is the answer, not because of some kind of human hippie movement, or because I want more women to see the lovely girth souvlaki I am proud to rock (*in case you are wondering, Micky Avalon has asked for an autograph, and I assured him the flattery to my dick resembling Jesus, the inspiration for the lyrics in the song, and yes, they are all monks of Jesii as well, so we can nod and enjoy more of the dick humor…don’t worry ladies, i will be referencing the power of the magic mountains and that wonderful, natural man cave the universe gave you, and whether by God or Mother Nature, I personally remain a humbled man in front of those women that hold multiple PhD’s) – we need to fuck, because humanity needs to come back into balance.

Be more open about this, and see how easy it could be.

Become inspired to be a fuck tutor, and spread the wisdom of the math. It works.

Look, here is the gig. You get married, and to have caused that you want to (a) spend the rest of your life, feeling this great fuckability, this love and lust, and sex is a great big part of that, as a proportion of the “pie” (sic) that you attribute to your rational, to yourself, and your family, friends, associates and society as a whole; and (b) in order to reproduce, and create a family etc. All that other kind of jazz in the second part, and yes, it is important, and all of the importance to mankind.

I want to try to stay on point as it relates to the law of averages. How we can make some kind of sense of it, and try to do even the smallest things, to make the number creep upward in some regard.

You are in a hot as fuck relationship, before marriage that should be in the realm of 3-5 days/week, and this would include multiple occurrences on those occasions. Consider the well “sexed” individual, one who is engaging in 3 double dip days, and 2 standard days. That would be far from the daily multiple sex occurrences I know Ugh Caveman was into between making fire and fucking up t-rex and shit, but let’s just say that you are not the daily multi-beast, you are the person we all want to be right?

You got a 3×2 fuck, and then a 2 single shot, making it an 8 times a week fuck. Or at least, once a day. This is the norm. This is 365 days of the year. So you are gauging yourself against that.

Not going to get into the duration, or the waxing and waning phases of the fuck cycles and all of the coming of spring etc, I am talking about keeping it simple, pub math. There is more to it than that, but we continue the line of questioning with the confirmation that the annual birthday and the annual Christmas BJ, are blended with the 6 times in the last year. About 5 years, so it has come down to about that – yup, eight to twelve fucks, experiences of dick or vagina glory…wow.

The rounding difference is miniscule. You are getting about 2% of the allocated amount, and if that number continues on at that rate, and you even manage to get to the magical interjection from “we are older, so we don’t that much, but twice a month or so, weekly at least…” – well congrats, that 52/365 is a golden 14%.

Please note, as I sip the magical air around me, pupils bursting with the sights and nostrils flared with the delicious crafts of the local pub house chefs and their understanding of bliss, I do not even get them to the real number. We are using the “average” the normal, or some kind of reasonable assumption of it.

How about sex addicts? Or let’s not even delve into the realm of addiction, it has such a tepid reception in many circles, and always demands the most attention in conversations after its utterance, no let’s keep it simple, and say we have people that are hyper-sexual, like at times of their lives, and clearly more so than at other times, but that once they reach adult hood, and enter into a regular relationship – they are often engaging in sexual activity daily, and masturbation is a major part of that, and they are doing it with, or without permission(s) from their partner. Swinging has it’s rules, and some people think it is just some kind of strange place, and it is, but that does not mean the people that participate are not people.

You are having sex every day, and most of the days, twice. There will be at least a half dozen personal “shots”, and you can have one great night of the quasi-sutra, or the 4 legs of Shibumi. 4 days is 8, you have the 6, a nice 4 pounder and now talking about 18-24/weekly. This would be on par with Fred Flinstone and Wilma for sure.

This takes the level to 1,248 experiences a year, for the more “hyper” individual and when you compare to that.

Holy fucking shit – 12. That is less than 1%.

Fuck Wall Street.

Occupy some Cock Avenue, or some Vagina Court.

You are part of the movement that has to make this world a better place.

Do it, but know. You are still going to pay for your own kids.

That is another topic all together.

*abide*

 

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Smelling salt

How you can feel so bad, and somehow you need the smell of a cologne, you have not worn it or looked “good” in months, years – how can you feel good?

Is it the media that says this, or just natural human desire?

What is going to make you beautiful, despite the life that is lead to the reflections and the journey that you take, each day to define the life and wonder that comes with the hope and desire to do?

What we do, often is seen as a need to satisfy the other’s in a society that demands reflection is only the purpose in paying attention to the detail that you must notice in the other’s attired. Never weary to continue to reflect the living of the person that sits in front of you this moment, on the screen.

Is it a shadow that you see, and one that includes yourself – travelling the roads, or having been along a journey the sheds a tear, and you reach for the tissue. Emotions.

Controlling your actions.

Watching it all, to experience it. To tell yourself a story, and remind yourself of why, today is a beautiful day.

In all of my poverty, and in all of my stupidity, I find my self worth and vast riches, a blessing no one can value but myself.

To have been blessed, in these recent days with the challenges, and to have been able to walk those miles with my mother, to have seen my niece and nephews smiling and growing…

Wealth.

In my gulch, there is no money. The fool considers me a peer and a sibling, who ponders the monetary note as anything more than a means to an end.

The intent, and the glory of it all.

The struggle to find the peace, only then becomes such a thing of beauty you abide by nothing else.

*abide*

A Reflection from Variable on Vimeo.

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Gourmet Shot

Old eh?

I know – priceless. Needs some more love.

Gourmet shot.

Old school.

Vulcanized pucks as balls.

My dick is a Koho.

*abide*

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Feeling good

Birds flying high you know how I feel
Sun in the sky you know how I feel
Breeze driftin’ on by you know how I feel

It’s a new dawn
It’s a new day
It’s a new life
For me
And I’m feeling good

Fish in the sea you know how I feel
River running free you know how I feel
Blossom on the tree you know how I feel

Dragonfly out in the sun you know what I mean, don’t you know
Butterflies all havin’ fun you know what I mean
Sleep in peace when day is done
That’s what I mean

And this old world is a new world
And a bold world
For me

Stars when you shine you know how I feel
Scent of the pine you know how I feel
Oh freedom is mine
And I know how I feel

*Feeling Good, Nina Simone

 

Sitting around making sure, that the feeling of the good is all about what I am going to be getting out of the words that you may. Sitting here, feeling like all of those things, just opens up a dictionary of words and functions that will all blend into some kind of magical matrix that is to be instantly understood and read by all, like the light of day flashing on the pavement that is pounded on the way to the destination.

Whatever that may be for you.

For me, it involves having to get through another day of hardship, in my own way, no different than yours. Struggling to find the reasons why I need to stay on the right path, and do the right thing. Maintain the fluid flow of a bunch of lies that are painted to make other’s feel like I am well, so I do not have to startle them or make them feel any less at odds with the way I am feeling. I wonder, when I finally die, will there be a reflection on these words and some kind of somber sadness that comes with knowing those days could have been spent better, and not driving one away from the reflections, but embracing them with a smile like you would a lost brother.

Someone, that may have been the closest friend you ever had in the world, that really supported you through some of the worst times in the world, and now you stand with what you believe are but a handful.  A collection of three, or four that comes with the maternal love and friendship I can only hope you enjoyed as I did, despite the challenges that come with a mother that has her limitations. Like we all do. The limitations of how far you can take a friendship, or how many you can really hold.

How far, you will really hold on to the thoughts of yourself, before you allow another to force you into the conformity that will not allow you to really be? You do not want to spend your life alone, you must find someone, else you will be a failure. You will not have attracted a butterfly to carry your dust to another.

How far back, will you go into the family history, and question the madness of an alcoholic parent  hoping it is finally solved, will tomorrow be any different? Will I find love from his memory then, knowing it is finally exposed – or will the truth expose the lies and beget the questions of why another would still carry them forward in some kind of lies?

You choose, to occupy your mind with the many thoughts that  you do, that I do, that we do, for a reason. For the intention of coming to some kind of conclusion or decision, to make the day a better one. To flow with it, and keep it on the course of the pleasant and beautiful world. The surrounding of oneself with the glorious meadows and the fantastic streams, like the song. Above. In the link. Like the hundreds of links on the site, and in the writings, that I am sure many have not seen. Perhaps they can’t.

It is hard to see the forest from the trees.

Six degrees of separation on that one, and I can tell you I got at least a dozen of each that flashed through the mind prompting me to take another direction, and move to another stream of thought, of consciousness. Awareness. I really don’t know, I let the fingers type. Most of this, remains unfiltered. That is to say, it speaks of the questions and in the way I do. Not intended for the weak of spirit, because I am not weak of spirit. Not because it is meant as some kind of elitist thing that has me be better than anyone else.

I am not, I am convinced, I am an idiot.

This does not make me a fool, and neither does it facilitate me suffering them.

Unless I want to, like you do. Like you want to keep reading to find out that the rivers carry the shit and refuse of the mind as well. They are not all golden ponds. They are complete eco-systems of sorts, with a busy and passing glance seen to be so calm and tranquil, but in the deep recess, we are told in literature and alike, carved into the rocks the messages of the ages screams of the science behind it all, and still we see only the top of it.

We think the songs meaning have a different meaning than they may, when we really examine them.

Like asking, and expressing how I did earlier this week, to an “aunt”, a “thea” (thee-ah, Greek) that is a dear friend of my mom’s, in the Greeklish neighbourhood she lives in. I know, there is a lot of the Big Fat Greek Wedding imagery is going to be going through your mind. Rightfully so, there is a lot of it. I wish so often I had a perma-video camera going some of this stuff is just priceless so I write about it.

In our discussion, we spoke of a myriad of things, astrology, living with illness, the hardships of life, always such hard and life lesson discussions with the older Greek moms it seems, but there is great sunshine and love as well, not always somber in the depth, but can be, and we got into the discussion of how people will naturally choose to remember happier memories, and often, these will be associated with the happier people.

This does not mean we are not going to have bad memories, actually have some good parts within them, or contribute to the good in the learning of why bad must exist in an effort to not only magnify but more importantly allow people to realize. We will. But we will naturally gravitate away from reflecting on those as often as we may, when we think about the best friend, or the great girlfriend. Perhaps your spouse, or parent. A lost child.

If we have suffered a hardship in losing one of those types of relationships, at a time in our lives that is essentially the time to lose them, we will always remember those good times in the grief. It will be our selfish lust for the positive, and the emptiness that it occupies now alone, that causes us to feel the anguish.

My best friend, was tragically taken at a young age. In his late 20’s. A great man, a big part of my life and my learnings, and a frequent visitor to my biography at that time in my life, and even today. I miss the good laughs, and the genuine lust for life he had, and how he looked at it. Each day, a laugh, or a lesson is smirked at as I raise my fist to the sky, or smile and tell him to fuck off. More often than not, I look down and allude to him keeping the beer cold down there for us, and make sure mine is a redhead. He always knew I had the redheaded chick.

Every day.

My father, not the case. I tend to avoid thinking of him. When I do, it may be because of the reasons why I want to avoid going into the deep part of the river. It is cold, and shitty, and may have some predators that I am not aware of, or just do not want to deal with. Of course, there are times when you have to go.

Because you have to catch and kill that thing. It has been destroying the tranquility, it has caused the notes of the song to seem heavier, as opposed to a wonderful melody that may be the first dance. Just the two of you. You could only be on that beach, dancing with her, if you got to pass that part of the river. If you love her, you will pass it.

If you love your love yourself, your life, you will know that there is nothing you can do about that parts of the river. They are created by a greater being, or force, and you must accept that whatever that brings, you will adapt to it and follow the natural flow.

You will appreciate the lifecycle of the things we look at. We will buy a bag of unicorn shit to much on, hoping it will make life’s problems all seem solved and grand.

But we will not respect the statements of those that come to a wonderful place of comfort, and confidence in accepting the hardships.

Not as a welcome hardship, but as a reminder, a poke a prod to wake the fuck up and live. To realize that each day is a blessing, and that even if one chooses to spend those days writing, or discussing things that may seem so out of the ordinary for some, that it is still part of a larger system.

A larger whole, that in and of itself, creates their own holes.

Rabbit. Black. Fox. Ass.

Making of them, whatever you want.

Me?

Nope not miserable, not even going to try to pretend however, that I am filled with some kind of magical radiance either. It may be a good idea to try to project that, I hear it get’s some real “genuine” followers and friends on Twitter, or might get you a decent presentation at the peach festival in Phukit, Thailand.

Hey man, I am not judging.

Just commenting on another part of the system.

I refuse to pave my paradise with recycled dreams.

I will let it be.

 

*abide*

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Bandwidth, Phukit, Thailand

Classic, have the chance to place some content on the site, and have some royal assholes come by, click the video and watch it – and then chew all the video bandwidth overnight, without a single fucking comment or recognition RT/anything.

Learning the right way, with lessons.

Might be time to change things up a little, in my opinion. Not looking for some kind of ticker tape parade, or even a shot of Crown – I am watching folks from all over the world pop by, and see some serious durations/page views – solid.

It is for that reason, I continue this process and have upgraded the key elements, and learned my lesson.

Drop the beats.

Always time for another game.

*abide*

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It is bred into them.

No one is really going to appreciate the connections. They are very funny though.

Kojak. Stavros. Greek. Laughs. Old ways, that corrupted a nation, that hopes to be laughed at in the private settings, but stares down bulls and drinks real whiskey, like Crown Royal. Not that horse urine, fuqtarded excuse for one CC – urine.

Real men, drink tsiporo.

Stadium construction? Yes, stadium construction.

Wake me when the vote is done, I will be sleeping under the desk. In the studio, it could be referred to as the C section I guess, just no ladies.

@JournalismJunk lays down a great one liner, and of course, Fetaman has to turn it into a 10 minute acid trip, without the acid, just some brinesanity.

Check out a Theo of mine, Uncle Costas. He love’s the cool, slender menthol smokes.

Financed by the Fed and the EU, surety they care.

*abide*

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angels charm

Blessed be your peace.

*protected 31,200 word piece novella

My personal reflections over 24 hours of grieving for the loss of these precious lives, and passing to the acceptance of the love for what I think, despite what other’s may not believe are “christian” or “loving” thoughts.

*post link when scrubbed, and p/w provided per brine bio

love for the angels, all of them, including the one that adhered to his given right to make a choice that is the ticket to a love, a lust, to hope is real so he may answer for it.

“Your editors, your selected wisdoms passed through their text, and the sage application of it from the holy, the righteous and the chosen. Those able to have the mental capacity to deal with things, and as such your writings focus on the ability to have people realize that this is the case. It is not meant to be an elitist separation of class, we are all one class, human. Within that group there will be leaders, there will be followers and there will be those that just are. Let them, be able to explain, any of them – what the context I should consider this in, pray tell? Is this relevant today, or is it out of context that I present it here, so I can allow the critics ammunition to discount my consideration of the words because I am an “anarchist” or an “eccentric” or an “outside the (sic) box thinker”?

To have them declare I am just following the masses in bringing up these questions again now, today – for what reason, are these words affecting me today, and since my conversation? Did they have an impact on what I was thinking, just the night before about the gun control, and killing of dolphins – and how fucked humanity has become that we are not prioritizing the right thing(s)? Was that some kind of premonition, or sensory awareness that I now can claim allows me to provide palm readings, and a greater than 21% accuracy rating on my brinesanity? I tell better horoscopes if blessed with this knowledge of what is right, and allowed to be free, positioned for justification of intrusions to states, geographic, and spirited.”

I the contrarian again, damned to only abide by my thoughts of just and free, but guided with thine morality.

*abide*

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Shweaty balls promoting dolphin murders.

Want to feel like you are a kid again?  Connect with cool pen pals. The difference these days is syntax, so for brevity think ePals©. Yes, it kind of sounds like a a foot lotion, or some kind of cream for removing deep frostbite at the heights of exploration -which is why this episode of Kilimanjaro Executive, sponsored by Viagara©  and ePals© – helping all men in their mid-life prove they can still get it up, no matter how cold it is. This weeks warrior, now unemployed star of 30 Rock, Pete Schweaty, proves his balls can be enjoyed anywhere, at any temperature.

 

fetaman, iFeta, fetaChops, brinesanity, abide, cerebral anarchism

This story was broken by the Editor at CNN that had won the competition, to select the stories for the evening. But if you click this pick, after the opening click of course above the picture from the sponsors (sic). So thus indeed, begins the story of how we discovered Horace Redgrave, dolphin “puncher”. Sick, sick monkeys out there.

@CNN, good old Anderson Cooper and his crack team of 360°, which can come full circle form such great shows or pieces that question the 3 generations of prison camps in North Korea, and how amazing the human condition is, and then go right to the other spectrum with talking about the gruesome, horrible, incredible questions of the recent increase of several dolphins that have washed on shore in recent months. In fact he states, as he is about to show us this brilliant reporter selected to cover this massive news, global news, that in the last year as many as 10, yes, 10 of these large fish found shot, sliced open, or mutilated.

We hear and see Officer Leo Degeorge, of the Mississippi Department of Marine Resources, tell us how these disturbing boardings of vessels work, actually having to board the pirate boats of the Mississippi, looking for the murderers. Ed Lavandera was looking for answers damn it, and he was looking to find out, how between January-November of 2012, 7 slain dolphins have washed ashore.

Now, we are told, two more have washed ashore in the last two months, and amazingly, a third head of one. But now I begin to get confused, does this mean they cannot even claim a third dolphin? Or are they saying they are, because I would have to disagree. When I was young, just a wee curd, we learned real math, and you round down. I mean, either in size, or weight, the head of a dolphin is not 50% of the mass, so yeah, stay with 9 CNN. Seriously, your credibility and all.

We are told, by Ed at this point that the OTIC (the One Thing In Common technique of questioning he had learned at the Bora Bora CNN Forensic Reporting – CSI* Retreat, code named for the cocktail Cyber Smoke) is that all of the dolphins, or parts there of, have washed along the shores of this big chunk of land that water smashes into, around which a fuck load of dolphins swim. But they are being mutilated, all signs point to intentional killing and some kind of perversion, or slaughter.

Investigating all of this, providing feedback to an entire federal commission known as NOAA (the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration) is Moby Solangi, Ph.D. of the IMMC (Institute for Marine Mammal Studies) an organization as impressive and powerful as it’s name suggests. I mean look at that website, seriously – this is prime time shit folks. Right there for the masses to suck on the tit of intelligence, come get your milk, daddy is home.

Ok, so let’s stay on focus here, this one guy, Moby right, reports to the public it is “deranged, senseless and repugnant”.

Pictures “too graphic” to show. Big news. Wow. How could one individual, hold on there captain Ouija squid, is a Ouija squid a mammal? Eh? But, ok, you can predict it was one person, let’s use the ubiquitous (for the folks that believe that a value meal has nutrition, that is like an all in one value meal, that is less than $3.29, with taxes in, and will meet all of your nutritional requirements according to the Federal Reserve People’s Drive Thru Information Centre for the Study of Fat Mammals who may or may not Have Bull Balls Dangling on Truck Hitches) he, no woman would do this after all, must be stopped. We can not tolerate this.

The federal investigators, the teams that had examined the other incidents, ruled that it was not some deranged killer, that they were not connected, but somehow the findings may have changed. The findings of the powerful scientific teams, may have cause for suspicion, but they can only report the facts.

But although the dolphins died, could they not have been mercy killings? I am not one to condone cruelty to animals in any regard, and if we had some kind of grainy footage of some kind of global video camera, to make sure this perversion would never occur, I am sure mankind would give up freedom to be able to know that this kind of travesty would never exist.

The dolphins, this glorious fish, that swim around the boat – this beautiful boat on patrol – the friends of all the people on this glorious island that could double as a family get away, or an exclusive jaunt into the wet, hot, well trimmed bushes swaying in the wind moments that two peers may share together…this place where all the islanders are asking about how and what could be happening to all their dolphin friends – it is a mysterious place.

You can barely hear the end of the clip, as it fades into the distance with the murmurs of the olives, speaking and greeting each other for the afternoon tea. Yes, these islands care, and before they have their marTini (yes, they are clever with words, and you will never notice the capital T in their accent, unless you are cultured enough to do so) the barrier island philanthropists ensure their staff have properly trained even the olives for the cordial ritual of gin bukkake.

It is only proper.

This world is fucked.

Humans dying, families hungry – but headless dolphins. Well played CNN, well fucking played – wow, some things just make you say, are you kidding me, it was like a 5 minute story, and some kind of major issue. Why would someone do this, this “predator” – are you fucking serious. Sometimes, you just have to realize that CNN is just as fucked as a good Twitter account. All of your news is like some kind of mad array of tweets, some good, and many bad, with different lengths, but the credibility of one statement, can crush all that you have worked for.

On the other hand, if you have some laughs, and realize that yes, the entire above is a play on an feta-ized type of story, or flash humour, and references how ironic it is that we are watching and caring about this, when the economic fate of the world is wrestled over by large debt clocks, missiles that can now actually cross the sea (*as opposed to the launch in 1969, so grand and never repeated, it happened, I am sure or it…) and man kind is falling to a level where we regard the life of a dolphin, and the mysterious “murders”, so troubling, more important than the 52 killings of humans, back in March, 2012 in Chicago where the violence was more than twice as many as died in the previous March. For the first three months of the year, the number of deaths shot up by 60 percent, raising fears that authorities were losing control of some gang-dominated areas.

So we have 52 people, in one month, die. Killed, not accidents, not some kind of heart attacks, or vicious cigarette harpoons to the fucking lungs – nope. Pure, calculated, knowing, cold blooded murder and of people. Living breathing, people, who were only victims of one crime.

Being born in a crazy fucking place. In some circumstance, and maybe just not even knowing, that they too are like animals. To be killed, like the generals and the masses.

I am not here to make a political statement on the wars, or the killing overseas for the sake of oil and energy, and power. Fuck, I am not some kind of crazy militant that wants to engage in the war that the Coca-cola drinking anarchists quench their rebel yells with, nor am I willing to comment on the validity of a god, one greater than the other.

But I am going to say, that no matter what you believe, and how you feel, and where your priorities lay, disguised, known or not.

No fucking way you can argue dolphins deaths, is anywhere near as important of the other millions, if not billions of other stories that should go into the big power ball/bingo drum in the sky, with a free chance to get the hairdryer as consolation, if you lose, but at least one of those other more important balls has to come out.

Just jingle some shiny keys, and watch them come running.

*abide*

 

Note: for all researchers wishing to further identify, or understand the motives behind a genuine ape, that claims to see no, hear no, and speak no evil, but writes well – you be the judge. Horace Redgrave can be found here.