Posted 10:52 AM by Alfred

I’m not who you think I am. Not that I’m not unlike that guy or entity, just that, well, whatever preconceived notions you have, they’re wrong, dammitt, wrong, you got that?

Good. Now we can move forward with a more thorough yet vague explanation of the proceedings at hand. First off, I am a sham, a fraud, a charlatan, a trick handily pulled out of a bag by a magician behind a green curtain. He’s not a wizard, per se, simply a master of hand eye coordination and mental deception.

It was this man, this, how do you say, persona, that came up with the original idea to incorporate the butler rapper stoner lifestyle into the triumvirate of free will that has developed henceforth from these cyber pages. In other words don’t blame the playa, blame the game, well actually, the referee, I guess, or actually maybe the owner, or, um, facilitator.

It is this behind the scenes operator, sometimes referred to as the Kingpin or Carlton, who really pulls the strings around here. Me? I just follow marching orders. If he says jump, I say mack daddy. If he says warm it up, I say daddy mack. I mean, I was born to do it. now backwards pants references notwithstanding, this is a very serious business we are undertaking in this quadrant, don’t get it twisted. I may use a lot of technical parameters and double talk to keep you on or off your guard, depending on your chemical balance at the moment of embezzlement, but if you look under the surface, beneath the outer layer, you know and I know and you know that I know you know that you’ll find some deep shit, some atlantis style ponderings, and not just shit that a copied out of an old notebook written by another version of myself.

What I’m trying to get across to you is this. If it looks simple, it’s complicated. If it appears to be overly complex, it’s most likely a tic-tac-toe job. In a very real sense, you will be able to pull your razor blade lined bowler right off the top of your head, hurl it at whatever british or alternate ethnicity spy is criss-crossing the room in your general direction, and commence to defend yourself, not just against international intrigue and political realignments, but against the very idea of yourself as dictated by the smothered masses. Engulfed and caked in their own oil and elbow grease, long since deadened to the real callings of the world by bells & whistles & catcalls & false idols, they will be no help to you in this endeavor I hereby propose.

So gather your id & your superego, slide out from beneath your skin and shake off those bones and muscles. We are going for a ride through candyland and then back through the sidegate of Mr. Wiggley’s neighborhood, and trust me when I say, that when we arrive at the Artichoke Heart bake-off with our bags full of flour and sugar, we will be greeted with open arms and most likely revered and honored for our tenacity and good graces by which we escaped the uni-mind and tasted that first and sweetest taste of true enlightenment.

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