It's not a phrase.
It's not quotable.
It's a FUCKING ACTION.
Literally meaning a lack of.. action.
You are boring me, little droog.
Boring me.
But, I've heard that only the boring get bored, so this does not apply.
At least to me and mine, anyways.
We are always up to NO GOOD.
Let's get something straight you chubby troll (notice I didn't say little? you are nowhere near that! and to define this particular use of 'troll', it is the ugly creature that likes to eat goats whom lives under a bridge), I don't like you.
I don't like any humans, least of all obese degenerates like yourself.
You have one accomplishment in my eye (it's STILL OUT) and that's gaining my ire.
I am not jealous of you, I don't envy you, I just don't like you.
Take the human descriptor out and I still don't like you.
A manatee doesn't have any uses except to lounge there and be fat.
You are a waste.
You are utilizing valuable oxygen (that could be put to MUCH BETTER uses) and getting fatter. That's a tax we are no longer willing to pay. Your right to life has been revoked. It's time to abort you.
I said it (RE: lawyers).
In the coming months, you will begin to see a change in this page.
Not a revision or destruction of contact and information, what is is.
A more straightforward approach really, a direct attack from the front.
I have accumulated files upon files of information about you and yours' illicit activity and it's due for exposure.
Just to name a few of those soon to be DOXXED (I said the SECRET WORD! AAAAAGGGHHH!)?
I could play dumb, we all know how EASY that is for me, but I will oblige this one thing and move on.
We'll see how long it will take you to recover once the BOMBS START DROPPING.
My initial difficulty is disseminating the teams from the individuals. All of The Initiative are not at fault, but Jack Cero has cross hairs painted on his ass. RCSM isn't at fault, but Jesus Jones is a walking accident. Skiffytown, Black Monday Society, and more.. yet their individual members have so much dirt they could fill the Grand Canyon to its brim.
There's more to that, but not for now.
Then there is 'villainy'.
Groups is somewhat of a misnomer for 'villainy'. They have little to no cohesion to begin with, the individuals only looking out for themselves, there is little need for structure and even less want it.
But I will divulge the grim reality of R.O.A.C.H., the Roaming Eye, the Legion of Doom, and more.
It's all coming out, because you can consider this THE WASH.
Starting very soon, Agent Wraith will bring you the juiciest and dirtiest secrets of this so called community, he will shed light on the seedier aspects they DON'T WANT YOU TO KNOW.
It's all coming to a head and the fingers of PUBLIC CONSUMPTION are pressing down.
In a few short months, the gooey abscess will rupture.
Good news?
Once it has been lanced and drained, the healing can begin.
-aw
p.s. Coming soon to a blogtalk radio show near you, The Exposé.
Head Shot!
Showing posts with label Multiverse™. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Multiverse™. Show all posts
Friday, July 19, 2013
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Santa and Me
I've done it!
I'VE DONE IT!
The Multiverse™ will soon fall to OBLIVION!
I've been working diligently all year, striving to complete this one.. thing.
A few years ago, I discovered a brilliant young scientist who was working with paradimensional resonance or some junk and took him under my wing (ie. held him at gunpoint and forced him to do my bidding; kill your family and friends leverage crap, you know the take). I funded his wild experiments and he made sure I was always with coffee.
He would explain quantum theory (or try to) and I would not sleep through his presentations ever! I payed 110% attention to every word, every detail.
As The Multiverse™ expanded, he expounded.
Just last year, several of the lowest levels of Los Sauces were flooded and we lost progress on several key elements. It was a setback, but only a minor one. We also lost a few investors that put us in the red.
That was a bigger setback.
Dr. Tarantula, greasy maniac that he is, offered to 'loan' us some cash to help get us back on our feet. He subsequently pulled the rug out from under us and we went spilling out of Los Sauces.
To be refused entry by chickens (of all creatures) was insulting.
It was Henchmen that we turned to, Dear Reader. Henchmen.
Vile beings, though loyal, who were willing to do what it takes to get the job done.
They caught me, my guard down, and pulled me from the edge of OBLIVION's caress.
Through the last year, with strides, I returned. Operation: Kill Kringle 2011 was not a complete bust, for I took from the Fat Man his coveted list.* With all the names.
All the names and all the addresses.
And all your desires.
And what do i want all this for?
Ü
to burn it all down, of course
Oblivion, Dear Reader, is my only course.
The Multiverse™ has it all. Everything. Every possibility.
The only action that would make any sense, that would have meaning, is oblivion.
Oh poo, I guess you caught me monologueing. Sigh, I guess you're going to try to stop me now.
Aw, shucks, I would have gotten away with it if it weren't for you rotten kids.
Oh wait.
I'm not giving you my plan.
I don't make plans.
I also wouldn't tell you any of what I am up to if you had any chance of stopping me. Operation Kill Kringle 2012 is already over. The Fat Man is already dead.
His sack was removed (long ago, according to his Missus), reindeer captured (barbequed, tasty!), elves slaughtered, and technology reverse engineered by capable robot hands. Better luck next ti ha ha haha. There won't be a next year, kiddies! Nets.
Santa's reindeer are a different breed, Magnus. They could chew through irradiated cables, mutated. Not keen on the netting. Or the barbeque.
Don't give me that look.
The Multiverse™ gents. And ladies.
And whatevers.
ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE.
Look into the face of Oblivion.
Gaze into nothing.
My marvelous weapon, Dear Reader, is yet to be revealed.
It took several raids, some in the dead of night when secrecy can be maintained the easiest. We tramped into others' territory and pilfered what secrets we could. I did a few drops in Lake Town, had a chilling brunch in Colorado Springs, and got crates full of loot out of New Jersey.
Oh sure, some of it smells.
A combination of alcohol, crow, and actors.
I spent some time up in Seattle, though brief, and came out the other end a more vicious, more determined ghost. I got down to Portland, up to Yellowknife, across to Kingston, and missed the flight to Essex.
We had more planned, but we don't make plans, so Beijing is right out.
Thanks for all the plans, scientist-types. Your work is harmless apart, together all is made dangerous.
The culmination is a weapon of awesome power.
Well, weapon is in the eye of, well, the hand of the be-- well, holder.
It's not a weapon, in the right hands.
Fortunately (unfortunately) it's in the wrong hands.
A self righteous prick who's ready to do what it takes to get the job done.
That's right.
A Henchman.
The lowest sub-category of human.
And moreso unhuman, because of the whole.. dead thing.
I choose to behave this way. Whether Henchman, Minion, or Villain.
I am, what I am.
I have served none save myself, even when purposefully serving others.
That just makes me EVIL.
That's a label I can.. live... with.
Here in the NECROVERSE, where all things go when they die, we have learned immense patience.
You will come to us, eventually.
You all will.
It all comes out in the wash, eh?
For all your fury, you remain as you are:
nothing
welcomehomeapocalypse
welcomehome
-AW
*You would think after all these years and the boon technology would be to such a job, why doesn't he just get a GPS? I've spotted a few satellites in my day, one of em had to be from the North Pole.
I'VE DONE IT!
The Multiverse™ will soon fall to OBLIVION!
I've been working diligently all year, striving to complete this one.. thing.
A few years ago, I discovered a brilliant young scientist who was working with paradimensional resonance or some junk and took him under my wing (ie. held him at gunpoint and forced him to do my bidding; kill your family and friends leverage crap, you know the take). I funded his wild experiments and he made sure I was always with coffee.
He would explain quantum theory (or try to) and I would not sleep through his presentations ever! I payed 110% attention to every word, every detail.
As The Multiverse™ expanded, he expounded.
Just last year, several of the lowest levels of Los Sauces were flooded and we lost progress on several key elements. It was a setback, but only a minor one. We also lost a few investors that put us in the red.
That was a bigger setback.
Dr. Tarantula, greasy maniac that he is, offered to 'loan' us some cash to help get us back on our feet. He subsequently pulled the rug out from under us and we went spilling out of Los Sauces.
To be refused entry by chickens (of all creatures) was insulting.
It was Henchmen that we turned to, Dear Reader. Henchmen.
Vile beings, though loyal, who were willing to do what it takes to get the job done.
They caught me, my guard down, and pulled me from the edge of OBLIVION's caress.
Through the last year, with strides, I returned. Operation: Kill Kringle 2011 was not a complete bust, for I took from the Fat Man his coveted list.* With all the names.
All the names and all the addresses.
And all your desires.
And what do i want all this for?
Ü
to burn it all down, of course
Oblivion, Dear Reader, is my only course.
The Multiverse™ has it all. Everything. Every possibility.
The only action that would make any sense, that would have meaning, is oblivion.
Oh poo, I guess you caught me monologueing. Sigh, I guess you're going to try to stop me now.
Aw, shucks, I would have gotten away with it if it weren't for you rotten kids.
Oh wait.
I'm not giving you my plan.
I don't make plans.
I also wouldn't tell you any of what I am up to if you had any chance of stopping me. Operation Kill Kringle 2012 is already over. The Fat Man is already dead.
His sack was removed (long ago, according to his Missus), reindeer captured (barbequed, tasty!), elves slaughtered, and technology reverse engineered by capable robot hands. Better luck next ti ha ha haha. There won't be a next year, kiddies! Nets.
Santa's reindeer are a different breed, Magnus. They could chew through irradiated cables, mutated. Not keen on the netting. Or the barbeque.
Don't give me that look.
The Multiverse™ gents. And ladies.
And whatevers.
ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE.
Look into the face of Oblivion.
Gaze into nothing.
My marvelous weapon, Dear Reader, is yet to be revealed.
It took several raids, some in the dead of night when secrecy can be maintained the easiest. We tramped into others' territory and pilfered what secrets we could. I did a few drops in Lake Town, had a chilling brunch in Colorado Springs, and got crates full of loot out of New Jersey.
Oh sure, some of it smells.
A combination of alcohol, crow, and actors.
I spent some time up in Seattle, though brief, and came out the other end a more vicious, more determined ghost. I got down to Portland, up to Yellowknife, across to Kingston, and missed the flight to Essex.
We had more planned, but we don't make plans, so Beijing is right out.
Thanks for all the plans, scientist-types. Your work is harmless apart, together all is made dangerous.
The culmination is a weapon of awesome power.
Well, weapon is in the eye of, well, the hand of the be-- well, holder.
It's not a weapon, in the right hands.
Fortunately (unfortunately) it's in the wrong hands.
A self righteous prick who's ready to do what it takes to get the job done.
That's right.
A Henchman.
The lowest sub-category of human.
And moreso unhuman, because of the whole.. dead thing.
I choose to behave this way. Whether Henchman, Minion, or Villain.
I am, what I am.
I have served none save myself, even when purposefully serving others.
That just makes me EVIL.
That's a label I can.. live... with.
Here in the NECROVERSE, where all things go when they die, we have learned immense patience.
You will come to us, eventually.
You all will.
It all comes out in the wash, eh?
For all your fury, you remain as you are:
nothing
welcomehomeapocalypse
welcomehome
-AW
*You would think after all these years and the boon technology would be to such a job, why doesn't he just get a GPS? I've spotted a few satellites in my day, one of em had to be from the North Pole.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Adventures in Facebook
Every once in a while you come across a gem.
From saving little babies on the street to handing out sandwiches, these heroes don't know when to quit!
Blankets in winter. HAH.
We died of frostbite and we hated it.
Swords, crossbows, arrows, slings, thongs, and miscreant jabber pixies.
Literacy. What is words?
There appears a town by a lake, in it a bank to trade these gems!
I see a lot of posturing, going back and forth, snap jaw mcgraw and quick to wit snip snap zibbety bop.
And no action.
It's time we took some action.
Really, action is taking up our time.
Soon.
Candy canes! ALL OVER FACEBOOK!
GAH!
I am not amused!
Oh sure, not in YOUR facebÜk.
The Multiverse™
"Making any action meaningless."
Barely any frienemies left. The ones that survived the intial wave of cuts (heroes of ill repute were allowed to stay, of course) I barely pay attention to. I simply can't.
I haven't had time for my blog. s. blogs. Multiblogs.
I don't pow wow with the ancestors nearly enough.
I haven't trained Franklin in the technically intricate arts of boomerang. It's my week to teach the henchmen some form of entertainment.*
Keeping one's eye on FacebÜk 24/7 is a task not easily done. Not a single Henchman enjoys it.
Sifting through the chests of screen cap gold. Ooh, SCREEN CAPS!
Ü
I won't forget you, you squishable scamp. Your bronze plated glory will forever shine. Through snow and mild hyperventilation you pave a path through heroes like the majestic orangutan.
Got yer waders on, hoss?
Tis the season Gentlemen (Ladies, or whatever you refer to yourself as gender not specific or otherwise; you could be made of felt or a pickle or a hat, I DON'T KNOW!) and we owe it to ourselves to let Übermas RING!
Resound! Rejoice! Revel! Be Wicked In Your Evil!
WE ARE VILLAINS!
If you're not celebrating Übermas, you are not EVIL. Or you are in a universe where Übermas does not exist (Krelm banish the thought!) or you are not aware of such things (which you must pull yourself from under that rock and welcome yourself to your worst nightmare: 2012).
Delight in your choice to throw off shackles, indignity, pressure, ridicule, judgement, and RULES.
You make your own rules.
So don't celebrate Übermas (whut), remain on the 'Nice' side of the list.
I almost typed the P word there. Heh. Gotta watch that. I only have the one eye to see out of.
Santa is gonna get his.
He's been, heh, tracking me through FacebÜk.
Apparently it's not that difficult. So watch yourselves.
I hate admitting this, but, confession: I'm going to need help again this year.
It's a sign of weakness, I know, but, forget all that bullshit and look at what that Fat Bastard has accomplished. What toys he has, what technology. The magic.
The workforce.
Whatever floats your boat.
Let's just do this.
The Flying Dutchman is in dry dock (okay, that was bad) and we've been ready since last Übernas, Some of us are still fighting up there. Day after day.
Night after oh so holy night.
All you have to do is have read through this blather up to this point, proving you are either smart, gullible, or dumb enough to have read this far, not have been offended at just calling you smart, gullible, or dumb just now, and understand the jibber-jabber that's coming out of my fingertips and into your looky eye thingies.
Contracts?
We don't need no stinking contracts.
We're not actors.
There is the loot. Santa has plenty of toys. Candy cane themed, mostly. Gingerbread tech was a breakthrough, and the Bag of Heart's Desire or Ever Holding, whichever you prefer (his magic is powerful, goddamn christmas magic), is a miracle of science and magic.
Money, power..
No sex, plenty of greed.
Operation: Kill Kringle 2012
Trending trends trend trendily.
Metrics.
1k downloads. Biscuits.
Febuloids, Speculoids, Febuspeculoids, Specufebuloids, Lloyds.
This Multiverse™ is getting on my nerve.
--RIP Obsidian Labs.
*What? Boomeranging is VERY entertaining.
tagsareeverything
From saving little babies on the street to handing out sandwiches, these heroes don't know when to quit!
Blankets in winter. HAH.
We died of frostbite and we hated it.
Swords, crossbows, arrows, slings, thongs, and miscreant jabber pixies.
Literacy. What is words?
There appears a town by a lake, in it a bank to trade these gems!
I see a lot of posturing, going back and forth, snap jaw mcgraw and quick to wit snip snap zibbety bop.
And no action.
It's time we took some action.
Really, action is taking up our time.
Soon.
Candy canes! ALL OVER FACEBOOK!
GAH!
I am not amused!
Oh sure, not in YOUR facebÜk.
The Multiverse™
"Making any action meaningless."
Barely any frienemies left. The ones that survived the intial wave of cuts (heroes of ill repute were allowed to stay, of course) I barely pay attention to. I simply can't.
I haven't had time for my blog. s. blogs. Multiblogs.
I don't pow wow with the ancestors nearly enough.
I haven't trained Franklin in the technically intricate arts of boomerang. It's my week to teach the henchmen some form of entertainment.*
Keeping one's eye on FacebÜk 24/7 is a task not easily done. Not a single Henchman enjoys it.
Sifting through the chests of screen cap gold. Ooh, SCREEN CAPS!
Ü
I won't forget you, you squishable scamp. Your bronze plated glory will forever shine. Through snow and mild hyperventilation you pave a path through heroes like the majestic orangutan.
Got yer waders on, hoss?
Tis the season Gentlemen (Ladies, or whatever you refer to yourself as gender not specific or otherwise; you could be made of felt or a pickle or a hat, I DON'T KNOW!) and we owe it to ourselves to let Übermas RING!
Resound! Rejoice! Revel! Be Wicked In Your Evil!
WE ARE VILLAINS!
If you're not celebrating Übermas, you are not EVIL. Or you are in a universe where Übermas does not exist (Krelm banish the thought!) or you are not aware of such things (which you must pull yourself from under that rock and welcome yourself to your worst nightmare: 2012).
Delight in your choice to throw off shackles, indignity, pressure, ridicule, judgement, and RULES.
You make your own rules.
So don't celebrate Übermas (whut), remain on the 'Nice' side of the list.
I almost typed the P word there. Heh. Gotta watch that. I only have the one eye to see out of.
Santa is gonna get his.
He's been, heh, tracking me through FacebÜk.
Apparently it's not that difficult. So watch yourselves.
I hate admitting this, but, confession: I'm going to need help again this year.
It's a sign of weakness, I know, but, forget all that bullshit and look at what that Fat Bastard has accomplished. What toys he has, what technology. The magic.
The workforce.
Whatever floats your boat.
Let's just do this.
The Flying Dutchman is in dry dock (okay, that was bad) and we've been ready since last Übernas, Some of us are still fighting up there. Day after day.
Night after oh so holy night.
All you have to do is have read through this blather up to this point, proving you are either smart, gullible, or dumb enough to have read this far, not have been offended at just calling you smart, gullible, or dumb just now, and understand the jibber-jabber that's coming out of my fingertips and into your looky eye thingies.
Contracts?
We don't need no stinking contracts.
We're not actors.
There is the loot. Santa has plenty of toys. Candy cane themed, mostly. Gingerbread tech was a breakthrough, and the Bag of Heart's Desire or Ever Holding, whichever you prefer (his magic is powerful, goddamn christmas magic), is a miracle of science and magic.
Money, power..
No sex, plenty of greed.
Operation: Kill Kringle 2012
Trending trends trend trendily.
Metrics.
1k downloads. Biscuits.
Febuloids, Speculoids, Febuspeculoids, Specufebuloids, Lloyds.
This Multiverse™ is getting on my nerve.
--RIP Obsidian Labs.
*What? Boomeranging is VERY entertaining.
tagsareeverything
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