“Only Dogs Go to Heaven.” What a disgusting piece of propaganda. I can’t believe they sold that shit to little kids. Impressionable young minds believing not only that their pet cats, rats, and gerbils were going to burn alive in Hell for eternity, but um, animal kingdom exclusion much? Lack of avian representation much? It’s implied hate speech.
I’m screaming about this because I found the box of a VHS copy of this dumpster fire of a movie on the side of the road when I was hitchhiking and looking for drugs on the highway. You’d be surprised by what people throw out of their windows when they know their lives are about to be over. Xanax footballs, crack cocaine, ketamine, research chemicals, it’s incredible. I’ve been high for six months off that shit. You ever try MLDK0876738LOP-78? Shit is insane, bro. I don’t think I can fly anymore, which sucks, but hey, neither can my cousin and his bitch wife (sorry Monica, but I hate you).
Rooster gets all the attention on here. I’m sick of it. I have fans—a motorcyclist mentioned me in a tweet, said my stories were “funnier.” Maybe he was high on crystal meth, because I’m not funny. I’ve never been fucking funny in my life. I’m serious as a killer drone, and you best not step in my direction when I’m feeling the urges. Violence, maiming, assault—I’m all for it. I’ve made a career out of it.
Right now I’m on the down swing of that, you know, still making up my community service hours, but whatever. I cut deals with a lot of really important people so if things hold up I’m pretty sure I’ll be okay. But you never can tell these days. Reminds me of a time in my past… ah fuck, I’m sounding like my cousin. Goddammit! His influence is too pervasive, too insightful, too hypnotic… he’s so much more talented than me… and his wife, Monica, the saint… god I miss them.
I’ve been banned from their farm for a while, I don’t remember why but it must’ve been pretty serious because I was supplying Rooster speed for when he’s writing his boo—oh, um… never mind. It’s actually all cool with him and me. He doesn’t do drugs, I’m the crazy one. Yeah. I’m the messed up one. Deranged, mangy, animal. Feh. I’m just as normal as you.
But how normal can you be if you’re reading this right now? You sick fuck, get off the Internet. Never come back to this website again. All websites are trash dumpster fires and they make me lose focus when I’m meditating and looking for drugs on the side of the road. I was a monkey in a past life and a bearded man in the forest once told me that the secret to life is staying alive, and the key to happiness is loving yourself. Well check, and check. I’m good. I’m cool as a cucumber. No, I’m not being ostrich-sized (heh) by my family and only friends. No, I’m not strung out on a six-month bender eating drugs that are named after algebra equations.
I’m happy as can be. I’m all smiles. I’m all smiles right now. I’m smiling now. It’s the new me. It’s the new Bennington, and I’m here to fuck shit up.
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