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Happy days. The seemingly unstoppable avalanche of filth rolling over our already vomited-on grounds that one day used to be somewhat fair and square, has finally smashed its face on a rock-solid middle finger. When I say finally, it's not been- cheerfully adding some salt to the wounds- that long. The latest in the using-the-spanking-new-underbelt-DRM line, a massive promise of infinite hours of distilled bore, a submarine simulator 'Silent Hunter 5' got cracked, scene released, commented on with "Poor legit users :D" and then it got cracked again on the 1.1 update just before appearing available on some popular torrent sites. Well I don't think Steven Seagal is the cockpuncher anymore. And here's what I'm going to do to celebrate despite having no interest in playing the dumb game what so ever. I'm gonna download the fucking thing and seed it until 21st December 2012, that's what. Catch me, if you can!
Herr Geheime Staatspolizei Offizier Stefan Jobs is on the big pull to crack down on rotten left-wing socialist Google via its affiliated parties. Good tactics Herr Offizier, here's my banged-together heels and catapulted right hand to that! Although, thinking about it you lying two-faced coward itch on the face of humanity's homeworld, should probably be the left hand I'd say. How about you sue (countersue) me (us, him, her, who have you) for that now, eh?
Apocalypse, or "ApocalyPS3" as they love to call it, is here. On the dawn of the 1st of March 2010, the PlayStation Network went belly up with what is believed to be a variation on the infamous millenium bug. Yes, you read that one right, a millenium bug. Yes, the one from ten fucking years ago. The error apparently resulted in "users being unable to play on or offline games" which is- bearing in mind the actual purpose of the "system" and the fact that aside from on and offline games there just are no other kinds of games- quite a bugger. I've an idea. Why don't we integrate everything into everything and let it all be managed by a dribbling illiterate no life or common sense present arsehole twat IT person who then fucks it all up. I mean, why the fuck doesn't my digital camera have a social networking "My Menu" or why for god's sake can't I manage my fucking bank account on Facebook and- of course- share it all with others yet? Come on, it's 2010... !
... And, according to Her Majesty's Government, my children are now "over-exposed to violence and sex". Everywhere by everything fucking like. Reminds me of Die Hermann Goering Division des Tonkunstes, Sony-BMG and the perfectly "timed" rickroll pull. So what does it all actually mean? Is it that my poor children have never been exposed to this before? Or is it perhaps that there simply is nothing more important in Britain or in the world right now? Or is Her Majesty's Government suggesting that I am a completely useless and retarded parent and because of video games, there's nothing I can do about it? Seriously, what is this about?
Now on the cheerful side of the revelations that Apple's name is Third Reich rather than community farming related, that Sony may have the balls... for brains, and that it's not McDonald's or Wall Street, but some utterly pathetic japanese sick fucks that'll make our children grow into a bunch of barbaric vermin, there's one more to emerge. You know Infinity Ward, don't you. Yes, the crew responsible for only the biggest entertainment launch in history by making $310m on its first day. And now guess what they've got out of it. Jack shit indeed. Despite the greedy cunts- publishers, porducers or labels alike- pocketing beyond-imagination figures-per-hour, there's just nothing left for the people actually responsible. And you know what do these people do to fight it? They're leaving. Well, so am I. This is the end of the newz, see ya down in the tavern!
OK, long time no poetry eh. This one, heavily inspired by what probably is the best short story ever written, borrows its name as well. I sure do hope it won't do it any harm. And very many thanks, Joe R. Lansdale.
I Tell You It's Love
she got me dreaming
of unconsciousness
she got me dreaming
of a razorblade
in her hands
I tell you it's love
a thorny crown
I tell you it's love
a blood-watered lawn
she got me begging
stepping on my neck
she got me begging
for her nails
in my back
a Shakespeare's tragedy
a poison with no remedy
a poet killed by drugs
I tell you it's love
a bite of a vampire
I tell you it's love
a fire of endless desire
I tell you it's love
her black magic dance
I tell you it's love
a murder that puts you
into trance
