Ancient Wisdom: Law

Welcome once again to Ancient Wisdom. One commonly overlooked aspect of ancient wisdom is ancient law. Ancient punishments were highly effective in dealing with repeat offenders. The key was amputation. By amputating the limb or organ that offenders needed to commit crimes, there was a greatly reduced chance of continued offending. Thieves lost their hands. Liars and blasphemers lost their tongues. Rapists lost their sexes. It kept them out of trouble. But today we figure it's enough to just lock them up for a while and then let them back out on the street to cause more chaos.
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Ancient Wisdom: Prophecy

Good day and welcome to Ancient Wisdom. As impressive as our modern technology might be, able to handle even such complex tasks as making toast, there is still no substitute for the lost arts of wizards. Take soothsaying, for example. The best a computer can do is estimate the accuracy of a prediction by expressing it in mathematical odds. But a real professional seer could predict the future with absolute certainty. All the great men from ancient times had such a consultant. Hannibal wouldn't mount his elephant until he checked with his seer. Those were the days. When death and destruction were on the way, we damn well knew about it and didn't waste all our time arguing. We got busy and started looting. But today our dependence on technology has deprived us of this advantage. This poses a compelling question. Is modern technology helping us or merely blinding us to our doom? For Ancient Wisdom, I'm Morty Shaw.
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Ancient American History

I first wrote this because it really bugs me when historians on TV compare ancient figures with TV stars and U.S. politicians. It insults my intelligence by trying to make all of world history fit into the last twenty years of American news stories. But Jon Stewart's fraud with posts like this bugs me even more. Welcome to Ancient American History, and today we'll be looking at the Ancient Civil Wars that took place between Athens and Sparta in the fifth century B.C. Athens was a democracy and Sparta was a military oligarchy. I guess you could say we have the best of both worlds today. The Spartans needed to be extra tough to dominate their unpaid farmers, the helots, who outnumbered them ten to one. Then against the Persians the Spartans held out so impressively that their stand was called 'the first Alamo'. In the period that followed, the Delian League rebelled against Athens, causing Athens to use its fleet much in the same way that Abraham Lincoln used his Yankee navy against the South. Civil war was inevitable. The First Ancient Civil War ended in a draw. It was mostly a warmup. Then, right at the start of The Second Ancient Civil War Athens got the plague and it wiped out a third of their population. Put that in U.S. terms: ninety million deaths! In a city of less than three hundred thousand! Horrible! But then the Spartans came down with it and it helped Athens win. Finally, in The Third Ancient Civil War, the Spartans prevailed, decisively smashing Athenian democracy with good old fashioned oligarchy and military seriousness and successfully defending their right to employ helot farmers. It is said that Thomas Jefferson modeled the fledgling American republic, which also depended on an unpaid agricultural work force, after Spartan values. It all makes sense when you think about it. We're Spartans. Who did they fight against? Persians. And themselves. We're probably only a few steps away from achieving the ideal military state. Of course, the women will have to start breeding more responsibly...
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What's the Difference?

As long as people still want to support the bad stars who tried to murder me with my own work, I can't help but picture they way they would have celebrated my suicide death four years ago if I had succumbed to the obscene pressure they used against me. It's simple, really. All the dozens of songs that they stole from me to make themselves richer and make me hated would still be playing on the radio as 'new rock', while the girls who enjoy them would continue to cheerfully spit on my image. And all the hundreds of scripts that they stole from me to make themselves richer and make me hated would still be on TV to disgrace my name and the name of my father. The biggest rock and roll party in history would have been thrown to celebrate their fraud and their successful destruction of their victim. Evil frauds would be more loved than ever and no one would ever know that they're just a bunch of arrogant fools who think they deserve stardom for reading my blogs. But with so many bad stars still on the air I can hardly tell the present apart from this 'failed' outcome.
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Ahead of their Time: Zvoni Rasputnik (1869-1916)

Zvoni Rasputnik is arguably the grandfather of all modern cult leaders. Born and raised on a sheep farm in Eastern Plutonia, he discovered his miraculous healing powers early when he was able to restore fitness to a wounded wolf just by scratching the animal behind the ears. By the time he came of age, he'd learned enough from the sheep to give him extra confidence with the ladies. He was so sure of himself that he would flash women as they dined in restaurants. The women were so spellbound by his intense stare that they didn't notice his pecker sticking out of his pants. His healing gift was made famous by the emperor's wife, whose son suffered from terminal clumsiness. When the boy fell off his pony, fell down the stairs, and fell out of his window, on each occasion Rasputnik healed him, achieving a cult status in high society. But when the child complained of injuries caused by a failed swan dive, Rasputnik accused his patient of faking. This offense against the royal family sealed the healer's doom. To over come Rasputnik's recuperative powers, it was decided to poison him with sulfuric acid. But drinking the acid only gave him hallucinations. Finally he was shot. Sixteen times. An anchor was tied around him and he was rowed to the middle of a lake. Just when the oarsmen were about to dump him overboard, he sprang to life again, and had to be shot twelve more times. As the boat turned back without him, his head could be seen sticking up from the water, along with his raised fist. He chased them for a while, but eventually disappeared under the waves. In spite of his similarities with the Russian Gregori Rasputin, that's someone else. Nor should his name be confused for the first satellite, which was actually named after a pet hamster.
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Sarra Supreem: Queen of the Streets

Voice: No one knew why Sarra Supreem was such a snob. Maybe it was her name. Or maybe she picked it up from her critics. (A sidewalk. Supreem blows her nose. When she stuffs the crumpled, used tissue into her bag she is seen by a passing motorist.) Girl motorist: Grose! (Later in the fast food restaurant, Supreem registers a complaint to the staff.) Supreem: Why is there no toilet paper on these trays? What are we supposed to use for bibs? I want to speak to the manager! Voice: Maybe it was the wealthy client who paid her to humiliate him. (Supreem's messy bedroom.) Client: Mistress, you've been using my mouth for an ashtray all evening. Can I have a drink of water now? Supreem: No! Voice: Or maybe it was the heroin. (Supreem's bedroom. A smoking companion watches as she plucks a crumb from the carpet, puts it in a pipe and smokes it.) Supreem: Can I have a cigarette? Companion: I only have the one I'm smoking. Do you want the rest? Supreem: (Exhaling) My lungs are not garbage cans! Voice: In a brilliant performance by Polly Plum, she's Sarra Supreem: Queen of the Streets.
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Around the Corner (Public Service Ad)

This public service announcement is brought to you by Strong-Arm Security, offering affordable rates to hospitalize the people you don't like. Welcome to Around the Corner, featuring the two minutes of public service information we are forced by law to broadcast once a month. Around the corner is a revolutionary new program for panhandlers to grant them a share of the sidewalk while keeping them clear of pedestrian traffic. A special underground compartment will be used to tuck the beggar's body out of the way, leaving his head exposed by a tight hole about the neck. If passers-by want to donate, they can drop a coin through a slot. If they want to be left alone, they can kick him in the face. This is the kind of common sense solution that lets us relax and know that we're leaving a better world for our children. For Around the Corner, I'm Paul Prophet.
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'The Coven' Society for Girls

There's a new club for girls who want the arts and crafts of 4-H combined with the outdoor experience of the Girl Guides and who don't like canvassing. It's called The Coven. The Coven teaches how to harness the power of nature by strict control of the four basic elements: water, air, earth, and fire. At the Coven, girls learn poetry, cooking, astrology, and get to go on bus trips to the deep woods every full moon. The Coven keeps girls out of trouble and gives them the skills to make them confident in a crisis. The Coven Society for Girls. Register today.
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Slave Trade

Pompus: And now for the best new game show in the whole empire, it's time for Slave Trade. I'm Quintus Pompus. Today our first prize is this Thracian beauty, fresh out of obedience school, able to cook, sew, and count to a hundred. Of course, it will be up to her owner to give her a name. And Luke, here, is hoping to be the lucky winner of this exotic delight whose market value exceeds one thousand gold talents if he can answer our three skill testing questions. Are you ready, Luke? Luke: Ready. Pompus: Okay. Question number one. Can you take fifty lashes? Luke: Fifty lashes? (Enter guards.) What do you want? Let go of me! (He is tied to a post, stripped and flogged mercilessly, reducing him to a kneeling, quivering waif. Exit guards.) Pompus: Well done, Luke. By answering affirmatively, you may advance to the next round. Luke: No thanks, I've had enough. I'd like to go home now. Pompus: Don't say that. You wouldn't want to disappoint all these fine people who've come here to watch you compete, would you? Luke: Well, I guess I wouldn't want to get scourged for nothing. Pompus: That's the spirit. Question number two. Can you take the amputation of your earlobe? Off with his lobe! Luke: Are you mad? (Enter guards.) No! Let me out of here! (A strong guard holds Luke's head still from behind by a tightly wound leather band around the jaw, silencing the cry of pain as a second guard completes their task with a scissor snip. The fallen piece of flesh is immediately scooped up by a passing seagull. Exit guards.) Pompus: That's why we must test you. You answered no but you clearly survived. Luke: (Blood trickling down the side of his neck) I want to speak to a lawyer. Pompus: Come now! You should be happy. Look at your beautiful prize. You're only one answer away from owning her. Luke: I don't like your questions. Pompus: This last one's easy. Listen. Would you survive giving food to an animal? Luke: Is that all? Well then, the answer is yes. I just fed my cat this morning. Pompus: And is your cat a five hundred pound tiger? Luke: Okay, I resign. You can keep your prize. Pompus: I'm sorry, we need to know the answer. Release the cat! (Luke's demise is inevitable as a tiger chases him around in desperate circles.)
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Don't Break the Kitchen

Get ready to play Don't Break the Kitchen, the game show that tests men on their cooking skills. Our first contestant is Dan, a construction laborer. And the dish of the day is a cheese omelet. Dan, when I start the clock, you may proceed. Ready? Go! (Dan opens the fridge door and accidentally rips it from its hinges.) Oh! I'm sorry, Dan. You're disqualified. (A giant broom and dustpan sweeps Dan away with his mess.) Boy, that was fast. And we'll be right back after the break with our next contestant. Commercial: The Coven There's a new club for girls who want the arts and crafts of 4-H combined with the outdoor experience of the Girl Guides and who don't like canvassing. It's called The Coven. The Coven teaches how to harness the power of nature by strict control of the four basic elements: water, air, earth, and fire. At the Coven, girls learn poetry, cooking, astrology, and get to go on bus trips to the deep woods every full moon. The Coven keeps girls out of trouble and gives them the skills to make them confident in a crisis. The Coven Society for Girls. Register today. Okay, Bill, here, is going to try his luck next. He's a warehouse laborer. Are you ready, Bill? Go! (Bill gets the eggs out of the fridge, exciting the audience. He cracks them into a dish, throws in a hunk of cheese, and puts the mixture into the microwave. But the crowd moans with disappointment when he slams the door of the microwave so hard that it buckles.) No, sorry, Bill. No, the heat won't come on if the door can't close. Nice try though. (The broom and dustpan sweeps Bill away.) No winners yet but we're going to try one last time right after this. Commercial: Around the Corner This public service announcement is brought to you by Strong-Arm Security, offering affordable rates to hospitalize the people you don't like. Welcome to Around the Corner, featuring the two minutes of public service information we are forced by law to broadcast once a month. Around the corner is a revolutionary new program for panhandlers to grant them a share of the sidewalk while keeping them clear of pedestrian traffic. A special underground compartment will be used to tuck the beggar's body out of the way, leaving his head exposed by a tight hole about the neck. If passers-by want to donate, they can drop a coin through a slot. If they want to be left alone, they can kick him in the face. This is the kind of common sense solution that lets us relax and know that we're leaving a better world for our children. For Around the Corner, I'm Paul Prophet. We're back with Morris, a landscape laborer. Morris is our last hope for a winner today. Ready, Morris? Go! (Morris gets the eggs out of the fridge and flawlessly prepares the correct mixture. In a moment the omelet is sizzling away in a skillet.) Just five seconds to go and Morris will be home free. (Suddenly Morris pulls a hammer out of his apron and flattens the toaster.) Oh no! That was so close! Why did you do that? Oh well. I guess it's going to be one of those days on Don't Break the Kitchen. We'll just have to find some new contestants and try again tomorrow. Hope you'll be there.
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The Crackhead

(A worker sits at the bus stop, reading a newspaper, when he is approached by a crackhead.) Crackhead: Excuse me. Worker: Yes? Crackhead: Are you finished with that newspaper? Worker: No, I'm reading it. Crackhead: Can I have it when you're finished? Worker: I guess so. Crackhead: And do you need that briefcase? Worker: What? Of course! Crackhead: Sorry. (The worker lights a cigarette.) Do you need the rest of those smokes? Worker: Do you want a cigarette? Crackhead: I need the whole pack. Worker: Are you joking? Crackhead: Sorry. (Pause) Do you need those shoes? Worker: Here! Take it! (He thrusts the newspaper into the crackhead's hands and exits the scene. Enter a new transit user who is immediately approached by the crackhead.) Crackhead: Do you want to buy a newspaper?
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They Owe Me Money

As long as I'm going to be criticized over my attitude about money, I think it's fair to point out that I am owed a vast sum of money for all the content stolen from my online accounts and broadcast on the TV and radio for the last seven years. Would I even have to sit and blog at all if someone honest had simply come forward seven years ago with some sort of offer for my volumes of music and comedy instead of trying to steal it all behind my back and afterwards trying to cover it up? To anyone who supports my new songs, I'm glad I was able to please you and it's too bad my new songs can't be on the radio with the dozens of other songs I wrote that they only wanted to broadcast as fraud in the hands of their musical criminals. You don't have to be a music fan to appreciate my humor, but Saturday Night Live tried to get the band that stole my songs to throw me in jail. The TV attacked my music through my blogs.
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Veteran's View

Voice: It's time for Veteran's View. Here today to share his opinion about World War Two is former combat veteran, Pluggo Carter. Carter: We can be damn thankful that we licked those Nazis in World War Two. Those Nazis were evil. Look at how they tortured and killed innocent people just because they weren't German. You're not supposed to treat foreigners like that, you're supposed to treat poor people like that. And the Nazis were stupid. They didn't have to ship their undesirables off to camps, all they had to do was starve them to death in the streets. Would have freed up a lot of rail traffic and saved a lot of construction costs. And turning people into industrial slaves is redundant. People are already industrial slaves, but they work harder when they think they're free. Yep, it's a good thing that money won that war. Otherwise, evil would have prevailed.
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Crimocracy

Well, I'm still alive somehow in this crimocracy that rewards filthy frauds and punishes innocent authors. And I had another thought about why money is immoral. A good act is not necessarily good on its own. It must be done from a fine motive. Giving to charity, for instance, might appear good, but if it's really just a way to launder illegal drug profits, then it is harmful. Money interferes with our motives for doing things. Once we start doing things for money, we cease to be moral, though getting a paying job to support yourself and your loved ones is understandable and acceptable. I tend to agree with Jesus: the only thing money is good for is helping the poor. Now look at these rich stars who influence millions of minds on TV. Not only do they come by their money dishonestly, they've been spending it on disabling their victim for the last seven years. They focus on destroying a popular talent for entirely selfish reasons and never once give a thought to the gravity of their sin. Do you think they believe in God? If they do, they certainly don't fear God. Remember how the media had you worshiping stars who stole my content? Are they offering me any support like that now? So far they've only told the truth about the crimes against me when Dateline had my evidence to boost their damn ratings! They don't care about what's right and what's wrong either, just stinking money. And there they are on TV, poisoning minds with their corrupt message every day. Is it legal for all these assholes to prosecute criminals behind my back on my evidence without even telling me? When do I get to prosecute criminals with my evidence? Maybe it will be when I move to a civilized country. How are all those lying fucks on the web? Do they say I have no taste? This the same gang that supported all that fraud, right? Why don't you sell them a cheap copy of Van Gogh's Sunflowers for ten billion dollars? I'm sure they'd be more interested in that than in the original. They're so tasteful. Is that song hacked? You mean the one that came directly from my blog that I practically lived out in front of the world before I shared it? Someone else wants to write about fighting a war against TV twits, do they? Someone else wants to complain about having blood drawn from their arm for use as contract ink? Someone else writes outside 4/4 time? You'd never know it from listening to the radio. Someone else took the title of their song straight from the mouth of one of their misinformed critics in the drop-in? I'd like to meet the person. Sounds like we have a lot in common. You know what they're saying to you when they lie to you about me? They're saying you're a stupid gullible piece of shit who'll believe anything you're told. Do you appreciate this opinion of theirs? I'm not impressed with our crimocracy. And I'm sure God isn't happy with it either.
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Close Your Eyes!

It's time for Close Your Eyes, the second favorite educational program for boys and girls ages five and up. You children are old enough to have a good idea of what you see around you and now it's time you started learning how to ignore it. And today we have something extra colorful for you to block from your sight, a beautiful parade sponsored by the local Association of Tavern Proprietors and Tobacco Merchants. That's their mascot, Hit-and-Run Hank. Isn't he cute? He can't see through the tobacco smoke in his car when he's drunk! And now he's going to hit an pedestrian... Aha! Caught ya! I didn't say 'close your eyes'. You're allowed to look at Hit-and-Run Hank. He's with the sponsor But here comes the Greenpeace float. Who invited those hippies? What are they complaining about now? Whale hunting? But if we don't kill the whales they'll eat up all the fish. Whose side are they on? Good heavens! Is that mechanical whale of theirs about to bite our flag? Children, close your eyes! Who wants to sit and criticize When you can simply close your eyes? Out of sight is out of mind And happiness is mostly blind Okay, you can open your eyes now. Monster Oil has sponsored this alternative energy float which features a new bio-energy called Minotaur power and appears to be pulled by some sort of genetically engineered creature. Anyway, the -uh- thing looks strong, good for a hundred thousand clicks at least. And don't mind the whipping. That's just how to speed it up. The important thing is we're not polluting the air. And in keeping with the mythological theme, here's a float from Brisco Cosmetics called The Birth of Venus. Venus was the ancient love goddess who sprang from sea foam. Any moment now that giant clam will open up and we'll see her in all her -agh!- nudity! Children, quick, close your eyes! Before your eyes can lead to sin You have to let the evil in Of nakedness there is no doubt Close your eyes and block it out
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Uncle Stu's Treehouse

Welcome once again to Uncle Stu's Treehouse. I'm Uncle Stu. Now I was putting some feed into my birdhouse the other day and I heard my feathered friends having a conversation. They said that parents and teachers are telling children not to trust Uncle Stu. I can't imagine why the parents don't like me. Just because Uncle Stu's telescope might catch them doing things they're not supposed to do once in a while. And what do the teachers have against me? Everyone already knew that they're the first ones to slap a uniform on you and send you off to die for your country. No one needed me to tell them. I don't want to get in trouble or my mom will beat me. That uses up all her oxygen. Then I have to go to the store to get more.
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The Vitaflex Stress Mix

Voice: The Vitaflex stress mix contains extra iron to make your body indestructible. (A doctor's office.) Man: My back hurts so much that I need both my hands to carry one fridge up a ladder. Doctor: Take this prescription for Vitaflex. Man: Vitaflex? Does that relieve pain? Doctor: (chuckling) No, your body's natural opiates will take care of that. These are vitamins. (The next week.) Doctor: So how's that back pain? Man: Gone since I lost all sensation below my neck. Doctor: Great! So why are you here? Man: I have a pain in my neck. Voice: And Vitaflex is loaded with relaxophines to shore up your mood through any crisis. (A prison cell.) Inmate: This is the fourth time I've been led all the way to the chair just to get a stay of execution at the last minute. Good thing my buddy smuggled some Vitaflex in here in his anus. I like crushing them up and snorting them. But some folks prefer putting it in their tea. That works too if you draw it into a syringe and shoot it in your neck. Voice: The Vitaflex stress mix: Everything in it to last past your limit!
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The Confession

This was rewritten inadvertently. What made me think of it was my earlier post about how ridiculous it is to think that anyone would confess their crimes in public. But it was well placed to support my accusations against Seth Macfarlane. Bless me father for I have sinned. It's been a dog's age since my last confession. Go on, my son. Let me think... Well, I don't know if this counts as a sin but... Yes? I framed a priest for dealing child pornography. Good heavens! And I raped his sister. You raped his sister? The nun. I see. Is that all? Like I said, I'm basically a good person. I'm just a little mischievous. Like when I poisoned the bishop. That was you! Or like when I mixed vanilla wafers in with the hosts and when I spit in the sacramental wine. Anything else? Nothing outstanding. I burned down the orphanage. That caused eight fatalities! That's not even in the double digits. So what will it be, father? Ten Hail Mary's? If you can still speak. What do you mean, father? After you've been drawn and quartered! We save our Inquisition for sinners like you! Seize him! (Enter Vatican guards. They grab the confessor and drag him away.)
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Ask Me if They're Sorry

Are those stars owning up to their crime? Are they sorry? Is this just between you and them? Seth MacFarlane said he doesn't like the last three seasons of Family Guy. I guess he only likes the money for them. If he and all the rest were truly sorry, I wouldn't be stuck here in a drop-in getting asked by unemployed people 'what I do all day' after I did his job and Saturday Night Live's job and all the jobs for all those other shows that used my content for three straight years. I also did the Crystalids job, didn't I? I do everyone's job and then I have to hear unemployed people asking me what I do all day. As long as I'm poor, they're not sorry.
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Seeing the Bright Side

I'm in chronic pain with this back problem and it is wearing on my mood. I'm having problems getting this new song posted the way I want, as well. I wanted to say something positive about our system today, since some people might be losing faith in it. We must credit the system with at least letting me online to state my case. If it were totally corrupt, I would be blocked from the web altogether.
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Life After Death

In the solitary confinement that the industry has imposed on me these last seven years, I often think of my old friend, an artist who committed suicide. I think he made the right decision. He was depressed over a failed romance, but he was also quite miserable over having to go back to work in landscaping to make the money for his rent. For some reason we just can't treat artists like artists in this world. It's an age old problem. And every artist or poet who committed suicide was fully entitled to do so. Do you want to know why I thought it acceptable to drive a forklift for Nasco? Read my employment history: A Canadian Artist's Professional Background. The work conditions at Nasco were actually lighter than a lot of the jobs I've had to do in my life. Here I am, an artist who draws and sings and writes songs and poems and scripts and the only way I can make money is to go out and push a wheelbarrow around. The night before my friend died, he encouraged me to kill myself. He thought that the humiliation that artists receive in this world justified their suicide. I was still quite shocked to find him hanging from a hook in the ceiling the next evening. And since then I've often been tempted to take his advice. If I died they would jump all over my story and my work and make a zillion dollars out of it for themselves, just as Van Gogh's paintings, for which he hardly received a cent all his life, now sell for billions. I might not care about this, with the urgent need to escape my misery, except that the business already cashed in my works as though I were dead when I was still alive. We can't treat artists like artists but we treat anyone the business supports as an artist, no matter how untalented they are. Do they know how to draw? Can they play a musical instrument? Do they create their own work? How original is their work? None of this matters. All that matters is that the industry supports them. It's an ongoing insult to talent.
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© 2014. Statements by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.

Adding Insults to Injuries

Boy, have I had it with my life here. Firstly. let me elaborate on one of the lyrics in my new song: takes a special kind of prick to say leaning on a stick would make one guilty. My back pain, which causes me to limp, is the latest injury that Nasco pricks have seized upon to say that I was beat up for crime. I already explained here that it is my plywood bed that probably caused the injury. Let's talk about how much damage Nasco workers have done to me in the last seven years. They poked me with a syringe to steal my blood. Can't you get HIV or hepatitis from that? They did this to me so they could feel more confident about stealing all my songs to bring you the Crystalids. They smoked crack with the Crystalids and spread lies about me on the strength of my music's popularity. They organized hate parties and invited people to injure me for admission. When the Crystalids collapsed, they started crediting everyone else on the planet for everything I write and share. They lied about every innocent injury I suffered, saying I'd been beaten up. They went online and flooded my posts with hate and false accusations. I'm surprised they're even allowed on the web, let alone into my posts. They hassled me in the street with pranks and putdowns. They stalked me. They crowded me off the computers at the library. They went around my neighborhood and spread malicious lies about me. They went into my haunts and spread malicious lies about me. When I don't feel like limping half a mile to the library to post blogs, they accuse me of being in jail. When I take a bus ride across the country for a week, they accuse me of being in jail... Why am I being held hostage like this and forced to post daily works? What have I got for all the work I already shared but absolute misery? Don't expect me to stick around and play this game for them forever. And why do people fall for this lie when my blogs stay online? If I went to jail for something I wrote here, I'd be forced to erase it. I've already said this about ten times! The fucking people who swallow this shit are even dumber than the Nasco workers who feed it to them. Nasco's idea of a laugh is to put a cigarette butt on the sidewalk and stand there waiting for me to pass by and pick it up. They want my poverty to disgrace me when their crime is the cause of it. They are colossally stupid. What's this about how Jeff Hisko is the 'stick' in my lyrics? When did the cops break up that Jeff Hisko party? A year ago? And I'm still hearing about him. Okay, let's analyze this feeble lie. First off, they're admitting that it's my song. Why would I write a new song if I need to steal my songs? Second, who ever heard of criminals confessing their crimes on the internet? It's absurd. Third, why would I use the word 'stick' to refer to a person? No one would make the connection in a million years. This is the kind of stupidity that can drive a person of even average intelligence to sheer madness. And when they were onstage with my music everyone loved them as poets and believed that I was 'slow'. These brainless criminal crackheads have had their way with me here long enough. They go in and out of jail and if you read my statements you'll see that I've reported weekly abuse from them for as long as I've been posting into this account. We don't punish them severely enough and I'm the only one paying for it. So I'm going to put a stop to it myself. I'm getting the fuck out of here before I lose my mind. And if you want to know who pays the Nascos, it's big stars like Madonna and Mick Jagger Saturday Night Live and all the other stars who stole my work or tarnished my image. What a fucking hideous crime scene. It's a good thing people can at least go online to my accounts and get some entertainment they can trust.
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© 2014. Statements by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.