The gospel of Itchy Wiggle Christ by Gregory-John McCormick, Ralf Dellhofen (books to read for beginners TXT) 📖

ever goes unpunished! and i avoid doing evil or being near those who commit evil deeds. it seems to make my life easier - but of course, everywhere i look i see evil and those who either unwittingly or purposely commit evil deeds, especially the eating of dead animals. i am not of this earth, i am not of the human race, i cannot be - or i may be insane. i hope i die tonight.

 

here he is, your daunting hero, early on the dark sunday michigan prison morning. i wonder how vincent had all the time he did to write his brother theo all those letters? - i have a very difficult time finding time to write in this makeshift journal/gospel/whatever it is called. i am working up to 16 hours per day at painting, and that does not seem like enough. there is never enough time, i guess. much of people´s lives are spent ignoring or hiding from the fact that we all die, then when we die, we realize there has not been enought time to do what needed to be done - at least most evolved people feel this way - there is a shit-load of absolute retards that have no clue that they are even alive. so if scientists define life as "awareness", does that mean that all these retards are dead? they may as well be dead, they are only taking up space and littering the environment, especially a good one-third of the american population. it seems that humans should strive to evolve and breed in order to create a better generation of ourselves, but instead it seems that the idiots and retards are the ones who are over-breeding at an exponential rate, populating an already crowded planet. i see the very retarded of this bunch every single day in my current location, and this makes me embarrassed to call myself human. and a very sick human at that - i´ve had a cold and flu now for five months. i hope i die tonight.

 

is it possible that i have grown so old and so set in my ways that i have outlived my usefullness? time is of the essence, and life is too short. just because i can do a thing does not necessarily mean i must do that thing. suicide is a daily thought - but i fear i have always this little bit of optimism that stops me from committing the act. either that, or i am such a pessimist that i fear making a mistake during the act - this would be my typical dumb bad luck - and i would end up a cripple or a retard or some kind of mess. when i don´t have every hope of being completely successful, i opt not to do the dirty deed to myself. but playing the optimist - thinking i could be out of this prison very soon, is such a long shot. it may never happen, and this is getting too much to bear. and i feel depression setting in and my old "SAD", seasonal affective disorder, the goddamned winter michigan weather, no sun and colder than a well-diggers ass. i´ve not so much to be happy about. no chocolate kisses or lollipops here, not even 99 red balloons. whatever happened to nena? i used to think she was very pretty. now i don´t know what i think - i just want to sleep the sleep of the dead. goodnight, seven of nine.

 

good morning, europa, let us drink the aged wine, let us quaff the bavarian morning beer, let us sup upon the irish magic mushrooms, let us drop ten hits of that killer austrian acid, let us drink the new wine and toast the soul of jim morrison.

 

morning death, ice falling from the skies onto the frozen michigan tundra, death from above, gods little joke on all these wannebe eskimos. who in a sane mind would want to actually live voluntarily in michigan? only retards and prisoners live in this fucking place. i have no choice, otherwise i would get my ugly ass out of this shit hole on the first plane out of this diseased land. iceland is not as unpleasant as michigan! iceland is beautiful! iceland has beautiful girls! michigan has a bunch of fat slob snow-cows for women, mcdonalds eating overweight pigs who want so badly to have men and society accept them for who they are. they are FAT AND UGLY! even american commercials try to paint fat ami women as being something beautiful. well, they will die quicker than most. eat up! big mac with fries!

 

blue sickness, internet tazer guns wielded by crack-cocaine crazed schwarze puppies. dreams of circuits and broken connections making me weep and laugh as i try to wake up, but the haze of my migraine medication does not quite want to let me be fully alert. something has got to break inside me soon. valentines day has come and gone, and i sat alone painting a psychedelic retarded child the entire day - not as tho i could have done anything if i had a girl waiting for me out in the wicked wicked world, but it would be nice to write a letter or paint something nice for my "love" - but i have none, i am alone, i am surrounded by monsters = pedophiliac rapists, crack addicts, homosexual schwarze predators, aids-carrying diseased perverts. i haven´t touched a woman for nearly five years. i am lonely and afraid. maybe i should die.

 

deep dark caverns of pure depression, documents detailing my last days as a heartened spiritually corrupt animal, kept behind cross, which is doused with gasoline and set on fire after i exhale my last slow breath, weeping, asking for just one last sip of guinness before i leave this shithole of a planet - guinness being one of the very few reasons left to even try living in this shitty world - bushmills irish whiskey is another. i don my final suit of armor and take on all you vicious spirit-murdering monsters, you sons and daughters of diseased perverts, my holy sword shall lop off your heads, i will dance like a retarded idiot under the spray of your blood, my trusty airedale terrier johann will lick your blood off the dance floor. and most probably he will puke afterwards. i spit in the eyes of maker of this world, the fiend who allows vigilants like me to be locked away with the same monsters i tried to burn away, so feel my scorn, my spit, my hate, and know that i know, you know that i am the winner in the end - break my spirit, crucify me, set my corpse ablaze, but you fuckers will never be able to steal my soul. i am immortal, and i will be back, and i know who you progenies of the disease are. i´ll find you.

 

the heavenly guardian against evil, the blood being shed from his sword, wicked nasty filthy potty people being put to the razor edge, i am on a cliff top, watching it all transpire, and i am laughing m fool ass off, drunk, naturally, as humanity is finally destroyed once and for all. holy-shit, but was this a long time in coming - the king of heaven slaughters the six billion, then he approaches me, "do you have a cold beer for me, itchy?", says the king. "of course i do , my friend, and by the way", i say as i hand the king a cold guinness draft, "thanks for cleaning up all that shit down here". "ho ho ho", the king of heaven laughs, "it was a fairly disgusting task, but someone had to do it". "ja, t´was that for certain, but it was getting pretty bad, you know?", i asked. "yes, itchy, the world was turning into one giant trash heap filled with horrible monsters called human beings, they had to be slaughtered like diseased pigs!", the king extolled. "so what´s it goin´ t´ be now, king?", i asked. "well, itchy, i´ll tell you, first we are going to finish the rest of this case of guinness, maybe i will conjure up a few bottles of bushmills also". "hooray! yoo hoo!", i interject. "then, my little irish friend, i will create you a new woman that you can repopulate the world with. you, itchy, will be the progenitor of new man, and this will ensure that no more retards or filth will walk upon this earth ever again!", the king said. "well, king, sure and that this plan of yours is grand, and i´m honored of course", i coyly answered while i kicked a small rock around with my big right toe. "but do you think you could possibly make two new women for me, seein´as i´ll be doing a large amount of propagating, as you said?". "ho ho ho!", the king of heaven laughed, "of course! of course! two women for king itchy! how about i make them look like angelina jolie and jennifer tilly? would that suit your purpose, itchy?". "yes king, they will do nicely! that´s a good king!".

 

 

 

8. The Gospel of Itchy Wiggle Christ

ah, the national news: george bush has fired his chef, and he needs a new chef. the president is a little bit overweight. the vice president, mr. cheney, has expressed his desire that the new chef can cook veal in a passable manner. so he likes the taste of butchered baby cows - isn´t that special? peep-holes eat animals, i know this, but i just cannot seem to accept it or understand it. am i the one who is fucked-up in the head? i know there are other vegetarians in this world, but they are few and far between. i only know that captain ralf is a vegetarian. i would guess that not many vegetarians who want to talk to me - i´m not the typical veggie-head, i´m not a pot-smoking, tree -hugging, snow-boarding hippy. i am a vicious bald-headed, anarchist punk-rocker who drinks irish whiskey like water and takes enough acid to get ten people knocked on their ass. well, fucked-up michigan nazi prison. eat meat, eat shit, i don´t care.

 

a foul saturday morning, far below freezing, dead winter death snow pollutes my senses. i´m not a goddamned eskimo. what simple dullard retards decided to build a community in michigan? insane french people, according to books. all these mornings of waking up in prison, surrounded by the total scum of humanity - and now the very little real hope that i will ever get out of here, it seems yet another peep-hole has promised to help get me out of prison, but actually was only trying to steal music and time from me. there are many of such peep-holes in this world - what the hell is wrong with you? is there not enough free peep-holes in the world that you must try to steal from me? it seems not. and it seems that captain ralf needs to take up his mighty pirate buckler-sword and chop off some heads. but then again, when one scumbag is decapitated, ten more