MB's hermitage: trespassers snuggled
POSTED BY: mincingbeast
UPDATED: Thursday, October 12, 2017 06:30
VIEWED: 42324
PAGE 4 of 7
Quote:
Originally posted by mincingbeast:
Troll country is a ghetto; Troll country is Ultima Thule. Welcome to my self imposed exile, but don't tarry long, because I'm high on PCP and hate, and not to be trusted.
Troll country is a traditional Jewish ghetto, and a pox upon the cocks of those who appropriate my ancient stigma to celebrate their urban debasement.
By decree, everything with a mouth must eat shit from the stomach of a dead dog.
"INKS VERHEUERMATTER ZUM LALALA!!!!!!!!!!"
"ATTACKA ZIE IDIOTEN MINCINGBEAST MIT DER PANZERFAUST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!'
BOOM!!!!!!!!!!!
"Mom, he has her chip. He has her."
John Connor,"Born To Run", TSCC EP 2x22
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He-Man rules Troll Country by default. He-Man reads He-Man/Liono slash, and composes poems with jizz and poison. I am his steward, and I watch over this blasted land on his behalf. He-Man is one of the Devil's names, and everytime you say the words, a demon shits in the lungs of a sinner, and wipes its red ass with their tongue.
I wish I were lonelier.
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NOW I see what you're doing when you're not updating your fics... *tuts disapprovingly*
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*aliasse appears on horizon with Orc-like horde. Stops on small ash hill and gazes at troll country. Loses interest. Goes shopping. 'What a lovely red jumpsuit!'*
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Troll country needs no walls; nothing enters troll country, because no one gives a damn about troll country. Apathy is the strongest shield.
Troll country needs walls, to keep its only resident in residence.
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Is troll country also resistant to capitalism?
I think NOT!
*aliasse toys with idea of opening small boutique in troll country selling chic but comfortable jumpsuits etc.*
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There is nothing for sale in Troll country. There is no demand for anything in troll country but PCP, and no supply of anything but debris, filth and rot. Nothing grows in troll country but lice and despair, and the ubiquitous puddles of urine. Nobody works in troll country, because there is nobody in troll country. The pensions are, however, high, and paid out in bruises and drugs.
Troll country is highly regulated. By decree of the devil, who farts blood in hell, everything must be broken to exacting specifications. Ruin is the rule.
The currency of Troll country is the booger, and taxes are high. Troll country is not a hospitable business climate.
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The national costume of Troll country was once a soiled diaper and nicotine stained Ben Sherman sweater. No longer. It is now a soiled jumpsuit, or simple, ghastly nudity.
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I hope you don't mind me asking, but is death your only friend?
http://www.asos.com/Antik-Batik/Antik-Batik-Cotton-Jumpsuit/Prod/pgepr
oduct.aspx?iid=900336
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There are no friends in Troll country. Friendship is an abstraction.
Once, Death and I were friends, boon companions, chums, mates. We had slumber parties, did eachother's hair, and shared our secrets. However, Death borrowed some money from me, and has avoided me ever since. I imagine we'll reconcile, eventually, but for the time being are not on speaking terms.
It is difficult finding a jump suit that fits, but it does not matter if clothing fits when it is soiled and covered in burns.
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