The Philosophy of Terrorist Testicle

The Philosophy of Terrorist Testicle
An essay by his royal majesty on the throne doing a number two the magical great orator or orifice or oracle of the grand Terrorist Testicle himself Wolf Larsen yeeeeeeeeeeehhhhhh!

(You may now applaud.)

Warning: stop reading if you're against sex, or if you are very religious.

Of course, you might ask yourself why telephones can fly or why skyscrapers taste good or even why the sky just isn’t complete without eggs & toast,//?!,,... And let me tell you, boogers just don’t taste like they used to! Even the Chinese can’t speak Mandarin without sailboats in their food!///,...

Now, it’s yesterday you see, even if it’s tomorrow, because yesterday & tomorrow are making love,,,...//..//..

You see, because the boogers in my nose know everything ! ! And my eyes are inside your testicles,,, I bet you didn’t know that fauvist Cuban hallucinating a midnight Paris with a banned Georges Braque monologue, because if you did you would be boogie dancing on the streets of Calcutta India at 3 AM on a Monday

morning

because cocaine is the greatest dandelions!...!...!

Even without existentialism with your dogmeat pullaton you can’t find the way to Saigon... Because Saigon is inside of every penis of the century!...

Now, let me tell you about taking a number two inside of a golf course hole on the grounds of a certain luxurious country club where it just so happens your boss does his expensive tax-deductible business meetings with his cronies ha ha ha ha ha ha and now that’s class warfare!

I had the newspaper with me so I used the front page faces of both political candidates for president as my toilet paper!

So remember: getting some more outer space in your life is the answer! For how else do you expect to achieve the orgasmic family values if you don’t have some semen in your beer?

And how do you expect to find premature ejaculation in your mathematical textbook if you don’t have medical insurance? Does that answer your existential diarrhea dribbling out of your mouth?? You grizzly bear doing the liberal Republican Alaska!!

Because I’m touching my penis right now... Yes I am... (Am I going to get banned for touching my penis while writing like many of you don’t do it? Literary censorship in my shot & a pint on a Saturday night?!) Because post-Marxist philosophy & prestigious literary magazines are always best printed on soft toilet paper, because my *** is a lot more sensitive than you toilet fixtures think!

Some of the same hypocrites who speak out against the censorship of the past, are the same hypocrites that want to censor the poets & writers of today — and I bet they vote Dixiecrat! I didn’t, so go jack off some Booker T. Washington into your political correctness!... Or are you a born-again Christian??? It’s so hard to tell — because I’m so hard — so very very hard ha ha ha ha!!

And anyway, have you given all the herpes sores on your penis names yet? Have you discovered your brains in outer space when you’re ejaculating fast food all over the Bible? Because if penises don’t grow out of the Old Testament then how will tomorrow ever exist?

Because I’m filled with orgasms! I’m filled with the desire to ejaculate the English language out of my **** and all over the puritanical pilgrims back in the day, —, — and I don’t even have a ****!

And that’s why I’m going to send the Mongolian hordes of my imagination to attack the English languages with my humongous penis!

Because I am the poet! And my penis is the greatest South side of Chicago that you could ever find in Spain! My penis is so much Brazil that not even the Bronx can understand me!

My Penis! My Penis!...

My Penis is as drunk as the president of the United States of America in a nuclear-button-evangelist-pill-popping-religious-Armageddon that you could ever imagine! Because whenever I snort the white page up my nose, and whenever I watch my black spermatozoa squiggle around in that white page of cocaine madness, well, I’m thinking of you...

I’m thinking of my orgasms spurting out of your babies, I’m thinking of your babies spurting out of my orgasms...

Because I am the Kubla Khan of the modern art world, even though the postmodern. Is freeing itself as it leaves my *** hole.

Because Dixiecrat segregation city progressive diarrhea just isn’t for me! *** evangelist cum! 10%?

Who else but the God in heaven could smoke my happy novels?

Who else but my orgasms could free the human race from not enough teenagers?

Copyright 2015 by Wolf Larsen