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Archive for March, 2004

 
|| March 25, 2004 || 12:08 am || Comments (0) ||

Don’t Fuck Around: A Manifesto
&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp by Jett Superior

Lemme tell you somethin’: Even though it’s taking nigh on forfuckingever for me to get a blog template chucked up here and you faithful that keep coming back are all like, “KEEEEY-rist on a watercress-laden platter, what the farging fargle farg is taking so very precisely long over there….lose your pencil, Princess Numbnick?”, it is Patently Not Alright (let me repeat that for emphasis’ sake: PATENTLY. NAHHHT!!! AW-RIGHT.) to scramble around through this site’s innards and take things haphazardly, willy-nilly, OR at will and palm them off as your fucking own, champy. You got that?

If you do such a heinously horrible thing, I will track you down. I will contact you. I will ask you in my “kind-but-really-Really-RRILLY-notfuckingaroundwithyou-sweetpea” tone of voice to knock that shit off NOW and make reparations. These reparations might be a tad humiliating and/or humbling, but they will in no way match the humiliation or humble-atedness (yes, that was for you, Dear Muffinasses, because I know you need a really stupid MadeUpJettWord every now and again, and it has indeed been so long) that I will subject you to if you are forced to make reparations.

Because, you know, out of all the lameass talents that The Divine Almighty gifted me with, one of the most convenient and interesting is the one that allows me to sniff out a weasel at fifty paces or five-thousand miles and blow said weasel sky-high before they even know the fuse is lit.

Metaphorically and figuratively speaking, sweetness.

Metaphor- and figurative-talk aside, I have a finely-honed sense of righteous indignance that shares a bed with some juicy-assed rage that will fuel the absolute need for me to get in my vehicle and drive howevermany hours so that I can stand tall, sunglassed and freshly-lipsticked on the step leading to your front door, tap-tapping away and waiting for you to answer so that I can look you in your snivelly face and we can ‘tawk’.

Motherfuckers.

Look, lemme explain something here. I’ve had all manner of things taken, stolen, shined off of me in this lifetime. My dignity, my ceedees, my favorite bottle of cologne, my innocence. I’ve taken these things in stride, as I fully believe that the perpetrator(s) will get theirs in the end, and I will be able to stand over them, laughing so hard that it will eventually necessitate the urge to puke over their naked, broken form(s). Justice, baby. I believe in it, because I’ve seen the way things settle up on more than one occasion.

But when you steal my words –my thoughts and feelings scrawled across the page– you are stealing me, and I simply will not stand for such nonsense. I will not wait for the universe to ruck up your drawers into your asscrack and haul you down to the creek to drown you in all your idiocy. I will go all stupid-kamikaze on your dumb fuckup ass and not even blink, even if the eventuality is bad, bad, baaaad karma for me.

So there you fucking have it. If you need references, they are readily available. A fresh one was made just last week, and though they weren’t the first, they damned well better be the fucking last.

MAXIM: Holy shit, another one?

JETT: Ayuh.

MAXIM: Wait, these people read you, don’t they know who they’re dealing with?

JETT: *gross little hard smile* I know, right?

In case you had forgotten, all the content herein &copy the entity (real or imagined) otherwise known as Jett Superior except where otherwise noted or linked, and I’d sure hate to fuck somebody up for not respecting that. Hate it, but will do it; you dig, baby??

 
|| March 18, 2004 || 10:44 pm || Comments (0) ||

Gone missin’


(image courtesy unmute)

I have kidnapped myself. Each of you is to send me one-hundred thousand dollars in un-fiddled-with bills by noon tomorrow or you’ll never see me again.

(rambly audblog) || (concise summation and close of rambly audblog)