This man is the missile lord …
He flies through space, powered by fear.
His sky-boat is filled with sideways pirates addicted to cocaine and bad sex …
In his ears echo a constant noise: “just follow orders”
And he will
And the millions must perish, for the Sky Hawk Cult.
He is the judge man, he was sent here, to watch over, and judge his young … and watch them die.
Fires of Hell became his fuel.
He spent his days, so self assured of his knowledge.
But now? – he owns the cemetery …
Now? – he’s ruler of the shrimp.
Now? – no more steak.
“It has been determined …
According to the world league of socialists
and globalists …
That all of you must die,
in a fiery hell.”
“It is being reported,
that missiles have been launched …”
“It has been reported,
that life is a mess …”
“Are you ready for the nukes?”
As mother goddess,
you were protected.
She hid you in her love,
you fit her like a glove,
she grew tired of you … never.
But now she watches,
as nukes go off,
and the world burns,
and her heart yearns,
for that time long ago,
when body wasn’t slow,
and her mind was lantern.
Honey … it’s just an alert.
Honey … I’m just going down to the bar, with my friends …
Honey … it’s just a little crack cocaine on the weekend.
Honey … I think I just killed some man in the darkness of night …
Honey … where’s the shovel.
Honey … just an alert.
I am your radioactive cowboy.
I’m the man who stands up against the commies …
I will launch my nukes at them, they will launch their nukes at us, and I will become the KROGIS-BEAST of ancient times …
When the smoke clears baby? – I will lead the Bograntian funken-folk.
Want some pills?
I can get you some.
Want some pills?
You’ll feel better.
Want some pills?
It will blunt the impact of that 2.5 megaton over burst, as it sets fire to your home, burns your crops, kills your cows, lays waste your “American Dream”.
But do you want some pills?
He took her out behind the football stands.
He left her 40 miles from Wichita, in a shallow grave.
He was scared, angry, filled with the bloody passion of murder. His mind was screwed up by cheap speed.
But now the nukes are coming.
So it’s fine.
It’s not too late to shop. There’s still time. Load up your cart with Velveeta and wine.
Tell your husband to tie up the cat.
Tell your mother, where it’s at.
Burn the books, the house.
Cull the herd, eat the mouse.
Hide in the cellar, count to 10.
Won’t go back together again.
I am the SKY HAWK SHAMAN … this is my penis.
I shoot my load, a whole bunch of people go away. They travel up in the sky, fast as a bird, and then settle on forests and fields and the sea …
The SKY HAWK SHAMAN rules the bridge between this world and the next.
Taste my goo.
Each day the BOY would kneel before his god …
Laid down there, before BAAL, as ordained by his parents that were too busy smoking PCP upstairs.
He just stared at lord RUNKTIS, and it whispered into his ear.
It spoke of dark times, and slave armies, and the blood of power.
This is Pandora’s box.
It’s made of steel and blood.
It’s covered in demon jizz, and other things not worth mentioning …
You want to open that box?
You know what’s inside?
The gun you used to kill that hooker …
Your spare heroin and needle …
(and the launch codes)
Professor Smarty-Pants looks up from the horizon and sees the dragon’s tail, over the edge.
He sees the fire and smoke.
He knows the world is broke.
He was quoting old Nietzsche to sound really smart.
Another woman broke his heart.
And now he will simply wait, and be smug.
“Honey, yeah … I think I left the iron on when I left this morning … and there’s nuclear war.”
“Honey, yeah … I think I forgot to pay the electrical bill … and shit … DID YOU KNOW MISSILES ARE COMING … ???”
“Honey … I never loved you … I always hated you. Bye.”
Where are we running to?
Where are we running from?
Don’t we know that the demons chasing us?
The demons behind us …
The demons tracking us …
They’re looking FOR FLESH!
And the bombs will cook us up like a Kansas city filet.
And all the rental units will go unsold.
Crimson sun, deadly son …
Light keeper of Satan …
Dark lord of rotten peas …
Privileged seeker of gods, when the various deities spend their time drinking honey wine and casting lots and cutting up small dogs for lumpen-meat.
And a tear goes down your face.
We are the skeleton league, we formed after the blast.
We are the skeleton league, Halloween is cheap for us.
Our minds were freed by the hydrogen bomb, and we will now travel as a skeleton band of freaks and start cooking the blue meth in Tulsa …
Cops will be turned to ice.
The bendy trees sway, as if to SOLUTE the wave of fire and poison and hate …
The bendy trees break, to remind us that life is short, and wood burns, and nukes are bad for life …
The bendy trees use their tree language, but no human can hear …
Not over the din of bombs.
This is my car …
It is made of gold …
It is powered by love …
It is covered in mold.
My wife said “leave”, and so I left. But 15 minutes later, I could not hold my breath … BECAUSE … BANG …
The lords of Drimbulus want nuclear winter for Christmas.
I got some pizza, I was heading home.
I got some food, and then I heard this boom?
And the lights became crystal green …
IT was mean.
I was cooked alive.
I was left here to die.
I was buried in soot.
I was too tired to loot.
It was over, and I was ready for the dead.
I look at this landscape, this town, this vision … and I think?
“I’m doing a little better in Little Saigon, Seattle … but not by much.”
We study science, we live in Kansas.
We study engineering, we covered the world in jagged hate and grated sin …
Brutal visage of a man without ears, and a dog without eyes …
Our lies echo in the night as the poor search for food.
But you want me to give you 20 BUCKS? Fuck
This is my klinktus-meter, it measures regret …
This is my klinktus-meter, it measures sadness …
This is my klinktus-meter, it measures my hatred … for you …
It reminds, there are shotgun shells, buried in the yard, next to my burning shame …
And I’m tired, done.
When I arose from my jergis hole?
When I crawled out to see what was what …
I saw my world as etched by the beasts of old in a pen of fire and wavy madness …
And my own urine was blue.
And my mind was covered in lettuce …
And your heart was burning bright, before me.
His name is Dr. Grank …
He spends Friday night in the tank …
He likes to “chime in”, at just the right time.
“Hey man … THE EMP knocked out our power … ain’t no trading bitcoins TONIGHT!”
Everyone looked at him with dagger eyes.
The noise and toil of cocaine crazy.
“Hello … is there any WEED OUT THERE … this is Lawrence, Kansas … is there any weed at all …”
“This is Lawrence, Kansas … is there ANY WEED AT ALL?”
I looked upon the masses, and they were covered in the ashes of the dead.
I looked at the motion of peoples, across the desert of their own self pity.
The troglis beast will chase them now, and the rats and mad cows and chickens without heads.
But the road is dusty, and long.
Your baby is the juice of tomorrow.
Your baby has all the power.
I have built a cabin of stone, and in it I prepared a bed of thorns.
You will be honored as the mother of the beast …
His eyes will reveal the kingdom of darkness.
How are you feeling?
Want an aspirin?
You’re telling me my baby is darkness?
I thought my baby would be kind.
You telling me my baby will burn the world?
My heart burns for it!
You telling me we’ll live in a cabin, in the Rockies?
I want to know who will watch the kid?-After I return to work.
3rd wave feminist.
We were making out …
It’s WW3 …
We lived in the bunker with mom and dad and that guy who carried a dead woman’s arm in his back pack …
I was startled, and now the mood is shot.
And I wish I had the cocaine I left with my dead boyfriend …
And some wine.
The dark preacher, stands in an open church.
Crocklin funk people, sit in the pews. Looking, lurking, expecting a passage …
I taught the devil words.
I taught the patriot bling …
I made my congregation sing, as rockets flew by, now we will die.
And they cry, and I lie.
“You know what Einstein said … he didn’t know how they’d fight WW3 … but he knew with WW4 … they’d be outta WEED.”
These are the body dumps, where we store our food.
These are the body dumps, where we toss the human garbage.
These are the body dumps, where some are left to die …
In anger, in pain, with ears covered in grease.
With a mind broken by the time witch, in Fresno.
The government stands there …
Not nearly ashamed enough …
“Just scrape off 32 inches of top soil …”
He stands there … the old man, slowly dying of ancient guilt.
The young Mexican man says “hey, can I have your liver?”
The old doctor smiles …
He thinks about that weekend in Chicago, the whore house, the hepatitis and crabs …
“Sure … have my liver bro … use it all”
“My hair …”
“ALL OF THIS IS MINE!”
Thought that weird old guy …
“I shall rule with arms and legs and a mind of steel. I will hunt the street rat for my meal … I will marry 9 wives, and have 20 sons … I will be the Lord of KANSAS!”
And so he wandered into his realm, roaches scatter.
She wails …. bites her tongue.
The doctor with greasy radioactive hands pulls the dead thing into the light.
The demon looks up at her, and smiles.
In that moment the woman knows her role.
In that moment the earth shook.
In that moment the sins were repaid.
It’s the end of the movie …
This is really poignant …
Two old men, grasping each other …
Two old men, commiserating with Satan.
Two old men, who paid their fucking taxes, and got their STATIST AWARD …