Reflection of Life

A name is like a label, it typifies how you are perceived in the enigma that is life. My name is detestable by nature. For this I blame my parents. Those scab-ridden, blood-sucking, parasitic infestations are to blame for the sorrow in the first five years of the downpour that is my life. My father, the man of estrogenically disproportioned emotions, is the spitting image (an image I could literally spit at) of Michael Jackson in a paedophilic porn film. He is the cause of my suffering and I hope he is ‘accidentally’ decapitated by a hack-saw and thrown into a human sized blender filled with sulphuric acid burning him alive in the remaining few seconds of his pathetically inadequate existence that follows the head being severed from his hilariously sized body, which will be absent of the penis seeing as my mother cut it off a few years back. The solution that remains from the blender will turn a distinctive blood red, completing one of my life goals to see the mutilation of a figure representative of a bleak past and an even more bleak future if he were to survive. The shit. My mother, on the other hand, is a complete maniacal bitch whose sole aim in life is to prevent me, her own son, from achieving more than she and her inbred family have managed in an orgasm of unprotected sex.



But I suppose it is not their fault their lives have been led by pathetic fallacies, such as clouds formulating a never-ending nightmare of acidic rain – a metaphor for the bloody bowels of pus-gutted Hell where the eternal fire tortures their lost souls for all time. Daffodils are so yellow they’re almost Asian. They, like my parents, can be found in the fiery depths of Hell if I had my way. Daffodils represent a happily innocent childhood, filled with soft toys, nice little cuddles and loving parents. What bollocks. Childhood is nothing but fucking mental retardation meant to set you up for mass disappointment in the future filled with pointless shit, sex and chavs. That’s another thing. Chavs. Fucking pointless shitheads running around in their track suits and crap BMX’s, going “Yeah, mate” in an idiosyncratic voice that chills the spine to hear it.



Where were we? Oh, yes, fuck my parents. The very essence of shitiness within life itself. More terrifying than being forced to sit through an entire evening of Disney films. The pure happiness and joy represented in such films through impossibly untrue to life characters makes my stomach churn out the bile created by eating the shit my mother cooks on her stove of discontempt. As I type this the computer does not even understand the word discontempt, fucking piece of shit.

My brother is another story to my parents but I have a similar loathing to him as I do my parents. My brother is a retarded asshole who would have sex with Danny DeVito if he thought it would give him superpowers. He is a twat and he is the reason I have anger issues. When I was but a couple of years old I was around the bottom of the stairs at my Grandmother’s house and he was at the top with a bin. He literally kicked the bin down the stairs at my face and I had to undergo surgery to have my face repaired to the sub-normal level it is now. My mind now has permanent damage that makes me become furious much faster than most people usually do, hence this book and the usage of the fucking language so far is just an abortion.



The shithole that I live in is an excellent example of the entirety of English people today. In America they seem to think of us as the stereotypical Englishman of the early 20th century with phrases like “I say”, “Pip pip”, “Jolly good”, “Old chap” and “No grapes”, like a bunch of fuck-witted monkeys with no bollocks. Today, England is more populated with Chavs / Chavettes, Yobos, Emos, Goths, Metal heads, Punks, Rockers, Muslims, Asians (in general), European immigrants and Christians. If only Hitler was still alive he would sort this fucking shit multicultural mess out.



Just so you know I'm biased there are a few things I would like to say which may offend. Congratulations America, you fucked up everyone, congratulations Iraq, you fucked yourselves up, congratulations England, you fucked up your culture, congratulations France, you fucked up your food, congratulations China, you fucked up your atmosphere and lives, congratulations Japan, I was in favour of Pearl Harbour, congratulations Kazakhstan, your just fucked up.



The Boy who Cried Wolf is interesting, here's my version:

There was once a boy in a field taking care of sheep who became bored and cried wolf where there was not really a wolf. The townspeople came and were annoyed by the boy's lie and left him a warning. the boy called again and the townspeople came again more annoyed and gave him his final warning. The boy cried wolf again so the townspeople got to the point of irritation where they took him to a dark room, hung him up by his nipples and raped him for years before he died of AIDS and a sore chest. The moral of this story is those who tell lies will be fucked.