I am Old Knudsen

Old Knudsen sometimes wakes up soaked in guilt ridden piss the morning after a sleepless night due to my court order ankle bracelet chaffing like, FUCK FUCK FUCK YOU'RE ALL GONNA DIE. Sorry, my tourettes is quite bad today, it's the old pretend war wound playing up again. I had to have a metal plate fitted in my head after I banged it hiding under the stairs from the military hunting deserters back in 43. There was more blood than the time I was trying to escape from the bigger boys intent on bashing the bunny-eyed boy and I fell off my skateboard and broke my large nose. Claret everywhere........ Also the Fresno police still need to know where I am all of the time even though I swore I'd never go near another stable again.

I look at myself in the mirror, but never in the eyes, and say, "you're a funny ghey intelligent person and well liked, no matter what everyone in America says about me and that dear Mexican boy. After my daily affirmation its time for some fruit loops, a long crap, a quick wipe on the inside of my shorts, then off to the 'office I go'.
To stay fit I skip to work while smacking two coconut shells together, on occasion I like to pretend that I am a eunuch waiter named Manuel. I often stop to accuse people I don't know of being out to get me, its what I do when I'm not waiting tables for tips.

I know another fake Manuel, he is the one who reported me to the police for animal sexual abuse, it was only a gerbil and I would have wiped it before I gave it back to Richard. He has never forgiven me for outing him in public while I stayed in the cupboard for a few murky years. Go on say he'd never do a thing like that, as you have e-mailed with him twice and therefore know him. Don't piss on my one good leg and tell me it's raining. Next its, "oh you are so paranoid". You dumb fucks are the kind of people who drive compacts and have hot keys to Facebook on yer Nokias and always get killed in slasher movies. I face booked your Ma, so there.

I once worked as a shellfish shucker but was fired for interfering with too many young clams, now I work in the Maritime industry............ as a cleaner. Not of hard drives or nuclear subs, but of shiny surfaces, it's company policy to hire a mentally challenged window licker like on "L.A. Law" I love that show, I watch it every night though it ended years ago and I don't have a TV, I'm special. I tell people I'm a secret agent, a special farcer, an ex soldier with fake medals to prove it, but really I spend the day fetching coffee and cleaning when I'm not spamming with my many, many, multi-personalities and not forgetting arguing with the water cooler. I gain your confidence with nice comments and emails, then I lather you up with spam for a quick buck before I slither back under my rock of ages.

I use lots of compooters when the others are on their lunch breaks and have many different faces, fuck I'm sooo clever and your not. I'm a dog, a monkey, for a long time a japing ape, then a hat stand, an Oirish singer, several hot gurls and one ugly Canadian lesley, as well as a posh lady in Brussels and a poet called Mr P. I am ashamed of my working class parents. I've been a writer, a Limerick hearse driver, an Italian entertainer, and once I was even  mermaid in a tank full of seemen, nyuk nyuk. I used to have nightmares about people realising my hair is ginger and my eyes are bunny red, but the deportation issues sorted that out with the aid of peroxide and a pair of Raybans.

Most of my blogs are victim blogs, these are half-assed boring as fuck blogs so when I spam people and they accuse me I say, "but look, I'm a blogger a victim myself." Lord Lookin, Goober the dog and monkey nuts comment on me so I must a real bone fide blogger. Clever huh? disinformation is the key, bloggers are not clever, fact.
I check into my Nemesis' blog "Old Bitter Balls," yet another fantastically awesome post, I don't know how he does it, no wait, I do. He copies me! He has his comment moderation on but co
mments are never shown to annoy the other haters like me, so now I have to get the attention from him that I yearn for as he is the father figure and hunk of ghey loving I have always wanted.

:::::sticks tongue out and starts to type::::: "The Monday club said jerk-off, jerk-off, jerk-off, jerk-off "etc :::takes a break:::: "Fiona said........looser looser looser looser "etc ::::::mis-spells it 20 times ah the irony::::::: oh no, OBB has permanently slapped on his moderation and foiled my efforts to fill up his comment box, this isn't over, someday I shall destroy you for some reason I haven't thought out yet.

Later in the day I try again, but huh? my IP is blocked? I use another server to post ::::sticks out tongue again::::: "Mandy Onslow said....... . . . . . . ." fuck I'm so clever just dots heh heh I may go through a lot of trouble, time and effort but I'm sure OBB is crying because I type nasty things on his blog, I'm sure hes never gone through anything as bad as this in his life hehe.
Am I malicious? Nah, it's just payback for being dumped and then written about. They say payback is a bitch, but what they should say is that being a bitch is indeed payback. 

My mother cheated on my drunken kiddy diddling father by fucking a retarded monkey at the Bronx zoo, but look at me, do I look like I still got any monkey genes under my cap? It was actually another japing ape, did you know that gorillas have a peenee no bigger than a pencil, perhaps I did get something from my true daddy after all. Apart from the idea of the Trojans and of course the construction of an awesomely huge wooden horse.

Oh no, there goes the moderation again, this isn't over OBB, someday I shall out you for some reason I haven't put together yet. Jaywalking on the sidewalk, perhaps spreading dog crap on my carpet with your extremely small feet.
After a hard day of spamming, cleaning, licking boogers and wiping up coffee grounds from the front of my shirt I stick some sewing needles into my groin and head home on the uptown bus.

My life ambition is to break my fathers cycle of animal and young Mexican boys abuse, get off vicodin and enhance the reputation of  untalented peeple who imitate me on the intershed, but not in that order.
So it's off to stalk some old boyfriends, they think they can change fone numbers and addresses, but I find them due to my special farces training and I slowly plot to boil their little bunnies. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCKI FUCK, sorry, there goes that darn tourettes again.

I wonder why I have no real friends, oh yeah, I remember why, the voices in my head just told me.

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Go ahead... shat on me again.