Saturday, August 25, 2018

The New, New New Neo-modern Myth

Holy shit, did you know that anyone can invent a myth?  Any where, any old time.  And with validity on par with any and all fat fuck ancient Greek and Roman authors of myth.   Like that cocksucker, Ovid.  Or fucking Virgil.  Okay, maybe they were poet cocksuckers, but you get the idea.    It was fucking Homer, alright.  Big fucking deal.  Homer wrote the Odyssey, and everyone acts like he's a goddam big shot.  Well he's dead and we are still around.  

 Aesop and his ass fucking stupid fables!   What makes that sweating, toga billowing, fat ass  piece of shit better then you?   You can fart out a fable any fucking time you want, and no shitbird has any right to say you suck and Aesop is fab.  It doesn't fucking work like that.  Not any fucking more.  

That's why I'm totally conceited about the Myth of the Triple Breasted Woodpecker.  It explains perfectly the whole phenomenon of the bird flu virus, such as the one that was all over the news from 1990 till around the end of the dot com craze.  After that, scientists invented a worse communicable illness to scare everyone shitless with.  It was in that crap-strewn era that I had this visual hallucination  of a great and disgusting bird.  It has a long, sharp beak, a short powerful neck like on Stone Cold Steve Austin, and it has on it's powerful chest an anomaly.  Three breasts.   Two little ones on either side, and a great fucking big one in the center.  It's the big one that transmits the avian flu virus.  

The birds fly below radar at speeds up to two hundred miles an hour, crashing full speed into hapless pedestrians.   The giant infectious bird tit slams into the victim's chest, injecting eight liters of pure foul spirits into everyone.  It's a large tit.   And so destructive.  Lucky us, there is a space cowboy at large, looks sorta' like Charles Fucking Bronson, and he's working his heinie off to prevent the Triple Breasted Woodpecker from carrying off its nefarious mission.  There nothing to fucking worry about.

Doctors and scientists can blow me.  The assholes were making a big fucking deal about the supposed 'avian flu' epidemic that no one seemed to have, but that might kill us all and let God sort us out.   We're still here, by George.  Doctors and other medical pros are ass-wipes and they are usually fucked in the head.  Avian flu was sent to  Earth from the planet Venus by a goddam ifrit, a simple motherfucking genie from outer space, doesn't matter which one.   They have magic lanterns, just like on fucking I Dream Of Genie. You try to polish the lamp.  The shit hits the fan.  

 It began with the excessive use of clear plastic kitchen wrap and baggies.   Fucking things are choking the living shit out of Mother Nature, who is another guest celebrity of Myth.  So this evil genie from Venus invented a strain of flu.  He needed to find a way to get it all the way to Earth, and to make sure the virus makes people really fucking sick.  And none of this shit matters, because people are sick assholes with or without avian flu.   The moral, here is that terrible things happen, and I like being the lousy prick I am.  I think this is something everyone, all the fuck over the place, can understand and espouse.  Obviously, I'm better than fucking Homer.  And so the fuck are you.  Thanks for reading.



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