I do not have transmitters in my brain or any stink-in' wang-dang paranoia-cysts. Everyone knows about thoses. No. I come from a different frontier altogether, but I was raised by ants. The queen was very demanding. We worked really hard. I do not like the pusher-man. His eyes are rocks and he kills the sky for ten bucks. They cut down the tree. This brought turmoil to my sense of self. The air became stale-like and thin. The lepers were all watching the game and I rode up on my steed with dire indifference. The boys had marbles streaming out of their cerebellums and the witch Mennonite teacher wagged her tale for the Lord to see: she said "shame." She said shame and the cops came and then the robbers pitched their tents in front of the pig station. It was a riot I tell you. It has been almost 70 years since I have seen the likes of positive action. See something? I don't see anything. My doctor asks me if I see things and I tell him where to go. If only he could stand in the corner. I slow down. I am slowing down. The lunatics get on my nerves. They pace like narcotic addicts. All tense. Oh Hebe! She is the slut amongst wolves. Crying out Jesusalmighty Son of God to you Mrs. Fucker. Fucked up brains oozing out melodramatically. Oh please. Stop this facade! HA! HA! HA!. Just like you to wince. Is it some kind of warning? Malachite shoots through the wires inside of me just like the next man. The white house-skeleton waits for God's hands to finish constructing it. I am so glad his hands are not broken and that he is an invisible man. Invisible anonymous. This is my name: HenryOMalley. Don't go to the swamp. A-MEN.
Nothing. It all means nothing. This is my name: OMalley I am going to see Jesus tonight. He is so much a zombie these days-back from the DEAD and all. I am going to see him play at the local bar for over-sized losers and basket-cases alcohol conundrum fallacy rock and roll good times. The End.
How to Make an Ex Miss you so Much He or She soils His or Her Britches.
Henry O’Malley walks us through life’s gut-wrenching, brutal, agonizing, wanting desperation of the Ex.
“I tell them to leave the “S” out of Ex, but they do not obey my command (good advice). What is it without the “S”? Boring right? Oh, yeah, like you two were ever going to survive on thoughtful discussion and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. You all make no sense. I try to do my best by contributing to humanity my insightful, yet detached opinion. It is not my fault if one does not take my advice and acts like a schmooze, an ape, an animal. Read and learn…otherwise turn away and cry…suffer your loss like a wounded buffalo.” –Henry O’Malley expert relationship manipulator PHD.
Make an Ex Miss You like a Big Douche!!!!
You've decided that you miss your ex’s raunch smellin’ bed sore mouth and now you want him or her to miss your whale-ass smellin’ toothache as well. Making your ex miss you is not an easy task. It can be 1.Difficult, or maybe even 2.Impossible.
You know your ex’s body well enough to know that he or she is a tight-assed lumberjack, but have you ever opened up his or her skull to experience the real DIFFICULT, COMPLICATED, weird-ass shit? Now, what will work and what won't. Take these steps and apply what I think will work for you.
Difficulty: Moderately Challenging
Instructions
1.Step 1
Play to their cerebral pulse. You know what makes your ex’s mind tick. There are certain things that you can do to show that you care about him or her. Do the things they fear the most, the things that indicate you are the dominant: After all, you are no joke, and really, does this chap or chippy have the gall to make you miserable. Strindberg, no. Oh nothing. You can also try to bring up the times you had him or her at your mercy. Yes, these memories that you share are very powerful and can induce an acute cataleptic state in the subordinate. The real work comes when your loved one is cataleptic. You must raise your voice and put your left hand over the area where your heart is embedded and scream “I call upon thee Roaring lion! Ruler of this world! Satan! Serpent! Son of the Morning! Spirit who now works in the sons of disobedience! Swine! Tempter! UNCLEAN Spirit! Wicked one! MY RIGHT LEG FOR HIS/HER SOUL!!!” be assertive. Be real. After all, who gives a hoot about a leg when you can CLAIM YOUR EX’S SOUL?
2.Step 2. Improve yourself.
It's time to step up your game. Nothing will make your ex miss you more than if he or she is made aware that you have finally showered and shaved after two-months. One sniff of dove or ivory or herbal assaults shall have them see that you are doing better than they are. Take a self inventory and see what you can scrub. Don’t think too hard! Think about your confidence, your style and your appeal. Dove, ivory, shampoo. We ain’t dealin’ wit no smell-ass loser now are we?
3. Step 3. Improve your looks.
After you improve yourself take a look in the mirror. UGH!!!! Would a haircut help? Probably not. You need to lose weight. What can you do to make an improvement? A fast improvement? You’re stressed out? Well, that is only part of the fun of being emotionally entangled. Your worth is always in your looks, but showering will at least help you get noticed.
4.Step 4. Make them see what they are missing. Now that you have shown them you care and made, well, some improvements, its time to show your ex what they are missing. Let them see you slightly more often the partial new you.
5.Step 5. Act like you don't care.
It's a tough act to put on, but it is part of the game you have to play to make your ex miss you. By now you've already showed that you care, but now you have to stop acting like it. Stealth. Hiding behind the drapery naked in the room in which your ex is performing the act of copulation with someone else is always alarming. An attention-getter for sure. Just before you sense the height of climax (for one, both, one or the other) jump out from behind your hideout and crash the chandelier screaming: “Father of lies! God of this World! LEVIATHAN! LIAR! Lucifer! Lying spirit! Mephistopheles! Murderer! Old serpent! Piercing serpent! I BANG MY BREASTS (bang your breasts) LEST YOU FORFEIT THIS PETTY KNAVERY!!”
6. Step 6. Be happy and positive
Never be down or depressed. Your ex will think that your breakup didn't bother you and soil his pants all the way to China. They will be drawn to the fact that you seem like you are ok and it’s no big deal. Just make sure to have your nervous breakdowns and pent up frustrations in the duvet: without the other present of course. You know?
7.Step 7. Start dating someone else.
Once your ex is completely enamored with you, and you have given him or her just a tease of a taste of your succulent woman or male faculties, start dating someone else. It’s time to move on and I can assure you, with high probability, your ex will miss you far more than you ever dreamed possible and end up committed for emotional trauma the remainder of his or her life. So! Nothing to worry! No Tommy-rot in the sac with good ole’ exy. The med-staff is rarely attracted to a slobbering invalid. Unless of course….well..nevermind.
8.Step 8. Screw everyone.
You now have free reign. ATTACK! Have scummy brutal sex with anyone that brushes your shoulder accidentally with their tongue. Take pictures. Smile a lot. Keep the shower maintenance all dove and Irish spring. Go to visit your ex, yes, there slobbering and moaning sorrows, unable to walk for lack of nourishment. Wheel your ex to the garden of the asylum and say very positively: “My! The petunias have blossomed! But no flower could be more delightful than a few pictures that have recorded my last escapades.” And with that said reveal the intimate and rather dirty (shame on you!) photographs of yourself in several different positions of delinquent ecstasy writhing in the sweat of your rather attractive partner. Say a few words to ward off any suffering: reassure him or her that their body parts are, and always will be far dandier than those other blackguards you seduce.
9.Step 9. The trauma in the wheelchair has soiled his or her britches. This is your exit. A quick peck on the neck (slight tongue brush) and all is well!
Okay! All should be fair weather with you! Just heed my advice! Have fun! Never doubt the words of an expert. I’m certified; therefore I know what is best. Here is my card in case you get into a rut and need some healthy cheer-leading! Lex Talionis!
Little Asylum on the Prairie. Stabilize and assess. Stabilize and assess. Acute schizophrenic episode chemically restrained with 50mg-25mg injections of thorazine, a “typical’ antipsychotic, given at intervals, the timing I cannot recall. Thorazine found Henry, submerged in the deep mass of antichrist: dissolved the infestation of I Frank the Master. I, Henry, was temporarily exorcised and freed, even in my state of catatonia, quite naked, submissive yet apathetic, mute. My eyes fixed on a certain point, but not seeing: the object was no object, just a stationary backdrop that had no name, color, shape, or purpose. Voices: professionals, assistants, volunteers, sometimes a practicing Mennonite, covered in layers of sterile air, mildly raised or dropped, hummed, lulled, never reached any perceptual logic or conclusion. In fact, the Henry of the future would most likely describe this past state, or lack of state, much like an involuntary vacation. Nothingness. Vapid. Vacuous. Non-being. An empty body chemically confined to a generic hospital bed, but nevertheless, FREED, from that awful raucous of the mind and body. Who would think this medication coma pleasant? Most relate such experiences to nightmares. But, to me, after months of deterioration, and the climax, an episode of acute violent schizophrenic outburst, the Delusion/ Evil entity I Frank the Master’s grand appearance and usurpation of all my faculties, this coma was not unlike having access or permission to a boat during The Flood. -Henry O'Malley
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
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.
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 hiswand and the penetration ofwavy 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 toslide. 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 righttemperature.
I have a brain. A body (of sorts). Two arms. Two hands (one for each arm). I write. I write. I think. A lot. I read. A hell of a lot. I make stunning graphic designs. Music: always a necessity. Sanity: not at liberty to say.
The flag is evil Welcome: living leg-end I was walking down the street I saw a poster at the top I was only on one leg The streets were fucked And the poster at the top of street said: “Do you work hard?” I was only on one leg The road hadn't been fixed I had to be in for half six I was only on one leg My blue eyelids were not (?) There was a curfew at half nine For my kids There was a poster at the top of the street Encapsulated in plastic It had a blind man So I said: “Blind man, have mercy on me.” I said: “Blind man, have mercy on me.” The flat is evil and full of cavalry and Calvary And calvary and cavalry. “Do you work hard?” It said, “I am from Hebden Bridge. Somebody said to me: I can't understand a word you said." Said: “99% of non smokers die” “Do you work hard?” “Do you work hard?” I was walking down the street And saw a picture of a blind man The flat is evil Of core? cavalry and calvary Of core(?) Blind man, have mercy on me Said, blind man, have mercy on me ?? I am a ? My blues eye get…ID/I get My curfew was due half eight Now its half past six My curfew is at 9:30 I said. “Do you?” Blind man! Have mercy on me Blind man! Have mercy on me Blind man! Have mercy on me I’m on one leg My eyes can’t get fixed And my kids Can’t blue eyes get fixed Blind man! Have mercy on me Blind man! Have mercy on me
BLINDNESS (Peel session version)
And all humans Cavalry or calvary And not a drop of water Or paper Or paper J.W. said "walking bass, walking bass" Don't forget, don't forget He expected Aristotle Onasis But instead he got Mr James Fennings from Prestwick, in Cumbria Do you... reflect this evil? Thought of cavalry and calvary His first appearance was on Moscow Road The poster came at first At first I thought it was just a poster I was talking to James Seymour Eyes wide open The neck was slightly dislocated But then I walked up the street There was a repellent plastic Said poster with a picture Do you work? I was on one leg At the top of the street There was a poster A plastic front From Moscow Road it came From Deansgate it came From Narnack Records it came I was on one leg I had to be in by 9.30 I said walking bass Paper times 2 Paper times 2 Paper everywhere and not a drop of water to be seen I said I was by the ocean I saw a poster I am [?] I am [?] Everywhere I look I see a blind man I see a blind man Everywhere I look I see a... I can't get my eyes checked My blues eyes can't get checked I'm only one leg I said to poster, "When's the curfew over? I said, "Blind man, have mercy on me." I said, "Blind man, have mercy on me." Blind man have mercy on me Oh Great One I am a mere receptacle The egg tester for your sandlewood and other assorted woods In dark green Blind man have mercy on me I got a metal leg - truth Flat is the evil of calvary and cavalry
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Play to their cerebral pulse. You know what makes your ex’s mind tick. There are certain things that you can do to show that you care about him or her. Do the things they fear the most, the things that indicate you are the dominant: After all, you are no joke, and really, does this chap or chippy have the gall to make you miserable. Strindberg, no. Oh nothing. You can also try to bring up the times you had him or her at your mercy. Yes, these memories that you share are very powerful and can induce an acute cataleptic state in the subordinate. The real work comes when your loved one is cataleptic. You must raise your voice and put your left hand over the area where your heart is embedded and scream “I call upon thee Roaring lion! Ruler of this world! Satan! Serpent! Son of the Morning! Spirit who now works in the sons of disobedience! Swine! Tempter! UNCLEAN Spirit! Wicked one! MY RIGHT LEG FOR HIS/HER SOUL!!!” be assertive. Be real. After all, who gives a hoot about a leg when you can CLAIM YOUR EX’S SOUL?
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