Discussion:
What about the 30th Anniversary?
(too old to reply)
scottamerica
2004-01-10 23:33:57 UTC
Permalink
As we speak they're editing and preparing the awesome video that was shot on
me proclaiming my exuberance for the CalJam 30th Anniversary. I don't know;
that may be it. I tried getting assistance from the City of Ontario but
nothing doing there.

My newfound Angel has high hopes for me in other areas. So we may be looking
at a CalJam 31st instead of a 30th at this point I don't know. I *do* know
the finished product of that video we did is gonna be bitchin', and there's
gonna be reruns of it throughout the entire year.

Who knows what's gonna happen when that video segment airs? Who's gonna see
it when it appears for the first time later this month in conjunction with
NAMM? And subsequent times?

Scott
The CalJam Daddy
Still the Battle Rages
2004-01-10 23:43:39 UTC
Permalink
PARODY TIME
"scottamerica" <***@ixpres.com> wrote in message news:***@news.vic.com...
As we speak they're editing and preparing the awesome gay video that was
shot by
me proclaiming my sexuality. I don't know;
that may be it. I tried getting assistance from the City of Ontario but
there not going there.

My newfound Angel/ lover/ director has high hopes for me in other areas.
So we may be looking
at a small ranch near the mountains. Rings are definately on our list. But
at this point I don't know. I *do* know
the finished product of that gay video we did is gonna be bitchin', and
there's
gonna be reruns of it throughout the entire year.

Who knows what's gonna happen when that video segment airs? Who's gonna see
it when it appears for the first time later this month in conjunction with
NAMM? National Alliance of Mental Meatheads And subsequent times?

Scott
The Tranvestite Video Daddy
damon
2004-01-11 00:13:12 UTC
Permalink
Post by Still the Battle Rages
PARODY TIME
As we speak they're editing and preparing the awesome gay video that was
shot by
me proclaiming my sexuality. I don't know;
that may be it. I tried getting assistance from the City of Ontario but
there not going there.
My newfound Angel/ lover/ director has high hopes for me in other areas.
So we may be looking
at a small ranch near the mountains. Rings are definately on our list. But
at this point I don't know. I *do* know
the finished product of that gay video we did is gonna be bitchin', and
there's
gonna be reruns of it throughout the entire year.
Who knows what's gonna happen when that video segment airs? Who's gonna see
it when it appears for the first time later this month in conjunction with
NAMM? National Alliance of Mental Meatheads And subsequent times?
Scott
The Tranvestite Video Daddy
Another slappy clone bites the dust.

**PLONK**
Still the Battle Rages
2004-01-11 06:52:50 UTC
Permalink
Another slappy clone bites the dust.

**PLONK**

Ii must be mistaken. I thought you meant you were a wereo boy clone. Not
that I was a Slappy Clone. I don't bite dust but you can bite this.
scottamerica
2004-01-11 10:32:43 UTC
Permalink
Post by damon
Post by Still the Battle Rages
PARODY TIME
As we speak they're editing and preparing the awesome gay video that was
shot by
me proclaiming my sexuality. I don't know;
that may be it. I tried getting assistance from the City of Ontario but
there not going there.
My newfound Angel/ lover/ director has high hopes for me in other areas.
So we may be looking
at a small ranch near the mountains. Rings are definately on our list.
But
Post by Still the Battle Rages
at this point I don't know. I *do* know
the finished product of that gay video we did is gonna be bitchin', and
there's
gonna be reruns of it throughout the entire year.
Who knows what's gonna happen when that video segment airs? Who's gonna
see
Post by Still the Battle Rages
it when it appears for the first time later this month in conjunction
with
Post by Still the Battle Rages
NAMM? National Alliance of Mental Meatheads And subsequent times?
Scott
The Tranvestite Video Daddy
Another slappy clone bites the dust.
**PLONK**
bwahahahahaa :o

Scott :-)
scottamerica
2004-01-11 10:32:21 UTC
Permalink
Post by Still the Battle Rages
PARODY TIME
As we speak they're editing and preparing the awesome gay video that was
shot by
me proclaiming my sexuality. I don't know;
that may be it. I tried getting assistance from the City of Ontario but
there not going there.
My newfound Angel/ lover/ director has high hopes for me in other areas.
So we may be looking
at a small ranch near the mountains. Rings are definately on our list. But
at this point I don't know. I *do* know
the finished product of that gay video we did is gonna be bitchin', and
there's
gonna be reruns of it throughout the entire year.
Who knows what's gonna happen when that video segment airs? Who's gonna see
it when it appears for the first time later this month in conjunction with
NAMM? National Alliance of Mental Meatheads And subsequent times?
Scott
The Tranvestite Video Daddy
That's mee awl mee I guess! hahahaha :o

Scott :-)
King of the DP Culture of Old
slumpy
2004-01-11 00:00:15 UTC
Permalink
Voicing an opinion as worthless as a wino at a wedding, scottamerica
postulated...
Post by scottamerica
As we speak they're editing
"Hey Joe, you got that tape that fat guy pushed on ya ?"
"Durr, hang on Harry, I think so...yeah here it is..."
"Why d'ya think he gave it to /us/ ?"
"Ah dunno Harry, I just went behind that TV recorder van thing to take a
leak, and I look round and this fat sweaty guy is watchin me..."
"Yeah ?"
"Yeah, and when I tried to get past him, he started gibberin like a little
monkey, somethin about jam and weirdos or somethin. Then he pushed this tape
into my trouser pocket. He sure left his hand in there a long time, hur
hur..."
"Ok, hit play.....is this for real ?"
"Ah dunno Harry, ah never seen nobody that fat before, he's like a whelpin
hog..."
"Oh boy this is so funny....man I can't wait to show this to the guys at
work. Look at that fuckin jacket !! Man he barely got through that door
then....and what's he going on about ?"
"Ah dunno Harry, it all sounds a bit like a little monkey, all excited
like..."
"He must be Canadian, he keeps goin on about Ontario, and hey you wuz right,
he keeps mentioning jam and weirdos. Did he just say he was a weirdoboy ?
Does that mean he fucks guys ?"
"Ah dunno Harry, but he shore looks queer to me. Bet he'd shore squeal like
a big old pig..."
"How many times has he said the word 'jam' ? A hundred ? He sure must like
jam, no wonder he's so fat....and look at the sweat...man it must be hard
for that girl standing behind him....oh man she just fainted clean
away!...is he /really/ going to eat all that himself ? Is that bird laughing
at him behind his back ? It sure looks like it, look, that little parrot
over there...."
"Come on Harry, turn it off, it's makin me feel sick watching him
eat...fuckin weirdoboy"

<click>
--
slumpy
no more
no less
just me
TheGeneral43
2004-01-11 04:20:47 UTC
Permalink
Post by scottamerica
As we speak they're editing
"Hey Joe, you got that tape that fat guy pushed on ya ?"
"Durr, hang on Harry, I think so...yeah here it is..."
"Why d'ya think he gave it to /us/ ?"
"Ah dunno Harry, I just went behind that TV recorder van thing to take a
leak, and I look round and this fat sweaty guy is watchin me..."
"Yeah ?"
"Yeah, and when I tried to get past him, he started gibberin like a little
monkey, somethin about jam and weirdos or somethin. Then he pushed this tape
into my trouser pocket. He sure left his hand in there a long time, hur
hur..."
"Ok, hit play.....is this for real ?"
"Ah dunno Harry, ah never seen nobody that fat before, he's like a whelpin
hog..."
"Oh boy this is so funny....man I can't wait to show this to the guys at
work. Look at that fuckin jacket !! Man he barely got through that door
then....and what's he going on about ?"
"Ah dunno Harry, it all sounds a bit like a little monkey, all excited
like..."
"He must be Canadian, he keeps goin on about Ontario, and hey you wuz right,
he keeps mentioning jam and weirdos. Did he just say he was a weirdoboy ?
Does that mean he fucks guys ?"
"Ah dunno Harry, but he shore looks queer to me. Bet he'd shore squeal like
a big old pig..."
"How many times has he said the word 'jam' ? A hundred ? He sure must like
jam, no wonder he's so fat....and look at the sweat...man it must be hard
for that girl standing behind him....oh man she just fainted clean
away!...is he /really/ going to eat all that himself ? Is that bird laughing
at him behind his back ? It sure looks like it, look, that little parrot
over there...."
"Come on Harry, turn it off, it's makin me feel sick watching him
eat...fuckin weirdoboy"
<click>
Man, this is so funny. ROTFL!!!!
scottamerica
2004-01-11 10:34:08 UTC
Permalink
Post by slumpy
Voicing an opinion as worthless as a wino at a wedding, scottamerica
postulated...
Post by scottamerica
As we speak they're editing
"Hey Joe, you got that tape that fat guy pushed on ya ?"
"Durr, hang on Harry, I think so...yeah here it is..."
"Why d'ya think he gave it to /us/ ?"
"Ah dunno Harry, I just went behind that TV recorder van thing to take a
leak, and I look round and this fat sweaty guy is watchin me..."
"Yeah ?"
"Yeah, and when I tried to get past him, he started gibberin like a little
monkey, somethin about jam and weirdos or somethin. Then he pushed this tape
into my trouser pocket. He sure left his hand in there a long time, hur
hur..."
"Ok, hit play.....is this for real ?"
"Ah dunno Harry, ah never seen nobody that fat before, he's like a whelpin
hog..."
"Oh boy this is so funny....man I can't wait to show this to the guys at
work. Look at that fuckin jacket !! Man he barely got through that door
then....and what's he going on about ?"
"Ah dunno Harry, it all sounds a bit like a little monkey, all excited
like..."
"He must be Canadian, he keeps goin on about Ontario, and hey you wuz right,
he keeps mentioning jam and weirdos. Did he just say he was a weirdoboy ?
Does that mean he fucks guys ?"
"Ah dunno Harry, but he shore looks queer to me. Bet he'd shore squeal like
a big old pig..."
"How many times has he said the word 'jam' ? A hundred ? He sure must like
jam, no wonder he's so fat....and look at the sweat...man it must be hard
for that girl standing behind him....oh man she just fainted clean
away!...is he /really/ going to eat all that himself ? Is that bird laughing
at him behind his back ? It sure looks like it, look, that little parrot
over there...."
"Come on Harry, turn it off, it's makin me feel sick watching him
eat...fuckin weirdoboy"
<click>
--
slumpy
no more
no less
just me
I'll read this someday, yeah. Chirpy's chirpin' yeah...

Scott :-)
TheGeneral43
2004-01-11 19:43:45 UTC
Permalink
Post by slumpy
Post by slumpy
Voicing an opinion as worthless as a wino at a wedding, scottamerica
postulated...
Post by scottamerica
As we speak they're editing
"Hey Joe, you got that tape that fat guy pushed on ya ?"
"Durr, hang on Harry, I think so...yeah here it is..."
"Why d'ya think he gave it to /us/ ?"
"Ah dunno Harry, I just went behind that TV recorder van thing to take a
leak, and I look round and this fat sweaty guy is watchin me..."
"Yeah ?"
"Yeah, and when I tried to get past him, he started gibberin like a little
monkey, somethin about jam and weirdos or somethin. Then he pushed this
tape
Post by slumpy
into my trouser pocket. He sure left his hand in there a long time, hur
hur..."
"Ok, hit play.....is this for real ?"
"Ah dunno Harry, ah never seen nobody that fat before, he's like a whelpin
hog..."
"Oh boy this is so funny....man I can't wait to show this to the guys at
work. Look at that fuckin jacket !! Man he barely got through that door
then....and what's he going on about ?"
"Ah dunno Harry, it all sounds a bit like a little monkey, all excited
like..."
"He must be Canadian, he keeps goin on about Ontario, and hey you wuz
right,
Post by slumpy
he keeps mentioning jam and weirdos. Did he just say he was a weirdoboy ?
Does that mean he fucks guys ?"
"Ah dunno Harry, but he shore looks queer to me. Bet he'd shore squeal
like
Post by slumpy
a big old pig..."
"How many times has he said the word 'jam' ? A hundred ? He sure must like
jam, no wonder he's so fat....and look at the sweat...man it must be hard
for that girl standing behind him....oh man she just fainted clean
away!...is he /really/ going to eat all that himself ? Is that bird
laughing
Post by slumpy
at him behind his back ? It sure looks like it, look, that little parrot
over there...."
"Come on Harry, turn it off, it's makin me feel sick watching him
eat...fuckin weirdoboy"
<click>
Oh man, this sounds so much like the fat loser.
ROTFL!!!!
slumpy
2004-01-11 20:17:29 UTC
Permalink
Voicing an opinion as worthless as a wino at a wedding, TheGeneral43
postulated...
Post by TheGeneral43
Post by slumpy
Voicing an opinion as worthless as a wino at a wedding, scottamerica
postulated...
Post by scottamerica
As we speak they're editing
"Hey Joe, you got that tape that fat guy pushed on ya ?"
"Durr, hang on Harry, I think so...yeah here it is..."
"Why d'ya think he gave it to /us/ ?"
"Ah dunno Harry, I just went behind that TV recorder van thing to
take a leak, and I look round and this fat sweaty guy is watchin
me..." "Yeah ?"
"Yeah, and when I tried to get past him, he started gibberin like a
little monkey, somethin about jam and weirdos or somethin. Then he
pushed this tape into my trouser pocket. He sure left his hand in
there a long time, hur hur..."
"Ok, hit play.....is this for real ?"
"Ah dunno Harry, ah never seen nobody that fat before, he's like a
whelpin hog..."
"Oh boy this is so funny....man I can't wait to show this to the
guys at work. Look at that fuckin jacket !! Man he barely got
through that door then....and what's he going on about ?"
"Ah dunno Harry, it all sounds a bit like a little monkey, all
excited like..."
"He must be Canadian, he keeps goin on about Ontario, and hey you
wuz right, he keeps mentioning jam and weirdos. Did he just say he
was a weirdoboy ? Does that mean he fucks guys ?"
"Ah dunno Harry, but he shore looks queer to me. Bet he'd shore
squeal like a big old pig..."
"How many times has he said the word 'jam' ? A hundred ? He sure
must like jam, no wonder he's so fat....and look at the sweat...man
it must be hard for that girl standing behind him....oh man she
just fainted clean away!...is he /really/ going to eat all that
himself ? Is that bird laughing at him behind his back ? It sure
looks like it, look, that little parrot over there...."
"Come on Harry, turn it off, it's makin me feel sick watching him
eat...fuckin weirdoboy"
<click>
Oh man, this sounds so much like the fat loser.
ROTFL!!!!
Expect more of the same ;-)
--
slumpy
no more
no less
just me
scottamerica
2004-01-11 21:50:58 UTC
Permalink
Post by slumpy
Voicing an opinion as worthless as a wino at a wedding, TheGeneral43
postulated...
Post by TheGeneral43
Post by slumpy
Voicing an opinion as worthless as a wino at a wedding, scottamerica
postulated...
Post by scottamerica
As we speak they're editing
"Hey Joe, you got that tape that fat guy pushed on ya ?"
"Durr, hang on Harry, I think so...yeah here it is..."
"Why d'ya think he gave it to /us/ ?"
"Ah dunno Harry, I just went behind that TV recorder van thing to
take a leak, and I look round and this fat sweaty guy is watchin
me..." "Yeah ?"
"Yeah, and when I tried to get past him, he started gibberin like a
little monkey, somethin about jam and weirdos or somethin. Then he
pushed this tape into my trouser pocket. He sure left his hand in
there a long time, hur hur..."
"Ok, hit play.....is this for real ?"
"Ah dunno Harry, ah never seen nobody that fat before, he's like a
whelpin hog..."
"Oh boy this is so funny....man I can't wait to show this to the
guys at work. Look at that fuckin jacket !! Man he barely got
through that door then....and what's he going on about ?"
"Ah dunno Harry, it all sounds a bit like a little monkey, all
excited like..."
"He must be Canadian, he keeps goin on about Ontario, and hey you
wuz right, he keeps mentioning jam and weirdos. Did he just say he
was a weirdoboy ? Does that mean he fucks guys ?"
"Ah dunno Harry, but he shore looks queer to me. Bet he'd shore
squeal like a big old pig..."
"How many times has he said the word 'jam' ? A hundred ? He sure
must like jam, no wonder he's so fat....and look at the sweat...man
it must be hard for that girl standing behind him....oh man she
just fainted clean away!...is he /really/ going to eat all that
himself ? Is that bird laughing at him behind his back ? It sure
looks like it, look, that little parrot over there...."
"Come on Harry, turn it off, it's makin me feel sick watching him
eat...fuckin weirdoboy"
<click>
Oh man, this sounds so much like the fat loser.
ROTFL!!!!
Expect more of the same ;-)
--
slumpy
no more
no less
just me
From behind the GATES or in front of the GATES...

Scott
slumpy
2004-01-11 22:16:00 UTC
Permalink
Voicing an opinion as worthless as a wino at a wedding, scottamerica
postulated...
Post by scottamerica
From behind the GATES or in front of the GATES...
Scott
Maybe in front of your apartment door...oh wait - no point, you will be
/out/ again...
--
slumpy
Mfatoldsun - "Don't do it man, Scott just wants to get in your pants. He's
full of shit."
Scott - "That's quite possible, doid, if it looks awlright :o"
TheGeneral43
2004-01-12 06:37:39 UTC
Permalink
Post by scottamerica
From behind the GATES or in front of the GATES...
Scott
n the Bronx mental ward their are plenty of bars and gates to fit his fat ass
behind.

Ticket stub. What ticket stub? Their never was a ticket stub or anything else.
He never ever attended a DP or Rainbow live show in his pathetic failure of a
life. Remember this. He drives a "TAXI" for a living in New York.


Wow, that is a real respected job with a real future. I am sure he has a 401K
plan, and a retirement account. I am sure that "TAXI" job has a stock purchase
plan also. That is why he has no medical benefits and cuts warts off his body
using rusted scissors.

How ugly is Snott?

He is so ugly he could not get laid in a woman's prison with 5 cartons of
cigarettes in one hand, and 5 get of jail free passes in the other hand.

He can't even get a date with his own hand.
Nada
2004-01-12 11:44:36 UTC
Permalink
Post by TheGeneral43
How ugly is Snott?
He is so ugly he could not get laid in a woman's prison with 5 cartons of
cigarettes in one hand, and 5 get of jail free passes in the other hand.
He can't even get a date with his own hand.
Tommy, I might have said this before, but I think your "fat and ugly"
jokes are worth "ROTFLing".
scottamerica
2004-01-12 12:19:52 UTC
Permalink
Post by Nada
Post by TheGeneral43
How ugly is Snott?
He is so ugly he could not get laid in a woman's prison with 5 cartons of
cigarettes in one hand, and 5 get of jail free passes in the other hand.
He can't even get a date with his own hand.
Tommy, I might have said this before, but I think your "fat and ugly"
jokes are worth "ROTFLing".
This boy is out of it.

Scott
"I'm not a computer criminal; just a bad typist." KOKO to the www.lvmpd.com
slumpy
2004-01-12 15:14:19 UTC
Permalink
The year is 2024...an old man shuffles through a shiny-floored corridor
wearing pyjamas trailing a length of videotape behand him, muttering under
his breath - he quickly turns and looks over his shoulder as if something or
someone is there, a scared look in his eyes - he mumbles one thing - "Jerry
Boy..." - before shuffling on his way...

"Mr Lifshine, medication time...Mr Lifshine...oh where's that silly old
fucker gone off to now ?"

"Well ya won't have far to look, Nurse, all ya gotta do is follow that
damned tape !" says another patient as Nurse Rachel reaches for the keys -
she knows exactly where he'll be...in the TV room, trying to get his tape
into the DVD-player in the corner again - how many times must he be told ?

She remembers when he arrived at Sunny View for the Mentally Bewildered and
spent the first two years screaming through the bars on his window. Now what
/was/ it he used to scream...? Well it had always sounded like;

"NOW KISS MY ZOGCRYPTION u FUCKIN' DINGBAT!!!" but nobody had been able to
translate it into English - not that he spoke with a very intelligible
accent.

He was such a lonely fat old bastard, she thought to herself, never had
/any/ visitors. Well there was one once, another overweight ugly bastard
called Brett, but Mr Lifshine just screamed "No, it's Jerry-Boy, and he
doesn't exist" and locked himself in the kitchens where he ate 16 pounds of
lard before anyone could stop him. His only consolation were those little
birds that perched on his windowsill each day, and he'd feed them crackers,
and he'd laugh out loud, but, when asked why, would only say "Gates. He's
hiding behind them Gates again", before shuffling off.

She found him on the floor in the corner, with his video tape wound all
around him - they'd soon learned that if he was allowed to drag this
'spaghetti' of tape around he would be quite calm, but once they'd taken it
off him and he sat on his bunk rocking back and forth moaning "Where's it
gone, Precious? Where's the Wereo, where's the wideo, where is it Precious?"
for six days until one of the guards wanted to batter him. After he had the
plaster removed he was allowed to keep a bundle of loose tape with him.

"Come on, Mr Lifshine, you can't sit there all day", and she started to help
him up then realised what had happened.
"He's shit himself again, can you get the cleaning cart, the restraints, and
the electric shock generator please Nurse Baffles."

After he'd been cleaned up and they'd drawn lots to see who got to zapp him
with 10,000 volts, he was zapped. It usually took about 20 minutes to get
the nostril hairs to catch fire, but with his body fat he was in danger of
frying internally so they kept it down to 15, just in case.

All he could say afterwards was "Moo-ha-ha Damon, Moo-ha-ha Voivodka, I'm
the King of Ontario, honest...." as he was dragged along the corridor by his
hair.

They kept an eye on him while he slept, knowing that he would wake up
shouting "Jam Jam Jam" as usual.

Later that night he did his usual trick of wandering around his room
proclaiming loudly to an imaginary audience "But it was me, and only me, who
pressed the record button why the whole World slept...on Nytol". The other
patients had complained, but they had increased his dose to an almost lethal
level and he didn't even doze off, so they increased the patients' dosage
instead. Tonight he changed the routine a bit and started arguing with
himself.

"Shut up you fat useless Cunt !"
"No, you shut up, kicks the ball, Noballs, Parrot Parrot, Rancho, TAP TAP
TAP, slappy, ticket stub ticket tour bus, timmy, Prescott Bum!!!"
"You deluded repulsive ugly wanker!!"
"Voivodka Lemons !!"

This went on until one of the orderlies went and punched him in the eye,
after which he curled up on his soaking bed and masturbated while mumbling
"John King, Brett Meisner, John King, Brett Meisner..."
--
slumpy
no more
no less
just me
VOIVODKA
2004-01-12 16:16:30 UTC
Permalink
Snip a whole bunch of obsession.

My Lord you do have lots of time to spend on Scott. The man really owns you.
scottamerica
2004-01-12 21:20:20 UTC
Permalink
Post by VOIVODKA
Snip a whole bunch of obsession.
My Lord you do have lots of time to spend on Scott. The man really owns you.
Ditto VV.

Scott :-)
slumpy
2004-01-12 21:38:32 UTC
Permalink
Voicing an opinion as worthless as a wino at a wedding, scottamerica
postulated...
Post by scottamerica
Post by VOIVODKA
Snip a whole bunch of obsession.
My Lord you do have lots of time to spend on Scott. The man really
owns
you.
Ditto VV.
Scott :-)
Hehehe been watching those Parrot posts drop straight into the ether,
briefly making their presence felt in the post count, then being spirited
away, like little farts....
--
slumpy
no more
no less
just me
scottamerica
2004-01-13 03:54:05 UTC
Permalink
Post by slumpy
Voicing an opinion as worthless as a wino at a wedding, scottamerica
postulated...
Post by scottamerica
Post by VOIVODKA
Snip a whole bunch of obsession.
My Lord you do have lots of time to spend on Scott. The man really
owns
you.
Ditto VV.
Scott :-)
Hehehe been watching those Parrot posts drop straight into the ether,
briefly making their presence felt in the post count, then being spirited
away, like little farts....
--
slumpy
no more
no less
just me
The only thing that was "spirited away" here was Jerry-Boy the Shithead.

Scott
slumpy
2004-01-13 11:35:42 UTC
Permalink
Voicing an opinion as worthless as a wino at a wedding, scottamerica
postulated...
Post by scottamerica
Post by slumpy
Voicing an opinion as worthless as a wino at a wedding, scottamerica
postulated...
Post by scottamerica
Post by VOIVODKA
Snip a whole bunch of obsession.
My Lord you do have lots of time to spend on Scott. The man really
owns
you.
Ditto VV.
Scott :-)
Hehehe been watching those Parrot posts drop straight into the ether,
briefly making their presence felt in the post count, then being
spirited away, like little farts....
--
slumpy
no more
no less
just me
The only thing that was "spirited away" here was Jerry-Boy the
Shithead.
Scott
Yeah OK, Captain Asylum, whatever *you* say.
--
slumpy
no more
no less
just me
slumpy
2004-01-12 18:17:28 UTC
Permalink
Voicing an opinion as worthless as a wino at a wedding, slumpy postulated...
Post by slumpy
The year is 2024...an old man shuffles through a shiny-floored
corridor wearing pyjamas trailing a length of videotape behand him,
muttering under his breath - he quickly turns and looks over his
shoulder as if something or someone is there, a scared look in his
eyes - he mumbles one thing - "Jerry Boy..." - before shuffling on
his way...
"Mr Lifshine, medication time...Mr Lifshine...oh where's that silly
old fucker gone off to now ?"
"Well ya won't have far to look, Nurse, all ya gotta do is follow that
damned tape !" says another patient as Nurse Rachel reaches for the
keys - she knows exactly where he'll be...in the TV room, trying to
get his tape into the DVD-player in the corner again - how many times
must he be told ?
She remembers when he arrived at Sunny View for the Mentally
Bewildered and spent the first two years screaming through the bars
on his window. Now what /was/ it he used to scream...? Well it had
always sounded like;
"NOW KISS MY ZOGCRYPTION u FUCKIN' DINGBAT!!!" but nobody had been
able to translate it into English - not that he spoke with a very
intelligible accent.
He was such a lonely fat old bastard, she thought to herself, never
had /any/ visitors. Well there was one once, another overweight ugly
bastard called Brett, but Mr Lifshine just screamed "No, it's
Jerry-Boy, and he doesn't exist" and locked himself in the kitchens
where he ate 16 pounds of lard before anyone could stop him. His only
consolation were those little birds that perched on his windowsill
each day, and he'd feed them crackers, and he'd laugh out loud, but,
when asked why, would only say "Gates. He's hiding behind them Gates
again", before shuffling off.
She found him on the floor in the corner, with his video tape wound
all around him - they'd soon learned that if he was allowed to drag
this 'spaghetti' of tape around he would be quite calm, but once
they'd taken it off him and he sat on his bunk rocking back and forth
moaning "Where's it gone, Precious? Where's the Wereo, where's the
wideo, where is it Precious?" for six days until one of the guards
wanted to batter him. After he had the plaster removed he was allowed
to keep a bundle of loose tape with him.
"Come on, Mr Lifshine, you can't sit there all day", and she started
to help him up then realised what had happened.
"He's shit himself again, can you get the cleaning cart, the
restraints, and the electric shock generator please Nurse Baffles."
After he'd been cleaned up and they'd drawn lots to see who got to
zapp him with 10,000 volts, he was zapped. It usually took about 20
minutes to get the nostril hairs to catch fire, but with his body fat
he was in danger of frying internally so they kept it down to 15,
just in case.
All he could say afterwards was "Moo-ha-ha Damon, Moo-ha-ha Voivodka,
I'm the King of Ontario, honest...." as he was dragged along the
corridor by his hair.
They kept an eye on him while he slept, knowing that he would wake up
shouting "Jam Jam Jam" as usual.
Later that night he did his usual trick of wandering around his room
proclaiming loudly to an imaginary audience "But it was me, and only
me, who pressed the record button why the whole World slept...on
Nytol". The other patients had complained, but they had increased his
dose to an almost lethal level and he didn't even doze off, so they
increased the patients' dosage instead. Tonight he changed the
routine a bit and started arguing with himself.
"Shut up you fat useless Cunt !"
"No, you shut up, kicks the ball, Noballs, Parrot Parrot, Rancho, TAP
TAP TAP, slappy, ticket stub ticket tour bus, timmy, Prescott Bum!!!"
"You deluded repulsive ugly wanker!!"
"Voivodka Lemons !!"
This went on until one of the orderlies went and punched him in the
eye, after which he curled up on his soaking bed and masturbated
while mumbling "John King, Brett Meisner, John King, Brett Meisner..."
Next morning Nurse Rachel unlocked his door and peered in.

"It's 50 years ago, 50 years today, Precious, I pressed the record button
while the whole World was sleeping...on Nytol...Caljam, Caljam, where are
you Wereoboy, where's the Nytol ?"

She shook her head in despair - 19 years of repetitive burbling and talking
crap. She wondered how long it had been going on before he was admitted, the
patterns were obviously fixed long before she first encountered him.

He'd been arrested, for the third time in a week, back in 2004, in Ontario,
California. The first time he crashed his Cab through the front of a
roadside diner which was closed for refurbishment, claiming he was starving,
though investigations suggested he had eaten only 20 minutes before,
exhausting the local Macdonalds' stock of burgers.

Two days later he was found in a Hotel room with three 14-year old boys,
after complaints about a terrible noise coming from the room. He was said to
have been standing on the bed playing air-guitar, miming to Black Sabbath
and screaming "Wereoboy, Wereoboy, *all hail* the Wereoboy!!" while the
three boys looked on terrified.

Three days later he was arrested and brought straight to the Asylum after
bursting into the Ontario Museum (from which he had been ejected many times
before, including 6 times in the past two days), dressed in no more than a
suit made of reel-to-reel tape, and demanding his collection of memorabilia,
which he carried in a cardboard box, be shown as the main exhibit. His claim
seemed to centre around a rock concert that had been staged in the local
area thirty years previously.

She remembered speaking to the curator after Mr Lifshine's committal, and he
said "The man is dangerous, a total fruitcake. He's been thrown out of the
Museum six times, he threatened to attack the Yukon exhibit, and we had to
restrain him when he tried to strangle the wax model of Paul Bunion. I have
no idea what his problem is, he just rambles incoherently and repeats the
word 'Wereo' over and over. I've been here for ten years and he is a regular
visitor, though we have had problems with him in the past."

After his jam, he wandered into the garden, as he usually did, and made his
way down the drive.

Three minutes later he was back in his room. The security had been alerted
again, because he was climbing the front gates, screaming "Gates Gates,
where are the Gates? Gates at the Rancho, Prescott Kong, Kong, where are the
Gates ?" at which point he was zapped with a cattle prod. Eight times.

"Are you a...*HiSsINZ*, precious ?"

"No, Mr Lifshine, I'm a nurse, you know that."

"You're one of those *HiSsINZ Starz* - I say you are so you must be - I am
Wereoboy -"

"<SECURITY / SECURITY>"

"I'm the WereoKing, GET AWAY FROM ME!! DON'T COME NEAR ME WITH *THAT*!!"

"Shut up, you fucking prick, and go back to sleep"

"Am th Wer boyyy....."
--
slumpy
no more
no less
just me
slumpy
2004-01-12 22:41:59 UTC
Permalink
Post by slumpy
Post by slumpy
The year is 2024...an old man shuffles through a shiny-floored
corridor wearing pyjamas trailing a length of videotape behand him,
muttering under his breath - he quickly turns and looks over his
shoulder as if something or someone is there, a scared look in his
eyes - he mumbles one thing - "Jerry Boy..." - before shuffling on
his way...
"Mr Lifshine, medication time...Mr Lifshine...oh where's that silly
old fucker gone off to now ?"
"Well ya won't have far to look, Nurse, all ya gotta do is follow
that damned tape !" says another patient as Nurse Rachel reaches for
the keys - she knows exactly where he'll be...in the TV room, trying
to get his tape into the DVD-player in the corner again - how many
times must he be told ?
She remembers when he arrived at Sunny View for the Mentally
Bewildered and spent the first two years screaming through the bars
on his window. Now what /was/ it he used to scream...? Well it had
always sounded like;
"NOW KISS MY ZOGCRYPTION u FUCKIN' DINGBAT!!!" but nobody had been
able to translate it into English - not that he spoke with a very
intelligible accent.
He was such a lonely fat old bastard, she thought to herself, never
had /any/ visitors. Well there was one once, another overweight ugly
bastard called Brett, but Mr Lifshine just screamed "No, it's
Jerry-Boy, and he doesn't exist" and locked himself in the kitchens
where he ate 16 pounds of lard before anyone could stop him. His only
consolation were those little birds that perched on his windowsill
each day, and he'd feed them crackers, and he'd laugh out loud, but,
when asked why, would only say "Gates. He's hiding behind them Gates
again", before shuffling off.
She found him on the floor in the corner, with his video tape wound
all around him - they'd soon learned that if he was allowed to drag
this 'spaghetti' of tape around he would be quite calm, but once
they'd taken it off him and he sat on his bunk rocking back and forth
moaning "Where's it gone, Precious? Where's the Wereo, where's the
wideo, where is it Precious?" for six days until one of the guards
wanted to batter him. After he had the plaster removed he was allowed
to keep a bundle of loose tape with him.
"Come on, Mr Lifshine, you can't sit there all day", and she started
to help him up then realised what had happened.
"He's shit himself again, can you get the cleaning cart, the
restraints, and the electric shock generator please Nurse Baffles."
After he'd been cleaned up and they'd drawn lots to see who got to
zapp him with 10,000 volts, he was zapped. It usually took about 20
minutes to get the nostril hairs to catch fire, but with his body fat
he was in danger of frying internally so they kept it down to 15,
just in case.
All he could say afterwards was "Moo-ha-ha Damon, Moo-ha-ha Voivodka,
I'm the King of Ontario, honest...." as he was dragged along the
corridor by his hair.
They kept an eye on him while he slept, knowing that he would wake up
shouting "Jam Jam Jam" as usual.
Later that night he did his usual trick of wandering around his room
proclaiming loudly to an imaginary audience "But it was me, and only
me, who pressed the record button why the whole World slept...on
Nytol". The other patients had complained, but they had increased his
dose to an almost lethal level and he didn't even doze off, so they
increased the patients' dosage instead. Tonight he changed the
routine a bit and started arguing with himself.
"Shut up you fat useless Cunt !"
"No, you shut up, kicks the ball, Noballs, Parrot Parrot, Rancho, TAP
TAP TAP, slappy, ticket stub ticket tour bus, timmy, Prescott Bum!!!"
"You deluded repulsive ugly wanker!!"
"Voivodka Lemons !!"
This went on until one of the orderlies went and punched him in the
eye, after which he curled up on his soaking bed and masturbated
while mumbling "John King, Brett Meisner, John King, Brett
Meisner..."
Next morning Nurse Rachel unlocked his door and peered in.
"It's 50 years ago, 50 years today, Precious, I pressed the record
button while the whole World was sleeping...on Nytol...Caljam,
Caljam, where are you Wereoboy, where's the Nytol ?"
She shook her head in despair - 19 years of repetitive burbling and
talking crap. She wondered how long it had been going on before he
was admitted, the patterns were obviously fixed long before she first
encountered him.
He'd been arrested, for the third time in a week, back in 2004, in
Ontario, California. The first time he crashed his Cab through the
front of a roadside diner which was closed for refurbishment,
claiming he was starving, though investigations suggested he had
eaten only 20 minutes before, exhausting the local Macdonalds' stock
of burgers.
Two days later he was found in a Hotel room with three 14-year old
boys, after complaints about a terrible noise coming from the room.
He was said to have been standing on the bed playing air-guitar,
miming to Black Sabbath and screaming "Wereoboy, Wereoboy, *all hail*
the Wereoboy!!" while the three boys looked on terrified.
Three days later he was arrested and brought straight to the Asylum
after bursting into the Ontario Museum (from which he had been
ejected many times before, including 6 times in the past two days),
dressed in no more than a suit made of reel-to-reel tape, and
demanding his collection of memorabilia, which he carried in a
cardboard box, be shown as the main exhibit. His claim seemed to
centre around a rock concert that had been staged in the local area
thirty years previously.
She remembered speaking to the curator after Mr Lifshine's committal,
and he said "The man is dangerous, a total fruitcake. He's been
thrown out of the Museum six times, he threatened to attack the Yukon
exhibit, and we had to restrain him when he tried to strangle the wax
model of Paul Bunion. I have no idea what his problem is, he just
rambles incoherently and repeats the word 'Wereo' over and over. I've
been here for ten years and he is a regular visitor, though we have
had problems with him in the past."
After his jam, he wandered into the garden, as he usually did, and
made his way down the drive.
Three minutes later he was back in his room. The security had been
alerted again, because he was climbing the front gates, screaming
"Gates Gates, where are the Gates? Gates at the Rancho, Prescott
Kong, Kong, where are the Gates ?" at which point he was zapped with
a cattle prod. Eight times.
"Are you a...*HiSsINZ*, precious ?"
"No, Mr Lifshine, I'm a nurse, you know that."
"You're one of those *HiSsINZ Starz* - I say you are so you must be -
I am Wereoboy -"
"<SECURITY / SECURITY>"
"I'm the WereoKing, GET AWAY FROM ME!! DON'T COME NEAR ME WITH
*THAT*!!"
"Shut up, you fucking prick, and go back to sleep"
"Am th Wer boyyy....."
To prevent any further disruption or upset to the other patients, Nurse
Rachel arranged for Mr Lifshine to be moved to the basement, where they
could lock him in a store-room away from the rest of the hospital.

On the way back to the office, Rachel spoke to Doctor Bloo, who used to
treat him for his delusional behaviour, until he was injured when Mr
Lifshine fell off his chair (though witnesses say it was deliberate) as he
was walking past and was hospitalised with several broken ribs and a
dislocated shoulder. "I never really had a chance with him, he always used
to scream and try to lunge at me when he first arrived. He thought I was
someone else, kept insisting my name was Prescott Rancho and that I had met
him before outside the Beacon theatre and interviewed him. I don't think he
knows who he actually is, or anyone else for that matter. I have no idea
what we can do with him, he's a lost case."

Rachel drunk her coffee in peace, until she heard a scream from the stairs,
and as she ran towards the screams she had the feeling that all was not well
in the store-room. What met her eyes as she came around the bottom step came
as a shock.

"Wereo...Nytol...Wereo...Nytol...Kong Kong Kong..." came the moans from the
corner, but it was the state of Mr Lifshine that made her catch her breath.
It appeared that he had managed to eat through his straps and had then
proceeded to eat as much of the contents of the stockroom as possible.
Unfortunately the room contained not only the entire stock of breakfast
cereal, a few cases of jam and some dried milk, but also the cleaning
staff's equipment and chemicals, a few cans of paint (and brushes) and a box
of condoms.

Mr Lifshine had eaten all the jam, the condoms, a packet of scourers, and
drunk as much of the chemical mixtures as he could before he started to turn
blue, and vomited on himself. He had shaken all the milk powder and cereal
over himself, and the mixture had congealed and dried into a thick crust. He
continued to vomit, and drink the last of the drain unblocker while the
orderlies tried to get through the sludge to him.

"Getaway Jerry Boy, *I'm* the king of the Internet, I'm the Wereoboy, my
store is *NOT* a cab, I'm prime location manhattan Wereoboy with a message
for the World..."

It was at this point that he farted, unfortunately following through,
sending a cascade of excrement and vomit-cereal mix across the floor.

"Yeah, that's about the only message /he'll/ ever give anyone" said one
orderly to another.

"I can't wait to get the hoses on the fat cunt, we'll beat this fucker black
and blue..."

"BUT I'M THE WEREOBOY ! I AM THE TICKET STUB BOY, THE NUCLEAR WARRIOR OF THE
TOURBUS COME TO SAVE THE WORLD WITH MY JAM AND ONTARIO DINGBAT KONGISMS !!"
screamed the pathetic blubbering mess in the corner, as he received a crack
across the skull from a broom, swung by Dr Bloo, who had decided that enough
was enough.

They attached nylon straps to his wrists and connected them to a winch,
dragging him up the stairs and only a trolley, which was then pushed outside
into the cold night. Still mumbling incoherently, Mr Lifshine vomited again,
and, with his skin still a deep blue, had the hoses turned on him, still
strapped to the trolley.

For two hours, taking turns to spread the fun around, they hosed him down
with ice-cold water, until he was also blue with cold. He was then taken
back to his room, chained to the radiator, and beaten with axe-handles until
the staff got bored.
--
slumpy
no more
no less
just me
VOIVODKA
2004-01-12 22:45:44 UTC
Permalink
Date: 1/12/2004 2:41 PM Pacific Standard Time
Post by slumpy
Post by slumpy
The year is 2024...an old man shuffles through a shiny-floored
corridor wearing pyjamas trailing a length of videotape behand him,
muttering under his breath - he quickly turns and looks over his
shoulder as if something or someone is there, a scared look in his
eyes - he mumbles one thing - "Jerry Boy..." - before shuffling on
his way...
"Mr Lifshine, medication time...Mr Lifshine...oh where's that silly
old fucker gone off to now ?"
"Well ya won't have far to look, Nurse, all ya gotta do is follow
that damned tape !" says another patient as Nurse Rachel reaches for
the keys - she knows exactly where he'll be...in the TV room, trying
to get his tape into the DVD-player in the corner again - how many
times must he be told ?
She remembers when he arrived at Sunny View for the Mentally
Bewildered and spent the first two years screaming through the bars
on his window. Now what /was/ it he used to scream...? Well it had
always sounded like;
"NOW KISS MY ZOGCRYPTION u FUCKIN' DINGBAT!!!" but nobody had been
able to translate it into English - not that he spoke with a very
intelligible accent.
He was such a lonely fat old bastard, she thought to herself, never
had /any/ visitors. Well there was one once, another overweight ugly
bastard called Brett, but Mr Lifshine just screamed "No, it's
Jerry-Boy, and he doesn't exist" and locked himself in the kitchens
where he ate 16 pounds of lard before anyone could stop him. His only
consolation were those little birds that perched on his windowsill
each day, and he'd feed them crackers, and he'd laugh out loud, but,
when asked why, would only say "Gates. He's hiding behind them Gates
again", before shuffling off.
She found him on the floor in the corner, with his video tape wound
all around him - they'd soon learned that if he was allowed to drag
this 'spaghetti' of tape around he would be quite calm, but once
they'd taken it off him and he sat on his bunk rocking back and forth
moaning "Where's it gone, Precious? Where's the Wereo, where's the
wideo, where is it Precious?" for six days until one of the guards
wanted to batter him. After he had the plaster removed he was allowed
to keep a bundle of loose tape with him.
"Come on, Mr Lifshine, you can't sit there all day", and she started
to help him up then realised what had happened.
"He's shit himself again, can you get the cleaning cart, the
restraints, and the electric shock generator please Nurse Baffles."
After he'd been cleaned up and they'd drawn lots to see who got to
zapp him with 10,000 volts, he was zapped. It usually took about 20
minutes to get the nostril hairs to catch fire, but with his body fat
he was in danger of frying internally so they kept it down to 15,
just in case.
All he could say afterwards was "Moo-ha-ha Damon, Moo-ha-ha Voivodka,
I'm the King of Ontario, honest...." as he was dragged along the
corridor by his hair.
They kept an eye on him while he slept, knowing that he would wake up
shouting "Jam Jam Jam" as usual.
Later that night he did his usual trick of wandering around his room
proclaiming loudly to an imaginary audience "But it was me, and only
me, who pressed the record button why the whole World slept...on
Nytol". The other patients had complained, but they had increased his
dose to an almost lethal level and he didn't even doze off, so they
increased the patients' dosage instead. Tonight he changed the
routine a bit and started arguing with himself.
"Shut up you fat useless Cunt !"
"No, you shut up, kicks the ball, Noballs, Parrot Parrot, Rancho, TAP
TAP TAP, slappy, ticket stub ticket tour bus, timmy, Prescott Bum!!!"
"You deluded repulsive ugly wanker!!"
"Voivodka Lemons !!"
This went on until one of the orderlies went and punched him in the
eye, after which he curled up on his soaking bed and masturbated
while mumbling "John King, Brett Meisner, John King, Brett
Meisner..."
Next morning Nurse Rachel unlocked his door and peered in.
"It's 50 years ago, 50 years today, Precious, I pressed the record
button while the whole World was sleeping...on Nytol...Caljam,
Caljam, where are you Wereoboy, where's the Nytol ?"
She shook her head in despair - 19 years of repetitive burbling and
talking crap. She wondered how long it had been going on before he
was admitted, the patterns were obviously fixed long before she first
encountered him.
He'd been arrested, for the third time in a week, back in 2004, in
Ontario, California. The first time he crashed his Cab through the
front of a roadside diner which was closed for refurbishment,
claiming he was starving, though investigations suggested he had
eaten only 20 minutes before, exhausting the local Macdonalds' stock
of burgers.
Two days later he was found in a Hotel room with three 14-year old
boys, after complaints about a terrible noise coming from the room.
He was said to have been standing on the bed playing air-guitar,
miming to Black Sabbath and screaming "Wereoboy, Wereoboy, *all hail*
the Wereoboy!!" while the three boys looked on terrified.
Three days later he was arrested and brought straight to the Asylum
after bursting into the Ontario Museum (from which he had been
ejected many times before, including 6 times in the past two days),
dressed in no more than a suit made of reel-to-reel tape, and
demanding his collection of memorabilia, which he carried in a
cardboard box, be shown as the main exhibit. His claim seemed to
centre around a rock concert that had been staged in the local area
thirty years previously.
She remembered speaking to the curator after Mr Lifshine's committal,
and he said "The man is dangerous, a total fruitcake. He's been
thrown out of the Museum six times, he threatened to attack the Yukon
exhibit, and we had to restrain him when he tried to strangle the wax
model of Paul Bunion. I have no idea what his problem is, he just
rambles incoherently and repeats the word 'Wereo' over and over. I've
been here for ten years and he is a regular visitor, though we have
had problems with him in the past."
After his jam, he wandered into the garden, as he usually did, and
made his way down the drive.
Three minutes later he was back in his room. The security had been
alerted again, because he was climbing the front gates, screaming
"Gates Gates, where are the Gates? Gates at the Rancho, Prescott
Kong, Kong, where are the Gates ?" at which point he was zapped with
a cattle prod. Eight times.
"Are you a...*HiSsINZ*, precious ?"
"No, Mr Lifshine, I'm a nurse, you know that."
"You're one of those *HiSsINZ Starz* - I say you are so you must be -
I am Wereoboy -"
"<SECURITY / SECURITY>"
"I'm the WereoKing, GET AWAY FROM ME!! DON'T COME NEAR ME WITH
*THAT*!!"
"Shut up, you fucking prick, and go back to sleep"
"Am th Wer boyyy....."
To prevent any further disruption or upset to the other patients, Nurse
Rachel arranged for Mr Lifshine to be moved to the basement, where they
could lock him in a store-room away from the rest of the hospital.
On the way back to the office, Rachel spoke to Doctor Bloo, who used to
treat him for his delusional behaviour, until he was injured when Mr
Lifshine fell off his chair (though witnesses say it was deliberate) as he
was walking past and was hospitalised with several broken ribs and a
dislocated shoulder. "I never really had a chance with him, he always used
to scream and try to lunge at me when he first arrived. He thought I was
someone else, kept insisting my name was Prescott Rancho and that I had met
him before outside the Beacon theatre and interviewed him. I don't think he
knows who he actually is, or anyone else for that matter. I have no idea
what we can do with him, he's a lost case."
Rachel drunk her coffee in peace, until she heard a scream from the stairs,
and as she ran towards the screams she had the feeling that all was not well
in the store-room. What met her eyes as she came around the bottom step came
as a shock.
"Wereo...Nytol...Wereo...Nytol...Kong Kong Kong..." came the moans from the
corner, but it was the state of Mr Lifshine that made her catch her breath.
It appeared that he had managed to eat through his straps and had then
proceeded to eat as much of the contents of the stockroom as possible.
Unfortunately the room contained not only the entire stock of breakfast
cereal, a few cases of jam and some dried milk, but also the cleaning
staff's equipment and chemicals, a few cans of paint (and brushes) and a box
of condoms.
Mr Lifshine had eaten all the jam, the condoms, a packet of scourers, and
drunk as much of the chemical mixtures as he could before he started to turn
blue, and vomited on himself. He had shaken all the milk powder and cereal
over himself, and the mixture had congealed and dried into a thick crust. He
continued to vomit, and drink the last of the drain unblocker while the
orderlies tried to get through the sludge to him.
"Getaway Jerry Boy, *I'm* the king of the Internet, I'm the Wereoboy, my
store is *NOT* a cab, I'm prime location manhattan Wereoboy with a message
for the World..."
It was at this point that he farted, unfortunately following through,
sending a cascade of excrement and vomit-cereal mix across the floor.
"Yeah, that's about the only message /he'll/ ever give anyone" said one
orderly to another.
"I can't wait to get the hoses on the fat cunt, we'll beat this fucker black
and blue..."
"BUT I'M THE WEREOBOY ! I AM THE TICKET STUB BOY, THE NUCLEAR WARRIOR OF THE
TOURBUS COME TO SAVE THE WORLD WITH MY JAM AND ONTARIO DINGBAT KONGISMS !!"
screamed the pathetic blubbering mess in the corner, as he received a crack
across the skull from a broom, swung by Dr Bloo, who had decided that enough
was enough.
They attached nylon straps to his wrists and connected them to a winch,
dragging him up the stairs and only a trolley, which was then pushed outside
into the cold night. Still mumbling incoherently, Mr Lifshine vomited again,
and, with his skin still a deep blue, had the hoses turned on him, still
strapped to the trolley.
For two hours, taking turns to spread the fun around, they hosed him down
with ice-cold water, until he was also blue with cold. He was then taken
back to his room, chained to the radiator, and beaten with axe-handles until
the staff got bored.
--
slumpy
no more
no less
just me
Hard to imagine someone spending so much of their time obsessing over somebody
in a NG. Just a few lines are needed. slappy goes on and on with his little
novela
Still the Battle Rages
2004-01-13 00:22:06 UTC
Permalink
Post by VOIVODKA
Date: 1/12/2004 2:41 PM Pacific Standard Time
Hard to imagine someone spending so much of their time obsessing over somebody
in a NG. Just a few lines are needed. slappy goes on and on with his little
novela.
And an EXCELLENT Novela it is. Better and more realistic than most of the BS
I read in here.
slumpy
2004-01-13 00:29:15 UTC
Permalink
Voicing an opinion as worthless as a wino at a wedding, Still the Battle
Rages postulated...
Post by Still the Battle Rages
Post by VOIVODKA
Date: 1/12/2004 2:41 PM Pacific Standard Time
Hard to imagine someone spending so much of their time obsessing
over somebody in a NG. Just a few lines are needed. slappy goes on
and on with his little novela.
And an EXCELLENT Novela it is. Better and more realistic than most of
the BS I read in here.
Thank you.
May it *awl* come true.
--
slumpy
no more
no less
just me
scottamerica
2004-01-14 08:54:20 UTC
Permalink
Post by VOIVODKA
Post by VOIVODKA
Date: 1/12/2004 2:41 PM Pacific Standard Time
Hard to imagine someone spending so much of their time obsessing over
somebody
Post by VOIVODKA
in a NG. Just a few lines are needed. slappy goes on and on with his
little
Post by VOIVODKA
novela.
And an EXCELLENT Novela it is. Better and more realistic than most of the BS
I read in here.
You need to find yourself a new ISP, son. I've got plenty of experience with
CrawlNet.

Scott
slumpy
2004-01-14 12:23:13 UTC
Permalink
Voicing an opinion as worthless as a wino at a wedding, scottamerica
postulated...
Post by scottamerica
You need to find yourself a new ISP, son. I've got plenty of
experience with CrawlNet.
You have a lot of experience with most East Coast ISP's, having been booted
off so many, fuckhead.
--
slumpy
no more
no less
just me
scottamerica
2004-01-13 03:55:47 UTC
Permalink
Post by slumpy
Post by slumpy
Post by slumpy
The year is 2024...an old man shuffles through a shiny-floored
corridor wearing pyjamas trailing a length of videotape behand him,
muttering under his breath - he quickly turns and looks over his
shoulder as if something or someone is there, a scared look in his
eyes - he mumbles one thing - "Jerry Boy..." - before shuffling on
his way...
"Mr Lifshine, medication time...Mr Lifshine...oh where's that silly
old fucker gone off to now ?"
"Well ya won't have far to look, Nurse, all ya gotta do is follow
that damned tape !" says another patient as Nurse Rachel reaches for
the keys - she knows exactly where he'll be...in the TV room, trying
to get his tape into the DVD-player in the corner again - how many
times must he be told ?
She remembers when he arrived at Sunny View for the Mentally
Bewildered and spent the first two years screaming through the bars
on his window. Now what /was/ it he used to scream...? Well it had
always sounded like;
"NOW KISS MY ZOGCRYPTION u FUCKIN' DINGBAT!!!" but nobody had been
able to translate it into English - not that he spoke with a very
intelligible accent.
He was such a lonely fat old bastard, she thought to herself, never
had /any/ visitors. Well there was one once, another overweight ugly
bastard called Brett, but Mr Lifshine just screamed "No, it's
Jerry-Boy, and he doesn't exist" and locked himself in the kitchens
where he ate 16 pounds of lard before anyone could stop him. His only
consolation were those little birds that perched on his windowsill
each day, and he'd feed them crackers, and he'd laugh out loud, but,
when asked why, would only say "Gates. He's hiding behind them Gates
again", before shuffling off.
She found him on the floor in the corner, with his video tape wound
all around him - they'd soon learned that if he was allowed to drag
this 'spaghetti' of tape around he would be quite calm, but once
they'd taken it off him and he sat on his bunk rocking back and forth
moaning "Where's it gone, Precious? Where's the Wereo, where's the
wideo, where is it Precious?" for six days until one of the guards
wanted to batter him. After he had the plaster removed he was allowed
to keep a bundle of loose tape with him.
"Come on, Mr Lifshine, you can't sit there all day", and she started
to help him up then realised what had happened.
"He's shit himself again, can you get the cleaning cart, the
restraints, and the electric shock generator please Nurse Baffles."
After he'd been cleaned up and they'd drawn lots to see who got to
zapp him with 10,000 volts, he was zapped. It usually took about 20
minutes to get the nostril hairs to catch fire, but with his body fat
he was in danger of frying internally so they kept it down to 15,
just in case.
All he could say afterwards was "Moo-ha-ha Damon, Moo-ha-ha Voivodka,
I'm the King of Ontario, honest...." as he was dragged along the
corridor by his hair.
They kept an eye on him while he slept, knowing that he would wake up
shouting "Jam Jam Jam" as usual.
Later that night he did his usual trick of wandering around his room
proclaiming loudly to an imaginary audience "But it was me, and only
me, who pressed the record button why the whole World slept...on
Nytol". The other patients had complained, but they had increased his
dose to an almost lethal level and he didn't even doze off, so they
increased the patients' dosage instead. Tonight he changed the
routine a bit and started arguing with himself.
"Shut up you fat useless Cunt !"
"No, you shut up, kicks the ball, Noballs, Parrot Parrot, Rancho, TAP
TAP TAP, slappy, ticket stub ticket tour bus, timmy, Prescott Bum!!!"
"You deluded repulsive ugly wanker!!"
"Voivodka Lemons !!"
This went on until one of the orderlies went and punched him in the
eye, after which he curled up on his soaking bed and masturbated
while mumbling "John King, Brett Meisner, John King, Brett
Meisner..."
Next morning Nurse Rachel unlocked his door and peered in.
"It's 50 years ago, 50 years today, Precious, I pressed the record
button while the whole World was sleeping...on Nytol...Caljam,
Caljam, where are you Wereoboy, where's the Nytol ?"
She shook her head in despair - 19 years of repetitive burbling and
talking crap. She wondered how long it had been going on before he
was admitted, the patterns were obviously fixed long before she first
encountered him.
He'd been arrested, for the third time in a week, back in 2004, in
Ontario, California. The first time he crashed his Cab through the
front of a roadside diner which was closed for refurbishment,
claiming he was starving, though investigations suggested he had
eaten only 20 minutes before, exhausting the local Macdonalds' stock
of burgers.
Two days later he was found in a Hotel room with three 14-year old
boys, after complaints about a terrible noise coming from the room.
He was said to have been standing on the bed playing air-guitar,
miming to Black Sabbath and screaming "Wereoboy, Wereoboy, *all hail*
the Wereoboy!!" while the three boys looked on terrified.
Three days later he was arrested and brought straight to the Asylum
after bursting into the Ontario Museum (from which he had been
ejected many times before, including 6 times in the past two days),
dressed in no more than a suit made of reel-to-reel tape, and
demanding his collection of memorabilia, which he carried in a
cardboard box, be shown as the main exhibit. His claim seemed to
centre around a rock concert that had been staged in the local area
thirty years previously.
She remembered speaking to the curator after Mr Lifshine's committal,
and he said "The man is dangerous, a total fruitcake. He's been
thrown out of the Museum six times, he threatened to attack the Yukon
exhibit, and we had to restrain him when he tried to strangle the wax
model of Paul Bunion. I have no idea what his problem is, he just
rambles incoherently and repeats the word 'Wereo' over and over. I've
been here for ten years and he is a regular visitor, though we have
had problems with him in the past."
After his jam, he wandered into the garden, as he usually did, and
made his way down the drive.
Three minutes later he was back in his room. The security had been
alerted again, because he was climbing the front gates, screaming
"Gates Gates, where are the Gates? Gates at the Rancho, Prescott
Kong, Kong, where are the Gates ?" at which point he was zapped with
a cattle prod. Eight times.
"Are you a...*HiSsINZ*, precious ?"
"No, Mr Lifshine, I'm a nurse, you know that."
"You're one of those *HiSsINZ Starz* - I say you are so you must be -
I am Wereoboy -"
"<SECURITY / SECURITY>"
"I'm the WereoKing, GET AWAY FROM ME!! DON'T COME NEAR ME WITH *THAT*!!"
"Shut up, you fucking prick, and go back to sleep"
"Am th Wer boyyy....."
To prevent any further disruption or upset to the other patients, Nurse
Rachel arranged for Mr Lifshine to be moved to the basement, where they
could lock him in a store-room away from the rest of the hospital.
On the way back to the office, Rachel spoke to Doctor Bloo, who used to
treat him for his delusional behaviour, until he was injured when Mr
Lifshine fell off his chair (though witnesses say it was deliberate) as he
was walking past and was hospitalised with several broken ribs and a
dislocated shoulder. "I never really had a chance with him, he always used
to scream and try to lunge at me when he first arrived. He thought I was
someone else, kept insisting my name was Prescott Rancho and that I had met
him before outside the Beacon theatre and interviewed him. I don't think he
knows who he actually is, or anyone else for that matter. I have no idea
what we can do with him, he's a lost case."
Rachel drunk her coffee in peace, until she heard a scream from the stairs,
and as she ran towards the screams she had the feeling that all was not well
in the store-room. What met her eyes as she came around the bottom step came
as a shock.
"Wereo...Nytol...Wereo...Nytol...Kong Kong Kong..." came the moans from the
corner, but it was the state of Mr Lifshine that made her catch her breath.
It appeared that he had managed to eat through his straps and had then
proceeded to eat as much of the contents of the stockroom as possible.
Unfortunately the room contained not only the entire stock of breakfast
cereal, a few cases of jam and some dried milk, but also the cleaning
staff's equipment and chemicals, a few cans of paint (and brushes) and a box
of condoms.
Mr Lifshine had eaten all the jam, the condoms, a packet of scourers, and
drunk as much of the chemical mixtures as he could before he started to turn
blue, and vomited on himself. He had shaken all the milk powder and cereal
over himself, and the mixture had congealed and dried into a thick crust. He
continued to vomit, and drink the last of the drain unblocker while the
orderlies tried to get through the sludge to him.
"Getaway Jerry Boy, *I'm* the king of the Internet, I'm the Wereoboy, my
store is *NOT* a cab, I'm prime location manhattan Wereoboy with a message
for the World..."
It was at this point that he farted, unfortunately following through,
sending a cascade of excrement and vomit-cereal mix across the floor.
"Yeah, that's about the only message /he'll/ ever give anyone" said one
orderly to another.
"I can't wait to get the hoses on the fat cunt, we'll beat this fucker black
and blue..."
"BUT I'M THE WEREOBOY ! I AM THE TICKET STUB BOY, THE NUCLEAR WARRIOR OF THE
TOURBUS COME TO SAVE THE WORLD WITH MY JAM AND ONTARIO DINGBAT KONGISMS !!"
screamed the pathetic blubbering mess in the corner, as he received a crack
across the skull from a broom, swung by Dr Bloo, who had decided that enough
was enough.
They attached nylon straps to his wrists and connected them to a winch,
dragging him up the stairs and only a trolley, which was then pushed outside
into the cold night. Still mumbling incoherently, Mr Lifshine vomited again,
and, with his skin still a deep blue, had the hoses turned on him, still
strapped to the trolley.
For two hours, taking turns to spread the fun around, they hosed him down
with ice-cold water, until he was also blue with cold. He was then taken
back to his room, chained to the radiator, and beaten with axe-handles until
the staff got bored.
--
slumpy
no more
no less
just me
Like I said; Scummy's out of control!

Scott
slumpy
2004-01-13 11:36:52 UTC
Permalink
Voicing an opinion as worthless as a wino at a wedding, scottamerica
postulated...
Post by scottamerica
Like I said; Scummy's out of control!
Anyone listening, Fatboy ?

Nope, only the odd chirp of a pathetic prick like Noballs as they disappear
into the ether...
--
slumpy
no more
no less
just me
TheGeneral43
2004-01-13 18:00:08 UTC
Permalink
Post by scottamerica
Like I said; Scummy's out of control!
Scott
You are so out of touch with reality it is not even funny.


"CHUNKY" has never been to a DP or Rainbown live show in his entire pathetic
mental life.

The only one he has ever interviewed in his little loser life is himself. That
is when the 6 other voices in his sick skull talk to him. Maybe he thought that
two of the voices were RB & RG talking to him.
scottamerica
2004-01-13 18:16:21 UTC
Permalink
Post by TheGeneral43
Post by scottamerica
Like I said; Scummy's out of control!
Scott
You are so out of touch with reality it is not even funny.
"CHUNKY" has never been to a DP or Rainbown live show in his entire pathetic
mental life.
The only one he has ever interviewed in his little loser life is himself. That
is when the 6 other voices in his sick skull talk to him. Maybe he thought that
two of the voices were RB & RG talking to him.
Look at that. All that without a kongism. Amazing.

Scott
slumpy
2004-01-13 15:22:23 UTC
Permalink
Voicing an opinion as worthless as a wino at a wedding, slumpy postulated...
Post by slumpy
Post by slumpy
Post by slumpy
The year is 2024...an old man shuffles through a shiny-floored
corridor wearing pyjamas trailing a length of videotape behand him,
muttering under his breath - he quickly turns and looks over his
shoulder as if something or someone is there, a scared look in his
eyes - he mumbles one thing - "Jerry Boy..." - before shuffling on
his way...
"Mr Lifshine, medication time...Mr Lifshine...oh where's that silly
old fucker gone off to now ?"
"Well ya won't have far to look, Nurse, all ya gotta do is follow
that damned tape !" says another patient as Nurse Rachel reaches for
the keys - she knows exactly where he'll be...in the TV room, trying
to get his tape into the DVD-player in the corner again - how many
times must he be told ?
She remembers when he arrived at Sunny View for the Mentally
Bewildered and spent the first two years screaming through the bars
on his window. Now what /was/ it he used to scream...? Well it had
always sounded like;
"NOW KISS MY ZOGCRYPTION u FUCKIN' DINGBAT!!!" but nobody had been
able to translate it into English - not that he spoke with a very
intelligible accent.
He was such a lonely fat old bastard, she thought to herself, never
had /any/ visitors. Well there was one once, another overweight ugly
bastard called Brett, but Mr Lifshine just screamed "No, it's
Jerry-Boy, and he doesn't exist" and locked himself in the kitchens
where he ate 16 pounds of lard before anyone could stop him. His
only consolation were those little birds that perched on his
windowsill each day, and he'd feed them crackers, and he'd laugh
out loud, but, when asked why, would only say "Gates. He's hiding
behind them Gates again", before shuffling off.
She found him on the floor in the corner, with his video tape wound
all around him - they'd soon learned that if he was allowed to drag
this 'spaghetti' of tape around he would be quite calm, but once
they'd taken it off him and he sat on his bunk rocking back and
forth moaning "Where's it gone, Precious? Where's the Wereo,
where's the wideo, where is it Precious?" for six days until one of
the guards wanted to batter him. After he had the plaster removed
he was allowed to keep a bundle of loose tape with him.
"Come on, Mr Lifshine, you can't sit there all day", and she started
to help him up then realised what had happened.
"He's shit himself again, can you get the cleaning cart, the
restraints, and the electric shock generator please Nurse Baffles."
After he'd been cleaned up and they'd drawn lots to see who got to
zapp him with 10,000 volts, he was zapped. It usually took about 20
minutes to get the nostril hairs to catch fire, but with his body
fat he was in danger of frying internally so they kept it down to
15, just in case.
All he could say afterwards was "Moo-ha-ha Damon, Moo-ha-ha
Voivodka, I'm the King of Ontario, honest...." as he was dragged
along the corridor by his hair.
They kept an eye on him while he slept, knowing that he would wake
up shouting "Jam Jam Jam" as usual.
Later that night he did his usual trick of wandering around his room
proclaiming loudly to an imaginary audience "But it was me, and only
me, who pressed the record button why the whole World slept...on
Nytol". The other patients had complained, but they had increased
his dose to an almost lethal level and he didn't even doze off, so
they increased the patients' dosage instead. Tonight he changed the
routine a bit and started arguing with himself.
"Shut up you fat useless Cunt !"
"No, you shut up, kicks the ball, Noballs, Parrot Parrot, Rancho,
TAP TAP TAP, slappy, ticket stub ticket tour bus, timmy, Prescott
Bum!!!" "You deluded repulsive ugly wanker!!"
"Voivodka Lemons !!"
This went on until one of the orderlies went and punched him in the
eye, after which he curled up on his soaking bed and masturbated
while mumbling "John King, Brett Meisner, John King, Brett
Meisner..."
Next morning Nurse Rachel unlocked his door and peered in.
"It's 50 years ago, 50 years today, Precious, I pressed the record
button while the whole World was sleeping...on Nytol...Caljam,
Caljam, where are you Wereoboy, where's the Nytol ?"
She shook her head in despair - 19 years of repetitive burbling and
talking crap. She wondered how long it had been going on before he
was admitted, the patterns were obviously fixed long before she first
encountered him.
He'd been arrested, for the third time in a week, back in 2004, in
Ontario, California. The first time he crashed his Cab through the
front of a roadside diner which was closed for refurbishment,
claiming he was starving, though investigations suggested he had
eaten only 20 minutes before, exhausting the local Macdonalds' stock
of burgers.
Two days later he was found in a Hotel room with three 14-year old
boys, after complaints about a terrible noise coming from the room.
He was said to have been standing on the bed playing air-guitar,
miming to Black Sabbath and screaming "Wereoboy, Wereoboy, *all hail*
the Wereoboy!!" while the three boys looked on terrified.
Three days later he was arrested and brought straight to the Asylum
after bursting into the Ontario Museum (from which he had been
ejected many times before, including 6 times in the past two days),
dressed in no more than a suit made of reel-to-reel tape, and
demanding his collection of memorabilia, which he carried in a
cardboard box, be shown as the main exhibit. His claim seemed to
centre around a rock concert that had been staged in the local area
thirty years previously.
She remembered speaking to the curator after Mr Lifshine's committal,
and he said "The man is dangerous, a total fruitcake. He's been
thrown out of the Museum six times, he threatened to attack the Yukon
exhibit, and we had to restrain him when he tried to strangle the wax
model of Paul Bunion. I have no idea what his problem is, he just
rambles incoherently and repeats the word 'Wereo' over and over. I've
been here for ten years and he is a regular visitor, though we have
had problems with him in the past."
After his jam, he wandered into the garden, as he usually did, and
made his way down the drive.
Three minutes later he was back in his room. The security had been
alerted again, because he was climbing the front gates, screaming
"Gates Gates, where are the Gates? Gates at the Rancho, Prescott
Kong, Kong, where are the Gates ?" at which point he was zapped with
a cattle prod. Eight times.
"Are you a...*HiSsINZ*, precious ?"
"No, Mr Lifshine, I'm a nurse, you know that."
"You're one of those *HiSsINZ Starz* - I say you are so you must be -
I am Wereoboy -"
"<SECURITY / SECURITY>"
"I'm the WereoKing, GET AWAY FROM ME!! DON'T COME NEAR ME WITH *THAT*!!"
"Shut up, you fucking prick, and go back to sleep"
"Am th Wer boyyy....."
To prevent any further disruption or upset to the other patients,
Nurse Rachel arranged for Mr Lifshine to be moved to the basement,
where they could lock him in a store-room away from the rest of the
hospital.
On the way back to the office, Rachel spoke to Doctor Bloo, who used
to treat him for his delusional behaviour, until he was injured when
Mr Lifshine fell off his chair (though witnesses say it was
deliberate) as he was walking past and was hospitalised with several
broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder. "I never really had a chance
with him, he always used to scream and try to lunge at me when he
first arrived. He thought I was someone else, kept insisting my name
was Prescott Rancho and that I had met him before outside the Beacon
theatre and interviewed him. I don't think he knows who he actually
is, or anyone else for that matter. I have no idea what we can do
with him, he's a lost case."
Rachel drunk her coffee in peace, until she heard a scream from the
stairs, and as she ran towards the screams she had the feeling that
all was not well in the store-room. What met her eyes as she came
around the bottom step came as a shock.
"Wereo...Nytol...Wereo...Nytol...Kong Kong Kong..." came the moans
from the corner, but it was the state of Mr Lifshine that made her
catch her breath. It appeared that he had managed to eat through his
straps and had then proceeded to eat as much of the contents of the
stockroom as possible. Unfortunately the room contained not only the
entire stock of breakfast cereal, a few cases of jam and some dried
milk, but also the cleaning staff's equipment and chemicals, a few
cans of paint (and brushes) and a box of condoms.
Mr Lifshine had eaten all the jam, the condoms, a packet of scourers,
and drunk as much of the chemical mixtures as he could before he
started to turn blue, and vomited on himself. He had shaken all the
milk powder and cereal over himself, and the mixture had congealed
and dried into a thick crust. He continued to vomit, and drink the
last of the drain unblocker while the orderlies tried to get through
the sludge to him.
"Getaway Jerry Boy, *I'm* the king of the Internet, I'm the Wereoboy,
my store is *NOT* a cab, I'm prime location manhattan Wereoboy with a
message for the World..."
It was at this point that he farted, unfortunately following through,
sending a cascade of excrement and vomit-cereal mix across the floor.
"Yeah, that's about the only message /he'll/ ever give anyone" said
one orderly to another.
"I can't wait to get the hoses on the fat cunt, we'll beat this
fucker black and blue..."
"BUT I'M THE WEREOBOY ! I AM THE TICKET STUB BOY, THE NUCLEAR WARRIOR
OF THE TOURBUS COME TO SAVE THE WORLD WITH MY JAM AND ONTARIO DINGBAT
KONGISMS !!" screamed the pathetic blubbering mess in the corner, as
he received a crack across the skull from a broom, swung by Dr Bloo,
who had decided that enough was enough.
They attached nylon straps to his wrists and connected them to a
winch, dragging him up the stairs and only a trolley, which was then
pushed outside into the cold night. Still mumbling incoherently, Mr
Lifshine vomited again, and, with his skin still a deep blue, had the
hoses turned on him, still strapped to the trolley.
For two hours, taking turns to spread the fun around, they hosed him
down with ice-cold water, until he was also blue with cold. He was
then taken back to his room, chained to the radiator, and beaten with
axe-handles until the staff got bored.
Next morning he was quieter than usual. Still chained to the radiator, still
a deep shade of blue, he was given a jar of jam (they had to go to the shops
for it) and as he ate it, he said "I used to be someone you know..."

Nurse Rachel was amazed - nobody had ever heard him string two words
together in a comprehensible way before.

"I used to be someone....I was a hero for millions....they never really
understood me, you know....I /was/ Wereoboy, and they just didn't understand
me, even when I proclaimed the power of the Nuclear Warrior, the Pilar Of
Fiore, and the California Jam, they still laughed at me...."

"Who did ? Who laughed at you ??"

"Everyone. Doctor Bloo, Timmy, slappy, Hawkenballs, Werner Herzog, Roger
Glover, the driver of the tourbus...even Damonoballs and Vodka laughed at
me, stabbed me in the back....we told you they was tricksy..."

Rachel couldn't understand him. Nobody could, he was just rambling as usual.

"Where is the ticketstub ? Is Richie still playing ? Roger is my friend, he
used to give me interviews, but he wasn't really there, *I* wasn't even
there, the tourbus was there. I had a ticket stub you know, but I lost it,
lost my precious..."

He continued in the same way for the next three days, and his colour started
to change, becoming slightly more pink, turning him an alarming shade of
deep purple, until he suddenly asked, one afternoon:

"Could I use the phone ?"

The staff had spent the past three days getting used to him making some form
of sense, though nobody could understand what he was going on about. This
latest request came as a shock.

Nurse Rachel was called, and she spoke to him quietly, in case he suddenly
lost it again.

"Who do you want to call, Mr Lifshine ?"

"John King. And Brett Meisner. They recognise the power of the Wereo and the
Nuclear Warrior, they love me! And Thteven, he was there!! He was there when
I pressed 'record' and became the all-powerful Wereoboy, he is the
Wideokid!!"

To humour him, they brought him a telephone, and connected him to the staff
room, where Johnny B and Captain Tripps were waiting for his call.

"Hello, John King's office, can I help you ?"
"Hey yeah, this is Wereoboy."
"Sorry ?"
"This is me. Wereoboy. Pilar of Fiore, Nuclear Warrior, come to save the
Universe"
"And you want....what exactly ?"
"John King. He is a Wereoman."
"I am afraid John cannot speak to you at the moment, he's fisting a 15-year
old boy named Brian"
"But he can't be! Brian is *mine*! He is a Wereoprince!!"
"Well I'm sorry Mr Wereo, but you missed your chance in 2003 when they
realised your life was based on delusions and fuckwittery."
"Those *HiSsiNZ* know NOTHING!"
"Whatever, Mr Wereo, you are a fuckwit, and John King has asked that you do
not call again. Goodbye."
"But I am Wereo ? Don't you understand ?"
<click>

"Hi, this is Brett Meisner, I'm not around to take your call, y'know, so if
you want to talk to the King of all Rock and Roll, The King of California
Jam, the King of the Wereo, leave a message."
"Aaaaiiiieeeeeee!!!!! You bastard!! You stole my Wereo !! *I* am the
Wereoboy, *I* am the Nuclear Warrior, *I* am the Pilar of fire..."
<Brett picks up>
"Hey Scott, how ya doin ? Sorry about that answerphone thing, just have to
be careful who calls me nowadays, being so World famous and so fuckin rich
you wouldn't believe."
"You stole my Wereo!!"
"No I didn't. *I* was the one who pressed 'record' on an old reel-to-reel
tape deck,while all the World was sleeping, on Nytol, *I* was the one who
became Wereoboy, *I* was the one who taped the Wideo, *I am* the King of
California Jam."
"You liar!"
"Not at all. I even have a guy here who was with me at the time, you want to
speak with him?"
"Liar!"
"Hey Thcott, thith ith Thteven, I'm a fwiend of Bwett'th."
"Thteven! Thank God! They think Brett's the Wereoboy!"
"Well he ith, ithn't he ? Bwett wath the one that pwethed 'wecord' while the
whole World wath thleeping...on Nytol."
"Whaaaat ? You were with *me* when *I* pressed 'record' while the whole
Wor -"
"Fuck off, you athhole, Bwett *is* the Weweoboy and I *am* the Wideokid, and
you are thtill as deluded ath you were back in two thouthand and thwee,
before your /acthident/."
"But...I *was* the Wereoboy....wasn't I ?"
"No, Thcott, you were jutht a Fuckwit."
"Oh....are you sure, Thteven ?"
"Oh I'm thure, Thcott, I'm thure..."
<click>

"They said it would happen...."

"What ?"

"I'd missed the bus, the tourbus. and they told me it would happen...they
told me I was a fuckwit, I didn't believe them."

"Do you believe them now?"

Silence.

"Mr Lifshine ?"

"No. I *am* Wereoboy. *I* am the King of California, the King of Ontario,
Moviestar, Publisher, Friend of the Stars and driver of the tourbus."

"Lock him back up, he's a lost cause...."
--
slumpy
If you find a posting or message from myself offensive, inappropriate, or
disruptive, please ignore it. If you don't know how to ignore a posting,
complain to me and I will demonstrate.
slumpy
2004-01-13 23:06:40 UTC
Permalink
Post by slumpy
Post by slumpy
Post by slumpy
Post by slumpy
The year is 2024...an old man shuffles through a shiny-floored
corridor wearing pyjamas trailing a length of videotape behand him,
muttering under his breath - he quickly turns and looks over his
shoulder as if something or someone is there, a scared look in his
eyes - he mumbles one thing - "Jerry Boy..." - before shuffling on
his way...
"Mr Lifshine, medication time...Mr Lifshine...oh where's that silly
old fucker gone off to now ?"
"Well ya won't have far to look, Nurse, all ya gotta do is follow
that damned tape !" says another patient as Nurse Rachel reaches
for the keys - she knows exactly where he'll be...in the TV room,
trying to get his tape into the DVD-player in the corner again -
how many times must he be told ?
She remembers when he arrived at Sunny View for the Mentally
Bewildered and spent the first two years screaming through the bars
on his window. Now what /was/ it he used to scream...? Well it had
always sounded like;
"NOW KISS MY ZOGCRYPTION u FUCKIN' DINGBAT!!!" but nobody had been
able to translate it into English - not that he spoke with a very
intelligible accent.
He was such a lonely fat old bastard, she thought to herself, never
had /any/ visitors. Well there was one once, another overweight
ugly bastard called Brett, but Mr Lifshine just screamed "No, it's
Jerry-Boy, and he doesn't exist" and locked himself in the kitchens
where he ate 16 pounds of lard before anyone could stop him. His
only consolation were those little birds that perched on his
windowsill each day, and he'd feed them crackers, and he'd laugh
out loud, but, when asked why, would only say "Gates. He's hiding
behind them Gates again", before shuffling off.
She found him on the floor in the corner, with his video tape wound
all around him - they'd soon learned that if he was allowed to drag
this 'spaghetti' of tape around he would be quite calm, but once
they'd taken it off him and he sat on his bunk rocking back and
forth moaning "Where's it gone, Precious? Where's the Wereo,
where's the wideo, where is it Precious?" for six days until one of
the guards wanted to batter him. After he had the plaster removed
he was allowed to keep a bundle of loose tape with him.
"Come on, Mr Lifshine, you can't sit there all day", and she
started to help him up then realised what had happened.
"He's shit himself again, can you get the cleaning cart, the
restraints, and the electric shock generator please Nurse Baffles."
After he'd been cleaned up and they'd drawn lots to see who got to
zapp him with 10,000 volts, he was zapped. It usually took about 20
minutes to get the nostril hairs to catch fire, but with his body
fat he was in danger of frying internally so they kept it down to
15, just in case.
All he could say afterwards was "Moo-ha-ha Damon, Moo-ha-ha
Voivodka, I'm the King of Ontario, honest...." as he was dragged
along the corridor by his hair.
They kept an eye on him while he slept, knowing that he would wake
up shouting "Jam Jam Jam" as usual.
Later that night he did his usual trick of wandering around his
room proclaiming loudly to an imaginary audience "But it was me,
and only me, who pressed the record button why the whole World
slept...on Nytol". The other patients had complained, but they had
increased his dose to an almost lethal level and he didn't even
doze off, so they increased the patients' dosage instead. Tonight
he changed the routine a bit and started arguing with himself.
"Shut up you fat useless Cunt !"
"No, you shut up, kicks the ball, Noballs, Parrot Parrot, Rancho,
TAP TAP TAP, slappy, ticket stub ticket tour bus, timmy, Prescott
Bum!!!" "You deluded repulsive ugly wanker!!"
"Voivodka Lemons !!"
This went on until one of the orderlies went and punched him in the
eye, after which he curled up on his soaking bed and masturbated
while mumbling "John King, Brett Meisner, John King, Brett
Meisner..."
Next morning Nurse Rachel unlocked his door and peered in.
"It's 50 years ago, 50 years today, Precious, I pressed the record
button while the whole World was sleeping...on Nytol...Caljam,
Caljam, where are you Wereoboy, where's the Nytol ?"
She shook her head in despair - 19 years of repetitive burbling and
talking crap. She wondered how long it had been going on before he
was admitted, the patterns were obviously fixed long before she
first encountered him.
He'd been arrested, for the third time in a week, back in 2004, in
Ontario, California. The first time he crashed his Cab through the
front of a roadside diner which was closed for refurbishment,
claiming he was starving, though investigations suggested he had
eaten only 20 minutes before, exhausting the local Macdonalds' stock
of burgers.
Two days later he was found in a Hotel room with three 14-year old
boys, after complaints about a terrible noise coming from the room.
He was said to have been standing on the bed playing air-guitar,
miming to Black Sabbath and screaming "Wereoboy, Wereoboy, *all
hail* the Wereoboy!!" while the three boys looked on terrified.
Three days later he was arrested and brought straight to the Asylum
after bursting into the Ontario Museum (from which he had been
ejected many times before, including 6 times in the past two days),
dressed in no more than a suit made of reel-to-reel tape, and
demanding his collection of memorabilia, which he carried in a
cardboard box, be shown as the main exhibit. His claim seemed to
centre around a rock concert that had been staged in the local area
thirty years previously.
She remembered speaking to the curator after Mr Lifshine's
committal, and he said "The man is dangerous, a total fruitcake.
He's been thrown out of the Museum six times, he threatened to
attack the Yukon exhibit, and we had to restrain him when he tried
to strangle the wax model of Paul Bunion. I have no idea what his
problem is, he just rambles incoherently and repeats the word
'Wereo' over and over. I've been here for ten years and he is a
regular visitor, though we have had problems with him in the past."
After his jam, he wandered into the garden, as he usually did, and
made his way down the drive.
Three minutes later he was back in his room. The security had been
alerted again, because he was climbing the front gates, screaming
"Gates Gates, where are the Gates? Gates at the Rancho, Prescott
Kong, Kong, where are the Gates ?" at which point he was zapped with
a cattle prod. Eight times.
"Are you a...*HiSsINZ*, precious ?"
"No, Mr Lifshine, I'm a nurse, you know that."
"You're one of those *HiSsINZ Starz* - I say you are so you must be
- I am Wereoboy -"
"<SECURITY / SECURITY>"
"I'm the WereoKing, GET AWAY FROM ME!! DON'T COME NEAR ME WITH *THAT*!!"
"Shut up, you fucking prick, and go back to sleep"
"Am th Wer boyyy....."
To prevent any further disruption or upset to the other patients,
Nurse Rachel arranged for Mr Lifshine to be moved to the basement,
where they could lock him in a store-room away from the rest of the
hospital.
On the way back to the office, Rachel spoke to Doctor Bloo, who used
to treat him for his delusional behaviour, until he was injured when
Mr Lifshine fell off his chair (though witnesses say it was
deliberate) as he was walking past and was hospitalised with several
broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder. "I never really had a chance
with him, he always used to scream and try to lunge at me when he
first arrived. He thought I was someone else, kept insisting my name
was Prescott Rancho and that I had met him before outside the Beacon
theatre and interviewed him. I don't think he knows who he actually
is, or anyone else for that matter. I have no idea what we can do
with him, he's a lost case."
Rachel drunk her coffee in peace, until she heard a scream from the
stairs, and as she ran towards the screams she had the feeling that
all was not well in the store-room. What met her eyes as she came
around the bottom step came as a shock.
"Wereo...Nytol...Wereo...Nytol...Kong Kong Kong..." came the moans
from the corner, but it was the state of Mr Lifshine that made her
catch her breath. It appeared that he had managed to eat through his
straps and had then proceeded to eat as much of the contents of the
stockroom as possible. Unfortunately the room contained not only the
entire stock of breakfast cereal, a few cases of jam and some dried
milk, but also the cleaning staff's equipment and chemicals, a few
cans of paint (and brushes) and a box of condoms.
Mr Lifshine had eaten all the jam, the condoms, a packet of scourers,
and drunk as much of the chemical mixtures as he could before he
started to turn blue, and vomited on himself. He had shaken all the
milk powder and cereal over himself, and the mixture had congealed
and dried into a thick crust. He continued to vomit, and drink the
last of the drain unblocker while the orderlies tried to get through
the sludge to him.
"Getaway Jerry Boy, *I'm* the king of the Internet, I'm the Wereoboy,
my store is *NOT* a cab, I'm prime location manhattan Wereoboy with a
message for the World..."
It was at this point that he farted, unfortunately following through,
sending a cascade of excrement and vomit-cereal mix across the floor.
"Yeah, that's about the only message /he'll/ ever give anyone" said
one orderly to another.
"I can't wait to get the hoses on the fat cunt, we'll beat this
fucker black and blue..."
"BUT I'M THE WEREOBOY ! I AM THE TICKET STUB BOY, THE NUCLEAR WARRIOR
OF THE TOURBUS COME TO SAVE THE WORLD WITH MY JAM AND ONTARIO DINGBAT
KONGISMS !!" screamed the pathetic blubbering mess in the corner, as
he received a crack across the skull from a broom, swung by Dr Bloo,
who had decided that enough was enough.
They attached nylon straps to his wrists and connected them to a
winch, dragging him up the stairs and only a trolley, which was then
pushed outside into the cold night. Still mumbling incoherently, Mr
Lifshine vomited again, and, with his skin still a deep blue, had the
hoses turned on him, still strapped to the trolley.
For two hours, taking turns to spread the fun around, they hosed him
down with ice-cold water, until he was also blue with cold. He was
then taken back to his room, chained to the radiator, and beaten with
axe-handles until the staff got bored.
Next morning he was quieter than usual. Still chained to the
radiator, still a deep shade of blue, he was given a jar of jam (they
had to go to the shops for it) and as he ate it, he said "I used to
be someone you know..."
Nurse Rachel was amazed - nobody had ever heard him string two words
together in a comprehensible way before.
"I used to be someone....I was a hero for millions....they never
really understood me, you know....I /was/ Wereoboy, and they just
didn't understand me, even when I proclaimed the power of the Nuclear
Warrior, the Pilar Of Fiore, and the California Jam, they still
laughed at me...."
"Who did ? Who laughed at you ??"
"Everyone. Doctor Bloo, Timmy, slappy, Hawkenballs, Werner Herzog,
Roger Glover, the driver of the tourbus...even Damonoballs and Vodka
laughed at me, stabbed me in the back....we told you they was
tricksy..."
Rachel couldn't understand him. Nobody could, he was just rambling as usual.
"Where is the ticketstub ? Is Richie still playing ? Roger is my
friend, he used to give me interviews, but he wasn't really there,
*I* wasn't even there, the tourbus was there. I had a ticket stub you
know, but I lost it, lost my precious..."
He continued in the same way for the next three days, and his colour
started to change, becoming slightly more pink, turning him an
"Could I use the phone ?"
The staff had spent the past three days getting used to him making
some form of sense, though nobody could understand what he was going
on about. This latest request came as a shock.
Nurse Rachel was called, and she spoke to him quietly, in case he
suddenly lost it again.
"Who do you want to call, Mr Lifshine ?"
"John King. And Brett Meisner. They recognise the power of the Wereo
and the Nuclear Warrior, they love me! And Thteven, he was there!! He
was there when I pressed 'record' and became the all-powerful
Wereoboy, he is the Wideokid!!"
To humour him, they brought him a telephone, and connected him to the
staff room, where Johnny B and Captain Tripps were waiting for his
call.
"Hello, John King's office, can I help you ?"
"Hey yeah, this is Wereoboy."
"Sorry ?"
"This is me. Wereoboy. Pilar of Fiore, Nuclear Warrior, come to save
the Universe"
"And you want....what exactly ?"
"John King. He is a Wereoman."
"I am afraid John cannot speak to you at the moment, he's fisting a
15-year old boy named Brian"
"But he can't be! Brian is *mine*! He is a Wereoprince!!"
"Well I'm sorry Mr Wereo, but you missed your chance in 2003 when they
realised your life was based on delusions and fuckwittery."
"Those *HiSsiNZ* know NOTHING!"
"Whatever, Mr Wereo, you are a fuckwit, and John King has asked that
you do not call again. Goodbye."
"But I am Wereo ? Don't you understand ?"
<click>
"Hi, this is Brett Meisner, I'm not around to take your call, y'know,
so if you want to talk to the King of all Rock and Roll, The King of
California Jam, the King of the Wereo, leave a message."
"Aaaaiiiieeeeeee!!!!! You bastard!! You stole my Wereo !! *I* am the
Wereoboy, *I* am the Nuclear Warrior, *I* am the Pilar of fire..."
<Brett picks up>
"Hey Scott, how ya doin ? Sorry about that answerphone thing, just
have to be careful who calls me nowadays, being so World famous and
so fuckin rich you wouldn't believe."
"You stole my Wereo!!"
"No I didn't. *I* was the one who pressed 'record' on an old
reel-to-reel tape deck,while all the World was sleeping, on Nytol,
*I* was the one who became Wereoboy, *I* was the one who taped the
Wideo, *I am* the King of California Jam."
"You liar!"
"Not at all. I even have a guy here who was with me at the time, you
want to speak with him?"
"Liar!"
"Hey Thcott, thith ith Thteven, I'm a fwiend of Bwett'th."
"Thteven! Thank God! They think Brett's the Wereoboy!"
"Well he ith, ithn't he ? Bwett wath the one that pwethed 'wecord'
while the whole World wath thleeping...on Nytol."
"Whaaaat ? You were with *me* when *I* pressed 'record' while the whole
Wor -"
"Fuck off, you athhole, Bwett *is* the Weweoboy and I *am* the
Wideokid, and you are thtill as deluded ath you were back in two
thouthand and thwee, before your /acthident/."
"But...I *was* the Wereoboy....wasn't I ?"
"No, Thcott, you were jutht a Fuckwit."
"Oh....are you sure, Thteven ?"
"Oh I'm thure, Thcott, I'm thure..."
<click>
"They said it would happen...."
"What ?"
"I'd missed the bus, the tourbus. and they told me it would
happen...they told me I was a fuckwit, I didn't believe them."
"Do you believe them now?"
Silence.
"Mr Lifshine ?"
"No. I *am* Wereoboy. *I* am the King of California, the King of
Ontario, Moviestar, Publisher, Friend of the Stars and driver of the
tourbus."
"Lock him back up, he's a lost cause...."
Later that evening, he called Nurse Rachel to his room, where he was still
chained to the radiator, dressed in a duvet cover to keep his skin away from
the light, and anyone who might have asked awkward questions.

"I know the truth, it's right there in front of me, don't know why I didn't
see it before..."

"Tell me, Mr Lifshine."

"Well, it's like this - I *am* Deep Purple."

"What ?"

"Look at me! I *am* Deep Purple!!"

"Well you're a dark shade of mauve I suppose" said Rachel, reaching out for
alarm buzzer just in case.

"No! You don't understand! Nobody understands! *I AM DEEP PURPLE*. Cal Jam
was *ME awl* along!!"

"Calm down now, and I'll get some of those 'sweeties' that you like so
much..."

"No, it's OK, I understand now! I *AM* Gillandale Blacklord! I *AM* The
PaceGlover! Get someone important on the phone, I need to publish *now*."

"Sorry Mr Lifshine, the telephone has been taken away until thursday".

"But I must speak to my record company! They cannot exist without me! I *am*
the record company, I *am* everything! I have the key to the GATES for fucks
sake !"

"Well that's as maybe, but you're staying chained to the radiator until you
calm down and go back to your gibbering nonsense."

All that day, he could be heard muttering to himself, sneaking looks outside
his room in case anyone was listening.

"Brett Meisner is gonna get it now. Brett Meisner watch out, precious. I
have contacts in the LAPD, you're getting a visit from those guys any
minute. And a SWAT team too. And the Internet Police...."

In the evening, he was woken up from his jam to see an old man in a white
coat. He'd seen plenty of those over the years. He thought he looked
familiar.

"Mr Lifshine, this is Mr Michael Threat, he's a consultant lunatic
psychologist...."

The words tapered off as he noticed the name badge on the old man's coat:
M.T. Threat....now where had he heard that name before ? Was this the man
who sedated him in Ontario the first time he was arrested ? Was this the
mugger that he'd killed in the back of his Storefront Taxi ? Maybe he was
one of the numerous people he'd made up over the years, but his face looked
familiar.

"Now Mr Lifshine, I want you to tell me what the problem is ?"

"I thought I was the Wereoboy, and I *was* the Wereoboy and now I'm Deep
Purple and I still *am* the Wereoboy. I am a Nuclear War, King of The Kong,
and and and -"

"Ooookay....so when did you become..erm...Weirdoboy ?"

" *WEREO WEREO WEREO!!!* "

"Sorry, yes, /Wereo/."

"1974."

"And what happened in 1974, Scott. May I call you Scott ?"

"I am the Wereoboy. Scott is Brett Meisner. On Nytol."

"So /how/ did you become Wereoboy ?"

"I pressed 'record'. I know I did, because I was *there*. So was Thteven. He
became the Widdy kid, and we ruled the World. I am the Pilar of Fire, the
Nuclear Warrior, the king of Kong."

"Record ? What did you record ? Why did it have a significant impact on your
life ?"

"Jam."

He was brought a jar at the insistence of Dr Threat, and while he ate,
little pieces of gibberish were pieced together until Dr Threat had a
reasonable picture of the problem."

"So you taped this concert as it was broadcast over the radio, and assumed
the identity of this - Wereoboy ?"

"No! I was *awlways* the Wereoboy, and now I'm Deep Purple, can't you see ?"

"Who is Deep Purple ?"

"Roger Pacemaker. Lord CoverGates."

"Are /you/ Roger Pacemaker, Wereoboy ?"

"I told you *awlready*, I AM KING KONG, THE WEREOBOY, THE TICKETSTUB, THE
TOURBUS, THE FAT CAB DRIVER !!"

"Nurse, give him another shot up the arm please...now er...Wereoboy, let's
go back to your parents, erm..the Wereoman and erm -"

"DON'T TALK ABOUT THEM !! THEY LEFT ME *AWL* ALONE WITH THE RATS THE HOOKERS
AND THE WINOS...."

The sedative began to take effect. They had given up on the usual hospital
stock, and had recruited a member of the local zoo staff to take care of
this part of his medication. Although he specified in Bovine Anasthesia, he
usually worked with the Elephants and Rhinos, and marvelled at the
similarities between their respective physiologies.

"Yes, quite remarkable really, the same ratio of fat to brain, the same dull
look in the eye when they're going under, the same reflex patterns..."

"It's obvious that this chap suffers from a conflict of identities, and has
inflicted his suffering on others for over twenty years. His inability to
acknowledge a high level of fuckwittery has left him actually /believing/ he
is more than a useless fat lump of lard."

Nurse Rachel had been watching all this time, and wondered if the condition
was treatable.

"If this guy wasn't such an obvious Doofus, it might be worth it, but from
looking at his records, well he /was/ only a cabdriver, although we /have/
found documents, albeit written by himself, that he was a musician, actor,
film producer, writer, archivist...."

"But Doctor, he also claimed to be Wereoboy, King Kong, a Nuclear Warrior,
Deep Purple, Brett Meisner, Thteven...the list goes on and on..."

"I know, I'll take the casenotes back home and study them tonight, but I
can't see it being worthwhile. He is obviously such a fuckwit I fear there's
no hope at all."
--
slumpy
A tip for the sad and deluded:
Unskilled and Unaware of It:
How Difficulties in Recognizing One's Own Incompetence Lead to Inflated
Self-Assessments
http://www.apa.org/journals/psp/psp7761121.html
DT Lemons 1900
2004-01-13 23:14:00 UTC
Permalink
Post by slumpy
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Post by slumpy
The year is 2024...an old man shuffles through a shiny-floored
corridor wearing pyjamas trailing a length of videotape behand him,
muttering under his breath - he quickly turns and looks over his
shoulder as if something or someone is there, a scared look in his
eyes - he mumbles one thing - "Jerry Boy..." - before shuffling on
his way...
"Mr Lifshine, medication time...Mr Lifshine...oh where's that silly
old fucker gone off to now ?"
"Well ya won't have far to look, Nurse, all ya gotta do is follow
that damned tape !" says another patient as Nurse Rachel reaches
for the keys - she knows exactly where he'll be...in the TV room,
trying to get his tape into the DVD-player in the corner again -
how many times must he be told ?
She remembers when he arrived at Sunny View for the Mentally
Bewildered and spent the first two years screaming through the bars
on his window. Now what /was/ it he used to scream...? Well it had
always sounded like;
"NOW KISS MY ZOGCRYPTION u FUCKIN' DINGBAT!!!" but nobody had been
able to translate it into English - not that he spoke with a very
intelligible accent.
He was such a lonely fat old bastard, she thought to herself, never
had /any/ visitors. Well there was one once, another overweight
ugly bastard called Brett, but Mr Lifshine just screamed "No, it's
Jerry-Boy, and he doesn't exist" and locked himself in the kitchens
where he ate 16 pounds of lard before anyone could stop him. His
only consolation were those little birds that perched on his
windowsill each day, and he'd feed them crackers, and he'd laugh
out loud, but, when asked why, would only say "Gates. He's hiding
behind them Gates again", before shuffling off.
She found him on the floor in the corner, with his video tape wound
all around him - they'd soon learned that if he was allowed to drag
this 'spaghetti' of tape around he would be quite calm, but once
they'd taken it off him and he sat on his bunk rocking back and
forth moaning "Where's it gone, Precious? Where's the Wereo,
where's the wideo, where is it Precious?" for six days until one of
the guards wanted to batter him. After he had the plaster removed
he was allowed to keep a bundle of loose tape with him.
"Come on, Mr Lifshine, you can't sit there all day", and she
started to help him up then realised what had happened.
"He's shit himself again, can you get the cleaning cart, the
restraints, and the electric shock generator please Nurse Baffles."
After he'd been cleaned up and they'd drawn lots to see who got to
zapp him with 10,000 volts, he was zapped. It usually took about 20
minutes to get the nostril hairs to catch fire, but with his body
fat he was in danger of frying internally so they kept it down to
15, just in case.
All he could say afterwards was "Moo-ha-ha Damon, Moo-ha-ha
Voivodka, I'm the King of Ontario, honest...." as he was dragged
along the corridor by his hair.
They kept an eye on him while he slept, knowing that he would wake
up shouting "Jam Jam Jam" as usual.
Later that night he did his usual trick of wandering around his
room proclaiming loudly to an imaginary audience "But it was me,
and only me, who pressed the record button why the whole World
slept...on Nytol". The other patients had complained, but they had
increased his dose to an almost lethal level and he didn't even
doze off, so they increased the patients' dosage instead. Tonight
he changed the routine a bit and started arguing with himself.
"Shut up you fat useless Cunt !"
"No, you shut up, kicks the ball, Noballs, Parrot Parrot, Rancho,
TAP TAP TAP, slappy, ticket stub ticket tour bus, timmy, Prescott
Bum!!!" "You deluded repulsive ugly wanker!!"
"Voivodka Lemons !!"
This went on until one of the orderlies went and punched him in the
eye, after which he curled up on his soaking bed and masturbated
while mumbling "John King, Brett Meisner, John King, Brett Meisner..."
Next morning Nurse Rachel unlocked his door and peered in.
"It's 50 years ago, 50 years today, Precious, I pressed the record
button while the whole World was sleeping...on Nytol...Caljam,
Caljam, where are you Wereoboy, where's the Nytol ?"
She shook her head in despair - 19 years of repetitive burbling and
talking crap. She wondered how long it had been going on before he
was admitted, the patterns were obviously fixed long before she
first encountered him.
He'd been arrested, for the third time in a week, back in 2004, in
Ontario, California. The first time he crashed his Cab through the
front of a roadside diner which was closed for refurbishment,
claiming he was starving, though investigations suggested he had
eaten only 20 minutes before, exhausting the local Macdonalds' stock
of burgers.
Two days later he was found in a Hotel room with three 14-year old
boys, after complaints about a terrible noise coming from the room.
He was said to have been standing on the bed playing air-guitar,
miming to Black Sabbath and screaming "Wereoboy, Wereoboy, *all
hail* the Wereoboy!!" while the three boys looked on terrified.
Three days later he was arrested and brought straight to the Asylum
after bursting into the Ontario Museum (from which he had been
ejected many times before, including 6 times in the past two days),
dressed in no more than a suit made of reel-to-reel tape, and
demanding his collection of memorabilia, which he carried in a
cardboard box, be shown as the main exhibit. His claim seemed to
centre around a rock concert that had been staged in the local area
thirty years previously.
She remembered speaking to the curator after Mr Lifshine's
committal, and he said "The man is dangerous, a total fruitcake.
He's been thrown out of the Museum six times, he threatened to
attack the Yukon exhibit, and we had to restrain him when he tried
to strangle the wax model of Paul Bunion. I have no idea what his
problem is, he just rambles incoherently and repeats the word
'Wereo' over and over. I've been here for ten years and he is a
regular visitor, though we have had problems with him in the past."
After his jam, he wandered into the garden, as he usually did, and
made his way down the drive.
Three minutes later he was back in his room. The security had been
alerted again, because he was climbing the front gates, screaming
"Gates Gates, where are the Gates? Gates at the Rancho, Prescott
Kong, Kong, where are the Gates ?" at which point he was zapped with
a cattle prod. Eight times.
"Are you a...*HiSsINZ*, precious ?"
"No, Mr Lifshine, I'm a nurse, you know that."
"You're one of those *HiSsINZ Starz* - I say you are so you must be
- I am Wereoboy -"
"<SECURITY / SECURITY>"
"I'm the WereoKing, GET AWAY FROM ME!! DON'T COME NEAR ME WITH *THAT*!!"
"Shut up, you fucking prick, and go back to sleep"
"Am th Wer boyyy....."
To prevent any further disruption or upset to the other patients,
Nurse Rachel arranged for Mr Lifshine to be moved to the basement,
where they could lock him in a store-room away from the rest of the
hospital.
On the way back to the office, Rachel spoke to Doctor Bloo, who used
to treat him for his delusional behaviour, until he was injured when
Mr Lifshine fell off his chair (though witnesses say it was
deliberate) as he was walking past and was hospitalised with several
broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder. "I never really had a chance
with him, he always used to scream and try to lunge at me when he
first arrived. He thought I was someone else, kept insisting my name
was Prescott Rancho and that I had met him before outside the Beacon
theatre and interviewed him. I don't think he knows who he actually
is, or anyone else for that matter. I have no idea what we can do
with him, he's a lost case."
Rachel drunk her coffee in peace, until she heard a scream from the
stairs, and as she ran towards the screams she had the feeling that
all was not well in the store-room. What met her eyes as she came
around the bottom step came as a shock.
"Wereo...Nytol...Wereo...Nytol...Kong Kong Kong..." came the moans
from the corner, but it was the state of Mr Lifshine that made her
catch her breath. It appeared that he had managed to eat through his
straps and had then proceeded to eat as much of the contents of the
stockroom as possible. Unfortunately the room contained not only the
entire stock of breakfast cereal, a few cases of jam and some dried
milk, but also the cleaning staff's equipment and chemicals, a few
cans of paint (and brushes) and a box of condoms.
Mr Lifshine had eaten all the jam, the condoms, a packet of scourers,
and drunk as much of the chemical mixtures as he could before he
started to turn blue, and vomited on himself. He had shaken all the
milk powder and cereal over himself, and the mixture had congealed
and dried into a thick crust. He continued to vomit, and drink the
last of the drain unblocker while the orderlies tried to get through
the sludge to him.
"Getaway Jerry Boy, *I'm* the king of the Internet, I'm the Wereoboy,
my store is *NOT* a cab, I'm prime location manhattan Wereoboy with a
message for the World..."
It was at this point that he farted, unfortunately following through,
sending a cascade of excrement and vomit-cereal mix across the floor.
"Yeah, that's about the only message /he'll/ ever give anyone" said
one orderly to another.
"I can't wait to get the hoses on the fat cunt, we'll beat this
fucker black and blue..."
"BUT I'M THE WEREOBOY ! I AM THE TICKET STUB BOY, THE NUCLEAR WARRIOR
OF THE TOURBUS COME TO SAVE THE WORLD WITH MY JAM AND ONTARIO DINGBAT
KONGISMS !!" screamed the pathetic blubbering mess in the corner, as
he received a crack across the skull from a broom, swung by Dr Bloo,
who had decided that enough was enough.
They attached nylon straps to his wrists and connected them to a
winch, dragging him up the stairs and only a trolley, which was then
pushed outside into the cold night. Still mumbling incoherently, Mr
Lifshine vomited again, and, with his skin still a deep blue, had the
hoses turned on him, still strapped to the trolley.
For two hours, taking turns to spread the fun around, they hosed him
down with ice-cold water, until he was also blue with cold. He was
then taken back to his room, chained to the radiator, and beaten with
axe-handles until the staff got bored.
Next morning he was quieter than usual. Still chained to the
radiator, still a deep shade of blue, he was given a jar of jam (they
had to go to the shops for it) and as he ate it, he said "I used to
be someone you know..."
Nurse Rachel was amazed - nobody had ever heard him string two words
together in a comprehensible way before.
"I used to be someone....I was a hero for millions....they never
really understood me, you know....I /was/ Wereoboy, and they just
didn't understand me, even when I proclaimed the power of the Nuclear
Warrior, the Pilar Of Fiore, and the California Jam, they still
laughed at me...."
"Who did ? Who laughed at you ??"
"Everyone. Doctor Bloo, Timmy, slappy, Hawkenballs, Werner Herzog,
Roger Glover, the driver of the tourbus...even Damonoballs and Vodka
laughed at me, stabbed me in the back....we told you they was
tricksy..."
Rachel couldn't understand him. Nobody could, he was just rambling as usual.
"Where is the ticketstub ? Is Richie still playing ? Roger is my
friend, he used to give me interviews, but he wasn't really there,
*I* wasn't even there, the tourbus was there. I had a ticket stub you
know, but I lost it, lost my precious..."
He continued in the same way for the next three days, and his colour
started to change, becoming slightly more pink, turning him an
"Could I use the phone ?"
The staff had spent the past three days getting used to him making
some form of sense, though nobody could understand what he was going
on about. This latest request came as a shock.
Nurse Rachel was called, and she spoke to him quietly, in case he
suddenly lost it again.
"Who do you want to call, Mr Lifshine ?"
"John King. And Brett Meisner. They recognise the power of the Wereo
and the Nuclear Warrior, they love me! And Thteven, he was there!! He
was there when I pressed 'record' and became the all-powerful
Wereoboy, he is the Wideokid!!"
To humour him, they brought him a telephone, and connected him to the
staff room, where Johnny B and Captain Tripps were waiting for his
call.
"Hello, John King's office, can I help you ?"
"Hey yeah, this is Wereoboy."
"Sorry ?"
"This is me. Wereoboy. Pilar of Fiore, Nuclear Warrior, come to save
the Universe"
"And you want....what exactly ?"
"John King. He is a Wereoman."
"I am afraid John cannot speak to you at the moment, he's fisting a
15-year old boy named Brian"
"But he can't be! Brian is *mine*! He is a Wereoprince!!"
"Well I'm sorry Mr Wereo, but you missed your chance in 2003 when they
realised your life was based on delusions and fuckwittery."
"Those *HiSsiNZ* know NOTHING!"
"Whatever, Mr Wereo, you are a fuckwit, and John King has asked that
you do not call again. Goodbye."
"But I am Wereo ? Don't you understand ?"
<click>
"Hi, this is Brett Meisner, I'm not around to take your call, y'know,
so if you want to talk to the King of all Rock and Roll, The King of
California Jam, the King of the Wereo, leave a message."
"Aaaaiiiieeeeeee!!!!! You bastard!! You stole my Wereo !! *I* am the
Wereoboy, *I* am the Nuclear Warrior, *I* am the Pilar of fire..."
<Brett picks up>
"Hey Scott, how ya doin ? Sorry about that answerphone thing, just
have to be careful who calls me nowadays, being so World famous and
so fuckin rich you wouldn't believe."
"You stole my Wereo!!"
"No I didn't. *I* was the one who pressed 'record' on an old
reel-to-reel tape deck,while all the World was sleeping, on Nytol,
*I* was the one who became Wereoboy, *I* was the one who taped the
Wideo, *I am* the King of California Jam."
"You liar!"
"Not at all. I even have a guy here who was with me at the time, you
want to speak with him?"
"Liar!"
"Hey Thcott, thith ith Thteven, I'm a fwiend of Bwett'th."
"Thteven! Thank God! They think Brett's the Wereoboy!"
"Well he ith, ithn't he ? Bwett wath the one that pwethed 'wecord'
while the whole World wath thleeping...on Nytol."
"Whaaaat ? You were with *me* when *I* pressed 'record' while the whole
Wor -"
"Fuck off, you athhole, Bwett *is* the Weweoboy and I *am* the
Wideokid, and you are thtill as deluded ath you were back in two
thouthand and thwee, before your /acthident/."
"But...I *was* the Wereoboy....wasn't I ?"
"No, Thcott, you were jutht a Fuckwit."
"Oh....are you sure, Thteven ?"
"Oh I'm thure, Thcott, I'm thure..."
<click>
"They said it would happen...."
"What ?"
"I'd missed the bus, the tourbus. and they told me it would
happen...they told me I was a fuckwit, I didn't believe them."
"Do you believe them now?"
Silence.
"Mr Lifshine ?"
"No. I *am* Wereoboy. *I* am the King of California, the King of
Ontario, Moviestar, Publisher, Friend of the Stars and driver of the
tourbus."
"Lock him back up, he's a lost cause...."
Later that evening, he called Nurse Rachel to his room, where he was still
chained to the radiator, dressed in a duvet cover to keep his skin away from
the light, and anyone who might have asked awkward questions.
"I know the truth, it's right there in front of me, don't know why I didn't
see it before..."
"Tell me, Mr Lifshine."
"Well, it's like this - I *am* Deep Purple."
"What ?"
"Look at me! I *am* Deep Purple!!"
"Well you're a dark shade of mauve I suppose" said Rachel, reaching out for
alarm buzzer just in case.
"No! You don't understand! Nobody understands! *I AM DEEP PURPLE*. Cal Jam
was *ME awl* along!!"
"Calm down now, and I'll get some of those 'sweeties' that you like so
much..."
"No, it's OK, I understand now! I *AM* Gillandale Blacklord! I *AM* The
PaceGlover! Get someone important on the phone, I need to publish *now*."
"Sorry Mr Lifshine, the telephone has been taken away until thursday".
"But I must speak to my record company! They cannot exist without me! I *am*
the record company, I *am* everything! I have the key to the GATES for fucks
sake !"
"Well that's as maybe, but you're staying chained to the radiator until you
calm down and go back to your gibbering nonsense."
All that day, he could be heard muttering to himself, sneaking looks outside
his room in case anyone was listening.
"Brett Meisner is gonna get it now. Brett Meisner watch out, precious. I
have contacts in the LAPD, you're getting a visit from those guys any
minute. And a SWAT team too. And the Internet Police...."
In the evening, he was woken up from his jam to see an old man in a white
coat. He'd seen plenty of those over the years. He thought he looked
familiar.
"Mr Lifshine, this is Mr Michael Threat, he's a consultant lunatic
psychologist...."
M.T. Threat....now where had he heard that name before ? Was this the man
who sedated him in Ontario the first time he was arrested ? Was this the
mugger that he'd killed in the back of his Storefront Taxi ? Maybe he was
one of the numerous people he'd made up over the years, but his face looked
familiar.
"Now Mr Lifshine, I want you to tell me what the problem is ?"
"I thought I was the Wereoboy, and I *was* the Wereoboy and now I'm Deep
Purple and I still *am* the Wereoboy. I am a Nuclear War, King of The Kong,
and and and -"
"Ooookay....so when did you become..erm...Weirdoboy ?"
" *WEREO WEREO WEREO!!!* "
"Sorry, yes, /Wereo/."
"1974."
"And what happened in 1974, Scott. May I call you Scott ?"
"I am the Wereoboy. Scott is Brett Meisner. On Nytol."
"So /how/ did you become Wereoboy ?"
"I pressed 'record'. I know I did, because I was *there*. So was Thteven. He
became the Widdy kid, and we ruled the World. I am the Pilar of Fire, the
Nuclear Warrior, the king of Kong."
"Record ? What did you record ? Why did it have a significant impact on your
life ?"
"Jam."
He was brought a jar at the insistence of Dr Threat, and while he ate,
little pieces of gibberish were pieced together until Dr Threat had a
reasonable picture of the problem."
"So you taped this concert as it was broadcast over the radio, and assumed
the identity of this - Wereoboy ?"
"No! I was *awlways* the Wereoboy, and now I'm Deep Purple, can't you see ?"
"Who is Deep Purple ?"
"Roger Pacemaker. Lord CoverGates."
"Are /you/ Roger Pacemaker, Wereoboy ?"
"I told you *awlready*, I AM KING KONG, THE WEREOBOY, THE TICKETSTUB, THE
TOURBUS, THE FAT CAB DRIVER !!"
"Nurse, give him another shot up the arm please...now er...Wereoboy, let's
go back to your parents, erm..the Wereoman and erm -"
"DON'T TALK ABOUT THEM !! THEY LEFT ME *AWL* ALONE WITH THE RATS THE HOOKERS
AND THE WINOS...."
The sedative began to take effect. They had given up on the usual hospital
stock, and had recruited a member of the local zoo staff to take care of
this part of his medication. Although he specified in Bovine Anasthesia, he
usually worked with the Elephants and Rhinos, and marvelled at the
similarities between their respective physiologies.
"Yes, quite remarkable really, the same ratio of fat to brain, the same dull
look in the eye when they're going under, the same reflex patterns..."
"It's obvious that this chap suffers from a conflict of identities, and has
inflicted his suffering on others for over twenty years. His inability to
acknowledge a high level of fuckwittery has left him actually /believing/ he
is more than a useless fat lump of lard."
Nurse Rachel had been watching all this time, and wondered if the condition
was treatable.
"If this guy wasn't such an obvious Doofus, it might be worth it, but from
looking at his records, well he /was/ only a cabdriver, although we /have/
found documents, albeit written by himself, that he was a musician, actor,
film producer, writer, archivist...."
"But Doctor, he also claimed to be Wereoboy, King Kong, a Nuclear Warrior,
Deep Purple, Brett Meisner, Thteven...the list goes on and on..."
"I know, I'll take the casenotes back home and study them tonight, but I
can't see it being worthwhile. He is obviously such a fuckwit I fear there's
no hope at all."
--
slumpy
How Difficulties in Recognizing One's Own Incompetence Lead to Inflated
Self-Assessments
http://www.apa.org/journals/psp/psp7761121.html
This is really weird. How can anybody spend so much time and effort a
Newsgroup battle. When it is said that Slumpy has no life, it must be true.
Just scroll up and look at the effort that Slumpy has put into his battle
with Scott. He must wake up and gp to sleep with thought of Scott. Very
weird.
slumpy
2004-01-13 23:32:03 UTC
Permalink
Voicing an opinion as worthless as a wino at a wedding, DT Lemons 1900
postulated...
Post by DT Lemons 1900
This is really weird. How can anybody spend so much time and effort a
Newsgroup battle. When it is said that Slumpy has no life, it must be
true. Just scroll up and look at the effort that Slumpy has put into
his battle with Scott. He must wake up and gp to sleep with thought
of Scott. Very weird.
I assume you meant /in/ a Newsgroup etc etc ?

Anyway, what's the beef, takes about 10 minutes, makes me laugh, or are you
jealous that you never get a mention ?
--
slumpy
A tip for the sad and deluded:
Unskilled and Unaware of It:
How Difficulties in Recognizing One's Own Incompetence Lead to Inflated
Self-Assessments
http://www.apa.org/journals/psp/psp7761121.html
Still the Battle Rages
2004-01-14 01:12:20 UTC
Permalink
Post by DT Lemons 1900
This is really weird. How can anybody spend so much time and effort a
Newsgroup battle. When it is said that Slumpy has no life, it must be true.
Just scroll up and look at the effort that Slumpy has put into his battle
with Scott. He must wake up and gp to sleep with thought of Scott. Very
weird.
Riveting and Witty. Entertaining and Funny. I give this two thumbs up.
Battle Rages On at the Newsgroups
I smack da Wereo Bitch
2004-01-14 03:41:46 UTC
Permalink
Post by DT Lemons 1900
This is really weird. How can anybody spend so much time and effort a
Newsgroup battle. When it is said that Slumpy has no life, it must be
true.
Post by DT Lemons 1900
Just scroll up and look at the effort that Slumpy has put into his battle
with Scott. He must wake up and gp to sleep with thought of Scott. Very
weird.
That is not nearly a funny as all the effort that u use to reply to all
of your lying replies to your numerous FAKE identities.

But unfortunately u usually forget who u are when doing so. DuH?
--
NOW KISS MY ASS u FUCKIN' IDIOT!!!
VOIVODKA
2004-01-14 03:00:24 UTC
Permalink
Post by DT Lemons 1900
This is really weird. How can anybody spend so much time and effort a
Newsgroup battle. When it is said that Slumpy has no life, it must be true.
Just scroll up and look at the effort that Slumpy has put into his battle
with Scott. He must wake up and gp to sleep with thought of Scott. Very
weird.
Very sad as well.
scottamerica
2004-01-14 08:56:35 UTC
Permalink
Post by VOIVODKA
Post by DT Lemons 1900
This is really weird. How can anybody spend so much time and effort a
Newsgroup battle. When it is said that Slumpy has no life, it must be true.
Just scroll up and look at the effort that Slumpy has put into his battle
with Scott. He must wake up and gp to sleep with thought of Scott. Very
weird.
Very sad as well.
Everything scummy does is sad.

Scott
I smack da Wereo Bitch
2004-01-14 16:10:54 UTC
Permalink
Post by VOIVODKA
Post by DT Lemons 1900
This is really weird. How can anybody spend so much time and effort a
Newsgroup battle. When it is said that Slumpy has no life, it must be true.
Just scroll up and look at the effort that Slumpy has put into his battle
with Scott. He must wake up and gp to sleep with thought of Scott. Very
weird.
Very sad as well.
What is SAD is u having to answer your own retarded stupid posts.
--
NOW KISS MY ASS u FUCKIN' IDIOT!!!
scottamerica
2004-01-14 08:58:58 UTC
Permalink
Post by slumpy
Post by slumpy
Post by slumpy
Post by slumpy
Post by slumpy
Post by slumpy
The year is 2024...an old man shuffles through a shiny-floored
corridor wearing pyjamas trailing a length of videotape behand him,
muttering under his breath - he quickly turns and looks over his
shoulder as if something or someone is there, a scared look in his
eyes - he mumbles one thing - "Jerry Boy..." - before shuffling on
his way...
"Mr Lifshine, medication time...Mr Lifshine...oh where's that silly
old fucker gone off to now ?"
"Well ya won't have far to look, Nurse, all ya gotta do is follow
that damned tape !" says another patient as Nurse Rachel reaches
for the keys - she knows exactly where he'll be...in the TV room,
trying to get his tape into the DVD-player in the corner again -
how many times must he be told ?
She remembers when he arrived at Sunny View for the Mentally
Bewildered and spent the first two years screaming through the bars
on his window. Now what /was/ it he used to scream...? Well it had
always sounded like;
"NOW KISS MY ZOGCRYPTION u FUCKIN' DINGBAT!!!" but nobody had been
able to translate it into English - not that he spoke with a very
intelligible accent.
He was such a lonely fat old bastard, she thought to herself, never
had /any/ visitors. Well there was one once, another overweight
ugly bastard called Brett, but Mr Lifshine just screamed "No, it's
Jerry-Boy, and he doesn't exist" and locked himself in the kitchens
where he ate 16 pounds of lard before anyone could stop him. His
only consolation were those little birds that perched on his
windowsill each day, and he'd feed them crackers, and he'd laugh
out loud, but, when asked why, would only say "Gates. He's hiding
behind them Gates again", before shuffling off.
She found him on the floor in the corner, with his video tape wound
all around him - they'd soon learned that if he was allowed to drag
this 'spaghetti' of tape around he would be quite calm, but once
they'd taken it off him and he sat on his bunk rocking back and
forth moaning "Where's it gone, Precious? Where's the Wereo,
where's the wideo, where is it Precious?" for six days until one of
the guards wanted to batter him. After he had the plaster removed
he was allowed to keep a bundle of loose tape with him.
"Come on, Mr Lifshine, you can't sit there all day", and she
started to help him up then realised what had happened.
"He's shit himself again, can you get the cleaning cart, the
restraints, and the electric shock generator please Nurse Baffles."
After he'd been cleaned up and they'd drawn lots to see who got to
zapp him with 10,000 volts, he was zapped. It usually took about 20
minutes to get the nostril hairs to catch fire, but with his body
fat he was in danger of frying internally so they kept it down to
15, just in case.
All he could say afterwards was "Moo-ha-ha Damon, Moo-ha-ha
Voivodka, I'm the King of Ontario, honest...." as he was dragged
along the corridor by his hair.
They kept an eye on him while he slept, knowing that he would wake
up shouting "Jam Jam Jam" as usual.
Later that night he did his usual trick of wandering around his
room proclaiming loudly to an imaginary audience "But it was me,
and only me, who pressed the record button why the whole World
slept...on Nytol". The other patients had complained, but they had
increased his dose to an almost lethal level and he didn't even
doze off, so they increased the patients' dosage instead. Tonight
he changed the routine a bit and started arguing with himself.
"Shut up you fat useless Cunt !"
"No, you shut up, kicks the ball, Noballs, Parrot Parrot, Rancho,
TAP TAP TAP, slappy, ticket stub ticket tour bus, timmy, Prescott
Bum!!!" "You deluded repulsive ugly wanker!!"
"Voivodka Lemons !!"
This went on until one of the orderlies went and punched him in the
eye, after which he curled up on his soaking bed and masturbated
while mumbling "John King, Brett Meisner, John King, Brett Meisner..."
Next morning Nurse Rachel unlocked his door and peered in.
"It's 50 years ago, 50 years today, Precious, I pressed the record
button while the whole World was sleeping...on Nytol...Caljam,
Caljam, where are you Wereoboy, where's the Nytol ?"
She shook her head in despair - 19 years of repetitive burbling and
talking crap. She wondered how long it had been going on before he
was admitted, the patterns were obviously fixed long before she
first encountered him.
He'd been arrested, for the third time in a week, back in 2004, in
Ontario, California. The first time he crashed his Cab through the
front of a roadside diner which was closed for refurbishment,
claiming he was starving, though investigations suggested he had
eaten only 20 minutes before, exhausting the local Macdonalds' stock
of burgers.
Two days later he was found in a Hotel room with three 14-year old
boys, after complaints about a terrible noise coming from the room.
He was said to have been standing on the bed playing air-guitar,
miming to Black Sabbath and screaming "Wereoboy, Wereoboy, *all
hail* the Wereoboy!!" while the three boys looked on terrified.
Three days later he was arrested and brought straight to the Asylum
after bursting into the Ontario Museum (from which he had been
ejected many times before, including 6 times in the past two days),
dressed in no more than a suit made of reel-to-reel tape, and
demanding his collection of memorabilia, which he carried in a
cardboard box, be shown as the main exhibit. His claim seemed to
centre around a rock concert that had been staged in the local area
thirty years previously.
She remembered speaking to the curator after Mr Lifshine's
committal, and he said "The man is dangerous, a total fruitcake.
He's been thrown out of the Museum six times, he threatened to
attack the Yukon exhibit, and we had to restrain him when he tried
to strangle the wax model of Paul Bunion. I have no idea what his
problem is, he just rambles incoherently and repeats the word
'Wereo' over and over. I've been here for ten years and he is a
regular visitor, though we have had problems with him in the past."
After his jam, he wandered into the garden, as he usually did, and
made his way down the drive.
Three minutes later he was back in his room. The security had been
alerted again, because he was climbing the front gates, screaming
"Gates Gates, where are the Gates? Gates at the Rancho, Prescott
Kong, Kong, where are the Gates ?" at which point he was zapped with
a cattle prod. Eight times.
"Are you a...*HiSsINZ*, precious ?"
"No, Mr Lifshine, I'm a nurse, you know that."
"You're one of those *HiSsINZ Starz* - I say you are so you must be
- I am Wereoboy -"
"<SECURITY / SECURITY>"
"I'm the WereoKing, GET AWAY FROM ME!! DON'T COME NEAR ME WITH *THAT*!!"
"Shut up, you fucking prick, and go back to sleep"
"Am th Wer boyyy....."
To prevent any further disruption or upset to the other patients,
Nurse Rachel arranged for Mr Lifshine to be moved to the basement,
where they could lock him in a store-room away from the rest of the
hospital.
On the way back to the office, Rachel spoke to Doctor Bloo, who used
to treat him for his delusional behaviour, until he was injured when
Mr Lifshine fell off his chair (though witnesses say it was
deliberate) as he was walking past and was hospitalised with several
broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder. "I never really had a chance
with him, he always used to scream and try to lunge at me when he
first arrived. He thought I was someone else, kept insisting my name
was Prescott Rancho and that I had met him before outside the Beacon
theatre and interviewed him. I don't think he knows who he actually
is, or anyone else for that matter. I have no idea what we can do
with him, he's a lost case."
Rachel drunk her coffee in peace, until she heard a scream from the
stairs, and as she ran towards the screams she had the feeling that
all was not well in the store-room. What met her eyes as she came
around the bottom step came as a shock.
"Wereo...Nytol...Wereo...Nytol...Kong Kong Kong..." came the moans
from the corner, but it was the state of Mr Lifshine that made her
catch her breath. It appeared that he had managed to eat through his
straps and had then proceeded to eat as much of the contents of the
stockroom as possible. Unfortunately the room contained not only the
entire stock of breakfast cereal, a few cases of jam and some dried
milk, but also the cleaning staff's equipment and chemicals, a few
cans of paint (and brushes) and a box of condoms.
Mr Lifshine had eaten all the jam, the condoms, a packet of scourers,
and drunk as much of the chemical mixtures as he could before he
started to turn blue, and vomited on himself. He had shaken all the
milk powder and cereal over himself, and the mixture had congealed
and dried into a thick crust. He continued to vomit, and drink the
last of the drain unblocker while the orderlies tried to get through
the sludge to him.
"Getaway Jerry Boy, *I'm* the king of the Internet, I'm the Wereoboy,
my store is *NOT* a cab, I'm prime location manhattan Wereoboy with a
message for the World..."
It was at this point that he farted, unfortunately following through,
sending a cascade of excrement and vomit-cereal mix across the floor.
"Yeah, that's about the only message /he'll/ ever give anyone" said
one orderly to another.
"I can't wait to get the hoses on the fat cunt, we'll beat this
fucker black and blue..."
"BUT I'M THE WEREOBOY ! I AM THE TICKET STUB BOY, THE NUCLEAR WARRIOR
OF THE TOURBUS COME TO SAVE THE WORLD WITH MY JAM AND ONTARIO DINGBAT
KONGISMS !!" screamed the pathetic blubbering mess in the corner, as
he received a crack across the skull from a broom, swung by Dr Bloo,
who had decided that enough was enough.
They attached nylon straps to his wrists and connected them to a
winch, dragging him up the stairs and only a trolley, which was then
pushed outside into the cold night. Still mumbling incoherently, Mr
Lifshine vomited again, and, with his skin still a deep blue, had the
hoses turned on him, still strapped to the trolley.
For two hours, taking turns to spread the fun around, they hosed him
down with ice-cold water, until he was also blue with cold. He was
then taken back to his room, chained to the radiator, and beaten with
axe-handles until the staff got bored.
Next morning he was quieter than usual. Still chained to the
radiator, still a deep shade of blue, he was given a jar of jam (they
had to go to the shops for it) and as he ate it, he said "I used to
be someone you know..."
Nurse Rachel was amazed - nobody had ever heard him string two words
together in a comprehensible way before.
"I used to be someone....I was a hero for millions....they never
really understood me, you know....I /was/ Wereoboy, and they just
didn't understand me, even when I proclaimed the power of the Nuclear
Warrior, the Pilar Of Fiore, and the California Jam, they still
laughed at me...."
"Who did ? Who laughed at you ??"
"Everyone. Doctor Bloo, Timmy, slappy, Hawkenballs, Werner Herzog,
Roger Glover, the driver of the tourbus...even Damonoballs and Vodka
laughed at me, stabbed me in the back....we told you they was
tricksy..."
Rachel couldn't understand him. Nobody could, he was just rambling as usual.
"Where is the ticketstub ? Is Richie still playing ? Roger is my
friend, he used to give me interviews, but he wasn't really there,
*I* wasn't even there, the tourbus was there. I had a ticket stub you
know, but I lost it, lost my precious..."
He continued in the same way for the next three days, and his colour
started to change, becoming slightly more pink, turning him an
"Could I use the phone ?"
The staff had spent the past three days getting used to him making
some form of sense, though nobody could understand what he was going
on about. This latest request came as a shock.
Nurse Rachel was called, and she spoke to him quietly, in case he
suddenly lost it again.
"Who do you want to call, Mr Lifshine ?"
"John King. And Brett Meisner. They recognise the power of the Wereo
and the Nuclear Warrior, they love me! And Thteven, he was there!! He
was there when I pressed 'record' and became the all-powerful
Wereoboy, he is the Wideokid!!"
To humour him, they brought him a telephone, and connected him to the
staff room, where Johnny B and Captain Tripps were waiting for his
call.
"Hello, John King's office, can I help you ?"
"Hey yeah, this is Wereoboy."
"Sorry ?"
"This is me. Wereoboy. Pilar of Fiore, Nuclear Warrior, come to save
the Universe"
"And you want....what exactly ?"
"John King. He is a Wereoman."
"I am afraid John cannot speak to you at the moment, he's fisting a
15-year old boy named Brian"
"But he can't be! Brian is *mine*! He is a Wereoprince!!"
"Well I'm sorry Mr Wereo, but you missed your chance in 2003 when they
realised your life was based on delusions and fuckwittery."
"Those *HiSsiNZ* know NOTHING!"
"Whatever, Mr Wereo, you are a fuckwit, and John King has asked that
you do not call again. Goodbye."
"But I am Wereo ? Don't you understand ?"
<click>
"Hi, this is Brett Meisner, I'm not around to take your call, y'know,
so if you want to talk to the King of all Rock and Roll, The King of
California Jam, the King of the Wereo, leave a message."
"Aaaaiiiieeeeeee!!!!! You bastard!! You stole my Wereo !! *I* am the
Wereoboy, *I* am the Nuclear Warrior, *I* am the Pilar of fire..."
<Brett picks up>
"Hey Scott, how ya doin ? Sorry about that answerphone thing, just
have to be careful who calls me nowadays, being so World famous and
so fuckin rich you wouldn't believe."
"You stole my Wereo!!"
"No I didn't. *I* was the one who pressed 'record' on an old
reel-to-reel tape deck,while all the World was sleeping, on Nytol,
*I* was the one who became Wereoboy, *I* was the one who taped the
Wideo, *I am* the King of California Jam."
"You liar!"
"Not at all. I even have a guy here who was with me at the time, you
want to speak with him?"
"Liar!"
"Hey Thcott, thith ith Thteven, I'm a fwiend of Bwett'th."
"Thteven! Thank God! They think Brett's the Wereoboy!"
"Well he ith, ithn't he ? Bwett wath the one that pwethed 'wecord'
while the whole World wath thleeping...on Nytol."
"Whaaaat ? You were with *me* when *I* pressed 'record' while the whole
Wor -"
"Fuck off, you athhole, Bwett *is* the Weweoboy and I *am* the
Wideokid, and you are thtill as deluded ath you were back in two
thouthand and thwee, before your /acthident/."
"But...I *was* the Wereoboy....wasn't I ?"
"No, Thcott, you were jutht a Fuckwit."
"Oh....are you sure, Thteven ?"
"Oh I'm thure, Thcott, I'm thure..."
<click>
"They said it would happen...."
"What ?"
"I'd missed the bus, the tourbus. and they told me it would
happen...they told me I was a fuckwit, I didn't believe them."
"Do you believe them now?"
Silence.
"Mr Lifshine ?"
"No. I *am* Wereoboy. *I* am the King of California, the King of
Ontario, Moviestar, Publisher, Friend of the Stars and driver of the
tourbus."
"Lock him back up, he's a lost cause...."
Later that evening, he called Nurse Rachel to his room, where he was still
chained to the radiator, dressed in a duvet cover to keep his skin away
from
Post by slumpy
the light, and anyone who might have asked awkward questions.
"I know the truth, it's right there in front of me, don't know why I
didn't
Post by slumpy
see it before..."
"Tell me, Mr Lifshine."
"Well, it's like this - I *am* Deep Purple."
"What ?"
"Look at me! I *am* Deep Purple!!"
"Well you're a dark shade of mauve I suppose" said Rachel, reaching out
for
Post by slumpy
alarm buzzer just in case.
"No! You don't understand! Nobody understands! *I AM DEEP PURPLE*. Cal Jam
was *ME awl* along!!"
"Calm down now, and I'll get some of those 'sweeties' that you like so
much..."
"No, it's OK, I understand now! I *AM* Gillandale Blacklord! I *AM* The
PaceGlover! Get someone important on the phone, I need to publish *now*."
"Sorry Mr Lifshine, the telephone has been taken away until thursday".
"But I must speak to my record company! They cannot exist without me! I
*am*
Post by slumpy
the record company, I *am* everything! I have the key to the GATES for
fucks
Post by slumpy
sake !"
"Well that's as maybe, but you're staying chained to the radiator until
you
Post by slumpy
calm down and go back to your gibbering nonsense."
All that day, he could be heard muttering to himself, sneaking looks
outside
Post by slumpy
his room in case anyone was listening.
"Brett Meisner is gonna get it now. Brett Meisner watch out, precious. I
have contacts in the LAPD, you're getting a visit from those guys any
minute. And a SWAT team too. And the Internet Police...."
In the evening, he was woken up from his jam to see an old man in a white
coat. He'd seen plenty of those over the years. He thought he looked
familiar.
"Mr Lifshine, this is Mr Michael Threat, he's a consultant lunatic
psychologist...."
M.T. Threat....now where had he heard that name before ? Was this the man
who sedated him in Ontario the first time he was arrested ? Was this the
mugger that he'd killed in the back of his Storefront Taxi ? Maybe he was
one of the numerous people he'd made up over the years, but his face
looked
Post by slumpy
familiar.
"Now Mr Lifshine, I want you to tell me what the problem is ?"
"I thought I was the Wereoboy, and I *was* the Wereoboy and now I'm Deep
Purple and I still *am* the Wereoboy. I am a Nuclear War, King of The
Kong,
Post by slumpy
and and and -"
"Ooookay....so when did you become..erm...Weirdoboy ?"
" *WEREO WEREO WEREO!!!* "
"Sorry, yes, /Wereo/."
"1974."
"And what happened in 1974, Scott. May I call you Scott ?"
"I am the Wereoboy. Scott is Brett Meisner. On Nytol."
"So /how/ did you become Wereoboy ?"
"I pressed 'record'. I know I did, because I was *there*. So was
Thteven.
Post by slumpy
He
Post by slumpy
became the Widdy kid, and we ruled the World. I am the Pilar of Fire, the
Nuclear Warrior, the king of Kong."
"Record ? What did you record ? Why did it have a significant impact on
your
Post by slumpy
life ?"
"Jam."
He was brought a jar at the insistence of Dr Threat, and while he ate,
little pieces of gibberish were pieced together until Dr Threat had a
reasonable picture of the problem."
"So you taped this concert as it was broadcast over the radio, and assumed
the identity of this - Wereoboy ?"
"No! I was *awlways* the Wereoboy, and now I'm Deep Purple, can't you
see
Post by slumpy
?"
Post by slumpy
"Who is Deep Purple ?"
"Roger Pacemaker. Lord CoverGates."
"Are /you/ Roger Pacemaker, Wereoboy ?"
"I told you *awlready*, I AM KING KONG, THE WEREOBOY, THE TICKETSTUB, THE
TOURBUS, THE FAT CAB DRIVER !!"
"Nurse, give him another shot up the arm please...now er...Wereoboy, let's
go back to your parents, erm..the Wereoman and erm -"
"DON'T TALK ABOUT THEM !! THEY LEFT ME *AWL* ALONE WITH THE RATS THE
HOOKERS
Post by slumpy
AND THE WINOS...."
The sedative began to take effect. They had given up on the usual hospital
stock, and had recruited a member of the local zoo staff to take care of
this part of his medication. Although he specified in Bovine Anasthesia,
he
Post by slumpy
usually worked with the Elephants and Rhinos, and marvelled at the
similarities between their respective physiologies.
"Yes, quite remarkable really, the same ratio of fat to brain, the same
dull
Post by slumpy
look in the eye when they're going under, the same reflex patterns..."
"It's obvious that this chap suffers from a conflict of identities, and
has
Post by slumpy
inflicted his suffering on others for over twenty years. His inability to
acknowledge a high level of fuckwittery has left him actually
/believing/
Post by slumpy
he
Post by slumpy
is more than a useless fat lump of lard."
Nurse Rachel had been watching all this time, and wondered if the
condition
Post by slumpy
was treatable.
"If this guy wasn't such an obvious Doofus, it might be worth it, but from
looking at his records, well he /was/ only a cabdriver, although we /have/
found documents, albeit written by himself, that he was a musician, actor,
film producer, writer, archivist...."
"But Doctor, he also claimed to be Wereoboy, King Kong, a Nuclear Warrior,
Deep Purple, Brett Meisner, Thteven...the list goes on and on..."
"I know, I'll take the casenotes back home and study them tonight, but I
can't see it being worthwhile. He is obviously such a fuckwit I fear
there's
Post by slumpy
no hope at all."
--
slumpy
How Difficulties in Recognizing One's Own Incompetence Lead to Inflated
Self-Assessments
http://www.apa.org/journals/psp/psp7761121.html
This is really weird. How can anybody spend so much time and effort a
Newsgroup battle. When it is said that Slumpy has no life, it must be true.
Just scroll up and look at the effort that Slumpy has put into his battle
with Scott. He must wake up and gp to sleep with thought of Scott. Very
weird.
If she looks alright I'd fuck her. Them Germans are good-looking sometimes.

Scott
slumpy
2004-01-14 12:08:25 UTC
Permalink
Voicing an opinion as worthless as a wino at a wedding, scottamerica
postulated...
Post by scottamerica
If she looks alright I'd fuck her. Them Germans are good-looking sometimes.
I'd let you, then cry rape you fat fuck.
--
slumpy
no more
no less
just me
scottamerica
2004-01-13 03:54:43 UTC
Permalink
Post by slumpy
Voicing an opinion as worthless as a wino at a wedding, slumpy
postulated...
Post by slumpy
Post by slumpy
The year is 2024...an old man shuffles through a shiny-floored
corridor wearing pyjamas trailing a length of videotape behand him,
muttering under his breath - he quickly turns and looks over his
shoulder as if something or someone is there, a scared look in his
eyes - he mumbles one thing - "Jerry Boy..." - before shuffling on
his way...
"Mr Lifshine, medication time...Mr Lifshine...oh where's that silly
old fucker gone off to now ?"
"Well ya won't have far to look, Nurse, all ya gotta do is follow that
damned tape !" says another patient as Nurse Rachel reaches for the
keys - she knows exactly where he'll be...in the TV room, trying to
get his tape into the DVD-player in the corner again - how many times
must he be told ?
She remembers when he arrived at Sunny View for the Mentally
Bewildered and spent the first two years screaming through the bars
on his window. Now what /was/ it he used to scream...? Well it had
always sounded like;
"NOW KISS MY ZOGCRYPTION u FUCKIN' DINGBAT!!!" but nobody had been
able to translate it into English - not that he spoke with a very
intelligible accent.
He was such a lonely fat old bastard, she thought to herself, never
had /any/ visitors. Well there was one once, another overweight ugly
bastard called Brett, but Mr Lifshine just screamed "No, it's
Jerry-Boy, and he doesn't exist" and locked himself in the kitchens
where he ate 16 pounds of lard before anyone could stop him. His only
consolation were those little birds that perched on his windowsill
each day, and he'd feed them crackers, and he'd laugh out loud, but,
when asked why, would only say "Gates. He's hiding behind them Gates
again", before shuffling off.
She found him on the floor in the corner, with his video tape wound
all around him - they'd soon learned that if he was allowed to drag
this 'spaghetti' of tape around he would be quite calm, but once
they'd taken it off him and he sat on his bunk rocking back and forth
moaning "Where's it gone, Precious? Where's the Wereo, where's the
wideo, where is it Precious?" for six days until one of the guards
wanted to batter him. After he had the plaster removed he was allowed
to keep a bundle of loose tape with him.
"Come on, Mr Lifshine, you can't sit there all day", and she started
to help him up then realised what had happened.
"He's shit himself again, can you get the cleaning cart, the
restraints, and the electric shock generator please Nurse Baffles."
After he'd been cleaned up and they'd drawn lots to see who got to
zapp him with 10,000 volts, he was zapped. It usually took about 20
minutes to get the nostril hairs to catch fire, but with his body fat
he was in danger of frying internally so they kept it down to 15,
just in case.
All he could say afterwards was "Moo-ha-ha Damon, Moo-ha-ha Voivodka,
I'm the King of Ontario, honest...." as he was dragged along the
corridor by his hair.
They kept an eye on him while he slept, knowing that he would wake up
shouting "Jam Jam Jam" as usual.
Later that night he did his usual trick of wandering around his room
proclaiming loudly to an imaginary audience "But it was me, and only
me, who pressed the record button why the whole World slept...on
Nytol". The other patients had complained, but they had increased his
dose to an almost lethal level and he didn't even doze off, so they
increased the patients' dosage instead. Tonight he changed the
routine a bit and started arguing with himself.
"Shut up you fat useless Cunt !"
"No, you shut up, kicks the ball, Noballs, Parrot Parrot, Rancho, TAP
TAP TAP, slappy, ticket stub ticket tour bus, timmy, Prescott Bum!!!"
"You deluded repulsive ugly wanker!!"
"Voivodka Lemons !!"
This went on until one of the orderlies went and punched him in the
eye, after which he curled up on his soaking bed and masturbated
while mumbling "John King, Brett Meisner, John King, Brett Meisner..."
Next morning Nurse Rachel unlocked his door and peered in.
"It's 50 years ago, 50 years today, Precious, I pressed the record button
while the whole World was sleeping...on Nytol...Caljam, Caljam, where are
you Wereoboy, where's the Nytol ?"
She shook her head in despair - 19 years of repetitive burbling and talking
crap. She wondered how long it had been going on before he was admitted, the
patterns were obviously fixed long before she first encountered him.
He'd been arrested, for the third time in a week, back in 2004, in Ontario,
California. The first time he crashed his Cab through the front of a
roadside diner which was closed for refurbishment, claiming he was starving,
though investigations suggested he had eaten only 20 minutes before,
exhausting the local Macdonalds' stock of burgers.
Two days later he was found in a Hotel room with three 14-year old boys,
after complaints about a terrible noise coming from the room. He was said to
have been standing on the bed playing air-guitar, miming to Black Sabbath
and screaming "Wereoboy, Wereoboy, *all hail* the Wereoboy!!" while the
three boys looked on terrified.
Three days later he was arrested and brought straight to the Asylum after
bursting into the Ontario Museum (from which he had been ejected many times
before, including 6 times in the past two days), dressed in no more than a
suit made of reel-to-reel tape, and demanding his collection of memorabilia,
which he carried in a cardboard box, be shown as the main exhibit. His claim
seemed to centre around a rock concert that had been staged in the local
area thirty years previously.
She remembered speaking to the curator after Mr Lifshine's committal, and he
said "The man is dangerous, a total fruitcake. He's been thrown out of the
Museum six times, he threatened to attack the Yukon exhibit, and we had to
restrain him when he tried to strangle the wax model of Paul Bunion. I have
no idea what his problem is, he just rambles incoherently and repeats the
word 'Wereo' over and over. I've been here for ten years and he is a regular
visitor, though we have had problems with him in the past."
After his jam, he wandered into the garden, as he usually did, and made his
way down the drive.
Three minutes later he was back in his room. The security had been alerted
again, because he was climbing the front gates, screaming "Gates Gates,
where are the Gates? Gates at the Rancho, Prescott Kong, Kong, where are the
Gates ?" at which point he was zapped with a cattle prod. Eight times.
"Are you a...*HiSsINZ*, precious ?"
"No, Mr Lifshine, I'm a nurse, you know that."
"You're one of those *HiSsINZ Starz* - I say you are so you must be - I am
Wereoboy -"
"<SECURITY / SECURITY>"
"I'm the WereoKing, GET AWAY FROM ME!! DON'T COME NEAR ME WITH *THAT*!!"
"Shut up, you fucking prick, and go back to sleep"
"Am th Wer boyyy....."
--
slumpy
no more
no less
just me
Scummy's out of control.

Scott
scottamerica
2004-01-12 21:19:45 UTC
Permalink
Post by slumpy
The year is 2024...an old man shuffles through a shiny-floored corridor
wearing pyjamas trailing a length of videotape behand him, muttering under
his breath - he quickly turns and looks over his shoulder as if something or
someone is there, a scared look in his eyes - he mumbles one thing - "Jerry
Boy..." - before shuffling on his way...
"Mr Lifshine, medication time...Mr Lifshine...oh where's that silly old
fucker gone off to now ?"
"Well ya won't have far to look, Nurse, all ya gotta do is follow that
damned tape !" says another patient as Nurse Rachel reaches for the keys -
she knows exactly where he'll be...in the TV room, trying to get his tape
into the DVD-player in the corner again - how many times must he be told ?
She remembers when he arrived at Sunny View for the Mentally Bewildered and
spent the first two years screaming through the bars on his window. Now what
/was/ it he used to scream...? Well it had always sounded like;
"NOW KISS MY ZOGCRYPTION u FUCKIN' DINGBAT!!!" but nobody had been able to
translate it into English - not that he spoke with a very intelligible
accent.
He was such a lonely fat old bastard, she thought to herself, never had
/any/ visitors. Well there was one once, another overweight ugly bastard
called Brett, but Mr Lifshine just screamed "No, it's Jerry-Boy, and he
doesn't exist" and locked himself in the kitchens where he ate 16 pounds of
lard before anyone could stop him. His only consolation were those little
birds that perched on his windowsill each day, and he'd feed them crackers,
and he'd laugh out loud, but, when asked why, would only say "Gates. He's
hiding behind them Gates again", before shuffling off.
She found him on the floor in the corner, with his video tape wound all
around him - they'd soon learned that if he was allowed to drag this
'spaghetti' of tape around he would be quite calm, but once they'd taken it
off him and he sat on his bunk rocking back and forth moaning "Where's it
gone, Precious? Where's the Wereo, where's the wideo, where is it Precious?"
for six days until one of the guards wanted to batter him. After he had the
plaster removed he was allowed to keep a bundle of loose tape with him.
"Come on, Mr Lifshine, you can't sit there all day", and she started to help
him up then realised what had happened.
"He's shit himself again, can you get the cleaning cart, the restraints, and
the electric shock generator please Nurse Baffles."
After he'd been cleaned up and they'd drawn lots to see who got to zapp him
with 10,000 volts, he was zapped. It usually took about 20 minutes to get
the nostril hairs to catch fire, but with his body fat he was in danger of
frying internally so they kept it down to 15, just in case.
All he could say afterwards was "Moo-ha-ha Damon, Moo-ha-ha Voivodka, I'm
the King of Ontario, honest...." as he was dragged along the corridor by his
hair.
They kept an eye on him while he slept, knowing that he would wake up
shouting "Jam Jam Jam" as usual.
Later that night he did his usual trick of wandering around his room
proclaiming loudly to an imaginary audience "But it was me, and only me, who
pressed the record button why the whole World slept...on Nytol". The other
patients had complained, but they had increased his dose to an almost lethal
level and he didn't even doze off, so they increased the patients' dosage
instead. Tonight he changed the routine a bit and started arguing with
himself.
"Shut up you fat useless Cunt !"
"No, you shut up, kicks the ball, Noballs, Parrot Parrot, Rancho, TAP TAP
TAP, slappy, ticket stub ticket tour bus, timmy, Prescott Bum!!!"
"You deluded repulsive ugly wanker!!"
"Voivodka Lemons !!"
This went on until one of the orderlies went and punched him in the eye,
after which he curled up on his soaking bed and masturbated while mumbling
"John King, Brett Meisner, John King, Brett Meisner..."
--
slumpy
no more
no less
just me
How could you not laugh at this? And love it? Perhaps there's a glimmer of
hope for little Chirpy after awl? :o

Do you realize how long it took slimy little slurpy to write this fucking
thing? At least there's no slurpyisms in it; she spells awl the words right.
I know *I'd* be personally hard-pressed to write something like this. It
would take me untold amounts of time to create something like this. I guess
I could eventually write it, but I just don't have the patience ho hum.

Scott
King of Cyberspace
slumpy
2004-01-12 21:37:26 UTC
Permalink
Voicing an opinion as worthless as a wino at a wedding, scottamerica
postulated...
Post by scottamerica
Do you realize how long it took slimy little slurpy to write this
fucking thing? At least there's no slurpyisms in it; she spells awl
the words right. I know *I'd* be personally hard-pressed to write
something like this. It would take me untold amounts of time to
create something like this. I guess I could eventually write it, but
I just don't have the patience ho hum.
I took the day off and it's pouring down outside, me got plenty of time.
--
slumpy
no more
no less
just me
VOIVODKA
2004-01-12 22:04:44 UTC
Permalink
Post by slumpy
Post by scottamerica
Do you realize how long it took slimy little slurpy to write this
fucking thing? At least there's no slurpyisms in it; she spells awl
the words right. I know *I'd* be personally hard-pressed to write
something like this. It would take me untold amounts of time to
create something like this. I guess I could eventually write it, but
I just don't have the patience ho hum.
I took the day off and it's pouring down outside, me got plenty of time.
--
Scott you should feel honored, the moron has a day off and decided to spend it
obsessing on you.
scottamerica
2004-01-13 18:17:30 UTC
Permalink
Post by VOIVODKA
Post by slumpy
Post by scottamerica
Do you realize how long it took slimy little slurpy to write this
fucking thing? At least there's no slurpyisms in it; she spells awl
the words right. I know *I'd* be personally hard-pressed to write
something like this. It would take me untold amounts of time to
create something like this. I guess I could eventually write it, but
I just don't have the patience ho hum.
I took the day off and it's pouring down outside, me got plenty of time.
--
Scott you should feel honored, the moron has a day off and decided to spend it
obsessing on you.
It's raining so hard there. I thought maybe she'd go outside, open her mouth
and drown.

Scott
slumpy
2004-01-13 18:24:04 UTC
Permalink
Voicing an opinion as worthless as a wino at a wedding, scottamerica
postulated...
Post by scottamerica
Post by VOIVODKA
Post by slumpy
Post by scottamerica
Do you realize how long it took slimy little slurpy to write this
fucking thing? At least there's no slurpyisms in it; she spells awl
the words right. I know *I'd* be personally hard-pressed to write
something like this. It would take me untold amounts of time to
create something like this. I guess I could eventually write it,
but I just don't have the patience ho hum.
I took the day off and it's pouring down outside, me got plenty of
time. --
Scott you should feel honored, the moron has a day off and decided
to spend it obsessing on you.
It's raining so hard there. I thought maybe she'd go outside, open
her mouth and drown.
Scott
You just keep on with the Playground Insults, fuckwit, while we *awl* laugh
at you.
--
slumpy
no more
no less
just me
VOIVODKA
2004-01-11 22:14:32 UTC
Permalink
Post by slumpy
Post by TheGeneral43
Oh man, this sounds so much like the fat loser.
ROTFL!!!!
Expect more of the same ;-)
-
Everyone does. The same little man that is so bothered by Scott that he has to
hang on each and every post he makes.
scottamerica
2004-01-11 23:54:56 UTC
Permalink
Post by VOIVODKA
Post by slumpy
Post by TheGeneral43
Oh man, this sounds so much like the fat loser.
ROTFL!!!!
Expect more of the same ;-)
-
Everyone does. The same little man that is so bothered by Scott that he has to
hang on each and every post he makes.
So do a whole lotta other people. My nuts are starting to sag :-)

I'm *soo* popular :o

:sigh:

Scott
"I'm not a computer criminal; rather a bad typist"-KOKO to www.lvmpd.com
slumpy
2004-01-12 00:04:32 UTC
Permalink
Voicing an opinion as worthless as a wino at a wedding, scottamerica
postulated...
Post by scottamerica
My nuts are starting to sag :-)
I'm *soo* overweight :o
Fixed your post, Saggy.
--
slumpy
no more
no less
just me
VOIVODKA
2004-01-12 02:21:00 UTC
Permalink
Post by slumpy
Post by scottamerica
My nuts are starting to sag :-)
I'm *soo* overweight :o
Fixed your post, Saggy.
--
Why are timmy and slappy so into mens bodies?
scottamerica
2004-01-12 12:21:28 UTC
Permalink
Post by VOIVODKA
Post by slumpy
Post by scottamerica
My nuts are starting to sag :-)
I'm *soo* overweight :o
Fixed your post, Saggy.
--
Why are timmy and slappy so into mens bodies?
They are two fucked-up individuals.

Scott
{Kicks KOKO the Gateless Wonder over to VOIVODKA}
slumpy
2004-01-12 13:07:13 UTC
Permalink
Voicing an opinion as worthless as a wino at a wedding, scottamerica
postulated...
Post by scottamerica
Post by VOIVODKA
Post by slumpy
Post by scottamerica
My nuts are starting to sag :-)
I'm *soo* overweight :o
Fixed your post, Saggy.
--
Why are timmy and slappy so into mens bodies?
They are two fucked-up individuals.
Scott
{Kicks KOKO the Gateless Wonder over to VOIVODKA}
Yeah I adore rippling muscles etc. What 's your excuse then Lardass ?
--
slumpy
no more
no less
just me
VOIVODKA
2004-01-12 16:17:41 UTC
Permalink
Post by slumpy
Yeah I adore rippling muscles etc. What 's your excuse then Lardass ?
--
Nice to see you sticking your head out of the closet. Not much further Nancyboy
and you will have made it.
Micbloo
2004-01-11 09:13:18 UTC
Permalink
Subject: What about the 30th Anniversary?
From: "scottamerica"
. I don't know;
that may be it. I tried getting assistance from the City of Ontario but
nothing doing there.
LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL No shit Sherlock!! LOLOLOLOLOL
So we may be looking
at a CalJam 31st instead of a 30th at this point I don't know.
LOLOLOLOLOLOLOL asshole doing his backtracking and excuses once again.
Who knows what's gonna happen when that video segment airs?
ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!!! NOTHING!!!
NOTHING!! IT IS WORTHLESS LIKE YOU!!
LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL
Who's gonna see
it when it appears for the first time later this month in conjunction with
NAMM?
No one because besides you NO ONE GIVES A SHIT!! NO ONE!! NADA!!
LOLOLOLOLOL!!
Scott
The CalJam Daddy
God let us give thanks HE NEVER PROCREATED!! NEVER and NEVER WILL!!!
slumpy
2004-01-11 17:30:46 UTC
Permalink
Voicing an opinion as worthless as a wino at a wedding, Micbloo
postulated...
Post by Micbloo
Subject: What about the 30th Anniversary?
From: "scottamerica"
. I don't know;
that may be it. I tried getting assistance from the City of Ontario
but nothing doing there.
LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL No shit Sherlock!! LOLOLOLOLOL
You think they'd at least have offered him a ride to the asylum ?
Post by Micbloo
So we may be looking
at a CalJam 31st instead of a 30th at this point I don't know.
LOLOLOLOLOLOLOL asshole doing his backtracking and excuses once again.
Cracking isn't it ?
Mr Promise-Excuse returns with a vengeance.
When will he realise that nobody cares ???
Post by Micbloo
Who knows what's gonna happen when that video segment airs?
ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!!! NOTHING!!!
NOTHING!! IT IS WORTHLESS LIKE YOU!!
LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL
Hehe too true.
He is a waste of time, and the video (if the thing was to ever exist) will
never see the light of day.
Post by Micbloo
Who's gonna see
it when it appears for the first time later this month in
conjunction with NAMM?
No one because besides you NO ONE GIVES A SHIT!! NO ONE!! NADA!!
LOLOLOLOLOL!!
Nobody can see something that never existed in the first place except in his
fat spongey empty head.
--
slumpy
no more
no less
just me
Nada
2004-01-13 09:49:39 UTC
Permalink
Post by Micbloo
Subject: What about the 30th Anniversary?
From: "scottamerica"
. I don't know;
that may be it. I tried getting assistance from the City of Ontario but
nothing doing there.
LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL No shit Sherlock!! LOLOLOLOLOL
So we may be looking
at a CalJam 31st instead of a 30th at this point I don't know.
LOLOLOLOLOLOLOL asshole doing his backtracking and excuses once again.
Who knows what's gonna happen when that video segment airs?
ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!!! NOTHING!!!
NOTHING!! IT IS WORTHLESS LIKE YOU!!
LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL
Who's gonna see
it when it appears for the first time later this month in conjunction with
NAMM?
No one because besides you NO ONE GIVES A SHIT!! NO ONE!! NADA!!
LOLOLOLOLOL!!
Yes?
slumpy
2004-01-13 11:41:11 UTC
Permalink
Voicing an opinion as worthless as a wino at a wedding, Nada postulated...
Post by Micbloo
Subject: What about the 30th Anniversary?
From: "scottamerica"
. I don't know;
that may be it. I tried getting assistance from the City of Ontario
but nothing doing there.
LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL No shit Sherlock!! LOLOLOLOLOL
So we may be looking
at a CalJam 31st instead of a 30th at this point I don't know.
LOLOLOLOLOLOLOL asshole doing his backtracking and excuses once again.
Who knows what's gonna happen when that video segment airs?
ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!!! NOTHING!!!
NOTHING!! IT IS WORTHLESS LIKE YOU!!
LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL
Who's gonna see
it when it appears for the first time later this month in
conjunction with NAMM?
No one because besides you NO ONE GIVES A SHIT!! NO ONE!! NADA!!
LOLOLOLOLOL!!
Yes?
lol
That was funny :-)
--
slumpy
no more
no less
just me
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