Hells Gate

     Unfortunately, for the greater good of everyone else's feelings, I cannot say what I truly want too. So I will not. Instead, I will drown my own in the bottom of a bottle, not say shit, (outloud) and hopefully explode.
      When going to war, it is best to pick your battles. Strategy is key. You must plan. Prepare. You cannot just charge into it with your shield down, dick in hand, showing your ass. There has to be an order to things. One man in charge, the others follow to the death. It has been that way for thousands of years, and will always be. I don't normally like following dumb motherfuckers off of a cliff, but there are times when I can't help myself. Loyalty. It's a weird deal.
    Sometimes shit gets twisted, people mistake passion for anger, or fucking as love, whatever the situation somehow it all gets to bed at the end of the night and everyone wakes up the next day feeling stupid. There will be alot of people feeling stupid today. It's just how it fucking goes, certainly not a reason to judge.
     When day to day battles turn into all out warfare, it takes its toll on the troops, my troops in particular are tired and hungry, the opposition, equally fatigued. Everyone wants to go home in one way or another, and just survive the bottom. The war is over, the battlegrounds bloody, wounds are deep, minds are numb. 'Head down, go to sleep to the rhythm of the war drums!'-Keenan.
    Somebody told me what I should and shouldn't write about yesterday, said that I 'sound angry all the time.' Maybe I do, but don't mistake the word 'motherfucker' as anger. It's all in the tone. (any dog can tell you that.) To me, if you didn't grow up in a house that used the word 'fucker' in one form or another, you lived in a weird house. Jesus christ my shirt stinks.
   

And if you don't want your picture taken, then don't strike the pose.