whos your god and lackrackastan

Who's your god?

Eat it up. Swallow every last bit. 2 spiders and you can see them. 1 and you will have no effect, 3 and you will become ill and vomit progressively. These are found in caves in the desert where the necronomicon was written after.

The blood cells of faith somewhere in your body flowing around inside you, somewhere. So where are they? Just as where God and Jesus and Buddah and Ala and Zuess and the Cat in the hat are. If you haven't come to realize how much make believe the world lives in, maybe you should stop reading, or you will be offended. Cause I don't fucking care. All these people in the BIG cult of christianity, muslim, buddism, whatever you want. Theres even a religion after sporks. spoons that have fork-like qualities.

When we stop latching and leeching onto beliefs to be the judge of us, then maybe we can be. That also has as much of a chance as world peace.

The beauty of it all can be fucking amazing, but can squeeze the life out of you as the cum in your penis or the mucus in your vagina after having a hardcore, heavy, sweaty, muscle-clenching, cardio fuck with a partner.


Shut your vocal chords and collapse into a barrel of your myths, fuck your faith and keep on putting your trust into it. Keep on believing in the things you can't prove. Deprave the gate evaporate shut them out, and tie your noose...





Story #2 Lackrackastan(cause I only have a free membership and i raeached my limit)

In Lackrackastan, there is no freedom of religion, of press, of voting, or freedom of speech, and of assembly.


Till, the teenage gardener of Lackrackastan wants ever so badly to make his own rocket. He worked hard in school and learned rocket construction, although he could never speak of his rocket plans for he would be tortured by the government officials. Every day before school the big men with guns would tell him to pray to their god. Pray or he would be shot.

One day he made his mind up to turn around and tell the big men that he will not pray anymore, but he didn't because you think differently when the warm barrell of an AK-47 is pressed against your head. Although he was used to it everyday, it still never seemed to become neutral. Because when it was warm it meant someone didn't obey the government.

So everyday after the prayers Till would go to school, which was more like church. Because you had to learn about your country's god and why things are bad. And the only food you get is a cracker. Or what they said was a cracker but could be anything dry and hard with no taste.

He would go to school and think about his rocket. He had no friends, because he looked at the hallways and saw zombies. Zombies because their parents teachers and leaders killed them and they came back to life in a way which is worse than being killed. To never know good things about the world. They all prayed to the same god, and couldn't say otherwise without being maimed. And even if the people disagreed they couldn't vote their way out of it because the leader was a dictator. And couldn't assemble a rebilion because they were watched all day by the army of Lackrackastan.

So one day Till decided he'd start building his rocket. So he could fly out of Lackrackastan and never feel the barrel of a gun against his head every morning. So he wouldn't have to watch his friends when he was little become one-minded freaks.

He spent 2 years still doing what he was told by the big men with guns but had completed his rocket. And the day that he was missing for the morning prayer no one knew he was gone. It wawsn't in the papers or told in the schools because they lacked the freedoms to talk or print about it. No one noticed this and he was free, away from it all. Even his parents just let out a few tears, no sobbing for they knew he had probazbly been killed for disobeying orders like so many others, millions. And if he escaped it would have been to a better life than they could've given him. But his rocket flew over Lackrackastan and landed in the mountians just over the border, killing him on impact.


the end