fetaman.com

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

By

Go on, tell me no.

*abide*

By

Buffett On Acid.

The wizard came up in the daily readings.

So I have decided to honour some of the requests and include some shorter pieces, that will have the readers of the site and the engaged Twitter heads et al, enjoying some of the observations. It has been a request, and I figure that since I am using the creative side of the miles walked to get to the end of the book that is being published, why not just hop over here and make sure to note some of the “logic” behind the tweets.

Brilliant, hard to understand all the time, but genius” is a great compliment to flatter any ego, and I have fought hard to not be such a blatant “self-promotion” machine, but fetaman.com is a site that has been created, and kept whole to illustrate the range of writing, and various styles along with media, so as to ensure that it has some co-operative and reactive elements to it.

Books can be so static and don’t allow for more of the interactions, as such, how about some “common thoughts” or pokes and prods at what the tweet was intended to mean, and where it may take another on the journey in their own minds according to what I may be able to see from this awesome Herman Miller. (*shameless plug on how great the product is, and more importantly the amazing team at Design Within Reach that not only helped provide it, but have made sure to keep it serviced and sorted. Yes, that is right. An ergonomic cloud, that actually has jet packs that hover over the atmosphere, much like the attitude of Andrew and Jen, two great team members that are rock solid. No there is not “compensation” received for this plug, it is just part of what happens to come out of the writing at the time, and maybe will help see the “social ethics” of passing on good information, and pro-active stuff, not only the negative stuff)

So here are some of my thoughts, on a respected mentor. Consider all of my good fortune in the roast, please or do not consider it all. For to do it an injustice, would be to do the same to the intent of the respectful prod and admiration that is bestowed in the musings of a man, made of feta cheese.

Quite the fuqtarded piece of cheese at that.

*sip

The illusion of eternity, or the concept of it becomes a bit of place from which to consider all things. Especially relevant during the “invisible brown acid” stages of the adventure, this concept of space and time melts into a need to find great joy in the simplicity of things. If an egg beater has value when beating eggs, then it must also have just as much value or more perhaps in other things, and as such, I am going to hold this until such time as I can find a way of proving that the return on my investment, is the memory. Never undervalue that.

The “hand tossed” of the bread business is just not generic enough. It is lovely to consider at home, but at the Buffett home price is always the object. Said price is always a “wonderful” (*man uses this word a lot, always in awe of life, well played – truly makes the magic carpet ride a better one.) gauge for the “value” derived from it, and that value is not only the digestion of the bread, but the items that are the byproducts of the sale of it.

Always aware of his time, and even more so, the limit of it regardless of who you are, allows this one to bring out a bit of a smirk. To have tripped balls so hard you can not only not see the watch, but you logically begin to discover some small feelings of paranoia related to not being aware of time, and that just takes you further into the rabbit hole? Pretty soon tea with the rabbit is a reality for all, whether he is a single pipe smoking rabbit or not, that remains to be seen. Is Warren the pipe smoking rabbit?

This has so many levels of delicious that it should have you Googling for the word “MLACH” – it is a 5 letter word for good tasting. It is dated, but it is delicious during times of festive diversion. Who bribes? Them, or him? Is the swimming with sharks, or in a pool? Is this a figurative swim, or a literal one? Wait a second, Michael Moore did that film on the corruption side of corporate America and he proved that today the banks are not giving out guns anymore, that is politically incorrect, so it is brides then right? *sip

If you are too young to need to get a reference about the Grateful Dead, that is all I can say to bring you up to speed. Futures and core longevity plays are his gig, he is not one to go fast on just about anything except paper. He loves to go fast and furious on paper. It is the modern chess masters pawn, and the simplicity of it does not diminish the compound rice applications across the board of a simple 64 square plate. Not a game of kings at all. Nope, not at all. Nor is math.

Sheeple, the concept of latin with business to create a new term that almost always work if you have the right situation, context and delivery. I am sure that Warren does not use talc like normal people. He has made allusions to unicorns to many times, and it is clear. He actually uses unicorn dust on his balls to keep them dry at all times. At the end of the day, he has 13 of his pupils arrive to map and scope the tea bag readings from the day. All of the results are gathered into empirical data pivot tables, and matrix macro gyrations facilitate the next days trading activities.

I know, it all sounds weird.

I can imagine, you think just because it is Friday, I am on this invisible brown acid again.

Well, not entirely.

I am never off of it.

It is what I signed up for when I got my life back.

Go on, shake it.

It’s just a fetaglobe.

*abide*

By

Fly when there is sun.

  • 100,003 @ 5:32 p.m *genuine humble bow is observed
  • 2oo posts
  • 12 pages, *some selections still private and exclusive*
  • 21 categories
  • 1,028 tags
  • 1000+ embedded links, laterals, tangents,”hints” and “blades of orange grass”
  • 2500+ hours of development and effort, media, iFeta, FetaChops and general brinesanity

Long hard road, with a hell of a lot of what some would refer to as old fashioned effort. The site over 14 months has managed to get to 100,000 impressions and hits.

No bullshit, despite the haters and the bots that look for scams and weak points.

It is all right here.

Regardless of my great boasts, and braggadocio* flare (*remember a small tribute once in a while to the cousins, the fellow Greeks that went west seeking pasta, and found wine to allow them to rest, learning some of the finer traits the modern Greek goes without such as more discretion, common math skills and a gentlemen’s agreement he will allow his wife to drink the same tease, but hers from a bag different than the one he ensures is diamond endowed, fluffed and proud) I am not perfect.

I have tried to interact, and keep the faith. Many folks are still around, and have become better friends, for lack of wanting to get into some kind of psychoanalytical state of discretion about the definition of the word, but please spare me the need for you to ask the teacher if he can tell you where to draw the imaginary line in your playground. If you choose to look at it that way, imagine a giant oil dipstick filled with black gel in an Oldsmobile Cut’ass that is pulled out and drawn across my imaginary sandbox as well. It is here, let’s just for the sake of argument call it Fetaman.com.

Any questions, any time sunshine.

I shake my head at pursuing the “dream” of writing, creating my own site has been a “trip” considering it was going to be meant as an outlet for some expression, and used to help provide a figurative backbone sliding to the works that are coming out in 2013. That should include two separate “books”, one fictional that will likely be a series of 3 smaller ones to cover three very distinct reasons and commentaries on “orange grass”, and another biographical/research driven. The beginning of another project has yet to be fully announced, and all of them remain incredible new places and things in my life for which I am most grateful.

Nobody would argue it could be perceived as very challenging, so I am sure you will accept my apologies for the delay in the launch, but if you are following the site, or have some idea, you know some of it has been “writer’s issues” and the rest, just the way if is. Sorry.

Hell? Sure, the writing for some, but for me that would be much too arrogant of a word for it.

Non sequitur it appears, my heaven and “hell” has been one of my own making, intentional or otherwise. Whatever it has been, is something that I have been responsible for, and I am not ever going to be playing a victim role. Stating fact, or fiction, is still a statement when they are kept in the context of their own minds, and remain relative to the participating parties in a capacity that is both physically safe and secure, of course mentally assuring oneself of the control you have over your own thoughts is key lime in the pie.

I would suggest, but fuck. You don’t even know me, why would you take my word for it? Some random on the internet, no pictures, no public person – man almost as good as the politics and the childish bullshit you can find on Twitter, or any other social network. The anarchists, or the sleuth – the “artists” of their own works, making sure to spend time in some kind of soap opera setting.

I am not a “kiss and dump” guy – if you are still on the mutual following, which is a term I find ignorant and truly not worthy of the interactions that can occur, there has been something that kept us here, but seriously – how the fuck do you even begin to try to manage all of that time and those experiences while looking forward? Can we provide some kind of response to every small mathematical clue that is given, and still have no idea what we are doing about some definitive answer?

Nothing easy comes for free, or without some kind of contribution of effort, commitment and extended over the longevity. A delta trapped in the mindset over a period it seems and quite frankly, a transition and an experience, every part of it as real as the growing of one. From allowing certain pivot points to reflect their own directions and then sailing on, to carrying on – in whatever capacity you want.

No one here at Fetaman.com is going to be judging you – wherever you came from, in whatever social network – you converge there for the ability to do what that physical place or that site facilitates, and you come here to speak and contribute about whatever you want. If you think you are being judged, it is by yourself alone as you interpret these words.

I am grateful to have been a catalyst, said not with an arrogance or a reward demanded for service of acclaimed reactants forming their natural evolution.

Recall, that cold winter night and the shallow naive – there is a difference in judging and understanding that, which is not mutually inclusive.

I want to be including more of you in the site, and can only do that when a hand is extended in good faith.

That simple.

With Twitter, I have tried to venture back into the world of greetings, and small blurbs of information. Hits, quick bong hits, shots, candy and sugar rushes, smiles, passing out taint grenades, shitting on all the crap you despise in society, screaming at the asshole that did something wrong…the sound will resonate somewhere…so I can dig that. You are here for another reason tho…me as well…some have been nudged, and from their own diligence, and from what I clearly deem the lack thereof, they have made decisions to not pursue more of an interaction.

A mutual musing, and for a muse, in whatever shape or form – a welcome respite from the blend and bland lacquer finish on the aluminum, powder coated food machine that will hula hoop your goop.

My need for expression is in my own waking dream, my own “invisible brown acid”, and I shall not ask for permission, nor beg for forgiveness in order to satisfy the wondering of the amused and the confused at the sum of shit that is going to happen because of the magic that comes from my declaration, and proof, that grass is orange.

Form a line by the reaction to the expressions. I know for a fact, the velvet ropes have arrived, and they will guide you with the comfort of the gull wing shoes and the dark tones. If you are in a challenging headspace because of health, happiness, love…money…whatever it is, it colours things a vivid orange, and makes it all seem much more real in truth, handled by capacities chiseled with resounding devotion.

Passion ne’er looks back but to smile, and if now those colours are the same ones, even now, they must appear different. You are no longer in that space, that place, that time – that moment. You are “further” away from it, and so see it in a different shade. A different variable colour.

I can dig it – there is no sun, without any darkness – there is no happy all the time, to lie to oneself about it, is one of the greatest bullshit cons this world has begun to truly deal with. Professing to know, and do not believe I do so, I state very clearly what I do know, and am beyond well aware of it’s relevance.

Travesties that mankind continues to perpetuate, inflate and saturate. then wonder why the invisible brown acid makes people hallucinate, or whether those “friends” you have close to you, are really being sincere and genuine. Considering what that is, has to be based on the information that you do know, or what has been shared with you.

Even the best friends that you have in your life, are not going to be able to even know a drop in the bucket of what the real happenings in life are. Lift that pitcher, make me laugh – be there doing something for me, and I will be more than considerate of the terms. Ask to be given support, and kinship – be seen as the wink link in the chain or the one that is not welcome to join the procession of the luxury car cavalcade. Who the fuck wants to be seen with a CCM 10-speed/buckshot handlebars upturned grooving the bottles down the street in an obscure and unseen way…

*context smirk*

Your hell, is going to be something that is much different than the starving children and people around the world who have nothing to eat, and are in a position to do nothing about it. Seriously nothing. I am older now, and find myself wanting to do more in this regard. Helping those, that are in their own living hell – and have no way out. Other than a small miracle, a genuine hand of fate bringing some stranger to this calling. A sacrifice, for those that have prayed for it, and know they are blessed. As I am, for no longer seeing what I have gone through as the hell it was, but the hell that was manifested.

Your hell, is not a kind one, or of another one can consider making unless you are a coward. Makings of your own creation, your hell will involve yourself and after time, getting a firm grip on where you want to be going, you begin to see the wonder and the beauty in the admission, an apology and some empathy which emphasizes respect moving forward. Saying sorry, from the heart, for real is not a hell, neither is hell itself something to be sorry for.

Is.

Stay real, please – vent when you need to, laugh when you don’t. sing when there is darkness, fly when there is sun.

*smile*

I am on the ground, and others in mid air.
Sending in the clowns.
Approved bliss, still or moving.
Sending is an acknowledgment, not an arrival.
It was always there, as sure as the lines.
Sand, time, air – cares.
Don’t you love a farce?
Whine, and an outfit made of cheese.

Don’t bother, we’re here.
Is it rich?

Oh, how timing is everything.

My bow, is of the most humble today more than any other.

Grateful to be alive, to be blessed, to have so many folks who have come by to say hello and share a smile, or a tale and have out days better because of it, somehow.

“The grass, it is orange man.” – Gus

100,000.

*abide*

By

My Corona.

Well, the “experiment” has been a rousing success for me.

I think I will honour the initial 72 hours, and seeing as not a single person was confirmed, via the run on the Twitter side, it is enough to see what has happened here and how it goes.

It really is ideal, in so many ways, and of course I will, as always, buy my own burs.

Just wanting to make it clear, the “giveaway” or as some deemed it, the “money making lottery” (*such a lovely, and thankful context smirk* “So much to be able to say, to the Academy, and all those that made this happen, the tweet fluffers, the meat vine Jane’s by night, and Jerry’s by day – you all made the costumes and the facade such a wonderful place to be, a magical place to escape the reality of the days that pass, and the reasons you were able to make those dragon feet dance like Gene Kelly. Thank you…”) is no longer active, thanks to the drove by winkers, hope to see you back more “active” some day.

I got to shake the hands of the folks that know me in life, and I got a whole lot of information to help fill in a gap.

So, let’s keep this simple.

Beer/Twitter – 0

Brine Grenades – **

*sip, will drink the beer “myself”, and provide some commentary.

The iPod – well, bought and new – so will save it for the book launch.

Thank you RT’s and stars, appreciate the wave.

If you listen closely, you can hear Ghetz.

His shit don’t stink, I am sure.

*abide*

Ooh my little pretty ones, pretty ones.
When you gonna give me some time, Toobona?
Ooh you make a boater run, my motors, fun.
Gus is comin’ off the line Toobonya.
Never gonna drop, fill the cup.
Such a dirty kind. Always get it up, iFeta’s touch
on the younger blind. My my my feta woo. M M M My Souvlabona…

By

Stink no more.

Fear and the Monkey

by William S. Burroughs

August 1978

This text arranged in my New York loft, which is the converted locker room of an old YMCA. Guests have reported the presence of a ghost boy. So this is a Oui-Ja board poem taken from Dumb Instrument, a book of poems by Denton Welch, and spells and invocations from the Necronomicon, a highly secret magical text released in paperback. There is a pinch of Rimbaud, a dash of St-John Perse, an oblique reference to Toby Tyler with the Circus, and the death of his pet monkey.

Turgid itch and the perfume of death
On a whispering south wind
A smell of abyss and of nothingness
Dark Angel of the wanderers howls through the loft
With sick smelling sleep
Morning dream of a lost monkey
Born and muffled under old whimsies
With rose leaves in closed jars
Fear and the monkey
Sour taste of green fruit in the dawn
The air milky and spiced with the trade winds
White flesh was showing
His jeans were so old
Leg shadows by the sea
Morning light
On the sky light of a little shop
On the odor of cheap wine in the sailors’ quarter
On the fountain sobbing in the police courtyards
On the statue of moldy stone
On the little boy whistling to stray dogs.
Wanderers cling to their fading home
A lost train whistle wan and muffled
In the loft night taste of water
Morning light on milky flesh
Turgid itch ghost hand
Sad as the death of monkeys
Thy father a falling star
Crystal bone into thin air
Night sky
Dispersal and emptiness.

*abide*

 

By

Smoke ’em if you got ’em.

Lottery winner puts $1-million toward effort to legalize marijuana

  • Philanthropy from a true Canadian, a man with a passion and purpose who was gifted with a blessing his blessing is want to share
  • Committed women ensuring that women, men, sick or in good health, are able to find some value, relief and joy in a natural plant

Medbox positioned to capitalize on this exploding market HOLLYWOOD, Calif., April 8, 2013 /PRNewswire/ — Medbox, Inc. (OTC Markets: MDBX) (www.medboxinc.com), a leader in providing consulting services and systems to medical and retail industries worldwide, commented on the new research regarding American…

  • From the harsh reality of lifetime sentences because of green weed and skin tones, to the modern day acceptance of the use of, propogation of said use and the bullshit that surrounds it.
  • The assetized right to do right, for a just cause, a choice, like enlightenment, is universal. Warning is not an asset, it is an act.

It is with a high note that I begin this small post, late at night – the early hours of April 20, 2013. Four, twenty, firing at the pieces of shard that lay before me because there is want for nothing but this. The desire to express the deep timeline that lays in those three stories, and how the events of a tale from the lips of a context brings more than just the smirk.

It brings a relevance to each of us, that no one has yet to be able to discover without first doing so themselves.

I have.

The discovery has not been as pleasant as one may be lead to believe.

There are many shadows and thoughts that come out, and are clear indicators of the way we lived out lives and I will not be one to traverse the same escapes of iron that have been pressed by the heated blow hards and the passionate metal that strikes the anvil firm.

Yes, the regrets have been there. I will not bow to a mentor and discount their mention, to do so would be another pitch on that mound that would take you closer to the end of the game. To the passing of the time that would cause you to write with such angst, and passion that you just never want to stop.

You can’t.

The tale is to important to tell.

I have lived it.

Listening to Gus, I can relate.

The grass is orange.

*abide*

By

Forgive me. I have sinned.

Our Elites, are in tweet heaven, 
Holy is Their Name;
Their kingdom’s cum,
 your wills begets some,

on Favstar as it is in your “heaven.”
Elites, serve us this day your daily head,
and Big Mac us your puns, 
so we forgive the fuqtards who sin against us;
and lead me not in masturbation,
 but lever my meat cause I’m evil.
Amen.

I know you are cut of the cloth that has never done such things, oh wise monk of Twitter, with your sage drive-thru cloak and pontificated presence in the Elite Lords stewardship, but I stand here before you with one hope.

The abstinence that will be fed to purge my soul of the vile tribulations that you walked, and I know of the hardship that you had gone through – to have had to walk through the valley of the Chiseled Followback clan, and survived – all in a testament to the star piles left beside the camel dung of your sage words and creative sadness, lest not forget the monotonous tones of your identity and your characters in Jesus Christ, Superstarbang – a miracle. I can only be so blessed to know one day I may be able to tweet about what I ate, and inspire another to smile with my misery over the battery remote, please forgive me for what I am about to reveal.

Revile me.

I sought the Jezebel, a woman that Mary Mandolin had strummed singing sweet songs of memories pure and true, it was her message to me and I fell to her wails. I wanted to be like you oh great monk of the perish.

I had to kiss her, Tweetadder. Her twitter strategy…so…flawless. Fair. So just. So “elite”.

She was so lovely there. Glistening in the moonlight, the shadow that had been cast by your own forefathers. Perhaps even those of the renowned Twitteratti, slipping from character to character to replace the chalice from their library years, with a hope that no one can hear that stalk fall or the sirens calls heated by the glorious gasps of dragons I am assured you have tamed, now that you have left them out of those dungeons.

The forest is such a wild place for a wizard. You know, or at least one of your identities knows. Of this, be sure.

I should not have been tempted, but the link. It seemed so real. So true, it must have been a real person there, gifted in the craft they speak so much of being able to create. The bosoms were grand, they were everywhere – she had turned into a nipple Medusa. I was not able to escape her clever ways, and appealing musk. The site before me was horrific, I had thought, that yes, if I had made it to the mountain I would be well armed to move forward and avoid her calls.

But those nipples…below knee…baloney…delirious joy…freedom.

Oh but wise sage, those nipples, how they turned into aureole serpents of flesh tones promised with the taste of the positions to come. The format kingdom, for but a moment to see what she really had in store for me, not knowing it was just the gateway.

She leaned in, and whispered.

“See who is not following you.”

It was glorious.

Like something I had never seen before.

She was right.

It was the gateway.

And this, this is my satchel.

Each filled with a real story, and real experience.

Each letter, each stroke counted, known.

The money shots, the lucky shots, the buck shots, hot shots, shit shots, big shots, bot shots…

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the hord:
Tramps of vintage oak where the grapes of wrath are stored;
I have loosed the feta lightning of tsunami swift brine words:
Girthy souvlaki dong.

“Glory, glory, hallelujah!”

Yes, I had seen what her power was.

And the patterns all became so clear.

I was hooked.

It had all started with the one simple filter application.

Such sexy lingerie, such a ubiquitous smirk…how did you do it, how did you resist the temptation? Tell me.

You*: “Forefathers of the Chiseled Followback clan, the Favstar Genitalliarattii, had tried to survive in the world, and hoped they could hide in their secret world, but they had to mutate, and begin to preserve their word on the dried parchment of elk cock. It was a horrible time, but they survived. Merely on the bones and fluids of their own kind, shoving star, after star, after worthless star – no nutritional value in those virtual mitzvah’s. Some said it was Zeus himself that had no value, but we are not want here to decide if we should deconstruct the glorious essence of their choices, so much as to agree.”

Yes, forgive me, a dirty efficiency whore looking to be more effective in marketing my book about funny shit, and entertaining, never begging for sympathy despite a semi-private survival of cancer, or hoping that one would simply donate, but offering words in fair exchange for entertainment not constrained by Google ads and horrible pupil killing dissentry and disgusting cardboard entertainment about another cat being walked by a fictional owner, or another flat dissertation on the meaning of love and why it will kill all your dreams, so just listen to your Smith’s cassette and you will figure out now came sooner than you thought  – forgive m…

You*: “The fools you suffer on Twitter are of your own making. It is merely your imagination, and want for some kind of excitement, or a need to fill that void, with some kind of creativity. Some of the animals in the forest, are vile and nasty, and are still part of it. Some are whores and suckers of meat sticks their children and wives are oblivious to, but know this. They have a role, and so you can allow them to do what they wish, but protect yourself from them by using more tools. Being aware of who and what they are, before they can attempt to get into your mind. Do not be fearful of their lack of cackles, or their support. You do not need it. Please read the piece of paper you can take with you, and post of it on your website. Inform the people of the world, that they exist. Those that have whored themselves out for number, and with no creativity and action, but thinking they can now control you. Mankind, will never advance beyond the state of Twitter, if we do not stay the course.”

Sancte redemptor scriptor, fides vestra

Fides est nobis creativum winners,
Nunc et in miseria vestri, ad iustitiam.
Futuis iudicium vestrum, quod suus ‘valor est vilis mihi.
Mea vita est, intellectus meus.
Ego in harena quisquam.

*abide*

*please read this section out loud while reading it. If you do not read it, I will not be able to hear you. As such, please go back, and read it again loud, and I will get back to you when I can. If you don’t eat your meat, how do you expect to get any pudding? You can’t get any pudding, if you don’t eat the meat.

**contact is imminent as a matter of choice, not fate.

By

1-800-SNAP-PEA

Pus Removal Associates, Discrete Attendance.

The name was kind of hard to come up with.

After all, the acronym could be seen to conflict with a certain brand and all of it’s puffery and festooned pageantry, and it was very much concerned about image – yeah, guess it too even had swollen sacks of pus in some capacity that had to agree with comfort as well as class.

Had to be classy.

Introducing, SNAP-PEA Inc.

Not many men or women are going to want to be telling their secretaries that they were in no position to have someone pop that monster zit on their back, or on their genitals. Well, everyone in a first world problem way has that kind of access, or we would instantly snap to it and demand that not all have that privilege that you would demand. There are a fuck load of folks in the system that don’t have access to a regular GP, or a dermatologist. Hell, some of the folks that even hear the world dermatologist will instantly either think Ghostbusters or get an image of an gynecologist smiling over the stirrups at them.

The name stuck as soon as it was heard. Not only because it was playful, but also because it was “scientific” without any of the snake oil.

Society needed this service, and in fact the demographic demanded it. With all of the pube shaving bullshit going on, and the need to be able to point to the bean tower at the end of that landing strip – *delicious scream the trendsetters* well who am I to fight the force of the aging population that is staying single longer, if and when choosing to marry doing so after being properly satisfied their social network diversions have not only been cultivated properly, but are accepted as such and blessed with the foresight to recognize she better still love you when you have 3,783,452 followers that hang on your every word.

Don’t worry, she claims she will.
So did he.

It will all change in time, and you will look back at those days with the same want and reflection of the start of the love. When she was willing to snap that pea sized zit on your back and still smile at you, knowing it was just natural. Today, you look at the task as a gross responsibility that has nothing to do with making the world a better place.

Like porn, it has nothing to do with no significant “world” war has ever been started since porn became the diversion that helped angry people around the world find peace and serenity in sexual candy bars in the form of 4 minute clips meant to entice the healthier lifestyle you seek in the bedrooms and dens of pleasure everywhere. But I digress, we are here to talk about Snap-Pea.

When you get that nasty zit, and you can’t ask your spouse – what are going to do?

Go waste time in traffic, the waiting and the sitting in the doctor’s office so they can use a small paste, numb it, pop it with some sterile tool, then wipe/ointment/cover and smile as you depart? Not only is your insurance company going to bill the fuck out of that visit, it is going to cost the company a couple hundred bucks in cash, and another few hundred in lost productivity.

Right?

Exactly – so imagine, a discrete associate of the firm, arriving at your office, home, place of worship, park – wherever you find it convenient, and condusive to the affair, we will be there. A small black briefcase carrying the sterile tools and the needed ointments, arrive and for the small fee of $39.99 we will pop the biggest, nastiest and grossest zit you have.

Anywhere on your body, we are there to help.

It don’t matter how gross it is, or where it is.

We can help take care of that nuisance, and each and every other one is classified into Standard ($4.99) or Boil Class ($9.99) and we will gladly provide them in memorial tube’s that can be Vanilla ($1.99) or Truffle *hand decorated ($4.99). We will happily snap photo’s ($0.99/HD image), hell – we can even take a small video of the event using the micro tri-pod and arrangement stored in the briefcase. Each minute of 720p YouTube ready video is recorded at a mere $2.99 – incredible?

We know, that is why we are here.

Look, the loss of mobility, the inability to focus, that burning tingle on the Dockers slacks just around Snickers time is enough to drive us all mad. Whether you are in a cubicle, or have your own office, we are comfortable performing our friendly service anywhere you are.

If you are not concerned, neither are we. We will send over one of our professionally trained, enthusiastic Snap-Pea associate for your appointment. Special requests start at same/opposing sex associates, and range all the way up to the Pelosi Concrete Ponderosa Cinderella Fantasy Package at $199.99. Custom arrangements can be accommodated but we respectfully request a $500 deposit in order to consult with any relevant legal, financial or farming associates.

Security? No need, all of our associates are fully micro-chipped, and enabled with recording device’s to ensure nothing inappropriate goes on. Really, it is just as much for your good, as ours. As a side note, that law suite, the one room bachelor, regarding the ability for us to use, sell, or present your video to appropriate Stress Transitioning Directors, it was settled. All of our adult entertainment affiliations remain in tact and we promise to use your video in an unedited and fully public manner.

This concept does not have to be “sold” – it is a gem, and although we were offered a chance to appear on the Dragoons Pen, we humbly declined and have begun preparations for our Kickstarter page. All submissions have been made, and we hope that Kickstarter will welcome us with the same desperate look of “help me” we see each and every day from our fellow men and women.

  • Pop that zit, make your day happier
  • Hold open that door, and nail that PPT presentation
  • Cheer in the hockey stands, and jump up and down without fear of stains
  • Shop at Costco in comfort

We are there for you, and we love what we do.
Not only because we do, but because we know how it makes you feel.

1-800-SNAP-PEA

The IPO/President List will be announced shortly, and any and all persons that tweet or forward this article will be eligible to receive a Class Certification Application for that list, we would love to have you aboard.

As an extra benefit, you will be considered Best of Fester class, and will be offered a chance to view our online webinar that provides crisp, clear, refreshing answers as to why this is not only profitable, pleasurable and professional – but it will make the world a place, that is a better place to be in.

Make the world a better place.

Make it a zit free place.

Call 1-800-SNAP-PEA today, and let us show you the way.

*abide*

By

Stoned

For the visually impaired, that would care to skip all of the hidden links, go ahead an audio read provided by Gus himself*

Last night I got stoned.

Allow me to further elaborate, if you would care to proceed. Shall we?

I had been struggling for the last two weeks to get to the point of having to settle back into a new place, in fact, at the end of this is a section of something I had been editing on a few occasions dancing like the proverbial snail on the razor’s edge with it, some blood but fuck, to write it to cut more than to create – and if you can’t dig that then likely you don’t even remember Breaking Away as the prequel to Breaking Bad.

I also have had more than my own share of bullshit in life, and one thing is for certain – even the couple of the recent equaintances have just short of the D, in the DNA of an ass nugget for fucks sake, and they would likely agree if brought to replying to that – having just gotten past almost 9 years of cancer fighting, and even now still dealing with the head fuck that comes with wondering why, what, when and where more than if…I have the blessing of looking at how this fucked up online/virtual world works and what it can do, and bring, and then act on it.

I have been in the spotlight, and seen the darkness.
Guess that makes me bipolar right?

I mean the definition(s) within the whole fucking manual seem to be the most important thing for some in the Twitter world, cause I am going to use that example.

I had gone there, after trying to cope with a litany of annoyances and “tragedies” that are monumental at the time because of sensitive and emotional family histories and reflections. It was Friday, and I thought – I was going to be able to just spend some time trying to get some of the writing tuned in and turned on.

Awesome – kind of feel deserve it, but need to still earn more of it.

Yes, sure there are going to be some wonderings.
Always are.
Always will be.

Sometimes I explain more, and others I choose not to because it is not wise to have to explain it all and lose your time for the sole sake of providing for another, something that is either there, or not.

Observation, and not judgment – difference is as clear as the allusion to this concept as a central theme, perhaps even fodder for the mill to employ, or re-fragment and enjoy. It is not that hard to see the darkest of the grains stand out from the light shades around it when they are gathered in unison, but allowed to deviate from the normal “his blood flowed like a river shit”. *puke*

Got drunk on tweeting.
Mathematical follows.
Mind map of the process and where the head and thinking is/was.

Did you see the link above, and know that *puke* was meant to be turned on? Well, here – the third one, just to prove the attention span of society is just the Requiem for a Dream.

*context smirk

The pleasure complex is indeed just that. A complex that houses, but also has a manner of changes and progressions that make a standard situation whatever you like. Consider a number of different facts and relevant comparisons.

The Playboy Airbrush Technique
You can always imagine something better under the bikini. That large mud flap is a memory in the Smokey and Bear movie, and that disturbing set of tires the husband put on the mid-rife to save money on Canadian Tire storage charges.

Dixie Cup Skype*
Now this is going to be a little delicate, because Skype is still pissed that Fetada, Inc. got the gig on the DCS*. Just can’t seem to push the fucking Mario cart past the bitch, with the fat fucking ass trying to block the aisle and I know those chicken wieners are going fast – fuck. Can you hear me Jesus, we need a Value Meal item with some nutrition that is not controlled by a fed, or the DeBeer’s Bedazzled Verification S.W.A.T Squad. Charlie, are you surfing, over?

Cell Phone Sodufu
Same genre, and appearance, but more along the lines of the Macedonian cousin to math, Zcockqw, and where you use all the numbers to create a message that can be seen and read as your own note. If you are discovered, you can simply claim you were part of some kind of hostage and training exercise and quickly extradite yourself so you may get two of the apple pie things from McTaint ‘afe.

Big Dipper Fantasy Soup Spoon
Big spoon full of all the love you want to project on an avi, and the people associated with, and all of their words. Again, do the math on just that – and consider it in the context to the Gus’s Overture piece – it is unbelievable, and I so believe that there are so many people that will get culled off the tit from that last bit of information it will finally be able to force me to admit to Al Waxman, the King of Kensington that indeed everywhere he walks down the street people do want to meet. Projections of reality include hyper-ventiloid eye to eye contact, deep lip smacking, the insertion of various and sundry bottles of toiletries and/or pumice stone special projects. Hard to cut leather with a stone, even if it has that same gristle your father’s clit tasted like. Relax, no one is reading this but us two, and your twin uncle Harry’s.

J. Z. Noofnoof
There 99 problems, but Twitter ain’t one. I don’t give that much of a fuck about it, or the other fucking social meadows that have been walked, other than making sure I play safe, sane and in the vain that is important to distinguish from your choice of vein. So many of them, floating around this specimen and illustration of the body, etc…so, why the fuck would you keep making problems for yourself? You hear of all these people that are “making money on here” – LOL – seriously, are you fucked? Do you think that it is that easy, and you are making the bank with the 3/4/6 accounts you got going – here, how about some examples…jeebus…wow, let’s all hide – or at least be “forced” to come out and prove we are real, or show our pic’s and be the “real folks” you profess to be. Sure thing, what next – sitting at a breakfast table with associates, who barely like you, so you have to endear them more to your with and charm by telling them you are answering texts from your friends, but they can see the dick pic reflections in the glass over your shoulder, and smile, as your pupils spring open and declare that is one hard spreadsheet, look at that column…etc, etc, etc…what the fuck?…spider senses tingling.

The bottom line, we hide in it.

So I am going to hide in mine, and spend the weekend getting the last of the last done and ready, for a major push.

To prove I am just as real as you are, and not for any other reason than to answer the questions in my own head about who I have become, that I can not even find compassion in the sad stories of others, because I have been hurt or tarnished from past experiences…but wait, again, you got all those purple heart and shit things – can we put them in the coin machine at the Walmart and get some kind of store credit for the electronics area? Yes, the one that is very much becoming obsolete in the physical stores, leaving only the high PSF charge that accompanies the concrete to dance with the fairy minions and dandelion kites.

So you want to read some regular shit, go ahead – your gig, but then again as a pirate of “anarchy” I am sure you one to fear.

Fuck the forest, how about a pirate ship.

Crossing an ocean, or many of them – if it crosses a wave, stern side afloat in the front of the tie, as the season moves to high tide, near the Meditardannean, how fast before you get that this site is only as easy as the plug and play is.

Having the right plug, and making it play.

Fuck, I guess you have to have been stoned, and survived.

Or, you have read Shibumi.

*abide*

By

Movie Mashup – Berkeshire Shareholder Letter Summarized by Fetaman.

Pretty much says it all, the whole year has gone by it seems, and we find ourselves in the glorious position of being able to summarize the bountiful knowledge of the grand Hoo Bla of Finance himself, a genuine inspiration and mentor in so many aspects of his life, and a delinquent malcontent that has the beautiful presence of mind and ability to transfer drug patented nano-chemo-Vulcan-nology through all forms of natures states, and mesmerize crowds with a Weedabix smile, and the passion of Christ in his eye’s.

Don’t get me wrong, I am always one to speak the truth, and here there is a solid respect for the man, the myth – the legend. Holding that piece of paper, in your hand. Just one share, is not to be taken lightly. I know some that have had theirs since the mid-90’s, and then some. Pretty interesting tales, Gus has a few of those to tell I am sure, but getting to Gus is another story.

Summary piece from the Business Insider – Warren Buffett’s Annual Shareholder Letter Is Out — Here Are The Best Parts article, that are listed and referenced in the bullet form. Each of the quotes can be seen in the original article on the title, or just avoid that hogwash, and click the quote for the “surprise” video that gives you a little waft of the gig, or you can do that after shaking the Fetaglobe a little and seeing what kind of cheese settles on the matter;

  • “For just the 9th time, Berkshire’s book value rose less than the S&P 500. Buffett calls the year subpar.”

The sub par year for Berkeshire, would be considered an eagle for the common man.

 

  • “Berkshire pursued a couple of “elephants” but mostly came up empty, until the recent big Heinz deal.”

In anticipation of the Heinz deal, a number of failed elephant hunts didn’t cut the mustard.

 

  • …build per-share intrinsic value by (1) improving the earning power of our many subsidiaries; (2) further increasing their earnings through bolt-on acquisitions; (3) participating in the growth of our investees; (4) repurchasing Berkshire shares when they are available at a meaningful discount from intrinsic value; and (5) making an occasional large acquisition.”

(1) Jack up the prices for the papers, to tell you what to buy and think – the old newspaper value/pump play. *raises glass to the meek* Careful though, he is shorting the shit outta telegraph companies. *lemming stampede*
(2) The bolt-on is a cheaper alternative to the full transgender Executive of tomorrow. More efficient, and all female’s to take on androgynous roles to comply with male superiors needs, including any “strap” on requirements on those long and lonely business trips.
(3) When you feed the pigs, their growth is just an FPB (*Future Present Bacon) calculation.
(4) Sell helium before departing, repurchase after the balloon ride. Rest, wake, repeat.
(5) This is code for taking on some big booty, cause you know what – he can no tell no lies, and he loves the big but’s.

 

  • “CEOs who whine about “uncertainty” are silly.”

The whole world is one giant bowl of ass soup. One day you will be tired of it cold, and the next you will be tired of it hot. Don’t like the rules – no ass soup for you! (*Cold Soup Nazi)

 

  • “America’s rail system has never been in better shape, a consequence of huge investments by the industry.”

Seriously, this is almost as good as the free candy ploy at the WeightWatcher’s meeting around 8:37 p.m. What was the name of the railway in the book Atlas Shrugged?

 

  • “Buffett wants to save the company’s cash for the remaining whales in the ocean.”

Dividends? We don’t pay no stinkin’ dividends *shows badge* What, you do this because you actually want to measure worth in money?

*abide*

 

*approaching 50,000 hits on the site, in about the last 4-6 months (*the first chunks were getting the gig going, other projects, and making sure there is a reason to be here – which reminds me, the FREE photo’s are coming up for YOUR viewing pleasure – always get a fucking classic kick out of the haters, seriously, you have no idea how cool that is…to have “it” actually speak without words, IQ or presence – sure thing Uber Hater, I don’t MIND you have a lovely life now…) and I am going to be unlocking more of the areas with the update’s and news on the upcoming “Orange Grass” shit that has been making a buzz. Thanks for being a part of the gig, and know you are always welcome to participate, discuss, contact and indulge. They are your miles, mine are from this side of the path.