82 lines
4.6 KiB
Plaintext
82 lines
4.6 KiB
Plaintext
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$$$$$$$$$$$
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$$$$$$$$$$$ hogz of entropy #211
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$$$$$P $$$$ $$$$ moo, oink, up your butt.
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$$$$P $$$$ x$$$$
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$$$P $$$$ xP$$$$ d$$$$$$$$$$$.
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$$$. $$$$xP $$$$ $$$$$$' >$$$$
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$$$$$$$$$. $$$$P $$$$ 4$$$$$. .$$$$'
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$$$$'`4$$$b. $$$$ $$$$ 4$$$$$$$$$P'
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$$$$b 4$$$$b. $$$$$$$$$$$ 4$$$< %%
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$$$$$b 4$$$$$x $$$$$$$$$$$ 4$$$$$$$$$ %%
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>> "Social Darwinism Never Sounded So Good" <<
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by -> RM
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Sometimes the life of a cynical high school student can really be Hell.
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I never cease to be amazed at the stupidity that surrounds me in my everyday
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life. I look at the homomorphic blobs of meat and blood that are supposed
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to be my peers, and I see inanity, idiocy, and just general dumbassness
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(don't bother grabbing Webster's; I made that word up just now).
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Here's the deal: there's this guy and this girl that go to school with
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me, unfortunately. To protect their pathetic lives so that nobody reading
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this will hunt them down and send them a mail bomb to cull the herd, I'll
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call the guy Dipshit and the girl Stinkslit. Dipshit and Stinkslit have
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been dating since we were all freshmen (we're now juniors). Dipshit was
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totally pussy-whipped by Stinkslit, despite the fact that she never opened
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her legs wider than .75 cm until about two weeks ago.
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Dipshit isn't really that bad of a guy, but his mind was perverted by
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Stinkslit. Stinkslit is a complete, genetically thoroughbred psycho-bitch.
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She once got mad at Dipshit for going to the grocery store with another girl
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to buy food for a yearbook party. She also made Dipshit swear to a
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Shakespearian suicide pact - in the event that they ever broke up, they'd
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both kill themselves. Dipshit readily agreed, thinking that she might let
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him get some tongue if he went along with it.
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Fast forward to three years later. We're all juniors, like I said, and
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Dipshit decides that he's had enough of Stinkslit's bullshit. He
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subsequently dumps her on her pointy little preppy ass and starts going out
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with the girl from the yearbook trip. Stinkslit is devastated by this
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change of events, and, as agreed earlier, decides to kill herself. Luckily
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(or unluckily, depending on how you view it), Stinkslit's parents found her
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soon after the deed was done and managed to save her pathetic life.
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People like this make no sense to me whatsoever. I personally view
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life as a good thing. I mean, it ain't no bowl of roses or nothing, but the
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alternative seems worse to me. An existence of futility and struggle seems
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better to me than the oblivion of seeing, feeling, and thinking nothing. I
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think that anyone who is stupid enough to want to kill themselves for such
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an inane purpose needs to put down the razor and call me first. Then, I'll
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come to their house and do it for them.
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"Don't kill yourself, please, you stupid cunt. Let me have the
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pleasure of doing it for you."
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Am I wrong to think this way? Is it inhumane and unkind for me to be
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so cold toward the devastation caused by affairs of the heart? I admit that
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my love life so far seems to read like the early biography of Bill Gates,
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but I personally don't give a shit. No person is worth killing yourself
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over. I don't care how long you've been together, what it was that drove
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you apart, or how much you loved them. Life goes on. More easy lays lie
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ahead. Get over yourself, eat some comfort twinkies, smoke some dope and go
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to fucking sleep. It ain't that big a deal.
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I've said it before and I'll say it again: Social Darwinism was never
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used to its full potential in the late 1800's. If it had been, we'd have
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culled the herd and gotten rid of all the stupidity in the United States.
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But until people learn that we need to line stupid people up outside the
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White House and let the geniuses of the world have at it with an AK-47
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assault rifle, the world will be full of little Stinkslits, spawning from
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Bath & Body Works stores and acquiring their entire vocabulary from back
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issues of Y&M and Seventeen.
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The cognitive proletariats are rising, my brethren. And we are
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powerless to stop them.
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----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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* (c) HoE publications. HoE #211 -- written by RM -- 3/15/98 *
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