W- non-denominational international blather v2

 

It's all about this non-denominational international blather it surrounds us. The bane is that it cast down upon our basic, humble existence. And it's all about being controlled by our yesterdays faster than we can run towards our tomorrows. Maybe it's the fault of our faulty Now, that coy new Inner Self, the grand ego-induced illusion that individuality is the sole encumbrance of all of our realities. We've all succumbed to the vague teachings of Yoda, Buddha, and pocketfuls of Hindu lies from Christ. 


Certainly not from Christ directly, but cut and paste delusions created by flocks of multi-generational fuck ups. Pompous, privately ordained self-righteous buffoons. These sycophantic half jew followers who believe in their own private and personal store-bought righteousness. Those MAGA-lites who judge others by the lot and sentence them to their previously personalized versions of hell. 

~~~~~> <~~~~~

They're off today, watching the giant alligators dine on fresh, fruity, illegal pickers. Watching the show glow bright on their big screens, all splashy green, white, and red. See it on the big screen by the pool, or at the cocktail lounge at the club. Members only.

down drink cocktails floating on inflatable crocodiles in our pool. Or, maybe don our distressed leather jackets, tie down thirty-thousand-dollar Harley hogs to a trailer, and tow them behind our giant, super loud, shiny Ford 350 pickup. Buy a case of Bud case of Bud to drink on the way up the highway to a sunny spot where the swamp's been drained.

down drink cocktails floating on inflatable crocodiles in our pool.


When we arrive at Alligator Alcatraz National Campground, we can unload the gear and load up the guns. Get our cut and pasted ladies with their halter tops, and them Ray-Bans, have them wrap their thighs around our hard tails, and lay back for the ride. Get our motors running, roaring to the 'Glades!' We're a MAGA Pack, and it's a drive-by Saturday. Friday's close was fine; inside trades will pay at Monday's bell, might buy us another house. I've heard that Idaho's Panhandle is nice and red. Maybe Colorado?


Stop! Let's watch and poke sticks at the detainees when they poop in the open behind the chain link. Guards will be selling postcards at the gate. We're the ICE-buds, the gangs who purchase camouflage wholesale and ammo in bulk, and know the need for a second silencer in the glove compartment. It's for our Glocks. We're doing an anti-woke on a weekend getaway—We're stopping at your park to load our guns. We're the wise guys with masks, and we hate to share. 

-dp-9/30/25

(30)293/366



nce. It's about being controlled by our yesterdays faster than we can run towards our tomorrows. Maybe it's the fault of our Now, of our new Inner Self, or the grand ego-induced illusion that individuality is the sole encumbrance of all realities. We've succumbed to vague teachings of Yoda, Buddha, and pocketfuls of Hindu lies from Christ. 


Certainly not from Christ directly, but cut and paste delusions created by flocks of multi-generational fuck ups. Pompous, privately ordained self-righteous buffoons. These sycophantic half jew followers who believe in their own private and personal store-bought righteousness. Those MAGA-lites who judge others by the lot and sentence them to their previously personalized versions of hell. 

~~~~~> <~~~~~

They're off today, watching the giant alligators dine on fresh, fruity, illegal pickers. Watching the show glow bright on their big screens, all splashy green, white, and red. See it on the big screen by the pool, or at the cocktail lounge at the club. Members only.

down drink cocktails floating on inflatable crocodiles in our pool. Or, maybe don our distressed leather jackets, tie down thirty-thousand-dollar Harley hogs to a trailer, and tow them behind our giant, super loud, shiny Ford 350 pickup. Buy a case of Bud case of Bud to drink on the way up the highway to a sunny spot where the swamp's been drained.

down drink cocktails floating on inflatable crocodiles in our pool.


When we arrive at Alligator Alcatraz National Campground, we can unload the gear and load up the 


It's all about this non-denominational international blather that surrounds us. The bane cast down upon our basic, humble existence. It's about being controlled by our yesterdays faster than we can run towards our tomorrows. Maybe it's the fault of our Now, of our new Inner Self, or the grand ego-induced illusion that individuality is the sole encumbrance of all realities. We've succumbed to vague teachings of Yoda, Buddha, and pocketfuls of Hindu lies from Christ. 


Certainly not from Christ directly, but cut and paste delusions created by flocks of multi-generational fuck ups. Pompous, privately ordained self-righteous buffoons. These sycophantic half jew followers who believe in their own private and personal store-bought righteousness. Those MAGA-lites who judge others by the lot and sentence them to their previously personalized versions of hell. 

~~~~~> <~~~~~

They're off today, watching the giant alligators dine on fresh, fruity, illegal pickers. Watching the show glow bright on their big screens, all splashy green, white, and red. See it on the big screen by the pool, or at the cocktail lounge at the club. Members only.

down drink cocktails floating on inflatable crocodiles in our pool. Or, maybe don our distressed leather jackets, tie down thirty-thousand-dollar Harley hogs to a trailer, and tow them behind our giant, super loud, shiny Ford 350 pickup. Buy a case of Bud case of Bud to drink on the way up the highway to a sunny spot where the swamp's been drained.

down drink cocktails floating on inflatable crocodiles in our pool.


When we arrive at Alligator Alcatraz National Campground, we can unload the gear and load up the guns. Get our cut and pasted ladies with their halter tops, and them Ray-Bans, have them wrap their thighs around our hard tails, and lay back for the ride. Get our motors running, roaring to the 'Glades!' We're a MAGA Pack, and it's a drive-by Saturday. Friday's close was fine; inside trades will pay at Monday's bell, might buy us another house. I've heard that Idaho's Panhandle is nice and red. Maybe Colorado?


Stop! Let's watch and poke sticks at the detainees when they poop in the open behind the chain link. Guards will be selling postcards at the gate. We're the ICE-buds, the gangs who purchase camouflage wholesale and ammo in bulk, and know the need for a second silencer in the glove compartment. It's for our Glocks. We're doing an anti-woke on a weekend getaway—We're stopping at your park to load our guns. We're the wise guys with masks, and we hate to share. 

-dp-9/30/25

(30)293/366

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

guns. Get our cut and pasted ladies with their halter tops, and them Ray-Bans, have them wrap their thighs around our hard tails, and lay back for the ride. Get our motors running, roaring to the 'Glades!' We're a MAGA Pack, and it's a drive-by Saturday. Friday's close was fine; inside trades will pay at Monday's bell, might buy us another house. I've heard that Idaho's Panhandle is nice and red. Maybe Colorado?


Stop! Let's watch and poke sticks at the detainees when they poop in the open behind the chain link. Guards will be selling postcards at the gate. We're the ICE-buds, the gangs who purchase camouflage wholesale and ammo in bulk, and know the need for a second silencer in the glove compartment. It's for our Glocks. We're doing an anti-woke on a weekend getaway—We're stopping at your park to load our guns. We're the wise guys with masks, and we hate to share. 

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