First, John

Oops. That is supposed to be 1st John, chapter ONE… verse? Seven.

1 John 1:7
… if we walk in the light AS HE is in the light,
    we have fellowship with one another…”

I quote just that much because of the statement of relativity between fellowship and walk.

Anyone can walk into a church. Mr. Joe Chainsaw, Betty the Grandma, Charles in Charge, Hippocrates… if he were alive…

Obscurity

My wife and I have experienced substantial hurt, woe and dark TIMES. We are asked periodicly WHERE or IF we go to church. I do not know the motives of those who ask. I am significantly set BACK with medical conditions. People in my family- almost all profess “faith”- some have been clergy, volunteer, and yet, even though we live in the same city, the blood family does NOT keep up.

     I am not visited in the hospital. I am there a lot. The person who does visit me is the one most ostercised for being a “sinner” and “NOT-saved”. I say she is a better person than me. I am “saved” enough. Sheesh! People I used to look up to now look to me… they see the light of freedom.

Things are as they appear, more or less… and more…

The freedom is NOT in excluding the religious… it is in considering the religious and unreligious as human and therefore appropriate canidates to receive the love of Christ… or should I simply say that Life itself receives them?

Random pic

      Sure. I’ll stretch to condemn condemnation! Damm the damming. Damm the bite of guilt and open the gates of the POWER over the fear of death & dying,
   For,
This world, though it is shabby has a higher form. My lord (of my personal religion that has 110% application to my waking world), yes, my lord joined himself through that… cross to the void, took the material of all-space (including Myspace? Sure! Why not?…) and he is in the beauty of every day.

    I had a massive store of bible knowledge in my head and discipline… theory on love and correction of self and misdeed going… then one Day, *BOOMAH!*….

… those laws and precepts gave way to a powerful and vaguely familiar friend- “brotherly love” as could kill one to express its so dang beautiful… except THAT is a choice- to spend oneself… all too often religious leaders will martyr their congregants, ditch them, control them… worse- ABANDON them. In that abandonment is a perfect time for God to speak in REALITY.

     In reality, the sky is blue… most people are not depressed … very few like to be yelled at, underpaid. If you have a conscience toward God yet let a church or your family abuse you- you cannot love others as you do not respect yourself. I had churches making a parttime buffoon of me. I was codependant, but mainly?- I had an undiagnosed medical condition depressing me.

I rejected the mob of religious as they rejected me. Not unlike an ancient Judean fisherman who hates the company of a Pharisee perfectionist jerk. Hey… I dig the fellowship. I HAVE it. But its not for me to be in the DARK… go UNVISITED… listen to SLANDER … be a part of a system of neglect. I am not against religious service attendance. But I do so FIRST in my heart. I can feel my Orthodox brothers, Catholic sisters, the body of believers in Asia, Africa, Americas… and I wonder why it is so HARD to find a CONGREGATION in Oregon that meets in person where I have inquired by phone about a church, concerned as we are both very disabled my wife and I… and I sense we are a burden. People around us, religious or not- really, really want “normal people”. Its very, very difficult for us, in our forties, to make friends. It is like being in a lepor colony. Our family used us to take care of my MIL… they yelled at us as she was going downhill and died. The hardest thing in my life is not shuttling a hospice patient while ill, myself. Nope. The hardest thing is to forgive all the ass-jerks who yelled at my wife, the person who stole $100k+ from her DAD and continues to do so. Some say “fuck it.” Well, alright, but cussing everyday and calling people dick-fours isn’t really the healthiest. Detatchment from idiocy is salvation. Why is THAT not preached?

Maybe on an episode of COPS.
Hmm.

    Is this boring anyone? Okay, I won’t talk about it. I won’t talk about how the light enters my form and I drink it up… nor how I do not go to a church building often. I work as hard as I can anymore just to clear the bar that is so high to survive.

I am tired of being used. Drowned.

2014

First, John Won Seven

Seven what?

Oops. That is supposed to be 1st John, chapter ONE… verse? Seven.

1 John 1:7
… if we walk in the light AS HE is in the light,
    we have fellowship with one another…”

I quote just that much because of the statement of relativity between fellowship and walk.

Anyone can walk into a church. Mr. Joe Chainsaw, Betty the Grandma, Charles in Charge, Hippocrates… if he were alive…

Obscurity

My wife and I have experienced substantial hurt, woe and dark TIMES. We are asked periodicly WHERE or IF we go to church. I do not know the motives of those who ask. I am significantly set BACK with medical conditions. People in my family- almost all profess “faith”- some have been clergy, volunteer, and yet, even though we live in the same city, the blood family does NOT keep up.

     I am not visited in the hospital. I am there a lot. The person who does visit me is the one most ostercised for being a “sinner” and “NOT-saved”. I say she is a better person than me. I am “saved” enough. Sheesh! People I used to look up to now look to me… they see the light of freedom.

Things are as they appear, more or less… and more…

The freedom is NOT in excluding the religious… it is in considering the religious and unreligious as human and therefore appropriate canidates to receive the love of Christ… or should I simply say that Life itself receives them?

Random pic

      Sure. I’ll stretch to condemn condemnation! Damm the damming. Damm the bite of guilt and open the gates of the POWER over the fear of death & dying,
   For,
This world, though it is shabby has a higher form. My lord (of my personal religion that has 110% application to my waking world), yes, my lord joined himself through that… cross to the void, took the material of all-space (including Myspace? Sure! Why not?…) and he is in the beauty of every day.

    I had a massive store of bible knowledge in my head and discipline… theory on love and correction of self and misdeed going… then one Day, *BOOMAH!*….

… those laws and precepts gave way to a powerful and vaguely familiar friend- “brotherly love” as could kill one to express its so dang beautiful… except THAT is a choice- to spend oneself… all too often religious leaders will martyr their congregants, ditch them, control them… worse- ABANDON them. In that abandonment is a perfect time for God to speak in REALITY.

     In reality, the sky is blue… most people are not depressed … very few like to be yelled at, underpaid. If you have a conscience toward God yet let a church or your family abuse you- you cannot love others as you do not respect yourself. I had churches making a parttime buffoon of me. I was codependant, but mainly?- I had an undiagnosed medical condition depressing me.

I rejected the mob of religious as they rejected me. Not unlike an ancient Judean fisherman who hates the company of a Pharisee perfectionist jerk. Hey… I dig the fellowship. I HAVE it. But its not for me to be in the DARK… go UNVISITED… listen to SLANDER … be a part of a system of neglect. I am not against religious service attendance. But I do so FIRST in my heart. I can feel my Orthodox brothers, Catholic sisters, the body of believers in Asia, Africa, Americas… and I wonder why it is so HARD to find a CONGREGATION in Oregon that meets in person where I have inquired by phone about a church, concerned as we are both very disabled my wife and I… and I sense we are a burden. People around us, religious or not- really, really want “normal people”. Its very, very difficult for us, in our forties, to make friends. It is like being in a lepor colony. Our family used us to take care of my MIL… they yelled at us as she was going downhill and died. The hardest thing in my life is not shuttling a hospice patient while ill, myself. Nope. The hardest thing is to forgive all the ass-jerks who yelled at my wife, the person who stole $100k+ from her DAD and continues to do so. Some say “fuck it.” Well, alright, but cussing everyday and calling people dick-fours isn’t really the healthiest. Detatchment from idiocy is salvation. Why is THAT not preached?

Maybe on an episode of COPS.
Hmm.

    Is this boring anyone? Okay, I won’t talk about it. I won’t talk about how the light enters my form and I drink it up… nor how I do not go to a church building often but that I work as hard as a bishop… that the spirit calls. No… everybody back to your football, Nascar… HEY- new rules in Formula 1 this year. Talk about getting close to God… I hope they do not text while driving…

Not there. Its in the middle. Bumper sticker on my Mustang says:

“Wanna see God? Text while driving.”

Ho ho hee hey… ug.

2014

Dumb Questions, Dumb Answers

         In an interview with the top minds of  the people of Wherever, USA, these were the most reasonable answers I could find to the great stupid questions ever.

Why does anything exist at all?

Well, if nothing existed no one would be able to ask that question and then nobody would find out.

What came first- the chicken or the egg?

The egg. Eggs for breakfast. Chicken for dinner.

Why do animals eat their young?

Because THEIR parents pushed them to succeed where they failed.

Why is the sky blue?

Well look at Levi’s. Always in fashion.

If a tree falls in the forest, and noone is around to hear it, does it make a sound?

It cannot be proven that trees fall without witnesses. There may be many people who have witnessed a tree fall and kept it to themself. If they were deaf, now that’s another question. If the tree made a sound and landed on a person with great hearing and killed them, there is a likelihood the tree snuck up on him, so “yes”, sometimes trees make NO noise when they fall, due to the fact that cadavers have been found and their brains were posthumously examined to see if they were able to hear and think at the time of there death. It is reasonable to assume a certain number of trees have fallen silently because people get out of the way. Also, trees only fall silently in order to kill people, so “yes” trees make a sound when no one is around for squirrels to hear, but only since we’ve been deforesting them. So currently, “yes” it is verified they make a sound when falling in the absense of people.

Why do older people take off their glasses before bed?

Their prescription is running low.

Why does soda and donuts make people fat?

Because they don’t excercise. C’mon- really?

How can statistics measure the population in fractions, ie “the average houshold has 2.5 working people?”

That’s a great question. The average family has two working adults and an adult child who works part-time and needs to get a life.

How can I find a person who is telling the truth?

Find a total liar and listen to them backwards.

How do you get away with laughing at a funeral?

At your own, when you’re watching. Its inevitable, and don’t worry- no one can hear you.

Unique

  “How unique to be acquitted, not in lieu of, but in view of being covered in someone else’s blood. It is on me all over. I am drenched. And though I murdered him and his blood is on my hands, yet it is not, but lo, I am drenched with it all.

     This inundation indicates that I was a savage deserving of death. He died, not deserving it and no longer am I a savage. Yet here I am with a spear through his heart. With a spike, I nailed him while he lived.

     In his death, I stabbed him and he felt it not. He nailed me to himself.”

-Clavius Ivan Romanus,
ficticious centurion
May 33 A.D.
 

Theo Logical Manifest

       If its too difficult to picture water turning into wine, you may be  Christian who says, “Well then- I don’t know. God did it SOMEHOW”. If you don’t like to be easily taken for a fool, and a man says to you, “Do you know its possible to turn water into wine?”, you may say, “Yeah, grape-water,” or not respond at all. If you think history has too many books and too many claims to amazing feats, well that is reasonable. In fact, it is true that many religious claims are impossible or outright disproven!

      In Christianity, an organized religious thought system that is a religion surrounding Christology, the study of Christ Jesus, many claims of Jesus’ activities are called miraculous aka impossible, improbable and a huge issue for skeptics. To retired skeptics who have awarded themselves the degree of “atheist”, the acts of the historical Jesus are deemed myth- even to the point of denying there was a “Yeshua” son of Joseph born in the actual and ancient small town mostly everyone in the world knows as Bethlehem.

      Well, you don’t have to be a “Christian” or a “Christologist” to believe in miracles! What? Yes! And take THESE THREE NAILS and POUND them into the crosshairs of your worldview:

God loves a skeptic.

In the book of Acts it is recorded that the “spirit-filled” discipled preached of a long gone Jesus as Messiah to the Berean people. They did not immediately accept this Christ but went to their scrolls of ancient Hebrew scripture to verify if these new men were connected to the old and true ways. They found, without miracles bytheway, that Jesus was IT.

Carl Sagan Respected Galilleo.

Yes. I love Carl Sagan’s shows. He preached the heroism of Galilleo, who as a matter of fact claimed a faith in Jesus until he died. Galilleo lost all credibility. He claimed the Earth moved when the Great Word says:

      “The Earth is solid in its foundation. It cannot be moved.”

    The fact is that it moves WITHIN its foundation, which is an orbital seasonal circular life. What truely did NOT move, Sagan would agree to was the minds of the old Catholic overlords who were unqualified and antiquated in old thoughts, not ready for reality like the Jews in Jesus day who did not even read diligently as the Bereans. Huh.

Carl Sagan would agree as a humanist that aliens exist.

I’m going to milk this Carl Sagan angle as I believe he would accept what I am about to say, yet with noble Berean skepticism. This is it:

   An alien is capable of turning water into wine.

    In fact, an alien is capable of entering our world without a spaceship. He could teleport his being adjacent to a human ova and become a fetus. Of course, another alien would have to tell the mother to be:

     “We come in peace. Peace to those on whom the favor of our father rests.”

      And this IS exactly the message in the Bible. You don’t have to be a Christian to believe an alien salvation and contact occured around a little more than two millinea ago. However, if you are excited that a gate was opened (an obscure concept) to an afterlife (again, an Egyptian’s dream come true) and you can see Jesus as a hero (the word comes from “Hiro” a “son of the highest god” in Egypt), take this all in and you may see the people of the world for at least 6000 years were trying to scientificly piece together, with false religion, a peace-life gate.

“I am the Way, the Truth and the Life. No one may come to the Father… except through me.”

Look up to the stars. Look at your dinner. Look at the TV. Look at your kids. Look at yourself in the mirror, stately- lumpy or plain maybe. You are an amazing prototype of being that the Bible says is a carbon copy, an image, of God himself. It takes males AND females together to complete the equation of what and who God is. Can God, creator of all, claim to be apart (alien) from his/her/its UNIVERSE.

    Back to water and wine, if you are an alien in first century Palestine and the party must roll on, and Father says through the Spirit (mysterious) make wine out of water, you DO IT. You dare not deny the king of the universe his wine (which makes Italian Merlot taste like toilet water, which if you think about it is ironicly turning the IDEA of OTHER wine into water. Huh). So Yeshua uses “the force”- heck, I don’t know. Have I lost you. He converts the water into Zion wine by rearranging electrons into other elements and then into a faux-real composite of… Zion wine. It blows the drunks away. Yummy.

    Did he do it that way. I say “yes” in all probability, since he made wine out of water and not “wine pulled out of a minature wormhole created by angels out of sight. But that would gather attention. Do you think I’m crazy? On. No. I am not. He “did this” to water in non-transparent ceramic jugs. Or wineskins. Gave the water a tickle. Or spoke to the water like he would later on the sea to calm the waves. Matter is commandable to the commander. We ARE in a matrix. Of reality. What about turning wavez into wine. No. Red Sea miracle was checked off.

    A final word- I knew a woman who was dying. She said she wasn’t afraid. She said, with stage 4 cancer, I’m going to meet Jesus. Like her long lost brother. That was my mother-in-law. This is, I promise, not a Mother’s Day plea, but please DO BELIEVE in this Jesus. A promise and a reasonability to not fear death? Why that frees you to live another kind of life. A healthy one. Admit it if you haven’t- you don’t have it all. I don’t have all the answers. I am afraid of suffocating in death. What of any record of my wrongs? I still remember them.

    But Hero does not. I spoke Protestant last rights to my mother in law. I made that up. But she was 2% conscious. “Mom,” I said. “The Apostle Paul said, ‘Do I stay or go?’. I think we are fine, so feel free Mom. Go to Jesus. Its alright.” In 5 minutes she struggled to open her eyes to my wife and I. “I promise I will take care of Rose,” I said crying. She smiled in radiance as she slipped through the gate, breathing slower, then she was released from her form and was not there. I don’t know if any of you have witnessed a person leaving without taking their body.

     It is emotional. I saw a difference. And it really hurt even though she could not hurt anymore. I felt sick, like I was beat up inside. But she didn’t feel anything in her body. She. She. Where did she go?

The Gate which leads to a pasture beyond anything anyone will ever be able to write. It is a place where books- all books- burn, and real stories free of pain begin.

Are you a skeptic? Well, I think you are cool. You think. Are you an atheist? Nah. You are probably a wayward BELIEVER! Haha. Oh my friend, I’m sorry. But I know that misery. I dropped out of Bible school and got a life! If you say you are an atheist still, to me you are a potential AGNOSTIC. Why? Because friend- I am Wildcard Alpha. I just blew open the doors for an eternal hope for humanist saints.

“Come on in boys. The waters are nice.”

-George Cloony’s character’s companion, a bad-guy-turned-saint in the movie, ‘O Brother Where Art Thou’

If You Are Too Careful, You Will Miss

         I’m White. Or “white”, not capitalized. Or AM I? I am actually a light soft olive tangerine complextion. But if I say I’m olive tangerine, you might say I’m a gay martini and I don’t wear a feather in my hat. Who the HELL keeps calling me WHITE. We “white” folks prefer to be toe-tagged “Caucasian”. All these “racism police” can go back to where they came from. College.

     I haven’t lived 39 years to have someone tell me to be careful when I talk to a black man. Don’t anybody ever FLAPJACK-flipping tell me to be careful when I talk to a BLACK MAN!!!!! Augh!!!! Augh!!!! What? Why? On and on. PC means “personal computer” now. Don’t anybody tell me he’s black. Son of a bitch racism police preaching in churches. Don’t you tell me, born in the 1970s, long after the Martin Luther King movement that it has nothing to do with ME!

      Hypocrites! I am a contributer artist to the people of Sudan after Al Quada assassinated black people. I’m sorry. No. They were “African Africans”. Is than damn Pee Cee enough. I LOVE Africa with my blood. I am up to speed on Sudanese refugee children. Sound far removed? I have met a white army ranger who had to shoot teenagers shooting at him AND living a half mile away I met a Mogudishuan ex-child-soldier and he was open arms to me.

      Why? Because Planet Africa is troubled. Mother Africa has many afflictions. In Congo- where my very very very dark-skinned phlebotomist begins drawing my blood with the “life-silence” of one who has seen murder. “Your accent-“, I joyfully prod, “What country. No smile. “Di Congo”, he whispers.

       “Ahhh,” I say, like a white 7up man, intuning a Congoese flick to my voice to word with him. I say, “Long ago it is the Congo… then the Zaire…  then the Con-go a-gain?? Hahahah.” And I say, “So HOW… ARE… THINGS… THERE… NOW…”, in a delicate tone like a brother, deceptive that I know him from life but we rule together in heart for Emmanuel de Congo is Christian as I.

     He fumbled the needle and had to repoke. Phlebotomists don’t simply make mistakes. He pulled the needle. But I HAD MORE BLOOD for him… in more ways than one. You see, when you ask someone from Congo, “Do you miss your family” like I was about to, you are being family, giving blood to him more painfully than a needle to listen to the burden he was about to rest on little white brother’s shoulders to consume with his strong lordsome obsidian, ebony heart.

         “Our people,” said Emmanuel, “They have disappear into a cave and no out like so…” and he laughs. I probe, “Disappear? They lose (kill) them in labor (forced, manipulated to mine a mineral that is in cell phones)?”

      “Yes.” He says. He takes time to extend brotherhood of his worry of East Congos current military controlled (junta or soldier of fortune style) business by writing a You Tube word. I don’t have that word in front of me. That is Congo’s infrastratural problem that is solvable only by their gov’t. Also, not all is mined in Congo. In Congo, cell phone = blood. You can google that.

           So back to my American African brothers and sisters- I implore you, I have every right to ask you tactfully if you know your tribe. Mine is Norse Viking, French Knucklehead and mostly Vodka swilling (past the Caucas Mts.) Caucasian Russo-Asian. AKA White Boyyy. I don’t know why the electricity is assumed to be untrustworthy between a black hero and “3 white girls and a baby” as he pulls them from a Mexican dungeon.

      Wow. I guess I better shut up. I can’t talk to black men because… oh let’s see… because I NEVER HURT A BLACK MAN. I was attacked by a black man once. He was high on meth. Broke into my apartment. Threatened to kill me. I made the ungrateful son of a bitch a sandwich. When he threatened to kill me I screamed at him like my daddy screamed at me, “Don’t you DARE THREATEN TO KILL ME. GET OUT!” He was 6’6″. Do you think I felt scared. Yeah. Plenty.

     So he is manic and kookoo. Says he hates my white skin. I made hotdogs for his black skin. I was LIVING IN HIS SKIN. The power of God was let to subdue him. Not for his salvation but for mine. Such an intrusion would warrant two to the chest, one to the head, but I don’t pack. He left with some of my things and $5.

       So black people- I have learned NOTHING about black America from THAT guy. Certainly there is an inner city subculture of black people doing black things in black houses going to black churches marrying very few white people. I think segregation stuck and JUST IS now. I married out of my race. I would’ve married an ebony wonder and acquire possibly 4 knuckle-cracking bro in laws, but Lebanon bought my hand.

      So I love people. I don’t have to use special words or need brain-impaired counseling from political scientists to tell me how exactly to describe anyone’s appearance North of Klickitat street. Kiss my buttery biscuit.

     I’ll talk to whoever I want. Especially the shoulder-chipled because they probably would like to get an up-close view of my red and white farmers tan.

Mr. Heat

     There’s a truckdriver named, “Mr. Heat”. He’s so thirsty and his steel teeth never see enough to eat. He smokes Camaros. Some people smoke Camels. He likes camels. The desert kind. But every other animal he eats, blood flesh hide and all. He sits down and eats a bear.

     Bears look at him and when they smell him, they die. Then he eats the bear and drinks a few gallons of gasoline straight from the rig. Then he needs a smoke. He waits on the highway for a Camaro. When a Camaro comes along, they see his rig because it is on fire but it is all steel. The wheels are steel.

     Well the people pull up to help, but Mr. Heat is on fire and they say, “Stop drop and roll!!!” However, Mr. Heat picks up their Camaro and sucks the carbon monoxide straight out of the tailpipe. With his left hand, Mr. Heat hits the accelerator and breathes in all the CO¹ (Carbon MON-oxide). He uses up all their gas because he likes a good smoke after a Grizzly.

    Then he puts the Camaro down and says, “You are out of gas. Do you need a ride?”

     The people look at his rig made out of steel bones, soot and iron skulls ablaze. The people don’t move. Then Mr. Heat says, “Oh yeah. Ha ha ha ha ha!!! My rig is from the pit. Of HELL!!!!” Mr. Heat throws them a steel case and says, “Thanks for letting me smoke your Camaro. So smooth. Take $40,000 from my case. I’m outta here. I got time to BURN!!!! Open it when the steel case cooooools. Yeach.” (Mr. Heat feels like he wants to vomit when he thinks of cold. He vomits lava. He’s a liability ya think?)

The people usually don’t say anything but are pretty happy to hitchhike out with $40 ,000. Mr. Heat follows them from a distance. If anyone tries anything funny, Mr. Heat catches up and eats the car and bad people and calls Triple A to get them home.

Eskimos tell this story at Christmas. The kids love it. In Nunavut the Inuit pray for hell on Earth.

Writing That Sucks

     Me had too hav som won else rite dat titel becaz I cannut spell good. So from heren, me spellsing and diktionashin willin be transtootered as me speeks a combashin of lingwill pidgnon an scarcrow inglish. So Iyam BOODOOWAWANAKINOO and I from planet ilan in HAWAI’I call MAGWAI wayyy wayyy de sout o main land. Injoy my transbalitrashiated story of my yoot years per transkib of auther, “Sir Lord Fredrik Jonston”. Tanks for intertrested in me! I lov yooz so biglike!

      

“The Story of Buduwawanakinu”

         An Autobiograghy By
“Da Puff Daddee Kronik- Da Budu”
       
                       © 1967

     Transliberated contextualized & resyntaxed by Lord F. Johnstone,
      Peace and Love Publishing
          Liverpool, UK,GYT284

       Difficult were the days of my youth. The pressures of harpooning school were upon my like Atlas’ burned unrelieved in the time of the kings and gods of old. Foolish contraptions of a fabricated heaven and a worm ridden Earth! Harpooning was easy for me.

      When the others would steady themselves to throw in class, I would poke them with a needle, unbeknownst to them. It made MY score look better. Ha ha ha ha. It was a pleasure. But our tribe has this terrible tradition. Leg tattoos up to the groin!

      King Kameahmeah would’ve exterminated us summararily for our inept expression of

(Transliteration stops here. Original text inserted instead.)

      Lika me sez, kameahmeah gran furios wit idiot idiot tatu in popo area. No da way wod king kameahmeah stan fo sucha ship crap to do up no idiot tatu. So da stoopid dat I go adventur by me self. I swim to big Hawai’i. No tatu on me no boy no way and

(Transliterated from here)

                                              by using the nanotechnology of a conch shell strapped to a drugged dolphin, I successfully rode into Hawai’i and

(Sorry. Lost transliteration. Again)

                an neba did I’sa look bak agin. I meet lovalee ladee on da san hoo she smoke a ting calla da ganja an yoo no it maka yoo wan da food a lot to put away? Now da people say hid yoo ganja- it is “no eagle”. I no wan no eagle have my ganja! It fly away.

         So dats it. Yoo don tink I grate, yoo rit ur storee an yoo see how much my writin is dat suck to writ.

      Writin. Dat suk!

_______________________________________

       

Writing That Sucks

     Me had too hav som won else rite dat titel becaz I cannut spell good. So from heren, me spellsing and diktionashin willin be transtootered as me speeks a combashin of lingwill pidgnon an scarcrow inglish. So Iyam BOODOOWAWANAKINOO and I from planet ilan in HAWAI’I call MAGWAI wayyy wayyy de sout o main land. Injoy my transbalitrashiated story of my yoot years per transkib of auther, “Sir Lord Fredrik Jonston”. Tanks for intertrested in me! I lov yooz so biglike!

      

“The Story of Buduwawanakinu”

         An Autobiograghy By
“Da Puff Daddee Kronik- Da Budu”
       
                       © 1967

     Transliberated contextualized & resyntaxed by Lord F. Johnstone,
      Peace and Love Publishing
          Liverpool, UK,GYT284

       Difficult were the days of my youth. The pressures of harpooning school were upon my like Atlas’ burned unrelieved in the time of the kings and gods of old. Foolish contraptions of a fabricated heaven and a worm ridden Earth! Harpooning was easy for me.

      When the others would steady themselves to throw in class, I would poke them with a needle, unbeknownst to them. It made MY score look better. Ha ha ha ha. It was a pleasure. But our tribe has this terrible tradition. Leg tattoos up to the groin!

      King Kameahmeah would’ve exterminated us summararily for our inept expression of

(Transliteration stops here. Original text inserted instead.)

      Lika me sez, kameahmeah gran furios wit idiot idiot tatu in popo area. No da way wod king kameahmeah stan fo sucha ship crap to do up no idiot tatu. So da stoopid dat I go adventur by me self. I swim to big Hawai’i. No tatu on me no boy no way and

(Transliterated from here)

                                              by using the nanotechnology of a conch shell strapped to a drugged dolphin, I successfully rode into Hawai’i and

(Sorry. Lost transliteration. Again)

                an neba did I’sa look bak agin. I meet lovalee ladee on da san hoo she smoke a ting calla da ganja an yoo no it maka yoo wan da food a lot to put away? Now da people say hid yoo ganja- it is “no eagle”. I no wan no eagle have my ganja! It fly away.

         So dats it. Yoo don tink I grate, yoo rit ur storee an yoo see how much my writin is dat suck to writ.

      Writin. Dat suk!

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Writing That Sucks

     Me had too hav som won else rite dat titel becaz I cannut spell good. So from heren, me spellsing and diktionashin willin be transtootered as me speeks a combashin of lingwill pidgnon an scarcrow inglish. So Iyam BOODOOWAWANAKINOO and I from planet ilan in HAWAI’I call MAGWAI wayyy wayyy de sout o main land. Injoy my transbalitrashiated story of my yoot years per transkib of auther, “Sir Lord Fredrik Jonston”. Tanks for intertrested in me! I lov yooz so biglike!

      

“The Story of Buduwawanakinu”

         An Autobiograghy By
“Da Puff Daddee Kronik- Da Budu”
       
                       © 1967

     Transliberated contextualized & resyntaxed by Lord F. Johnstone,
      Peace and Love Publishing
          Liverpool, UK,GYT284

       Difficult were the days of my youth. The pressures of harpooning school were upon my like Atlas’ burned unrelieved in the time of the kings and gods of old. Foolish contraptions of a fabricated heaven and a worm ridden Earth! Harpooning was easy for me.

      When the others would steady themselves to throw in class, I would poke them with a needle, unbeknownst to them. It made MY score look better. Ha ha ha ha. It was a pleasure. But our tribe has this terrible tradition. Leg tattoos up to the groin!

      King Kameahmeah would’ve exterminated us summararily for our inept expression of

(Transliteration stops here. Original text inserted instead.)

      Lika me sez, kameahmeah gran furios wit idiot idiot tatu in popo area. No da way wod king kameahmeah stan fo sucha ship crap to do up no idiot tatu. So da stoopid dat I go adventur by me self. I swim to big Hawai’i. No tatu on me no boy no way and

(Transliterated from here)

                                              by using the nanotechnology of a conch shell strapped to a drugged dolphin, I successfully rode into Hawai’i and

(Sorry. Lost transliteration. Again)

                an neba did I’sa look bak agin. I meet lovalee ladee on da san hoo she smoke a ting calla da ganja an yoo no it maka yoo wan da food a lot to put away? Now da people say hid yoo ganja- it is “no eagle”. I no wan no eagle have my ganja! It fly away.

         So dats it. Yoo don tink I grate, yoo rit ur storee an yoo see how much my writin is dat suck to writ.

      Writin. Dat suk!

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