What is better than sitting on your very own toilet in your very own apartment in Jackson, Wyoming, shooting heroin, wearing nothing but a 75th anniversary Recluse Island tennis shirt? Nothing. Well, maybe wearing nothing at all. And sodomising Herr Versteckt with a Zulu warrior doll. No, sodomising Frau Versteckt with a Zulu warrior doll. Tss-ss-ss-ss.
How would it make Chekhov feel if a revolver appeared on stage and was not fired? He couldn't very well walk out, could he, because he'd have to wait until the end of the show. Stupid bitch.
Can you smoke too much opium? Do you O.D., or juyst pass aut?
Questions, questions. There are so many questions, and not enough answers.
The Pisstaker looks forward to the Post-Apocalypse. The desolation will be sublime, like a dreamscape. Life will finally be interesting. It will be...romantic. Like in a movie or a video game. Everyone dreads the apocalypse, but The Pisstaker embraces it - right now. Maybe The Pisstaker will feel differently when it happens.
Oh, and if it were raining. With the heroin and toilet and Recluse Island tennis shirt. That would be better. If it was raining.
This week's award. Hmm. OK, this week's winner is...wait for it...Summer. Give it up for summer. The only good thing about summer is that women wear less clothing. Nothing else is good about horrible, horrible summer.
The Dutch language is like a six-year-old's interpretation of German.
If I lived each day as if it were my last, I would be locked up almost immediately. If not shot.
I hate your cunt, so I put my dick in your ass.
Good night, love children.
