teen imus 9 and counting

Lost my temper today, in the middle of a delicate maneuver, trying to put one redhead out of all the redheads into a painting by some trees, I think I know what it is, though I am constantly being corrected when I assume certain things, and out of all the redheads who would possibly be crying over the eviction from the garden it seems to me the reason why she's crying is because she knows it's her fault. But then what really was this fruit of knowledge of good and evil all about, hence the spy noises circulating all behind me, because of the unspoken thing we should never talk about because it makes good people argue with good people over the missing pieces in the Franklin Mint Civil War chess set. All I know is that when there are fatalities of this magnitude I have the right to demand explanations from these surreal insect creatures hissing in my thoughts, as if the rules of death never applied to them equally. Pink Floyd tells me that I'm never going to die. Can this be so? There was the weed we smoked, sure. It was grown on a plant, so it is like a fruit, from a garden, sure. But we were talking about something else when that happened.

We were talking about a hypothetical brand of phone call, so that you could rob the market with a telephone.

We were talking about how simple and wonderful it would be to rob George Bush with a telephone. Wouldn't you want to rob George W. Bush with a telephone? It seemed like a great idea at the time, but all I ever did was say it out loud once.

That was when the guards burst in and the evening was destroyed in yelling and stupidity. By the time I got home, they had already robbed George W. Bush with a telephone, and there were all these songs about why those guards were just awful. Storm Large sang from the PSU campus for a reason, you see.

The library manager today said it would be better if I lodged my complaint when the incident happens instead of accumulating a series of complaints long afterward, but in that case I would be registering a complaint literally every five seconds and I would never get to actually read anything online.

The library has always known about these problems and has always allowed them to return after every attempt to shoo away every single weirdo. These people, these invaders leaving it to the nice library staff to somehow repair, have unlimited funding and unlimited staff, they are too stupid to control themselves, and have never cared before when a place or a person or an entire species got hurt.

Am I wrong?

I just heard a sound proving me correct.

So what will I read about dying tomorrow? A class full of kids again? A generic public outing by a generic group of well meaning strangers? A bunch of white collar criminals that actually deserve it? Or these people that believe they can actually steal from the actual God?

Have you seen what that God guy can do?

There is one of these insect creatures ten feet behind me to my left. He's muttering like someone from the Manson family. Bonnie Tyler is off fucking herself on the store speakers.

The internet died while I sat here writing this. Now I'm waiting for it to return so I can post that there must be something egregiously huge going on today for there to be this much interference communicating online.

The irony is that I am at the famous activist cafe. There are people here supposedly acutely attuned to the whole war crimes/atrocities mentality. There are supposedly people here that protest war crimes specifically, the exact kind of torture that is stationed here every day. This man sitting behind me to the left is a war criminal, he can only be here in order to specifically target the communications of me myself who is here to tell you that they still blow up cars in Iraq if my LJ posts are interesting enough.

This "person" ten feet behind me to my left is the sort they would ban from here forever if only they knew he was one of the fascist pigs they've dedicated their life to stopping. I would have been posting sooner except the other war criminal, the actual Donald Rumsfeld clone who sits here for hours pretending to be interested in Democratic Party Facebook pages, he was here with an Erica Stephan clone who tried to pin some of her ugly jewelry on me. I told her never to speak with me again but seeing as how I am the very center of her existence I imagine she, like all these others, will never really go away until I borrow that machete from Conrad and actually start using it.

Maybe there's a big airplane gonna crash. Maybe something worse? Is it just the normal bunch of thieves acting up even without an election going on? Sometimes the crazies show up because of sporting events. I think the machete would work equally well on all of them regardless of profession. I'm just trying to think out loud, to myself, I am just writing to myself, if you wanted to chat you could have visited during office hours except you were too busy dying, right?

I mean, right?