fetaman.com

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

By

Thai sticks a right

The levels of imminent death to freedom, the demise of true liberty, civil or private, are about to be forever higher than the stones gathered around the bones of the entrusting fools who believed rain would always be rain, and stones would never be revealed for the pain that would be gotten from the begotten suns and sirens.

At the Global level, we have a collection, a united set of nations no longer blue caps, but drones, invisible to the naked pretense. Here the groups demand, to hear from such nations as Canada, such things as, but not limited to:

“The people who work at CSIS collect information in Canada and abroad and use it as the basis for providing advice to the Government of Canada in the form of intelligence reports about activities that may constitute a threat to the security of Canada. This information is collected from many sources, including:

In planning and conducting an investigation, care is taken to ensure an appropriate balance between the degree of intrusiveness of an investigation and the rights and freedoms of those being investigated. Investigations that require use of more intrusive techniques, such as the interception of telecommunications, are subject to a rigorous process of challenge and controls, including the use of a Federal Court warrant.”

At first reading, no one is going to break out a Locke reference. They Kant.

*sigh*

Eyes would glance across the structure, and not even absorb the shear, vast and uncompromising inclusion of every facet of life. This must be true; this is to defend a nation. A League of which is now much further along the chosen path to One World Order, but none the less, is granted the substance to provide the gruel and the tools for the planning and conduction of junctions that do more than just function.

From the State, to the Plates that make up the table we all sit and pay taxes, homage upon the daze and flaccid night. Time is heaped with wreaths of deceit, and then the man grabs bread from the mouth of the woman or child, black or white, kindred Gods or foreign bogs have not forsaken womb for the indignity of intrusions. Rights shall be guarded, moves but techniques to provide the pawn more than a hope, forward and straight, unless cruel interceptions mandate jugulars to triangulate.

Control.

Add the snake, and controls are more.

More is better.

Use; dispose.

Life is a privilege, and to think otherwise is criminal.

Foreign.

The conclusion as easy as the flick of a finger upon the sealed silicates that jest with the innocence of a fragile mind, sounds too complicated to understand but present enough, fighting the fiercest of senses, visual eviscerations.

A clock shall become the flint rock.

Progression is a sacrifice, and we must collect reward miles somewhere for this sled of atrocities along the way.

Vote now and forever hold another’s piece.

Take the snapshot, buy into the initial profile offerings of the moment.

Sticks that tied, Thai sticks of days enlisted as gone by.

Crueller?

The slow, linear degradation of a mind meandering; vapid memories that have filled the grey void with jewels and gems defensive in their position. Allowing but a singular perspective to encompass the whole of the experience, no longer covered by each precise and minute circumference of the moment. Burst into the geometric shape of some sort, it is filed in the membrane. Just allow the punchcard to dictate the journey and enjoy the taste of pulp fictions as you celebrate life among so many, tied.

Right.

*abide*

By

To relatives.

The entire series, was almost a decade ago. You expect me to sit here, and be passive as my name and effort is slandered – I watch my own parade sunshine, your escapades are for others to deem interest worthy, or note scurvy. I stand by what I write, how I write, and for whom. Anyone, questions always welcome. You stare at the cover and wonder what the words mean, but I can’t hear what you’re saying. Then again, more than likely, I could give a fuq to hear it. *jar rattles*

Enthusiasm is relative. Not a relative. Make the mistake of thinking that you are married to some kind of blood kin, that is supposed to come rushing out of you like unbridled enthusiasm, and deep breath – and you are cooked.

Some like to take things to a point, and then are willing to walk away from them, even when there is residual value in them, they have become so exasperated by the struggle, but the effort, by the cause that may or may not have been treated with the fair and right regal attention it deserved, but then again, that is what has allowed us today to capitalize on the failures of the past.

The lessons they learned, from succeeding to move the bar, or the ones that were failures inspiring a new line of thinking, all the way to the one’s that have allowed us to see man truly flying on his own. In the air, on a prayer.

For the thrill, for the purpose.

To not be away from it. To peer at the thrill of it all, and know that life is worth living only when the seize of insomnia ask for no permission they know will never be granted.

Life is precious, in any regard.
Wake the fuck up and live it.
Today.
Now.

You are in a position that is “close to the edge”?

This is where success, separates from “them” who stand on the edge and don’t jump for the thrill.

Fucking pussies.
I was there.
Once.

Many times actually, but that is a collective once now.

The Man in the Arena, “if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

I will not stop daring.
I will not stop trying.
I will not allow someone to just smirk at the sand.
I will not abide.
I will not try.

(licks pin on brine grenade, filled with belief every morning upon awakening, I carry it on me at all times, and reloads are always near by)

Each particle, each fragment – united, it becomes a greater force. A clearer image, filled with the pixels of purpose and the thorns to be rested on the weary head that must shield their eyes, their orifices, their very souls from the cerebral tsunami before them.

That is ok sunshine, stay in the concrete tent.
That is where your God has asked to stay, serve the rebar.

If you mix your effort with cloak, it will go awry He said, and still you decided to press. Remove the caramel and sugar coated textile from the tin, and dance with the sure grin on the fluoride tainted taste provide by the Machine.

Follow at your own will, and under your prowess.

Blessings, once aboden, become surety.

Bounties on the soul, with actions and flaming fuqtardation to espouse matrimony with mental mavericks or midgets.

Listen, to the call of the loon.

Disturbance or peace, is a reflection which remains, and always shall be – relative.

To health, happiness and prosperity – the last of which, is fully defined by ourselves. The old chicken, has the juice.

What kind of side dish you want served with that corn bread, ma’am.

*abide*

By

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By

Happy Birthday to…

What an incredible odyssey.

It has been a year since the site officially became mine.

I had waited over 8 years to be able to get past all of this, and before that – you have no fucking clue.
None.

You think I am not aware of what is “out there” – and what the “lines look like”…really?

Do you think a plan, that has been made for decades, even a lifetime if one considers it, is really just something that simply happens?

You have the sleuth ability to start to get hooked, and like the heroine town you may exist in, or the hero mind you do, you are addicted to taking it to the next level.

To finding out more, to getting past the reality of Survivor, and the fake fucking bandana’s and the bullshit positioning from Day 1 – “I am just here to make some friends, I am so naïve, I am so strong, I am so fucking smart, I am so fucking stupid…oh look, a tortoise with a hare on his back…do they even have hair…”

I know who the fuck fetaman is.

Pretty fucking proud of it as well, because I know it all – except for you.
You are the know it all I want to meet.
So does Gus.

He is interested in beginning to introduce himself over the next few weeks.
His biography is coming out.

Pretty fucking impressive, and having had the chance to not only interview him, but also having been given the chance to verify accounts, eyewitnesses and documented proof.

One of the strangest, oddest, brightest, most eccentric, gifted, smart, angry, loving, caring, compassionate, valiant abiders I have ever known.
If not the single greatest…

Gus runs on his own time.
So do I.

It is a birthday celebration and it is combined with a publishing. What more could anyone ask? I mean, seriously – what a long strange trip, and where are we still? Yes, just seeing some of the invisible brown acid come to life. A special K of sorts.

The biography, the story, of Gus…

Don’t expect synchronicity.

This is a delicate operation, and if you want to be part of it.

Welcome to it – you can either RT this link, direct with the question included, or you can #orangegrass it up, either is a chance to ask Gus, and I can assure you, he will answer.

Celebrate or don’t.
Trust me, this has nothing to do with hunching over anything – not a typewriter, not a water tray, not some village code, not a table of weed, not a set of bullets, not a conspiracy of shades that are something new…

I know.
Hard to believe.

Trust me.
I fucking know.

It doesn’t matter though.
Cause the clock, the watches – the story of Gus.

It becomes clearer with each passing day, and in the coming 30 days, how many and when are just beside the Fuqu Pyramid, just take a coat hanger and levitate near it.

There is a whole year to explore behind this, and there is much more for myself.

Being an interviewer, is one interesting experience.

Care to play?

fetaman/ _

*truly a wonderful, gracious humble bow today – humility asks for, and asks no excuses, for it too…*abides*

****this is where I insert my own happy birthday to fetaman.com – for the real fetaman, from the real fetaman, with a background heralded by associates. Go ahead, link from the site – fill in the question, I promise. I am pretty sure Gus would answer most honourable, logical and discretion sensitive inquiries. To the point of the dedicated box that is running the code – the rest, my…look…a shiny set of keys. Oh wait, it may be a text…did that arrive? No, must be a lonely time, grab the flash light…only 45 metres across the way…no, the...the way…

*************Yes, this is 13 of them, is that “code” also.

*******Gus thinks so.

*iAbide*

By

Orange snail trail.

Ever danced on the edge, under the orange skies?

Freedom is a choice, not a mandate.

Getting sum, is just another equation.

*abide*

By

One small step…?

It is a small step?

It was a small undertaking, unimportant.

iGus peers from the shadows of “fiction”.

I abide.

Oh, how the truth does set one free.

Cowards need not apply, liars lay in thine grass.

No issue, I own my miles, in my gulch.

The grass is orange.

Fuck you cancer, we win…again.

μάνα, για πάντα στην καρδιά μου.

*abide*

02-16-2013 

By

The Muppets

Those funny, funny muppets. Just trying to tie their own rooms together, and share some appreciation for the gig and the league games. I mean these points do count right, towards some kind of marriage proposal of something?

A scene from the muppet movie, a walk into a strange theatre wondering, perhaps this is the wrong theatre? I wonder, if I say a few things to person beside me, are they of a sound mind? How exciting…how so very exciting. Hi Icarus, name is Fetaman, how you doing today?

Amazing, what the change of a little thing like syntax, or cowardly actions, strange behaviours from odd folks, that otherwise seem so kind and real, or perhaps such as others that care to put things out in the universe, as real, with no fear – to enjoy the show.

Cause after all, all the world is a stave.

That stave for me, right now, fully aware. is one giant bowling lane.
*context smirk*

It is yours, and you choose it.

Don’t blame me for the misery of the interpretations you make.

Some funny folks have been included below, as a way of sending a smile and wave. Not a fucking marriage proposal.

The secrets that you keep, may have something to do with your own trip, but hey, just worry about your own miles sunshine, no need to worry about mine.

I got those.

Enjoy the smiles, cause nothing says a man can laugh, like laughing at masturbating muppets.

*abide*

*per above link and YouTube reference, the original footage is from the Muppet Movie, and all rights and love go out to the creators and team that put it all together, making lessons and childhood a good experience. James Maury “Jim” Henson (September 24, 1936 – May 16, 1990) 

 

By

Armstruth “I am just a good fella”

On the tour, around the world special diets and supplements were used, natural of course, good, simple food. So what if they were not in the cooked books, or the small pressings of re-issued prescriptions like microwaved media. Why can’t people just acknowledge that Armstruth was simply doing what he was told, to eat nothing too complex, allow the supplies to go in one end, be processed, then leaving the back end in tiny brown envelopes. There is no proof, and there is no flaming cigar syringe that proves he had any type of metabolic tantric relations with Usada Dope, the Nigerian immigrant that was purchased by a French Tour de Bovine route farmer, that hoped the annual traffic would help sustain his family.

Armstruth thought he was doing the right thing, when he stopped on the side of the road that day, and it all changed. As a result of believing what a simple dairy farmer had suggested would be a good remedy for his ailing pistons and pumps, believing that the cream was not frozen, it was warmed. It is really cream, and not cow shit with alfalfa in it and that is healthy because Pharmataint, the global authority on all things good for humans says so. Then after watching the 9 year old sistah lift the cows tail and Dairy Queen swirl one glorious mound of love into that beauty. I must admit, it was impressive to see the chase care footage show him knock that bitch out with one strike, and the round house delivered to the farmer – Bruce Lie approved.

That is not an ice cream cone you best be serving to some wise guys in Brooklyn. Even if you think it may go off like apologizing for calling them just slimy, and cunty, but not fat. So Pratatoe applies the FYLM (Fuck You Lie to Me methodology, invented in Staford by the same team that invented the Senate Sock, the enhanced congressional fleshlight found within all first world governing quorum facilities, including the public speaking chambers) principle.

*all re-enactments of the following parts of the Armstruth dialogues are meant to convey the appearance of a drug fuelled good guys dinner, in Brooklyn looking for guerilla footage of the elusive Zitizilla, a gargantuan fucking ape, with the ability to disguise his entrance into the Times Square Anal Bead Cinematography festival with daft integration, and limited repercussions. Please note, the extension of the mind required to imagine a giant mobster ape, of any ethnic background, eating a deli sammich, scratching the proverbial balls, may be elusive and should not to be attempted by anyone without two thumbs.

<scene III>

[the table is covered with reports from the UBS-Whorebird HNW Division, we see the Bogota emeralds outlining the pictures of the Kwanzaa tree from O. Pratatoe’s holiday trip. Sparkling Eunuch Springs water bottles remain, they are placed next to the CrewRig Insta-Adrenaline brewer strategically replacing the BO$E system for this segment]

O. Pratatoe: You’re a pistol, you’re really funny. You’re really funny.
Armstruth: What do you mean?
O. Pratatoe: It’s funny, you know. It’s a good story, it’s funny, you’re a funny guy – like how the fuck you think you going to tell me, you was wanting to make sure she is dafriend still, an ‘pologized?
<lighter heard, bong rips>
Armstruth: What do you mean, you mean the way I talk? What? In circles, and always under the guise of not totally admitting fault, cause that would mean the bugs in the room youse gotz in here are gonna be all fazoole and shit?
<huge breasted 1920’s cigarette girl comes by, tray is filled with elastic bands with the FYPM emblazoned across them, hand gesture, with a sweet follow up ass slap and kissing lips sound>
O. Pratatoe: It’s just, you know…fuck look at dat azz…mmmmm, hmmmm…yeah, you’re just funny, it’s… funny, the way you tell the story and everything… called her a whore, but not a fat whore. That is bullshit, what a fucking joke, that you would not remember saying it, and yeah, prescilly portant to someone he knew was.
Armstruth: Funny how? What’s funny about it? Like you think I am not being sincere here?
Balls Lebowski (Voice, producer, off-set): Armski no! You got it all wrong!!
Armstruth: Oh, oh, Anthony. He’s a big boy, he knows what he said. What did ya say? Funny how?
O. Pratatoe: Jus…seems De Niro healed, know? Not analyzed-really. Not healed, and not telling the truth…you seem full of fucking shit, and a selfish fuck looking to get back into the circuit because your gravy train is now Purina dog food boiled in the kettle with some shallots from your fucking spice garden you fucking gamboom? You want me to get Van Fraudde to come over and show you how we play Two Nipple Monte?
Armstruth: How much for dee beetle girl?
<mimic best Belushi impression, and pretends to eat O. Pratatoe’s calf like a chicken leg>
O. Pratatoe: Just…Animal House?
Armstruth: You mean, let me understand this cause, ya know maybe it’s me, I’m a little fucked up maybe, but I’m funny how, I mean funny like imma not doing the blues like a brother well enough for you, I amuse you? I make you fucking laugh <hard glance to camera> Imma here to fuckin’ amuse you? What do you mean funny, funny how? How am I funny?
O. Pratatoe: Just… you know, how you tell the story. Keep lying. Hol’lying it up for the new rubber band sales person cause she is all “hearts on my door” and “I love you” and shit, playing the media whore with 38 abortions on your record – 3 of them francophone, speaking cows man.
Armstruth: No, no, I don’t know, you said it. What the fuck does “the only path back to wealth is his ability to placate now” mean? How do I know? You said it. How the fuck <holds up hands in papal fashion, clasping manicured nails purchased by donation tenderly to not wash off the glaze, shits expensive yo> – so many deserters, and now my Pratatoe appearance is gonna be like fucking a stranger in the ass?
O. Pratatoe: [long pause] Get the fuck out of here, ArmedTruth! Owl Grove
<throws gang sign, concealed by the wiggly box shit some techie puts over the film>
Armstruth: [everyone laughs] Ya motherfucker! I almost had you, I almost had you. Ya stuttering prick ya. Balls, was she shaking? I wonder about you sometimes, Poe-taught. You may fold under questioning if those motherfucker’s at UBS-Whorebird get snapped into the wood shed behind the lake during the Vig Split ‘n Spitt Cookout at the grove.

THIS POSTS FREE O. PRATATOE LEARNING THINK GOES TO:
*The Gulch.

 photo goodFetastyles_zpsfc9af73b.jpg

You know what the real shame is, that more fucking people are going to think that all bad guys are in leather, or cheap suits trying to blend in until the Rolex flashes. Let those that cast no stones on the philanthropic tides remind us of why we must not believe anymore, and let one fucking asshole stereotype lead us into temptation. Paradigm is shifted with the lenses, and the macro or the micro look will tell the difference of reality, from where your mind really sits today. Wake up and fuckin’ live. The grass is fucking orange man. The grass. Is. Fucking. Orange.

*abide*

By

Armstruthtonged: Flipflopology on the Bike

Go ahead, reach into your overnight Adidas bag, bring out the gold flip flops. Become a world class flipflipologist. Make it reign Frankie Wilde styles. Discover the beauty in the similarities of bicycle wheels and records both being round, look at those disco biscuits and come hurling into the stadium all confident and sure that your clean ways will be welcomed in the parting sea of flesh you witness before you, or have convinced yourself of existing for the sake of one blissful night dancing away to the tribal rhythms and photo album memories greased with 34% proof O’pratatoe vodka.

Or maybe you think the cameras don’t see that context smirk and your attitude? After all, the walls in the room are a mellow cobblestone tone, similar to the one’s in the 87 of the countries you toured in, disposing of your lies to people that hoped you could be real, and not another fucking human tragedy consumed by the masses for mind calories wanting for some kind of substance in the face of malnutrition.

*all re-enactments of the following parts of the Armstruth dialogues are meant to convey the appearance of a drug fuelled rave, in Goa looking for guerilla footage of the elusive jawmonger, a travelling modern day cyclist him/herself. Caution when invading the space of the jawmonger, as it may result in passive acceptance of his awkward dance moves based on the hope that you can experience love in this state. Please note, the extension of the mind required to imagine a cycle as a dose or a round of drugs, over a period of time that can be considered pretty “normal” to (ab)users, may be elusive and should not to be attempted by pop music fans, anyone who still has a Michael Jackson album, and sloth. Any and all sloth, or slothii, should not proceed.

<scene II>

[crystal buckets, beach sized with small platinum scoops are lined up, each a different shape – cocaine, ecstasy, meth, et al. Sparkling Eunuch Springs water bottles remain. Swaying hips of Foodstamp Servers move gently to the house music in the background. The shot of the B0$E system is snuck into frame]

O. Pratatoe: Was it a big deal to you, did you feel thong?
Armstruth: On a dime? No.
<purses eyebrows, that tap out code to the black ops website translators, furnishing more information that must be buried in this HTML-Dali code: The Tall Elephants are Gathering>
O. Pratatoe: Was selling your soul, to wear thongs, wrong?
<head is swaying gently to some Digweed, just like it was on the shores of Maui when they rehearsed this set. O. Pratatoe was in charge of the light mixer over the ocean, and the signals to the Somalian pirates off shore ready to ignite the Roman Candle fireworks set to cascade in the form of a badger>
Armstruth: No, quite fair. E?
<head nods passionately, crows feet disappear>
O. Pratatoe: Did you feel bad about sharing your hammock and flipflopUniballogy?
Armstruth: No, just hairier.
<sign languages the two walking feet over his palm, in circular motions and the audio impaired reader posts “Fred Flinstone Can Start a Car Like This” as he nods his head and winks>
O. Pratatoe: Did you feel, in any way that your bullshit was overheating?
Armstruth:  No, the scariest.
<eyes pop open, the vowel hits here, pupils dilate, we see a reflection in the window of a man holding a cue card with the words “winning” barely visible, upon any screenshot and HD review of it, the viewers would see Charlie Sheen being the holder of the cue card crafted of tiger blood black ink and parchment layers of chemical peels removed from mattress quests of skewered goddesses and concubines>
O. Pratatoe: What do you mean?
Armstruth: Well, when you wear the flip flops man, it’s perfection.
O. Pratatoe: Seriously, your woo is peeing on my mind here dude…
Armstruth: When I can’t wait to ride, I am an artist.
<quick scene cut to page flipping media cards, camera pans as soon as the word Rat Salad appear>
O. Pratatoe: What?
Armstruth: I am the walrus.
O. Pratatoe: Phil, bring us a couple of bumps, this is getting good…
Armstruth: I just stare at the flip flips under the lever…
O. Pratatoe: Who exactly is the walrus, and did he force you to take the drugs and come perform at this magic festival we are at? <eyes thrust open like porcelain bone saucers, flying, fucking, saucers> SOMEONE THROW TULIP PETALS AT ME – I LOVE THIS TRACK!
Armstruth: Look I have a Campagnolo lever, I got from Ibiza!!
O. Pratatoe: I was considering buying that place once…
<camera DPS-HD1 fades to black, cut to a funny fucking link, and not a sponsor, so dig it, all the posts have multiple media links in them, that is part of the way we role>

THIS POSTS FREE O. PRATATOE LEARNING THINK GOES TO:

“Do you suffer from PTEP? PTCP? PTSP? Post Traumatic E-potato Placement, Comma Placement, of Syntax Prolapse is a serious illness. Many claim it is done intentionally, however few have the tangents to prove it. Dr. Filinstein’s Poegrow metastasizes with all brands of soda and O’pratatoe brand chips. Free shipping by the US Postal Service, mailing parcels my not be exactly as illustrated.”

*For men experiencing a prolonged, painful erection, taking this medication to stay on Team Fur Munchhousen seek immediate medical attention or permanent problems could result in you becoming asexual. All persons  should contact a fucking doctor immediately. All medical treatment will be paid for by the machine, under the Fair Noshit Sherlock Statute of 1923, if you experience a missed menstrual period; breast lump or discharge; calf or leg pain, swelling, or tenderness; change in amount of urine produced; chest pain or heaviness; confusion; coughing up blood; fainting; irregular heartbeat; left-sided jaw, neck, shoulder, or arm pain; mental or mood changes (such as depression); numbness of an arm or leg; one-sided weakness; persistent, severe, or recurring headache or dizziness; severe stomach pain or tenderness; slurred speech; sudden severe vomiting; sudden shortness of breath; symptoms of liver problems (such as yellowing of the skin or eyes, fever, dark urine, pale stools, loss of appetite); unusual or severe vaginal bleeding; or vision changes (such as sudden vision loss, double vision as a result of buying this shit. This slot has been strategically selected to appease our corporate interests, the lobby teams coordinated efforts, Headscratch Cycle-psycho, and all narcissists willing to accept apologies over weight as a condition for kinship and financial remuneration from once again swinging on the hairy veins, like Tarzan buoys in the Armstruth jungle.

*abide*

By

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*