A couple of months ago I was sitting around in my studio wondering
what in the world I had done to deserve such an incredibly perfect life, a
truly great workspace, probably the most tolerant and tolerable wife
possible, a beautiful hame (man, you ought to see the iris blossoming out
front, under the wisteria - BEAUTIFUL!} in a city which suits my needs to
perfection, and the CAT, what an incredible cat, man he's the archetype of
the good cat... anyway, then I suddenly remembered.
A few years ago I was corresponding with the publisher of a
satanist zine, BRIMSTONE, who was a pretty okay guy, and one of the things
he sent me was a form for selling my soul to satan, so I filled it out and
sent it back. I didn't put any blood or jiz on it, to seal the pact, but
my FINGERPRINTS were all over it, and that's body oil. My body oil,
physical exudations of my corpus. And the part you fill in for what you
want to get in return, I couldn't think of anything I needed, so I just
wrote "GOOD LUCK."
Welp, I'm screwed. I'm going to burn in hell forever. But that
good luck is really taking off. Nothing to do but enjoy it!
What's weird though is for the last month I've been having these
sensations in the heels of my feet and the backs of my thighs, like a
blush of warmth, almost as if a gentle flame of HELLFIRE were lightly
warming my heels, as if to say "don't forget...."
No, I'm not forgetting. I'm in for a REAL BAD ETERNITY, and
there's not a thing I can do about it, so I'm having a good time right
now.
Sincerely,
O Nenslo
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From: iceknife@bif.com (Iceknife)
Subject: Re: my soul
FROGSHIT!!!
you fucking LOZE! You SIMPERING FROZEN JACKAL SHIT ON A DECORATIVE STICK!
The PSTENCH of your whining little POUT o' DAMNATION makes me want to hop
up and down on your headlike shoulder boil until your alleged brain is
nothing more than a series of jellied hairy footprints.
AS *IF* you were QUALIFIED for actual HELLTIME(TM)!!!
pay ATTENTION, you bloated little PUS NUGGET...
the MANES and LARVAE who litter the floor of HADES and dine on the turds
of STENCH KINE are LAUGHING at you!
They have a single joy... that YOU, you disgusting little roach stain,
are even MORE pathetic than THEY!
you stupid fuck, you couldn't get into Hell with Frank Sinatra and Dean
Martin and a Gold Card, much less on YOUR ptzy little sins!
asshole
MUTHA JONES
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From: bmyers@ionet.net (TarlaStar)
Subject: Re: my soul
Next time someone asks for a definition of Slack, I'll have this to
show them.
>--
*** Reverend Mutha Tarla Star***
It is by caffeine alone I set my mind in motion, it is by the
beans of Java that thoughts acquire speed, the hands acquire
shaking, the shaking becomes a warning, it is by caffeine
alone I set my mind in motion.--HToMC
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