This whole episode was so exemplary I just had to resurrect it, right here on this very same blog. I will also post it on my latest and greatest addition to the confusion (which a new friend pointed out to me just last night in e-mail that PTSD can make confusion seem rampant at any turn) which is (oddly enough) named Hebdomadaire in the URL but not in the title. You figure it out, or don’t. In any case, this one might be about done for, while that one will be for the newer things (and some old favorite thing or two) that I will not be letting go of any time soon (like, not ever). So go there as well as here, if you want to stay on top of me. The view is better from up there, I hear! 🙂 So here it is (as it was, and always shall evermore be and then some…):
I wanted so much for the guy just to use a simple word like chest. Unfortunately, the followers of "something" have new knowledge and infallible leadership. They are following a snake charmer, and if he is a Christian, then Jesus has the biggest penis you'll ever swallow, and it is an empty pipe, which fills your dreams.
The self-described fan of message boards known by his loving pals as Bradley McFadden is just a name for consideration in the Barf Melded Candy that is Christianity Today, and his person deserves no more respect but certainly a lot less of it than anyone else I know, possibly with the exception of Adolf Hitler, whom God loves very much as well. The fleshy piece of garbage that uses this name is not any friend of mine, and he has nothing to do with Christ, or else I never, ever did, even before the Son of a Bitch (from Hell, with a vagina full of sulfur) was born. If he ever was…
NOTE: on this update you can click to see the whole HOLE-SNAKE-MAN!!! HISS§$§…
I kept hearing sheep talk, saying “forget it, get to know him, he’s nice…”
After months of graceful patience, I was presented with a gang-bang by the Brad-man and some pious sluts to convince me that he knows his anatomy well enough, and that I should not have been so suspicious. Of course, he botches his presentation again, and thus continues the pathological lying that is his seed-pod from the master of baiting. I could (not) care less who is outrageously offended by my thinking that Mr. McFadden (Satan Incarnate Texas Holdem SITH) and His Ilk (HI) are from the devil. Either that, or I am. One way or the other, I am NOT going where big, stupid, lover-boy is going. Not ever, thanks. Perhaps the PECK-LORD is willing for me to do that? Hmmm…
This is a true and a wise saying: if he lies about it once, he lies about it again and again. If he cannot speak the truth, he will lie with words that appear to tell the truth, but he will still tell a lie to do it. And that is what he did, and will do, and cannot stop doing. Brad is a very tiny nail with a big drive and a hammer head in charge.
From what I know, injecting ink into a muscle would be fatal, and it would be just what the devil ordered. For an encore, even. I smell burning skin, and it isn't mine, thank God!
So it all came true, but twisted. Three letters on a stiff body part. Same.
Match. Game. Set. Up. Down. Out. Over. Eek.