A Midsummer Night’s WRITHING IN AGONY

I will say in advance, excuse my dull and aimless words. I am in a weakened and bemoaned state, but THE HOMUNCULUS desires to scream still! Though my voice will not have it, my throat coated with some foul slime, the intent burns within me. Yes, like a churning bile of pure discontent, my hatred for this world pours from every orifice it can find. And mind you, I have more than your feeble human body could ever sustain!

Okay? Okay.

I FUCKING HATE SLEEPING.

I fucking hate SLEEP. I hate being knocked unconscious by my VERY BODY, being disabled and disarmed by biological MUTINY, being robbed of my disgusting self-awareness and having it be an INSIDE MOTHER FUCKING JOB. I hate the impending doom of the realization that my useless body can no longer carry its own weight, and must shut down to recover from less than a single day’s activities. Which, for the Homunculus, include only being chained to this stool, pounding my inept fists against the brick wall, and mashing away at this ancient typing device, as mandated by my loathsome keepers. And the stool was manufactured by Ikea!

I-FUCKING-KEA.

I am released only to perform proper research for my writings, yet am still attached by steel cord to this self-assembled albatross. And even then, when I am at my farthest reach from this dank cellar of misery, the horror overtakes me! The darkness still falls! I SLUMBER EVER MORE.

And do you know what awaits me there? NO. YOU DO NOT. SO FUCK OFF.

Nightmares!

Irrepressible, maddening visions of my madness, loose from the chains of my consciousness, rampaging wildly through my mind while my body is held prisoner by weakness!

DON’T

ohhh, don’t you fucking DARE

DON’T YOU DARE RELATE TO HOW I’M FEELING.

You don’t know the first THING about my night terrors! The worst nightmare a human ever had was about falling or being naked or being unloved by someone you love while standing knee deep in pythons and pig shit.

But that is NOTHING! A cake walk. A walk of pure cake is what those fairy tales are in comparison to even the opening SECONDS in the all-night OPERA OF PAIN that screams dissonant notes through my own slumbering mind!

Every night, in my dreams, I kill myself.

With the power of my own self-loathing!

And with full knowledge that I will be damned to inescapable torture!

All this just to escape those visions. And my nightmare lies prove themselves startlingly accurate when I awaken to THIS PLACE.

THIS HELL.

I feel no rest or reprieve when I sleep, because I see the worst possible thing to ever exist in the heart of all that is evil and wrong.

When I sleep, I see YOU.

FUCKING HUMANS.

Eating Disorders

The disgusting sounds you make!

Mashing and chewing and grinding and hacking and coughing because you didn’t chew enough—CLOSE YOUR MOUTHS.

AAYRGH I can’t STAND IT when you simian skinballs decide to EAT.

It is a practise most foul, and yet the severity of it escapes your haphazardly-evolved intellect. You insist on making it your pastime, gathering all your stinkfriends and sitting down to a collective gross-out contest. Who can expel the most internal gasses? And make the most unappetizing noises whilst doing so? Who can loose the most inane, trivial small-talk while their useless tongue is swimming in a pool of torn bird muscles and saliva? The lot of you, just sitting around and digesting, letting your organs squirm and churn the particles of dead life you just squeezed down your gullet… it’s sickening. What with your noisy, noisy mouths! CLOSE THEM! Your revolting spit, mixing up with the pre-digested slop swishing around in that toothy-blowhole of yours, smacking and sloshing, tiny bits of it flying out because you CAN’T STOP TALKING ABOUT YOUR DAY.

Oh, I know. Don’t pretend I don’t know. I know.

The Homonculus has traveled far and wide (the latter is especially true for my American journeys) to learn what atrocities you slimepiles routinely commit against existence. And this eating, this inbred, instinctual drive to swallow and consume all that is freshly deceased, it is making the universe around you just a bit more unpleasant. Not only are the sounds the stuff of which nightmares are borne, but the smells, the irrevocable odors, create an atmosphere so foul it is a wonder you mongrels escape asphyxiation! Don’t act so fucking surprised, you know DAMN WELL that of which I speak! Or is it that your inescapable human ignorance BLINDS you from the sheer IDIOCY of taking DEAD ANIMALS and BURNING THEM in your HOME. Of COURSE it stinks! IDIOT.

And CLOSE YOUR FUCKING MOUTHS.

It would be a very good decision for you apeshits to make, if I do say so myself.

WHICH I MOTHER FUCKING DO.

With a closed mouth, your trash-compacting sounds will be muffled from the outside world.

With a closed mouth, your mindless chatter will not pollute the air, already filthed with so many wasted syllables.

And with a closed mouth, we will have eliminated a major source of oxygen for all you humen! Next we just plug up the nostrils, and you will be a problem no longer.

But alas, even with the blissful extermination of all you pigweasels, there still waits a haunting terror for I, The Homunculus. For, though I am loathe to share such innermost personal terrors, it is true that I also hunger.

The pain!

The sorrow.

Yes, I am indeed CURSED to a life of unending searching, a constant quest (and a painful one!) to fill a void that empties itself near fucking DAILY. And unlike the unrequited void in my mind, that hollow lack of a true soul – this lacking has a physical manifestation! It pains me in a most crude way, and leaves me unable to ignore its cries for the crushed nourishment so sloppily spilled down the feeding chutes by my degenerate masters! And my noises are unavoidable, for closed as my horrific malformed mouth may be, the sounds still rattle around my unlovable, misshapen skull! I am forced to chew, as I have not yet met the horrors of an intravenous nutrition plan – though I hear the threats twice daily.

Yes, friends, the disadvantages of eating are a plentiful bounty indeed. Why, did you know that the number one leading cause of sewage is human consumption? It’s true! IF YOU DIDN’T EAT, I WOULDN’T HAVE TO WADE THROUGH YOUR SHITE.

FUCK.

I MEAN, FUCK.

Stop eating.

Bluetooth Blues

GGRAAAAAGHHHH WHAT THE FUCK.

There seems to be some newfangled technolology mucking up the streets, leeching off the masses. I didn’t believe it at first! I thought it a cruel joke, a prank, or a vivid nightmare the likes of which would only creep out of my eternally damned subconscious. But no. You revolting pigs are serious when you tell me about “Bluetooth.”

BLUE TOOTH. Even the name is stupid!

It has nothing to do with dentistry, and teeth are never blue except for after some sugary confection, leaving your mouth riddled with artificial dyes! An image of sloppy, filthy childish behaviour is not the best one to evoke when you want to promote sophisticated technology! WHY am I even EXPLAINING this it should be SELF FUCKING EVIDENT. You backwards retards, TRY USING YOUR ATROPHIED MINDS FOR ONCE.

According to your soiled historical documents, this infernal infestation of wireless communication was apparently named after Harald Bluetooth Gormson, or Harald I of Denmark, a king in the late 10^th century. Firstly, WHAT KIND OF NAME IS “HARALD.” A poor facsimile of Harold is what! Stupid fucking Danes! Secondly, WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF NAME IS “BLUETOOTH.” Seriously! WHAT THE FUCK.

“Gormson” is because his father was named Gorm.

Which is a STUPID NAME. Fucking GORM. Honestly!

This king Harald is responsible for uniting unsavoury, filthy tribes in Denmark and Sweden, and for turning them all Christian or something. Flash forward through several centuries of skull-splitting human stupidity and you will find a Danish newspaper infuriating Muslims worldwide. THIS IS DIRECTLY THE FAULT OF HARALD “BLUETOOTH” GORMSON. So go ahead, people, keep talking into your earpieces! You’re going to get BLOWN THE FUCK UP for it!

And as for those headsets! SCHIZOPHRENIA IS NOT FASHIONABLE. Stop fooling the world into thinking you have developed multiple personality disorder! Stop appearing as if you are asking a mop how its day was inside of the desolate walls of the Home Depot! I don’t want to have to wait until you brush your chemically-drenched hair back in order to discover you’re some kind of fucking CYBORG communing with the COLLECTIVE and not just BATSHITE INSANE.

Was it worth it, humans? The money, the research, the resources exhausted in order to convert the regular horrible person into the even more horrible street-crazy? At least those mad individuals were interesting to listen to, despite being threatening and offensive in odor! They spoke of apocalypses and aliens and secret governments run by Jews! But YOU. All you talk about is where you’re going, or where you’re coming from, or OH MY DEAD GOD, YOU’RE HUNGRY. Well, I guess it was worth the trouble! Thousands of years of human achievement, stunted and pathetic as it is, all so you can have your hands free while you TELL YOUR GIRL YOU WANT SOME FUCKING CHICKEN.

“Your girl.” And here I thought you pigs abolished slavery! But things are meaningless unless you can own them, aren’t they? AREN’T THEY!

And this is just one application of this trivial convenience! You slap it onto your modern gods and priests, your holy fucking computers, your laptops of worship. And worst yet? WORST YET? You apparently call these add-on devices “dongles.”

DO I HONESTLY HAVE TO ELABORATE ON HOW FUCKING STUPID THAT WORD IS? Say it out loud. Say it RIGHT NOW. Do you feel that? The disgusting non-corporeal mass polluting your mouth, the feeling of a gorilla’s droppings swishing around your gums, that stink, that burn, that numbness that follows because your nerves cannot handle it and simply commit suicide rather than put up with what you have given them? THAT IS THE FEELING OF SAYING SUCH A STUPID WORD.

GOD FUCK YOU, YOU DEGENERATE, MINDLESS DOLTS.

Don’t you remember the promises you made yourselves, you fucking LIARS? The future! The gadgets, the spaceships, the WONDER AND MAGIC, so sickeningly bright and sweet. And when you begin ramping up towards that future, you systematically fuck it up! Your communication devices are more advanced than anything dreamed up in science fiction movies of the mid-20th century, but you go and give them STUPID FUCKING NAMES. It negates all novelty and achievement! BLUE FUCKING TOOTH. ARE YOU SERIOUS. ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS, YOU MALFORMED LITTLE JACKASSES. At seemingly almost every turn, you apply your retarded monikers to what should receive the most carefully contemplated titles your foetal brains can collectively compute! Blackberry? Wherein does the connection between mobile communication devices and FRUIT occur? Technology and edible products should never be confused, that line should NEVER be blurred! They are uniquely and wholly separate, you meddling twats! And speaking of mobile devices, what of your “RZR?” You pronounce it like razor (which you should take to your fucking throats!), but you’ve forgotten all your vowels! YOU CANNOT HAVE WORDS WITHOUT VOWELS. You rotting cunts INVENTED the language, and then you turn around and take a whopping shite all over it! It is as if you got bored with the words you created and decided to massacre them for the sheer hell of it! It is plastered all over your messages, be they text, instant, or otherwise “e,” like dung on the walls of a chimpanzee cage! YOU HEAR ME?! YOU’RE STILL APES, TOSSING YOUR LINGUISTIC DROPPINGS ABOUT WITHOUT A FUCKING CARE.

And then there’s the Wii. The fucking Wii.

WORDS FAIL TO EXPRESS WHAT A STUPENDOUS FUCKUP THAT NAME WAS.

GGRRAGAGHHHH!

You’re all just begging to be destroyed by the shadow government of alien Jews that control our fates. BEGGING FOR IT.

Bitter Reflections

Alright, filthies, try to wrap your feeble minds around this. I am The Homunculus. No, I don’t have a proper name, and I don’t deserve one, nor are any of you equipped with the mental faculties to don me with such. My origin is a sad and wretched tale which pleases no ears on which they fall, so I’ll skip over that lot for now. It is beside the point in any case, as I’m writing this drivel to give my horrible thoughts on horrible topics my keepers have laid out for me. They say they’re accepting outside input, but I honestly doubt any of you drool monkeys could give me anything of relevance to speak on. Still, I can already anticipate the screaming rage you’ll all go into, complaining about my columns here, so I’d dare you all to go ahead and throw your best shite at me like the baboons you are. That way I can wholeheartedly ream your collective arses over your own disgusting hypocrisy.

Well! With that said and done, I shall dump unto you this first unholy topic of discussion: Mirrors.

I HATE THEM.

Do not mistake my words for hyperbole, I utterly and sincerely DESPISE the things. They’re so very ugly! The patent on these devices is a poor model indeed, for every one, every single one I have seen spits nothing but horror and madness at me. Its creator must have been a wizard of the cruelest order, and its manufacturers are all heathens in the eyes of a dead God! To perpetrate this punishment on the masses for so long in your human history is a feat without parallel, and without reason. It is above and beyond even what injustices you apefucks are infamous for. It is a visual holocaust stretched through the ages! Do not question my statements, I have researched the topic. I have toiled for endless revolting hours in learning of the object I discuss. Anything less would doom me to a fate of such toxic ignorance that I might be confused for the likes of you, dear reader! No, I know all too well what foolish horrors you’ve thrown against each other with these mirror-things. You tried to disguise your crimes, but covered them only with a blanket of stupidity! I know your codes – the “looking glass” is nothing more than the very thing I spit my hatred at in this writing! You thought you could hide it with a retarded title, but I am wise to your ridiculous ways. And I would like to take this opportunity to scold you all for this “looking glass” joke. All glass involves looking! In fact, regular glass does nothing but AID the act of visual observation. A mirror does not even accomplish that much! All it contains is a piss-poor copy of what I can already see around me, ruined with a horrible monstrosity in the middle, seething with boils and abrasions, like the rejection of a sewer mutant. Fucking mirrors.

I reiterate; I HATE THEM.

I cannot come to a definitive conclusion, but I am certain of at least two possibilities: Either the lot of humanity is a cruel, sadistic, evil and worthless bunch, or my sensibility in matters of taste and manners are sophisticated by eons above yours. I have taken into consideration that both may very well be the truth to the matter. For you people have seen fit to display these framed slices of hell in nearly every building you infest! I have seen rooms, white and stained with your excrement, with several mirrors lined side by fucking side. It’s like a comic strip borne of the nightmares of Adolf Hitler! You hang these panels in your homes, inside your horrific vehicles, you even hide them within the albatrosses carried around your necks! (That last bit of boiling hatred goes to all the ladies out there.)

There is true and tangible evil hidden inside these mirrors. Do not forget, I have done my research! Don’t you DARE fucking forget what I tell you! I know the legends, the stories of the daemons contained inside the icy realm the mirrors portray. And to the foolish human who breaks the gate and unleashes them, therein lies a curse! A punishment for klutzes worldwide, that their unrestrained gestures are haunted with seven years of torture. 7, the number itself symbolic of the jagged edges the mirrors project! A veritable house of daggers awaiting release at the hint of a heavy breath!

AND THEY ARE SO VERY UGLY.

In my research (Lest you fucking forget!), I learned much of human superstition, apparently a force enhanced by radioactive means, no doubt. Whatever happened to stition certainly pissed him off a great deal to taunt you humans so! I know it holds the number seven in high regard, normally blessing it with luck or some such bull-shite. And here the mirror daemons have the power and audacity to alter the fundamental nature of it, associating 7 with their mischievous ways once freed. Repaying you with nothing but pain, like some twisted anti-genies! They are alchemists of the metaphysical, architects of fate, to damn the accident prone and their angular numerals to temporary hell. Nay – they are demolition technicians of fate, for they take the plans laid out for you and smash them like the broken visage of their former prisons.

TAKE NONE OF THIS LIGHTLY. I speak in only the slightest terms! I know I should not coat my words in the sugary-sweet lies of safety, but there is no other way you morons would have them enter your mind. This is only the briefest of warnings, I hold back much! Mirrors are HORRIBLE and EVIL. And so very UGLY. Dispose of them with the greatest of care! Do not break them, lest you plan on committing a quick and efficient suicide thereafter! If so, I pray the daemons do not follow you through the grave, for even the most blessed of heavens will become your eternal hell! Time has no meaning in the hereafter, the seventh year may last several eternities! And you should be so lucky! There is no life after death for The Homunculus. I am an abomination who can only hope for the sweet embrace of the void, and is tortured each day with the knowledge of his own existence! I would dare you to murder me if I believed you possessed the ability and spine required, but you’re all filthy slime unworthy of my recognition. Quit reading my disgusting words immeditately!