Read at your own risk lest you slice your mangy wrists!

Sorry for the delay in getting back to you, scag. I just returned back from psychiatric holiday after coming down from eating a fistful of SSRIs yesterday near Yeastport. That's as far as I care to go at this juncture as It smells like a bloody nursing home in my apartment. Now did you know Dick Clark’s face is caked with enough spray tan to give a hapless bimbo seven different kinds of cancers and ol’ Dick still has Cher’s plastic surgeon’s number on speed dial, to boot. Why I heard he has the jpeg of Dorian Grey like thingie going on underneath his wheelchair.  


Now it took one and a half hours just to shop for tofo and Turkish figs today at Trader Joes, and I feel like a grubby loaf-loser cashing that peach colored SSI check as quick as AIG can cash in on a government giveaway. Two hours later and I am basically driving through Maine, even if it’s very picturesque in its simplicity and fresh snow cover. It is spot on that there are no other horseless chariots for miles, save for an occasional lumber truck inelegantly wheezing up their incline lane, losing out in his Gore carbon credits, immediately passing in a very respectable yet socially uncomfortably lower middle class lookin’ Subaru. I was here, now I am there since Sunday, at the dirty bungalow of a new fiend.  


My pit-bull Jesus just did a big stretch onto his back and against the headboard on my pillows. Jesus gots it too good. I went with another fiend (more later). These are teabag dudes, it's the only way I can meet peeps like myself these days, which are very few and literally far-flung in between, and even still, it is so lonely that the remote control is now my artificial lover. Mostly it’s such an immense misuse of time, 99% of which are bumbling wannabes, but unfortunately time is wasted to and from my house because the architecture of distance is about as extreme as me. Well, that is my life in a sub-atomic nutshell, what’s new in your nasty neck of the woods, prick?  


Niggling Regards,  


Glenn Bubb

Re-visiting the Sub-Basement

Thoughts on this workspace

Well I lived to tell the banal tale of yet another blessed year; actually I relived this year though I-Photo slideshow. How many kinds of cool is that? After rummaging through images and past blogs I’ve written in numerous forums, it has been a fairly electrifying year.  OCD has been the circuit breaker I need to initiate the social deviation I need from a world that seems to embrace brutalism of every conceivable kind.

I managed to extract info from long lost PDFs, the information from which is far more significant to me then anything else in this world and the rest is just unpleasant sailing from here.

I’m approaching my final trimester before I give birth to what Stephen Hawking coined, “baby universe” and I have remixed feelings about entertaining such inane yet hypothetical notions ever again.

Perhaps if we were allowed to pull the plug to induce better economic times I would be in a superior state of being. I told the client, whose workspace is depicted above about how I received this great gig after this one, mentally buttering her up to pry open her wallet like Tim Gietner did with AIG.

Bolero Egg Chair Diaries

The original Egg Chair Designed by Arne Jacobsen in 1958.  

The Egg originated in Arne Jacobsen's garage - Take that Plaster Caster! As this sensible seat was cast in honest to goodness plaster, you design junkies, you. In todays grab a hold of me faster world, this synthetic shell maybe clad in bitter ozone depleting foam and covered with a petrochemical based fabric or different types of animal skin resting on a star-shaped Alzheimer’s inducing yet genuine aluminum made pedestal.


Purchase one today at your local flea market if you do not care to pay $6000 at Design Out of Reach or just steal one from a corporate lobby of your choosing.

Theories as to why Americans have small lives.

The current imaginary god that the plebes worship.

Many a fanatical individual possess small anti-intellectual lives and are accordingly subsumed by the media's infatuation with violence. Since most of these people rarely read, let alone think outside of their conservative envelopes, they are eagerly influenced by what they psychically consume on the TV, internet, radio and like minded peeps.

Thus when a major life episode occurs in people whose prepackaged lives are too inherently vacuous to begin with, a ‘sadistic antipathy event’ occurs, such as the loss of a spouse, job or economic viability. An ‘implosion of the psyche’ experience arises within those who do not possess an adequate societal coping mechanism and therefore feel an intrinsic need to inflict blame or destruction upon someone or something that they perceive has done them wrong. Hence they sense that they must seize a moral obligation to eradicate their imaginary fears via suicidal ideation and consequently seek a subconscious reunion with their artificially flavored god/heaven.

Army of Flunkies

Trig Palin, defacto mercenary for Blackwater in 2020.

Seems as if new oral fixation as of late is the rent-a-army unit hitherto-be known as Blackwater. They are essentially the world's largest private parts army.

These heavily armed low rent-a-louts couldn't fight their way out of a Chinese made plastic bag. Fighting two wars for over 8 years with nary anything to show for it, whilst our economy here in US collapses.

You would have thought they could have captured Osama Bin Laden or at least hired some queer flame-throwers to burn the opium poppy fields into oblivion to cut off Al-Qaedaa funding.

Makes you wonder when the State Department is going to send in this army of flunkies into Mexico.

Meanwhile at the State Dept, Hillary is on an encrypted Blackberry (made in China) as I write, begging the Shadow Secretary Dick Cheney to speed dial Eric Prince to convince the Prince of Virginia to send in team Neanderthal to Mexico to fight a drug war waged since the Tricky Dick Nixon Admin spectacular.

This as the uber powerful Chinese Premier Wen Jiabao listens into the bugged Blackberry, silently farts in disbelief and giggles with glee as Paper Tiger Prophecy is fulfilled.

A Systemic Analysis of Inordinate Anality

 

A vegetarian mediator

Over the past few decades, the feckless implication that our universe could be one of many other idiotic universes within a vast multiverse has evolved from fiction into a legitimate theoretical likelihood.

Countless opinions from theoretical rhetoricians have hypothesized the existence of a multiverse composed with the ingredients of several parallel universes. One question continually arises, then, exactly how many of these parallel universes coexist with our universe and can we reverse engineer our consciousness to obtain access to a more perverse universe?