At Least It Got Censored.

So, we all have a time of hate in our lives. I have to admit that when mine gets going it’s normally when I haven’t received enough compliments in a while.

Whenever such a lack of such things occurs- I’ll find a reason for removing you from my life as soon as possible. It is a very negative situation and I apologise in advance and for earlier.

I also swear that a little bit of that hate-like substance called retribution will do great things for you, mainly get you out of the habit of holding that chair with your arse and instead place the chair within your grasp, then through a window, and then you and the chair are gone. If you’re angry enough, it’ll be hilarious.

A censorship is a badge of honour to all the right people- almost as if there work has been ‘okayed’ back-handedly by the admins-that-be. I am still waiting for some people to want other people to stop reading my work. I truly hope they are flaccid-dicked enough to have a go at me. I could make a living and a death out of that kind of recommendation. They just need to be a little more flaccid.

What is important is my lack of pride.

Humbleness is an ability not to be fucked with. Beware the humble just as much as you might never turn your back on the quiet ones. Humble fellows make you eat their brand of pie. And when someone can make you eat any kind of pie, even if you want to eat it, they are the ones in charge. You are too busy eating pie, humble or otherwise.

That fact that I am not proud to say what I feel is reflected in the idea of true equality in reference to race. If you do not notice a person is a different colour than you, then you are very sweet and deserve a promotion from whatever it is that you sweetly do, but this is rare and hopefully a matter of the times. To be able to say what you feel, and as that, say what you feel rather than what you feel you should be permitted to feel- is a similar box of frogs. We are now just bargaining over the legs- because we are French (and I, personally, am racist).

Say what you want, and let them say that you can’t say what you want. The battle of dignity is won, and for our species that is a constant war so therefore you might as well win a few battles. Go ahead and shit your pants, but don’t cry. If you cry- you have done something far worse. You’ve soiled your eyelids.

To be proud of what you say might be a swipe at your own existence. You could instead be proud of what you are doing, as opposed to what you are saying. What you say and what you think is not something to be boastful about: “Enjoy my company because I told a risqué joke about bamboo and rude locations in my twenties”. Your actions are at times to be relayed, and all the time they are to be done, had, in process, in action- KEEP MOVING. Activity- don’t let them take it from you.

However, if those flaccid-fuckers enter your sphere of influence and try to adopt it into their own sphere of influence of telling people what to do because they actually want to tell you what to think, then all that’s happening is two spheres pleasantly colliding into one another, and two spheres doing that look like tits and that’s just marvellous.

Partly, mostly, marvellous owing to looking like tits, but also owing to the fact that making things breast-esque is exactly what they hate the most.

So let it be.

However, I feel that my work might not be the sort worthy of a decent dose of censorship. To end with an example, please allow the following:

I realised recently that if you take the French word ‘bisque’, and then you take the French word for ‘and’, which is ‘et’, then all you have to do is put the two together to make the sound similar to ‘biscuit’.

And then all you need is a reason to say ‘biscuit’.

But until then…please censor me… or…get fucked.

And drug-themed pornography criticising the government.

Biscuit

Sam.