The Mad  Musings of a Mal-contented Misanthrope as he Mutates Maliciously into clouds of  smoke.

The Mad  Musings of a Mal-contented Misanthrope as he Mutates Maliciously into clouds of  smoke.

The one-eyed prophet Changoparati, mutely miming his prognostications of doom to the blind, while in pursuit of the pleasures of the flesh and pondering the imponderable aspects of the face of God, who, he thinks he might of seen one day out of the corner of his eye, crossing the street with a aardvark on a leash.

I'm simply wasting time while being temporarily detained, by dour faced temporal constables, in accordance with the latest astrological findings, as cast by the Magistrates of the Ministry of Magical Transmogrification's. They are insistently resistant about allowing me to transit inter-dimensionally while in corporeal possession of my precious bodily fluids, preferring them drained and freeze dried for their later porcine, probing perversions, with their loved ones, while locked in congress, much to their shame and eternal happiness, being viewed in their almost remorseful anal impalement, as they are penitently prodded by puritans in pious prayer with phallic castings of their God's proud purpled prosthetic prick, behind closed doors in glass houses publicly testifying to their ability to grasp their own attesting testicles with tentacles that are tenacious tickling terrors to lesbian lovers.

All wishing that I would proceed astrally to my next post, allowing them the further misuse of  my discarded body,  as their compost pile,  which these temporal revenuers, intend to enrich-en manually,  by using their penile implants to ejaculate ergot effluents anally and the forced feeding of their night soils mixed with a radioactive bacteria designed to combine with the effluents somewhere mid way-in the end, which will replicate rich redundant renal repositories, while rectally remitting reason, that will be used judiciously, if at all, after being sniffed and snorted by the Magistrates of  MMT.

Reason, something rarely used by governing officials and never while they are conducting self help clinics in morphing, for the spiritually spurned and handicapped Holy men on holiday, who hotly hallucinate, horny, humping, harlots, whose vision hypnotizes the ever shifty raconteurs to ramble recklessly, while rawly reaming, raucous researchers, who have reconstituted a treasonous patriotism, that they inject in their necks -mainlining the jugular, to begin engaging in secret manipulations of stocks, based on insider trading, while rushing heavily in red, white, and blue ecstasies, as a constant stream of joyous sexual expletives uttered in a tone of urgent need springs joyously from their lips, as they rub their engorged  members, each straining for attention, and longing for release, in the hot pursuit of their manifest destinies, as space penises, in an intergalactic quest to inseminate the heavens for God and Country, fucking the space time continuum into submission for the USA, with the bail outs and bonuses for their treasonous transgressions as applauded by the Senate, who now secretly fornicate with the still hallucinating clergymen, the holymen on holiday, they thinking they are engaged in carnal delights with humping harlots, in reality are being ass punked by whore-mongering Senators who will fuck up anything, as they urge on the transformed researchers to mate with angels in patriotic  fervor,  and to merge inwardly rubbing penises with an almost demonic abandon, all pushing on, ever contracting, into a spherical sexual implosion, resulting in a head of a pin that holds a myriad of angels dancing the tango in pontifical approval and the sacrilegious sanctions of the combined  ecclesiastical councils of heretics gathered in pious judgment on the ensuing  dancing contests of the heavenly angelic hosts, while being ravaged brutally, by our drug crazed researchers, the patriotic Penises.

Nothing could be found of the politicians or their holy-men on holiday, excepting a gelatinous mound of shit and they were deemed to have transcended into the heavens by the Ecclesiastical councils, on celebration of their union with the space penises,  

I can't help but laughing for all of the prissy pandering pimps, who fawn over transvestite asshole wimps, in vain hope of having something new to do, while waiting for their big moment that will definitively define, space and time, and promote primal answers to the secondary queries they've been parroting, while stifling queerly quixotic ambitions, to decipher lengthy lamentable legislation's longed for in fulfillment of scriptural doctrine, while dictating the morals of the moronic masses of voters, who placed them in office. Laws as found, that reek decisively of the cast off anal byproducts of fluctuating politicians, who wanted only to serve, after being serviced repeatedly by rosy cheeked cherub twinks and holy men on holiday          

These discarded sacrilegious blasphemies are dusted off, eaten,  then lovingly regurgitated for the proud public, by these prissy puking pandering pimps, as their own ideas, ideas that they've been longing to vote for, but were too telepathically correct to predict a landslide with a show of hands on their glands in polite company, fearful of being cast down  from the heavens for being fag whoring Republicans  who continue to publicly embrace their wives and families, while privately begging to be topped by muscled male models with massive appendages, dementedly dreaming of being torn in twain by large lesbian Lotharios, with strapped on cocks, who leeringly look, like licking lips, as they grind their loins, against lounging, lactating lions, lasciviously, soon lamenting the lack of a really good water based lubricant, one that won't stain their purloined panties, while their dried pussies puff with malicious portent, foretelling the future purulent proclivities, by pumped up puritans, who push them pertinaciously further, from the common killing grounds, with the other pilgrims at prayer who plead for the coming of their  messianic horticulturist, who is hung like a Hottentot, and whose heroes, hail hitlerian histories, while hoicking balls of polished snot, hugely, at very high humans, engaged in hooking their harried husbands, hurriedly, after heeding, heartless hypnotic harlots, who send them new horoscope hints,  that are hyperbolic heresies spawned in hell's hot, horny, heat, to hasten the heavenly host's final hearkening call for the holocaust at hand with hell.