#1
I learnt about the butthole as a spiritual tool while I was constipated and sat on the toilet, I could not help but wonder. The butthole, the butthole is what caused the fall of man, our eviction from the Garden of Eden. We look down our noses at the humble butthole, whether it be my own, someone elses, a cats, perhaps one on the internet. The butthole, much like the oppressed Palestinian, is treated a terrorist. The butthole does not want to cause harm, it lives to purge you of badness, evil, to keep your blood free from poison thoughts, when you lust for a woman, think of her doing a poo. This is the butthole guiding us through life. Physical pleasure, hedonism. He may seem but a thieving charlatan, but truly these physical desires are the devil, for the devil has no butthole. Next time you lust for anything other than communion with God, think of it doing a poo. One so tremendous that the toilet blocks without the aid of paper, a poo-plug as it were.
Practice the art of kung-poo, much like yoga, it strengthens the sphincter and related tissues - (Not toilet tissue, you've got to fork out for the 3-ply stuff, 1-ply is like giving the baby Jesus one of those fart-mouth-blows on the belly. It is sacrilege, no good man would do ill to the very thing that brought us piles, farts and jokes about them, the pleasure of farting under the duvet, then getting under there and smelling that sweet spiritual scent, or the word bootylicious) - and, like father fishing with his son, creates a bond so strong that even the devils tomfoolery will not sway your faith.
To many people, this revelation will shake the foundations upon which you lead your life. It may seem like the end days, but no, baptism of fire? When you look, you will see. John the Baptist laid Jesus down in the River of Jordan, and I shall lay my diciples down in a piss-filled trough in a pub. From now on, I am Adam the piss-baptist. Judas Iscariot may try to defeat me, the authorities? They will ridicule me. The clergy, the imams, priests, vicars, those silly bastards who think they're Druids, they will call me a false prophet. But no, While these 'men of god' talk of good, of helping others, they sit upon golden thrones while the faithful sleep outside, emaciated, cold, and forgot.
I wear nout but the cloth over my loin, my throne, my butthole.
There will come a time, I will return to my father in Heaven, the sacrifice of my bowels, I will absolve man of his rectal problems, like when there's a bit of poo stuck to a hair and it hurts a bit, or having to lift up your one cheek to fart while sitting down. But before then, I ask, those who have seen the ringpiece, (Ever noticed how it looks like the Milky Way? That's the fibonacci fettucini spiral) and who waddle poo-filled and proud, we shall feast on bran and chilli, and drink gut-churning cider.
We will travel to the true promised land, Zion is not Ethiopia nor is it Israel, but the newly formed State of Iraq and the Levant. The Torah says we shall not go to the promised land until the prophet returns, and he has, with a vengeance.
Hellfire will come to those who ignore my plea, a land of constant constipation, the constant anxiety when you're unsure if it's a poo or fart, you will wipe until the toilet paper runs red, hernias, piles, poo sticking to the arse hair, much like what sometimes happens to scruffy dogs. There will always be a queue for the toilet, and after a thousand eternities have passed, the seat will moisten your buttocks with the urine of another man, the cubicle walls will be covered in obscene comments, and there will be no toilet paper. You will only realise this after the deed is done, a life spent sockless, constipated, scared of soiling oneself, and sitting in public toilets.
But this not need be the case. Submit to my word and my butthole, I do not only fart for the rich and healthy. The leper too may smell my stench, and the blind will no longer miss vision, as his smell will now be far superior.
Spread the word, do not stop until you've seen snow, see, rain. Give up your wealth, do not ignore the homeless begger, but fart in his cup, the poor busker, deficate in his coin-filled hat, teach him the true wealth of this world, no coin or hedonistic lust, just a unconditional love, a love stronger than any mother and daughter, father and son, even stronger than the French and their love to surrender.
Love the gas, feels its sweet vapours fill your nostrils, and share with others your bumhole bounty. But do not give so much as you have nout, you are as deserving of your fart as anyone else. Your life, your bumhole, is no more important than anyone elses, but nor is it any less important. A bankrupt man cannot give his money to charity, just as a man with no gas cannot give his holy vapour to those in need.
Like flowers, we are scented for a reason. To attract wasps.
Bismillah

part 2

I walk the street, and all I see, every man, woman, child, wandering in sin, unknowingly. Humans are flawed, even he who gives without thought of reward, even he will fall from Grace (She's very tall). Man is full of sin, some may think themselves good and wholesome, he is a man who is too proud, only our saviour can judge us, the foolish pride of the physical plane, our inherently foolish nature. Frankincense, myrrh? Jesus asked not for frivolities, the gas passed from your bottom would have pleased him more than material trinkets. Like a snowflake, every fart is unique, and every fart has a place to fill in the gaseous puzzle of the cosmos.
Some though Haile Selassie to be the final messiah, but I tell you, he was another of the devils foolish tricks. As Selassie was filled with praise, we thought we could find the Kingdom of God within him, but we all forgot, the Kingdom of God resides within every mans bowels.
Sometimes people have colonoscopies and you can feel it, I saw it once, and they had to wait for someone to open the drawbridge to the kingdom of good. Council with his buttholiness, the colon, is not granted to just anyone, that's why men flinch when girls try putting their pinky up there, such disrespect.
Some days it may be painful, others, watery, sometimes, introspective, but no matter the struggle, do not trick the colon with drugs, do not try to sway his mind with Immodium or milk of magnesia. To lie to the colon, you are no better than Judas Iscariot, such sacrilege, every act of disrespect, you drive the nail further through Jesus's palms, every time you fart in vein, the sun beats down harder on his emaciated, frail body
To err is to be human, to enjoy to smell of everyones farts, is to be divine. Putting together the puzzle of this world, fart by fart. Once again man will enter the garden of Eden. The devils clutch on us will dissipate, every act of selfless flatulence is another nail in the devils casket. The flowers no longer appease the wasps. Man has became his god-self, and the holy wasp seeks his divine, brown nectar.
אני אוהב את הפלוצים

part 3

What I preach is the truth, and I wish to save every soul on this planet, to do no harm to anyone or any anus. But those few heathens, no different to Judas, who dare bleach the face of God. Anal bleaching, it is religious genocide. But much like the Turks, they will deny it was genocide. Do not fall for these evil lies, and strike down anyone who dare tamper with the most divine aspect of the human form. Like the cleansing of the temple, we must purge God's house of merchants, debtors, people who dare bleach the face of God, they are no better than the Centurions with their nails, the crucifix. When you wax the crack, which God crafted so finely and with such passion, the hammer strikes the nail once more, when you bleach, the Roman cracks the whip again. When you fart, the sweet lips of Mary kiss the trembling feet of Jesus, and his pain no more is a bother. The spark of divine love (Trust me, you'll get a big spark if you light a fart on fire, that's the vapour of divinity) conquers the trivial pains of steel, malnutrition, sun stroke, a really sore back from carrying that cross, and the crown of thorns. As long as man worships God, and worships the Kingdom of God within himself, within everyone, the matters of the physical realm mean nothing. When you walk through life with God, no fall, no affliction can stop you on your journey to Heaven. The devil may trap you, with rickets or polio, but like the 3rd true messiah, tom hanks, belief in God and God's love for you, and the sweet embrace of Jenny (Traditional way of spelling The Virgin Mary) will break the devils grip, and running toward your father will you go, you will take the hand of the creator, reunited once again.
In the realm of the divine you're never too hot, never too cold. Exactly the right temperature. What you want for tea is always what's in the oven, every day's the day the high school sell chips, and Allo' Allo' is still going, and the silly Brit still cannot speak French. You don't have to pay for Sky movies, and the girls on Babestation actually get their boobs out! The price of petrol there is 12p a litre, and all drinks are refrigerated, and all alcohol tastes like orange squash. Never again do you have to pretend to enjoy the taste of Lager.
Still, stay away from the Saudi bit though, even in the realm of our grand designer, Kev, in the clouds, they still fund terrorism. At least in the dimension of divinity suicide belts just make a loud yawning sound, and Hamas's rockets just turn in to doves (Israel still complain though, but the Iron Dome defence system is now just a cling-film covering, and Netanyahu has been replaced by Terry Wogan, and a panel of smart yet funny celebrity judges vote on important decisions, based on how fast the politician trying to pass said bill can identify news articles with some words missing.)
David Mitchel is always present, he is God's right-hand man. The radio plays the sound of John Bercow shouting 'Order!' alongside soothing panflutes, sometimes you will here the faint cries of a northener, with all his energy, shouting something about strength in a union. A sound most pleasing, especially to those people who think Che is a bad-ass left-winger, and don't realise he was a douche. A fate that was also Jeremy Corbyns, he killed Labour altogether, and with no labour, nothing could be built. The knowledge we used to know, now gone, like tears in the rain, all due to one scruffy man's hatred of unskilled labourers.
In Heaven Adam Sandler will never be seen on TV, you can watch Black Books, the Lord of The Rings trilogy, and Lawrence of Arabia forever, and whenever requested angels will make you a roast dinner that's so rich and covered in gravy that you fall asleep while watching repeats of Heartbeat. The lips of a woman nor the screech of a proper nice rally slag (Even a proppa nice V8 Commadore ute with central locking) will not sway your allegiance. When you embrace God, the drivers seat no more cups your buttocks, but instead the soft cushion of a tweed-pattern recliner cuddles you as if it were your own father. Plus you can't eat a roast and watch repeats of on the buses, the good life, mind your language, you can't do that in a car. The new Odeon is always clean and you never have to sit by a rather broad-bellied stranger, and Stanley Kubrick is still making movies. Every man gets a box set with Platoon, Full Metal Jacket, and The Deer Hunter, and no one will ever complain about your choice of movie on a Sunday afternoon. Everyone's wife is perfectly happy watching Zulu, Winchester '73, Triumph of The Fall, or anything containing John Wayne, a gift so great it was bestowed upon no mere mortal in the physical world.
Everyone's thoughts are in the voice of Christopher Walken, and Leonard Cohen serenades you as you walk from roast dinner to roast dinner.
Karl Marx said religion was the opium of the masses, in heaven, we have no need for these narcotics. Amphetamines are obsolete, as the tea caddy is always full, and PG tips here are immeasurably stronger than those on the mortal plane. And opium too is of no need, as roast dinners aplenty will send any true brit in to a deep, rejuvenating slumber.
Oh and all chairs are recliners and old people don't smell funny, while Jeff Wayn'es The War of The Worlds plays in all the hotel lobbies, and Richard Burton resonates against the marble floor. Thunderchild, the valiant, grey ironclad, is still afloat, the martian's however have succumbed to the cold. Phil Llynot still lives, although he still is unsure as to where the jailbreak is going to occur, the Creator himself tried to tell him, but Phil insisted he would do it alone.
If you manage to live a truly divine life, if your footsteps almost echo those of our heavenly Father, you will be able to watch Big Brother, with Rambo, Rocky, the Terminator, James Bond (The Sean Connery one, obviously), John McLane and Jean Claude Van Damn featuring on this series.
Truly the delights of heaven are more than man can begin to dream. Like the lovely feeling of a much-needed sneeze, resonating across the whole body, forever, no matter how many times you sneeze, a satisfying amount of snot will always come out, and a stranger will always say 'Bless you' and brighten your day slightly.
#2
Charlie multi confirmed.
Quote by SGstriker
If KFC is finger-licking good, then people would probably suck dicks for Popeyes. That's how good it is.


There's nothing left here to be saved
Just barreling dogs and barking trains
Another year lost to the blue line
Last edited by Joshua Garcia at Aug 24, 2016,
#3
i wish i could take as many drugs as you
#4


EDIT: After reading some of that, holy shit (no pun intended) It is worth a read
Come back if you want to
And remember who you are
‘Cause there's nothing here for you my dear
And everything must pass
Last edited by i_lovemetallica at Aug 24, 2016,
#5
In the realm of the divine you're never too hot, never too cold. Exactly the right temperature. What you want for tea is always what's in the oven, every day's the day the high school sell chips, and Allo' Allo' is still going, and the silly Brit still cannot speak French. You don't have to pay for Sky movies, and the girls on Babestation actually get their boobs out! The price of petrol there is 12p a litre, and all drinks are refrigerated, and all alcohol tastes like orange squash. Never again do you have to pretend to enjoy the taste of Lager.


It's like reading a Daily Mash article on Nigel Farage's election manifesto.
My old signature was too long. Have a daisy.

#6
Also, OP, Dr Freud would like a word with you
Come back if you want to
And remember who you are
‘Cause there's nothing here for you my dear
And everything must pass
#7
This is the effects of amphetamine use, it is a warning, not an advertisement....It was all on a friends facebook though so it was alright.
#8
Yeah, maybe lead with that next time buddy

EDIT: Obligatory
Come back if you want to
And remember who you are
‘Cause there's nothing here for you my dear
And everything must pass
#9
ultimate guitarchan dot com
Quote by EndTheRapture51
who pays five hundred fucking dollars for a burger
#10
I wish I had the time to read that tome. Bet there's some real zinger's in there. Love a good rant.
#12
give that little guy a smooch etc
will someone carry me across ten thousand miles under the silence
#13
Quote by Baby Joel
give that little guy a smooch etc

Only after a shower ofc
Come back if you want to
And remember who you are
‘Cause there's nothing here for you my dear
And everything must pass
#14
My god what a glorious OP.
Quote by Skibolky
No one can really fuck with the power of empathy.
#15
Good Lord, this thread again.

It's beautiful :')
Come back if you want to
And remember who you are
‘Cause there's nothing here for you my dear
And everything must pass
#16
Can we please refrain from posting NY Times articles here?
Some see the glass half full, others see the glass half empty. Me? I see that the glass is refillable.
#17
The world is holy! The soul is holy! The skin is holy! The nose is holy! The tongue and cock and hand and asshole holy!
#18
TL;DR

cliffs?
Quote by jrcsgtpeppers
There shall be a stop to this madness. The battle is not over. My tasty licks aren't going anywhere.

Quote by The_Blode
^ I've just realised if you say Simple Plan's 2011 effort "Get Your Heart On!" really fast in a Southern American accent, it sounds gross. . .like sexual gross!

Quote by Necroheadbanger
Hello.
I'm looking for professional bongo-ists and triangle-ists to make a Progressive Technical Brutal Death Metal band
(will be called AxOxJxLxAxIxVxXxUxWxZxQxUxRxWxGxJxSxAxLxKxMxNxHxUxGxAxAxWxVxCxBxZxVx)
(Don't even ask what it means)


https://soundcloud.com/95dank



#20
Quote by mattedbird
is there a readers digest version? ffs

Here you go
Quote by Synopsis
when you lust for a woman, think of her doing a poo
Come back if you want to
And remember who you are
‘Cause there's nothing here for you my dear
And everything must pass
#22
Today we are reading from the Gospel according to Owenlee55
Quote by The Gospel according to Owenlee55
Love the gas, feels its sweet vapours fill your nostrils, and share with others your bumhole bounty
Come back if you want to
And remember who you are
‘Cause there's nothing here for you my dear
And everything must pass
#23
Looking forward to an exegesis
Quote by Skibolky
No one can really fuck with the power of empathy.
#26
Quote by Aeolian Harmony
Looking forward to an exegesis

See synopsis
Come back if you want to
And remember who you are
‘Cause there's nothing here for you my dear
And everything must pass
#27
I didn't read this but as I skimmed through my eyes settled on the words "rectal hair"


Snort less speed, Owen
#28
Quote by mattedbird
is there a readers digest version? ffs

Digestive version*
Free Ali
Free Lard
#32
Quote by Owenlee55
This is the effects of amphetamine use, it is a warning, not an advertisement....It was all on a friends facebook though so it was alright.


(I know this response is late due to someone giving this thread the mother of all necro-bumps, but...try to bear with me)

Seriously...if your friend happens to be still alive...give him/her a BIG hug for me. It looks he/she could really use one right now.

Last, but not least...

Don't let your friend operate machinery any bigger than a guitar while in that state of mind because...

*peeks up at long-ass facebook rant/message*...DAMN! That rant has some serious Justin Lowe vibes written all over it.
Last edited by davidyanity at Dec 18, 2016,