“I don’t want to wake up tomorrow.”

So I didn’t.

I promised I’d bring mo’ Reddit, & I brought mo’ Reddit.

Somebody posts some seemingly innocuous thread wherein they talk ’bout some “open day” wherein the self-decribed elitist SomethingAwful forums allowed the rest o’ us poor bums too cheap to pay $10 to read the entire archives. It then immediately devolves into some purple-Kool-Aid shit, completely lacking any irony @ all:

And it gets worse: organizations affiliated with SA have been outed as CIA fronts. and the founder, Richard “Lowtax” Kyanka has admitted to multiple meetings with Obama’s security team.

Follow that link to see a generic gaming website (this 1 clearly understanding the absurdity & clearly playing it for laughs) quoting the reputable source, Glenn Beck, who is an expert in all those hip young internets, yo. Nowhere does this article quote best-capitalist-supervillain-name-e’er, Richard “Lowtax” Kyanka acknowledging this other claim–but we should just assume it’s true, since rational people assume exceptional events all the time.

Then someone proves that SomethingAwful is truly a Satanic cult through exactly 1 anonymous testimony wherein some guy claims to have been hypnotized into Hollywood psychological problems by lame memes.

Also, apparently “Lowtax” uses those $10 for a secret Swiss bank to buy mail-order brides & Aeron chairs. How the latter is a conspiracy, I’m not sure. ¡True Americans buy Eames Lounge!

There’s also the tedious shit ’bout “SJWs,” which is just the modern version o’ your cranky grandpa bitching ’bout the pinkos everywhere in this neighborhood–¡Things were better in good ol’ ’02, dang nab it!

Mo’ strange was this comment:

Aye. I think someone made a list of the usernames Quinn, Nyberg, Spacedad, AMIB and others used on SA. Should be interesting doing a search and archiving what you find.

Nothing’s mo’ interesting than random usernames. I know I always spend my weekends surfing through WordPress to see all the zany usernames people picked.

It’s par for the course when you try to investigate the SJWs on SA.

That’s vaguely creepy.

Yes, it’s important that we investigate the infamous “Spacedad”–the Che Guevara o’ our time.

O, shit, this is some GG shit. Ne’er mind. Jesus, ¿How’d you break my already-low expectations? I thought this was just some crazies coming out o’ the woodwork seeing an opportunity to come out & fuck round for shits & grins; not some superserious spy fantasy wherein James Bond stops the infamous Spacedad from shooting the earth down from his moon base with anthologies o’ Anne Sexton poetry.

by Seventh Sanctum Writing Prompt Generator

Her life is essentially the story of Dante.

It will be Thursday, the day of wanderlust.

It will be July, the month of unemployment, everyone knew that.

Torture sanity as long as you are screaming.

It will be winter, the season of infamy and howling.

She is always a woman, which was really terrible.

You can kill an airline disaster.

It will be the day of education, the day of poverty.

There is a story about how drug addiction will be like crying.

If you don’t know about the tavern, then it is time.

Courtesy o’ Free Vintage Illustrations, who are not affiliated with the rest o’ this nonsense.

& there I saw him, & there I waved to him. ¿You can’t see him there, on that star?

No, not that 1. Not tha—that 1. Yes, that there. #943,143,610,689,219,003,236, or as The Grand Almanac o’ Stars calls it, «Marissa Robertson.» ¿Can’t you see him there?

Yes, it may look tiny, but from his perspective it’s quite roomy. Yes, it’s quite bright, but from his perspective it provides ample light for books—light needed to read such tiny, & yet such complex ligaments, that comprise the letters o’ his language—a language o’ o’er a million different letters, each representing not only its own word, but also its own phrase, so that paragraphs are compressed into a few characters, & Anna Karenina fits into a slim 150-page book.

Yes, it’s daytime, & yes it’s cloudy. But the stars ne’er hide. Heathens have cast such slanders gainst the stars & their master, the Afternoon Moon, but they are wrong. They’re just not looking hard ‘nough. But the time shall come when the stars & the moon rule all, & the sinful sun shall be smitten @ last, with the moon keeping its golden light for itself, for all eternity.

¡You were WROOONG!

¡since the beginning o’ the bomb!

¡You were WROOONG!

¡for far too long!

¡You were WROOONG!

¡since the beginning o’ all time!,

¡since the beginning o’ your worthless life!

‘Cause we must celebrate Hitler’s birthday & the anniversary o’ the Columbine Massacres with the 3rd most horrific thing to e’er exist… ‘Cause we must celebrate 4/20 with something that only someone on 2 tons o’ pot could stare @ without going mad…

The Song that Describes the Essence o’ my Heart

I met Dr. Jekyll (BA-THUMP),

& he wasn’t much better than Mr. Hyde.

He’s not such a rebel (BA-THUMP),

e’en when he’s trying to hide ‘hind his crooked disguise;

but he makes me tremble (BA-THUMP),

he makes me cry in fright the whole god damn night.

He is just a devil (BA-THUMP);

maybe that’s why I can’t get him out o’ my miii-i-i-i-iind…

O… ¿Whyyy-y-y-y-yy…?

A Marxist & an Austrian-schooler walk into a bar,

& after chugging 20 KG o’ ale,

the Austrian goes to use the loo for an hour.

‘Pon coming out, he holds a glass o’ urine

& says to the Marxist,

“I’ve spent an hour laboring to create this pee.

Since it clearly has labor,

you must be willing to offer a price for it.”

Unperturbed by this fellow’s strawman argument,

the Marxist replies stoically,

“$5.”

The Austrian-schooler can only wince & take a few subtle steps backward.

“W-what? Why would you want my pee?”

The Marxist straightens himself.

“Why are you so nosy into my subjective wants?

Have I not a right as any other to buy whatever I want with my own money?”

So the Marxist bought the pee & huffed it late @ home;

& he proved to the Austrian-schooler

that in a world wherein feces splattered on canvasses are considered high art,

all work, no matter how insipid, can hold value.

Thus, this proves that not only will capitalism inevitably fall,

but that it’s already fallen,

& has simply been replaced by dapitalism,

which is its cousin,

distinguished only by its bowler & handlebar moustache.

That is the only god.

Accept no substitutes.

Also, mud pies are quite useful, you fools:

I eat them all o’ the time.

They are the tastiest o’ chocolate pies.

People who do not enjoy the scrumptiousness o’ chocolate pies

must be eliminated.

Thus decree the scrolls o’ the Engelsist Order o’ the Red Star.

It’s the cream in your cup,

it’s the feather in your cap,

it’s the dice in your hands,

it’s the flab in your pan,

it’s the color o’ leaves,

it’s the holes in cartoon cheese,

it’s your knees’ bees,

it’s crease in your jeans,

it’s the tingling in your knickers,

it’s the warning before every trigger,

it’s the warming that hides in every winter,

it’s the only coffee that tastes sweetly bitter,

it’s the sickle in every sinner,

it’s the shadow under every winner,

it’s the boughs that only get thinner,

it’s a real-ass, motherfucker cool dude,

It’s the shit,

it’s the trick,

it’s, it’s, it’s,

chip, chip, chip.

When we finally use X-Zone on the vanished HAND,

that’s when the sexiness starts.

In Soviet Earth, you can’t elude the truth;

the truth only always eludes you.

¿How do you like them grapes?

There are no “them grapes”;

there are only “those grapes.”

Learn to write, asshole.

I mean it.

There is only 1 god,

& that god is love;

if ( !love_your_fellow_humans_even_if_they_smell_like_they_ rolled_round_in_pig_shit_for_hours_ )

{¹

you_love_god_ = false;

}

Remember that, you shitty pile o’ shit &/or secrets.

“Right, right. Hold it there.

‘Scuse me, sir, but I must stop this section.”

¿What?

¿Who are you?

¿How did you sneak into my book, you sneaker?

“I’m the Entertainment Police & I’m ‘fraid this section’s gotten far too silly. You’re under arrest for violation o’ Walrus’s Law stipulating that all silliness must be balanced evenly with seriousness so that they both fall into equilibrium. Come with me, please.”

Wait, but I’m not don—

“Come ‘long, sir.”

Bu—

---

Footnotes:

[1] All true Magical Socialists use Allman style. All heathens who use K&R or the 1 True Brace Style must be eliminated.