Reflections in a Petri Dish | Mr. Apocalypse; The Nijinsky of Calamity and the Nureyev of Serendipity.

Dog Poet Transmitting…….
We are the people that might have been. You should have gotten in touch with us then.
We like to talk about Mr. Apocalypse here. There is no one with bigger feet who uses them with greater agility and expertise, like a world class danseur or a matador. He is the Nijinsky of Calamity and the Nureyev of Serendipity. He’s the Baryshnikov of unpredictable moves. He’s the master pantser on the playgrounds of this twisted and freaky world. Maybe you think you got some strange tastes that no one else knows about… or maybe someone does but… trust me, when it comes to strange, you can’t compare with the bent beyond description tastes of the professionals, for whom the nastier the better, because it makes their version of the almighty very happy when he envisions the crispy critter status of his anus felating acolytes. They push and shove, like patrons in an overcrowded third world discotheque, where the foam soundproofing just caught fire, hoping they can get the opportunity to outdo the competition in acts of pure and outrageous evil upon the innocent and helpless and the younger and more innocent the better. My rather creative mind has come up with some of the things they would do if they could and they were even possible but I will not share these products of a diseased imagination with you. No… not my imagination. I’m just channeling for the purpose of explication.
Anyway, Mr, inside the park home run, individual triple play, Tom Brady on spiritual steroids going 19 and 0 this season… with a power and perfection never before seen, man about town, Apocalypse is kicking the tires on the Armageddon Train (metaphorically speaking. Trains don’t have tires but… you knew that). He was just in Houston and Houston has a problem (for the purpose of demonstration) with their aggressive politically correct and unabashed Satanist mayor who is not shy about telling everyone not on her agenda to, “fuck off and go be road kill somewhere.” Among many of her plug-ugly procedures, she demanded that five of Houston’s ministers submit their sermons prior to their Sunday delivery. In the chutes for some time was her making all bathrooms open to anyone who identifies with whoever used to use them, even if they cross identify. Low and behold… it went to a vote and the electorate shot her down. People are waking up and who is it shaking their shoulder in their restless sleep? It is Mr. Apocalypse.

Source: Reflections in a Petri Dish | Mr. Apocalypse; The Nijinsky of Calamity and the Nureyev of Serendipity.


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