--BLOODSTAINED--
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[21.07.2001 @ 15:06 pm]
I must say, I am something of a... fuck. Well I at least completed the
most horrid Megalo assignment ever thought up, well, right behind Urban
Ningas nightmare trip to England. I have, through nothing less than sheer
and awesome willpower, voyaged across the USA to the east coast, then ventured
into the confusing and dangerous lands of French run Canada with not a single
thought of my own saftey in mind. From the deep south to stale north I was
abused, confused, and I think my IQ is only now recovering enough to be
above 110 at this very moment (no biggy really, I have drugs to recoupe
those many lost points if they fail to return on their own). Hmmm, where
was I. FUCK.
I can at least report that megalo domination is rampant in most areas that I
visited. I can also report that for some odd reason there is a very high
percentage of hot girls in Salem, Mass. Go figure. In fact I was getting
close to loosing my wits, and at one point when I caught the eye of one
young lass I couldn't help but let loose one hell of a large shit-eating grin,
which she didn't seem to mind (thank goodness, the last thing I needed was
an incident).
So for all my three weeks worth of travels I have seen that megalo is driving
along nicely down its highway to hell and terrestrial vengence, and... well
fuck I am tired, this is all you get.
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[09.07.2001 @ 10:51 am]
I was offered unreasonable amounts of crack cocaine in exchange for relinquishing the Megalomaniacal Party's power in America to George "Dubbya" yesterday. I refused. Then he offered me beautiful women as sex slaves. I refused. He told me he would give me a handjob himself. Of course I fucking refused.
Then he really began to get serious: he offered me discount coupons, floor tiling, an antique bathtub, the contents of George Bush Sr.'s liquor cabinet, the virginity of his daughters... yet through all of these temptations, I refused. He offered me success, he offered me a wife, he offered me popularity, he offered me applause, he offered me a Lamborghini Diablo. I refused. He offered me a trip to Tahiti, all expenses paid, with as many of those little drinks with umbrellas in them as I could ever drink. I refused.
He offered me the sky, he offered me the earth below, being comprised of tectonic plates. He told me these plates were not good for dinner, but much better for world domination. But this was George "Dubbya" so I paid him no heed. I refused. He offered me hell, he offered me heaven, but I just gave him the finger and cried out:
I FUCKING REFUSE!
EAT MY PENIS!
I heard your question before you thought it. "Why would you refuse all of these wonderful things, Allah Dhakbar?" The answer is quite simple. What would I be with all of this? I would be somebody. As of now, I am an absolute nobody.
Against the tide of social integration, against the onslaught of false values and fabricated lifestyles, I have the lonely task of holding enough courage to be an absolute nobody. I will not be trained like an animal at the circus. I will not love applause, I will not love praise, I will not feel warm and fuzzy inside because somebody else wants to show that they appreciate what I've done. I will not pour one bit of my spirit into any of the things I'm told I have to approach with full-hearted effort; not school, not work, nothing. I will live for nothing I have been told to live for, because all that I've been told is rubbish.
No man is an island? I'll show them better. I'm a fucking continent in and of myself, vaster than any expanse imagined by mankind, more beautiful and rich and ruthless and kind than any land on this Earth. You are all welcome to visit. However, if you do visit, do not upset the natives; they are vengeful buggers and will retaliate. If you visit, do not leave your trash here. If you want to visit but do not comply by the law of the land, then I and the land (which are one in the same) will refuse you.
This internal landscape does have relevance to the rest of Megalomaniacal. This is the Land of Grandeur, the place of residence for GDI. It is where dreams are manufactured into nightmares and where ideas we've consumed are regurgitated for presentation. Grandeur is in all who rally behind the Megalomaniacal banner. It sucks that script is only in halitus' Grandeur, though. I wanna meet that fool.
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I own the rights to infinity.
by dhakbar
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[19.06.2001 @ 11:55 am]
The infinite summer... infinite empty, infinite heat, infinite boredom. Infinite pot smoking.
This is the infinite summer, and I don't know what to do during it. It's never going to end and I'm never going to have purpose. Perhaps one day I'll just have to break my head open and let my brains cook on the pavement just like an egg. Yes, that will solve the problem of the infinite summer. But harken! Is that not the sweet sound I think it is?
Thank GDI! It is nothing other than my very own cyborg monkey assassin, and he's drunk as fuck. Damn cyborg monkey assassins... they always get all the chicks. It's cool to have a cyborg monkey assassin companion this summer, but I know I won't be getting any girls 'cause they'll have a hard time seeing past that handsome little simian.
I witnessed a rupture in space-time yesterday. The fabric of existence was torn, and through the tear, I saw Sid Vicious. He reached his hand through, gave me his hand to shake, so I did. It was covered in his phlegm. Mother FUCKER! He tried to grab my hand hard and use my weight to walk back through the tear in space-time, but I wasn't going to let some mother fucker who gave me a "surprise" handshake live again! I booted him back into obscurity.
I wonder what John Lennon thinks about me thinking about him right now...
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My Future is Not Now, it is Later
by halitus
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[15.06.2001 @ 11:29 pm]
The aforementioned what? If it were all decided already then what the fuck am
I doing leveling mid-range condos to put in control systems for offshore missle
silos? Ah, I knew you wouldn't know. Anyhow, hopefully we will get enough
motivation to order some runner to hook us up properly on a box with a real
domain, but who knows, we can be exceptionally lazy when we don't get our
daily quota of kills.
On a side note, can you belive the Upstart, the very one who pioneered our
prototype cyborg-monkey-assasins, is having to have a bit of minor surgery?
I'll leave you to guess what exactally is being operated upon...
No fear though, he will be back ASAP to finish the art for our new section,
which I am sure is all he can think about while he is laid up on painkillers.
Hmm, laid up and painkiller in the same sentence; do I hear Dhakbar working on
another Uncle Pam?
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Movin', groovin', losin' delusion...
by dhakbar
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[11.06.2001 @ 5:05 pm]
The Moon and Antarctica is the album.
"Gravity Rides Everything" by Modest Mouse
Oh gotta see, gotta know right now
What's that riding on your everything?
It isn't anything at all
Oh gotta see, gotta know right now
What's that writing on your shelf
In the bathrooms and the bad motels?
No one really cared for it at all
Not the gravity plan
Early, early in the morning
It pulls all on down my sore feet
I wanna go back to sleep
In the motions and the things that you say
It all will fall, fall right into place
As fruit drops, flesh it sags
Everything will fall right into place
When we die, some sink and some lay
But at least I don't see you float away
And all the spilt milk, sex and weight
It all will fall, fall right into place
If you'd like the aforementioned album, come to the Ogg Vorbis opennap server and browse my files. I am almost always online.
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Wake up and smell your demise!
by halitus
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[06.09.2001 @ 11:19 am]
Sometimes... sometimes... yeah, actually many many many times, I am totally
awe striken by the amount of help we get taking over world culture, and thus
the entire world. Why just today I heard that Warner Home Video is making it
so that you cannot play a DVD in a regionless player by adding a script to
the actual dvd itself. How does this help us? Well you see, unlike in my
lovely drug hazed world of Grandeur, the people of the US mainly, and Earth in
general, like to form groups and such to stand up for consumer, human, even
animals rights. Now these club-footed bozos have about as much tact as a
bulldozer when it comes to trying to own thier part of the market, let alone
the world.
Soon enough the masses will be flocking to megalo as their saviour, grabbing
GDI products by the handful, never knowing how we are screwing them (not
in quality mind you, for what do we care if you play a DVD anywhere you want?)
into funding the megalo-war-machine which is bound to take over everything.
Oh no, you might be saying, I have you now you silly bastard, you just told
us your plan. Well, nobody reads this silly page as far as I know. And
besides, "I have no recoloection of those events/writings/documents/etc..."
seems to work well enough for the worlds politicians, so why not me?
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Trouble upon the port bow! Hard starboard!
by dhakbar
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[30.05.2001 @ 12:33 am]
Ahaaarrrr, matey, we be approachin' rough waters, ye' see?! We got the Western tide receding like my pa's hairline; we got the Eastern tide coming back after a blasted long hiatus... what does an old sea dog like dhakbar do? An old sea dog like dhakbar don't be knowin' a thing about a situation like this. All dhakbar knows is that he longs for the days back when ships was ships, riches was riches, wine was wine, and whores was whores.
** scratchy-sounding half-laugh, half-cough **
So, sonny, why don't ya' buy me an ale and I'll spin ya' a tale? Ah-haaaaah!
** cough, cough **
Born to sail, sail for Megalomanical. Viva la Megalomaniacal!
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Pullin' strings, doin' things, bein' kings
by dhakbar
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[25.05.2001 @ 10:50 am]
Big news, big news! Apparently, Sen. Jim Jeffords (R) is crossing party lines to the independent side, but only after Congress finishes their compromise tax cut plan. What a beautiful plan of ours this is. You see, Jeffords is the proverbial man-in-the-pocket.
No, not a reference to genitals.
You see, Jeffords will declare himself an independent soon and not long afterwards, he will found the Megalomaniacal Party in the United States. The Megalomaniacal Party will quickly spread across our Federal government like a plague, enveloping every position and destroying all those who may oppose. Some may ask us, "What motive do you guys have for that?" To which we will eternally reply, "Yes."
People shouldn't ask us about our plans. You don't go around asking the Mafia about their plans, now do you? If you did, would you expect to keep all of your appendages? I sure wouldn't. Now scurry off before Sven II gets too fiesty. He don't take kindly to yer type...
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Bradbury wrote Farenheit 451...
by dhakbar
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[13.5.2001 @ 12:18 am]
The great and powerful dhakbar is posting this from the environment of bloodpost v1.2.3, apparently. I must say that this is preferable to doing all of this shit manually, though it could be more convenient. That's okay, though. If I have made nothing better, I shall not bitch.
At one time in my long life, I was a farmer. I grew all kinds of things like Fruit Roll-Ups and bubble gums of differing varieties, but by far my preferred crop was the bradberry, as in Ray "Bradberry" whose name I do know how to spell. Anyhow, I had 40 acres of bradberries growing on my farm, and this angered somebody. His name was Brad, surprisingly enough.
He pulled up next to me on his souped-up riding lawnmower, screamed some obscenities, told me I was infringing upon his copyright of namesake, and then proceeded to punch me in the face. Now, I ain't a fightin' man, but I had to retaliate somehow. Luckily for me and unluckily for him, I was armed with one of my favorite weapons. I had an ice pick.
So I stuck him through the stomach with the ice pick. He looked at me with surprised eyes, and in response to his surprise, I spit in his face and told him I'd next see him in the afterlife. I then let him know that he was at Death's door, knocking loudly, and that Death was a light sleeper. He soon bled to death, and now I've another murder on my hands.
I felt guilty for about 15 minutes, right up until the point when I returned to my home after disposing of his body in the waste furnace and took a sip of the sweet nectar of the gods, bradberry juice. Aahhhh, it was all worthwhile.
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[05.05.2001 @ 11:30 am]
I reformated because no one got my last post. You know, I am just too damn smart an innovative for
people. I guess that is why I have to rule them. Or make cool plans to rule them for me, because
I am the Savant of Occult and Inventive knowledge. Excluding the art of spelling words correctly,
but that is beyond my point. You people should bow at the site of this page, for it is you forum for
life. Live and die by the Code, HTML in this case. Just give me lots of money to build robots that
will infest the Earth, so I don't have to carry you socially-gimped people on my shoulders like the
little spider monkeys you all are. Now do you understand why we use spider and reese monkeys? They don't
complain. They had that reflexive action stripped from them after too many dinosaurs ate them. You people,
damn it, stop complaining and I might not infest the world with those electronically oppressing pricks. Oh
yes, the Upstart is now wanting you to buy tickets for the fundraiser at his work. You must, because that is
the first step to your salvation. I am the telemarketer of DOOM.
On a lighter note, I became a Pentacostal. They are all really nice and taught me a new trick, typing in
tounge! Crazy, eh? I think this is Old English.
The Proof:
[11:03] [Upstart] Dentaka Un portriska
[11:04] [Upstart] K, pelked por keylentia
[11:04] [Upstart] Y, Una rubilak xer tablek upiohm Elxkier
Merry Cinco De Mayo. Is that how you spell May in Spanish? Damn I wish I knew. They do cool stuff compared
to Americans. Well, I guess we both just blow shit up cause we blew someone else up a long time ago. Blah, Who knows? |
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[01.05.2001 @ 12:30 am]
And the room full of drunks exploded into laughter. Apparently, Bob had covered himself in his own vomit, red from the wine he drank. So we carried Bob out to the curb and laid him out. I knew at that moment that there was only option - open heart surgery.
I felt like Macguyver as I sharpened the stick by rubbing it on the ground, forming my makeshift surgical knife. I got it pretty sharp, too... I think it was mahogany or some other hard wood. Having a knife, I then made my first incision. Oh, shit. That's a lot of blood. Oops.
So Bob was dead. But how could anyone expect me to perform the surgery? It's not like I've had any training in it, just what I've seen on TLC. I gave it my best effort, and that's all that matters, damn it. We went to the next bar and everything was cool. We discussed the possibility that his wife may inquire as to his whereabouts, but quickly drowned our sorrows out with some more of the 151.
The next week, we found his skull, picked clean by the rats (the rats around here were 8 lb. monstrosities) and bleached by the sun. We decided to cut the top of his cranium off, for use as an ashtray. I got to keep that part. Horace kept Bob's teeth... he said something about black market dentistry. Manuel was going to keep the lower jaw, but he got all hissy when Horace took the teeth and said that 'it wouldn't matter to get the jaw because there were no teeth and why would someone want a jawbone with no teeth?'
So I use Bob's head as an ashtray these days. It's sad, really. I mean, shit... this is the best damned ashtray I've ever had. It's unfortunate that I don't have anything that nice to say about Bob when he was alive. I guess it's all about perspectives. And that's why I married your Grandmother, little Hector.
Reagan's Alzheimer's is getting pretty bad... |
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[29.04.2001 @ 4:36 am]
As I was posting last time I saw this neat thing on my NetZero consumerist death display.
Oh yes, it bores me to death with slow connections. Oh yes, it amazes me with how slow
it goes. And, Oh yes, it slows down an Athlon processor. Oh yes, it is grand. But, back
to the end of civilization.
This images of animation has a bit of significance to all here at megalomaniacal. You see,
a while ago Mr. Neck-Envy himself, Defunkt, a.k.a. the all knowing magical ICEE man we now
him as (though his damn store doesn't carry Bidis. Rip off,eh?), wrote up a post on our friends
in Austrailia: Nad's Hair Removing company. The made many-a-kangaroos bald and wishing they had
hair for there Na...Nah, I can't do it. It is way to damn easy. Anyway. I thought this hair
obsession crap was over. But no! Now we want hair instead of getting rid of it. Whats next?
The return of the steroid induced women's beard? Vogue here we come. Look of the century.
Now I could see usefullness for grafting hair into lets say George W. Bush to make him look
even more like Satan himself. But that might be over kill. I don't know. Wait. What if
I shave that knuckle? Nope. Hey, do you remember that one night in the hotel? The legs of
HBO. Hmm. Maybe a new fetish? That would be insane. Crazy porn with like "Our furry ring-legged
models do stuff". Crazy. It wouldn't happen, and frankly I am disgusted that I thought of that.
Anyway, with the world the way it is, and everything, maybe I should be a person that goes
bald in protest of these crazy grafting experiments? Nope, for I own the damn company.
I just wanted to do a shamless plug on this corporate forum. Or maybe not. I don't know, its
4:35 in the morning. |
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[29.04.2001 @ 4:19 am]
Arrrggg. And yet the Upstart can sleep no more. For the third day in a row. Sleep. This
is dumb. I try and I cannot close my eyes and forget and just pass out into where
ever the hell you go when you are there. Maybe something is wrong in my life? That is
what some suggest. Its wrong. Nothing is wrong.
'Cept for that cluster of warts developing on my left middle knuckle.
Oh yea, and I refuse to sleep.
Hmmm, Oh yea, Bafatu gets his T-Shirt tommorrow. Maybe. I don't know. Eh,
I need a phone call. Yes. Wait, where do I work again? No that doesn't make any
logical sense at all. The nasal allergy season of the soul. That is what is happening
to the Upstart.
You see, alot of dust has collected and that it needs to be washed away with other things
that cause irritable membranes. Why? 'Cause my brain doesn't know these things. It is a
genetic reflex in the analouge corridors of my mind. Yes, dust, pollen (seeds of existence),
theatrical spores, and, most importantly, the all evil Dr. Mario viruses. I am sick and
pissed off. And yet I cannot sleep.
And I part with a question that baffles all: Why? |
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