DATING?

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I saw something very disturbing today on my computer. My computer and I have formed a tight bond most likely due to the lack of interesting or worthwhile people to occupy space and time with. But, I saw this disturbing set of words on my computer screen today. Normally I am able to say "OK computer, you can slack a little, but please, please, try to keep the spam to a minimum." Uh, thank you. Not today. I was hyper-focused on some set of demented microbe/cyber formations of words. I was trying to write a bit about something I know a lot about, when all of a sudden, a smaller block screen rose up in front of my project that wanted to know my interests. First off, I know my computer does not give a fuck about what I am interested in since I have to tell it where to go all the time. But, much worse were one of the options next to the check-box list of "supposed" limited interests: DATING? WHO THE FUCK FINDS DATING INTERESTING? What does one do on a date? Or is it before the date that is most um, interesting? Get dressed? Why get dressed for someone else? Let alone get in the shower. Really, Is there not more interesting things to do? And what is expected of one on a date? What is it? A date? Do people actually still do that? FUCK MAN! Sounds like a complete unnecessary mission. What is it? He pays for dinner and then she rewards him with a bit of pretense of procreation? Or is it go with other dates and have a date filled evening? What do they do? Go to the movies? The Bar? The hot dance club? Do they talk? What do they say? They must be incredibly uncomfortable or, more disgustingly, horny pigs. I think that horny pigs should just skip the date and fuck. I mean, if that is all two people want from each other, why waste time with all the boring lallygagging? People are so strange to me. Hot dates on a hot Friday night. Why is Friday such a big deal anyway? All the miserable nine to fivers get a measly two days away from slavery? What is it that makes the weekend "party-time?" Why not party everyday? Why wait? People make no sense to me I'm afraid. And flirting, now that is a crock of malarkey. All these little games people play. They take up so much time. Why is it so strange to me? It always has been. Yeah, hot date tonight. I'd rather pick my nose and read. Stab at my keyboard and see a world of words, that I control (usually), assemble before me like my head split open and my brains got sucked into the computer monitor and the knowledge and the horrid spelling these days make for unpleasant contrast. Hot Date? Get real. Boooooring. Stabbing and reading make more sense to me. HA!-Henry O'Malley  

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Hexastix V

Whoah, finally. I am able now. I am able to tell you about book V of the Hexastix. I ran my face under some cold water and washed my hands twice. Anyway, after I "defeated" all the tasks I was to undergo before admission to book V-The Justice Sticks I was thrown into some kind of trance. My recollection of what I experienced during this trance is confined to an informative voice. The voice was monotonous, yet hypnotic and easy on the ears. The voice began its monologue thus: Greetings believer and congratulations for your successful mastery of the five trials set before you. It is now time for you to partake in the knowledge of Hexastix: justice. Book V is always read aloud to the master of trials. It is accessible only to The First Voice of the Hexastix. We are no foolish pacifists. We take our culture very seriously and have no stomach for prejudice, ridicule, or violence. It is, however, perfectly justifiable to commit violence as an act of self-defense. If we are attacked, we do not stand and gape. HARK! Before justice is administered to the blackguard HARK I SAY!!! The Song of Allegiance to the Stick-people must resound before the deed, eye for an eye, but not to the point of stupidity.
                                             The Song of Allegiance to the Stick-people


Pity, pity, those that abuse us, for we are masters of a sacred valve: If that valve be beaten or ridiculed because of its nature, the perpetrator shall see hell. If you come upon us with weapons or blood-thirsty fists-these actions are returned in kind, but far more brutal as to express the exaggerated ignorance that crushes your skull and needles into your delusional brain.
CHANT:
"I've got my rights."
"I don't have to take that from you."
"Or do you not know that the sticks will judge the world?"
"I say this to your shame. Is it so, that there is not among you one wise man"
"You yourselves wrong and defraud"
"Now, satisfied with your iron fists and large weapons, you may feast upon the torment you have unjustifiably thrust unto the peaceful bodies and souls of my brethren and sister-en" 


Be careful what you say regarding the Stick-people.
Take care not to use physical violence, stupidly., against our minority.

Is this what you want?

Or perhaps this?

This is a possibility as well:

OR THIS?!

Sweet dreams! Ain't feelin' so superior? Tragic!
OR THIS!

Terrible cramping accompanied by a persistent sensation not unlike being stabbed in the balls.

Just quiet. Tact. Zip. It would make much more sense for you to genuflect before the invisible Father behind the stars than to use iron fists or any such advanced weaponry on my brethren and sister-en

DO YOU REALLY WANT THIS?.

  Hence the end of the fifth book of sticks-The Hexastix. Mind you, it is always unfortunate to have to take such stringent measures in order to preserve our dignity. The choice is yours. Think.

This information has been taken verbatim from the First Voice of the Hexastix. Watch yourself. Ignorance can kill you.

_Henry O'Malley

I Henry, unmedicated.

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March 28, 1986

Dear Piece of Paper,

I can see the movement of my mother’s mouth. I can hear her words. I understand them perfectly. But she is not here or there. She wrings her hands, says “Stop grimacing!” I know nothing of grimacing. The conductor waves his wand and the penetration of wavy grasses and orphan-like trees embrace the color red. The penetration is a tattoo. My mother has no tattoos, but she knows Jesus and is quite fond of Him. The sand causes the house to slide. No one knows, but the stick-people, and the barn wears the wind like a cross, He said “You can go now,” and so I retired to my room, alone, waiting for the right temperature.

FRAUD!!!!

Nice try Crooked Serpent.
You are kidding me!
Santa is Dead.

13 TRAPPED MINERS (a poem by Henry O'Malley)

When most people are wicked-
ain't that the truth-
coal must come to those
ne'er do wells by the thousands.
Millions, mining, accident, KILLED.
All for YOUR bad behavior.
Thousands of fatalities-
because all you people
are almost as bad as Caligula.
Merry Christmas.
Have fun at the mall
being ripped off
and forget about Christ...
only presents you think...
yeah, well, hell coal!
And the poor bastards
that had to dig it up for
your wretched stocking.
Merry Christmas.
Not even coal
would you get
if I were President.
Humanity=nothing for Christmas, not even coal.
MERRY MAKE BELIEVE DEVILRY!

I am Scatology: I am Scatology: I Love trash and disorder, therefore I function,

I am Scatology: I am Scatology: I Love trash and disorder, therefore I function,