Hello my name is Frankie and I’m an alcoholic, a sex-addict, and a smoker; I have regular manic-depression, obsessive compulsive disorder (although the depression often cancels that one out), a possible disassociation disorder, and probably a few other things boring and expensive drugs are sold for. But that’s not the hard part, that’s the easy part, even the fun part sometimes – the hard part is making sure your scars don’t stand out while trying to reconcile a drug-culture life with living in a world of door-to-door proselytizers, censored nipples, and Americans pissed off at what I can only assume they believe to be some sort of goddamned liberal media. Well, I guess I’d be pissed off too if I lived in the bible-belt, just imagine your wife has some incurable cancer and you’re in a hospital with her (paying hundreds, if not thousands or more a day because for some stupid reason you’re a capitalist), and between rerun episodes of the Bachelor the inevitable commercials play on a CRT TV from 1988: boner pills, baldness cures, and bulk-up protein, and you think hey, that might make consensual sex in the missionary position with the wife more interesting, for a night, maybe. For the right price, doctors these days can even set you up with prosthetic balls if you don’t have those either, and it stands to reason that if one man feels emasculated by the missing family jewels then surely another feels emasculated by his relatively smaller jewels, and goes out and gets bigger prosthetics, and of course upon learning all of this, a man with already large testicles suddenly feels like maybe they’re not large enough anymore, so he goes out and gets himself a third testicle, then a fourth and fifth until finally he starts to look like he has a misshapen coin purse full of marbles tucked under his dick, but hey, he has the most marbles so he wins.
Finally, time to get coked up and rape sluts.
It’s hard getting along with people who are so damn… bland. I can understand people with literally no personality given the boring dystopia we live in, but do even their vices have to be so fucking boring? I mean, coffee and netflix? Really? Why are these people so obsessed with living so goddamned long for anyway? Do they really need to make someone go through the process of peeling the skin off a Florida orange (picked of course by the migrants they seem to dislike so much down there) because their shaky hands and gummy mouths simply can’t maneuver their way around a fruit anymore? Lord where are your zealous mormons now? If you want to put them to good use, how about putting some of these people out of their misery? Fighting with a fruit is not a dignified way to live, I hope I die before an orange becomes an ordeal. Then there are some people who actually choose to live like this as early as their 20s: risk free, drug free, fat and gluten free, and mom’s home-cooked meals every other weekend. If that’s what normal life is like, I’m glad I’m broken. Scarred recognize scarred and every once in a while you meet other (crazy) people like you, it’s often something as simple as the ability to be completely detached from most situations, the eyes can give away things like rapes and beatings and whatever else our pieces of shit parents and so-called caregivers threw at us. It’s a confidence in certain people that only develops under certain extreme circumstances, like when a 350lb man decides to beat the shit out of you when you were just trying to watch some Pokemon so you’d have something to talk about with the cute freckled girl at school the next day, somehow after something like that it’s hard to take life’s whey-protein and gatorade douchebros seriously, I mean, what are they gonna do? Hit you? It’s fucking pathetic, behold your five-balled Adonis, no longer chiseled from stone but a modern concoction of silicone, electrolytes, and anabolics, probably a dash of bulimia too.
I guess if the monster was under your bed and mostly didn’t bother you, you’d probably be afraid when you one day cross paths with an actually evil person, but when the monster uses the door freely – you already live in Hell, and well, when in Rome. There’s definitely a certain allure to the normal life when you wake up not knowing if you’re going to be happy or considering killing yourself again when lunchtime rolls around, stability starts to tempt. The thing most don’t want to admit is that people from that world have a hard time with people from Hell. Some people really can’t understand how refreshing a good depression can be, how being detached from a consumer culture isn’t a bad thing, and why it’s not nihilism to understand that things are generally not going well. Have you ever been depressed because it hasn’t been raining? Have you ever made it all the way to the subway, only to suddenly feel crushed by the weight of the world and turn around and go back to sleep until something, anything happens? How do you explain that to someone who thinks they’re saving the world because their lightbulbs have green stickers on them? Nevermind the brutal irony of people like Beyonce utilizing literal slavery to produce ’empowerment’ clothing and the tools who buy into that sort of bullshit, these people swallowed the capitalism pill so hard Alex Jones is starting to make sense – though to be fair it stands to reason that if you’re religious, you almost certainly hate gay people, therefore you’d at least be somewhat concerned with the advent of gay frogs too.
Note: He doesn’t look different because this photo doesn’t show the seventeen new prosthetic balls he had surgically implanted after hearing about a man with five balls, but the real question is still unanswered: how many authentic man-balls does Alex Jones actually have?
People have a tendency to act strange when their masculinity or righteousness is threatened, they’re über-sensitive to it because it doesn’t actually exist, it’s gone as soon as the Old Spice deodorant needs a refill, or a young boy is alone with a Catholic priest – and Lord where are your zealous Christians now? Even the Manson family didn’t rape children, and hell, if they had Scientology money they probably could’ve even legitimized their cult in the Land of the Free™. Anyway, the point is there’s no inspiration in a dull life of PTA meetings and being stuck in traffic 8hrs a week, there’s no feeling of being alive on a treadmill, it’s no wonder they can’t make sense of normal human emotions like sadness, lust, fear, or contempt – total sedation is the only way to make peace with Dick Cheney’s America. That is unless you’re a broken person of course, even better if you’re a Dr. like me, then you prescribe magic mushrooms for breakfast over two joints in the morning, start with the rum over lunch and fuck all afternoon, work your way to the heavier downers as the trip starts to wind down and you don’t feel ten feet tall anymore, then it’s time to find a high place and get that adrenaline going: it’s not the fear of falling that makes the heart beat so fast, it’s a fear of having lived for nothing. Frankly I’m surprised anyone can live in this world without drugs and adrenaline, seems like you’d have to constantly ignore pretty much all the suffering happening around you, or be genuinely too stupid to understand it, and I feel like god would only forgive one of these things.