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Most of you have made a lot of mistakes in your lives. This is shameful, but to recover from your shamefulness, you need to admit your mistakes and do so openly. And yet, I see so many in the chat box going on as if you are a very special person with your very special knowledges. For shame. For shame. Most of us have had enough. And that is why we are revisiting capital punishment as a way to deal with these sorts of people.

As you know, I am of advanced intelligence because I am part of homo maximus, the government project to create supermen run by the German government in the 1930s and 1940s. It is time for you to let me take you by the hand and throw you into a pit. This world is done with you. There was never a place in it for you. My kind are destined to rule over you all. I can't even begin to tell you how I feel about this because I do not know how I feel about it myself. One of the things I most enjoy in life is urinating all over my hand and then I turn my attention to grappling with a cookie. You wouldn't believe how much pleasure that brings to a person inside where it matters. A whole lot of joy. A whole shitload of joy. I am telling you.

Believe! A lot of you have trouble even imagining urinating freely all over your hand and then shoving that same hand deep, deep into a bag of fresh food. But I can. If you put your mind to something, you can do anything, even if it ends up being something else entirely. You live, you learn. Ethically speaking, of course.

At one time, the Straight White Men's Cultural Center of East Baltimore held an art show. The central theme of this art show was "breasts of unusual size." It was something to see, this exhibit, and I am unsure how to even begin to tell you how I felt about it. The feelings were that strong, as you can imagine, through whatever ethical lens you use to view the world through.

There is no reason to be scared. Frights are made in a factory. Everything is fine. Nothing can harm you. Go outside. Eat out of the sewer. I cannot even begin to tell you how I feel about imagining watching you eating raw sewage. Can't even begin, but I want it to happen. I do. Honestly.

I have bought a white van which I have literally covered with stickers to make it look like an ambulance and next week I am going to start driving around collecting people's "loved ones." "Dead or alive, you're coming with me," is what I will say before cracking filthy shit talkers across the mouth with my closed fist. Time and again, lessons will be learned. And I can't even begin to tell you how I feel about this. "Good" about covers it, though. Were those breasts of unusual size augmented in some way? Were the beings from space involved? How can we even begin to know if we do not pause to think about these things in the first place? I do not know.

The world is a complex place. Things you don't want to think about exist. Men are punching themselves in the balls all the time. When was the last time you gave any thought to that subject? Not recently enough would be my guess. I can't even begin to tell you how I feel about you in light of this new information. Ashamed is one word that could be used here.

People like you basically get through life using the Three G's. What are the Three G's? Well, I will tell you. They are: Grin, grip, and gripe. And that is what you do. It is ALL that you do. Can't even begin. Can you imagine being you? It must make you puke.

These complicated problems have complicated answers. A lot of words are in the answers that we don't understand. We don't even know how to begin understanding those words. They are made up by people who go to fancy universities. Those people should be gutted in our streets. I can't even begin to tell you how I feel about how infrequently these kinds of purges need to be made. Can't even begin.

Basically, as it stands, a monster could walk into your living room and you would be powerless to help yourself. Unless you have a gun. I can't even begin to tell you the kinds of ways I feel about this BASIC FACT OF LIFE. I bet you own some leather undergarments. That sickens me. Sell them at a garage sale so some other complete loser can wear your used undergarments. Jesus died for THAT? Damn. Whenever I think about that poor man hanging up on that cross so that you could buy some other man's leather undergarments at a yard sale in some part of town you've never even been in before, there are so many emotions that run through my body. So many.

When you put another man's leather undergarments on, how does it make you feel? Do you feel empowered by the crusts of past transgressions? Do you feel a sense of urban renewal in the molecular excitement that comes with putting another man's leather undergarments up against your private parts? How much time per day do you spend trying on other men's filthy crap? Unbelievable. The Unibomber had a better outlook on life than you do. God help you.

Now say, for the sake of argument, that you have a Mason jar containing a human brain in your basement or root cellar. I think you need a root cellar. Might make you less sickening to be around. I'm not sure. Not sure how I feel about root cellars. Maybe you got the brain as a "hand-me-down" from an emotionally unstable uncle. Maybe you keep it to honor him. Maybe you do. That would be none of my business, but I would say your family is probably fucked up as a result of that, provided this is commonplace in your family. Turn yourself in. That is how I feel about those matters.

Honestly, if you have someone in your family who shoved a goddamned human brain into a Mason jar and then GIFTED it to you at their death, you need to get some help. You might need to inhale vapors and then make a habit of doing so. Only drugs will help you adjust after something like that. Drugs are the only answer for you. Take a lot. I mean, you must be seriously soft to have someone in your family like that. You probably should never have been born. The line should have died out generations ago. You have no future. And no past. And I cannot even begin to tell you how I feel about that right now, given what I now know about you and your perverted family. A pox on both houses.

Whether you realize it or not, one of the gravest threats we face in America today are people who receive human brains in Mason jars from relatives and then do not report it to the authorities. Is the picture becoming clearer to you now, asshole? CALL SOMEONE ABOUT THE FUCKING BRAIN IN THE JAR TONIGHT DO NOT DELAY.

There is also a taxing impact on your mental stability if you persist on keeping that goddamned brain in a jar in your basement. Whether you have it on a shelf or in a trunk, it doesn't matter. You know it is there. It is weighing on you. DO SOMETHING CALL THE AUTHORITIES NOW ABOUT THE BRAIN IN THE JAR DO NOT DELAY. That is how I feel about that. Things could quickly rage out of control if I were to introduce emulsifiers at this point. So, I won't. For reasons I won't go into.

So, in summation of this scholarly article free from the taint of science, we must make conclusions as are proper. And we now have our conclusions. Call someone about the brain in the jar. Do it today.

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