DAMN IT, YOU SHOULD BE DEPRESSED

by Mr. Mean-Spirited

 

Remaining depressed is the most heroic act of resistance that you can wage against totalitarian society.  You must find the courage to refuse these corporate attempts to medicate you into smiley-faced conformity.  You should find the strength of character to remain unhappy; staying despondent will be the ultimate way of rebelling against consensus reality.

The well-funded authorities want cheerful citizens for the same reason than an overseer demanded grinning slaves; the institutions not only require you to line up and do what you are told – but to obey orders with an enthusiastic expression on your face.  When Stalin marched his countrymen into the concentration camp – he wanted the victims to be optimistic.  In every shit-job, the boss always demands that every employee go around smiling. 

Cheerfulness is a kind of servitude.  Optimism is little more than acquiescence to the commands of authority.  You are always supposed to be enthusiastic when doing someone else’s bidding.

Freedom is a simple matter of remaining miserable.  Bureaucracies only want contented consumers, not an individual who might feel distressed by the existing social order; businesses want you to amuse yourself, not question what you are told by the mass media.  A gloomy attitude shows an individual who has prevailed against constant multicultural indoctrination and persisted in the face of continued multinational insemination.

Take a look, a good look at society around you and tell me how any intelligent person would not feel completely hopeless.  Look at all the suffering in the world and tell me who would not be depressed.  Look at the way that government expects you to live and tell me why any sensitive individual would not be depressed.  Look at the way that our civilization is in decline and tell me why any thinking being would not be depressed.  Look at all the maladies in your own life and tell me why you should not despair.

With all the obvious suffering in life, how the fuck did being “happy” get designated as the normal mental condition?  Surely it would be more logical to argue that a neutral, affectless emotional tone would be the human norm, so how did the psychiatric industry come to define happiness as the benchmark state of mind?  The answer has less to do with consciousness than business management.  The answer has nothing to do with psychology as much as employee motivation: a perky laborer does more work.

 

Melancholia is a perfectly sane reaction to an insane society.  Depression is a healthy and hearty response to the way things are; there would be something wrong with you if you weren’t despondent.  You would be mentally ill if you were happy in such a repressive nation.  Happiness is merely a lack of courage to face the true horror of mass culture. If you want to know the ultimate truth about reality, you will be troubled.  If you want to understand what is really going on in life, you will end up distraught.

Optimism is nothing more than a moral failing, a lack of strength to accept reality as it is.  Hope itself is only a coward’s way of hiding from the awful truth of existence.  Surely depression is a brave understanding that nothing will ever get better.

The freedom to be depressed is the only freedom worth having.  If psychologists had any virtue, the psychiatrists would be handing out sad pills to patients deceived into imagining that this is a perfect world.  Holding fast to your dejection remains the one certain way of keeping your bloodstream free of government-promoted pharmaceuticals. 

Antidepressant drugs simply medicate you into compliance with the existing order.  Psychiatric drugs were invented to force you to conform to corporate expectations.  Pharmaceuticals are intended to make you just another good customer, a well-integrated citizen who won’t upset the institutional overlords.  After all, if these chemical compounds actually had any medical value, they wouldn’t need to be continually advertised on network television.

Antidepressants aren’t devised to make you well – they are just designed to make you feel what some bureaucrat decided you should feel.  These psychoactive medicines aren’t going to make you normal - these compounds are only devised to fill your head with government-authorized proclivities.  Antidepressant drugs aren’t about making you feel better – as much as ensuring that you only feel government-approved sentiments.  A complete individualist will always be rather glum; an independent mind is invariably morose.  Better to be depressed than to be duped.

 

 

 

EVERY CHILD NEEDS TO BE BULLIED SOMETHING FIERCE

by Mr. Mean-Spirited

Bullies are the true backbone of human culture.    All of you reading this sentence have endured bullying during your school years, and each of you have, in turn, gone on to beat-up someone weaker – and this new victim then went on to continue the chain.  As long as there are human beings, there will be bullies.  But do-gooders are desperate to fabricate some governmental legislation that might make bullies play nice – but you can’t change human nature.  This cycle of abuse will never be broken, so don’t even bother trying. 

Bullying provides a decisive lesson for young kids; ruffians give children their most crucial guidance in life: people are assholes.  The presence of such tormentors in the very heart of the educational system teaches these pampered adolescents something imperative: your closest friends will always hit you the hardest.  Every persecuted schoolboy comes to realize some unpleasant teachings about life: if you can’t defend yourself against a bigger foe, at least you can find a smaller victim of your own.  Being the giving and receiving end of bullying is hands-on training in some painful truths about the species: making other people suffer is a basic human instinct. Being tormented forces the sugar-plum fairies out of a child’s mind – and shows the world for what it is.
 

Getting mistreated is a rite of passage for every juvenile – becoming a bully yourself is part of growing up. What is unfortunate is not that some spoiled brats get slapped around, but that so few adults manage to retain this critical recognition about the certainty of cruelty when they themselves become limp-wristed adults.
 

Where the fuck did liberals ever get the idea that schooldays were supposed to be happy?  Childhood is not supposed to be enjoyable – youth is merely something to be endured.  Public education is supposed to be terrifying; what happens on the playground can always turn terrible.  A happy child simply hasn’t come to terms with the true horror of existence.  The early years are a time for skinning knees and shedding tears and breaking limbs.
 

If a few crybabies cannot deal with such harassment - and if these wailing sissies decide to kill their pipsqueak selves: I say good riddance.  These defective links shouldn’t be passing their worthless genes on to future generations anyway.  To the rascals who persuade such weaklings to suicide, I repeat what Teddy Roosevelt would have said: “bully!”

 

YOU CANNOT LOVE IF YOU DO NOT HATE

by Mr. Mean-Spirited

Hate is the most beautiful emotion that the individual soul can experience.  The expression of hate is precisely what makes a distinct person become fully human. 

Hatred and love are exactly the same emotion: only the recipient is different.  When this emotion is focused upon yourself, it is love – but when the other side of this very same feeling is turned toward an outsider, it is hate.  Think of it like this: hate and love are just like two sides of the same piece of sheet metal on my pick-up truck - hate and love are just different sides of the same vehicle body.  On the side facing the hostile environment is the impenetrable layer of hatred; and on the side facing you and yours is hardened protection against hazards – but hate and love are always just opposing sides of the same 20-guage piece of steel.  To be affectionate without first armoring yourself in animosity is to condemn yourself to the kind of insipid sensation of greeting cards.

If I am caught in traffic, I might fix my hatred upon the pansy driver of the hybrid vehicle in front of me: wishing the sissy dead, and envisioning his managed body in various auto accidents, fancying his gun-confiscation bumper sticker splattered by real blood drops.  Rather than depleting my creative energy upon a stranger, my spirits come back refreshed and revitalized.  The more you hate others, the more you cherish yourself. 

Once you have found the courage to hate, you will start to experience everything with greater sharpness and severity.  If you strive to live with more intensity, if you want to be aware of the true strength of life, if you need to gaze upon the world with a wild keenness, you will need to hate with every fiber of your being.  A robust and lusty hatred allows you to receive every sensation with an uncommon fury.  If you do not surround yourself with a burning hate, you will never feel the warmth of love. 

In a world where the mass media wants you to be a charitable weakling, it takes guts to hate.  In a country where the government forces you to be compassionate, it takes bravery to hate.  In a moment in history when the individual is constrained to be generous, it takes a certain heroism to put yourself first.  Hostility toward everyone else allows your personality enough space to flourish.  In a country where you are continually told to “come together,” hatred places things in perspective.  Hatred gives you space to breathe – hated keeps your very essence from being crushed by compulsory empathy.

Love is always a selfish drive.  Society wants you to do exactly what you are told and to shit out ever more children – the eternal threat that the diapered critters will not have anything to eat is a marvelous tool that the ruling class can use to blackmail the citizen into conformity.  But true love, romantic love, erotic love, amorous love has nothing to do with child-rearing and nothing to do being a model employee.  The individual will begin to find true love when he responds with complete hatred to the social roles that do-gooders try to force upon him. 

To love everyone in the world is to love no particular person whatsoever – to love one select person requires that the beloved be elevated and protected from the undifferentiated human herd.  Hate makes you superior to the mob.  Only a loathsome wimp would ever plead to be equal to everyone else in the crowd; hatred makes you strong by isolating and uplifting your own desires above the multitude.
 

The do-gooders will invariably try to force you into conforming to their tepid slogan that “hate is not a family value.”  But on the contrary, hate is just about the only value of any importance in the human family: hate is exactly what separates your family from the slithering, slimy mass of humanity.

Hatred is what distinguishes the noble spirit from shit-heap of mankind.  Hatred is what differentiates one human being from his neighborly replacement.  Hate is what disentangles one human being from an oppressor.  Willful hate is what detaches your soul from the oppression of compulsory altruism.  Hate is the most exalted and exalting sentiment that a human being can experience.  Hate is what lifts you above the worthless rabble and elevates you to the stars.  It is concentrated enmity that brings us ever closer to the celestial.

Love is the most selfish emotion possible; romance exalts one unique individual at the expense of all the rest of world.  When you hate strangers, your love for one uncommon person becomes all the more intense.  When you love with all the ferocity of your soul, you begin to hate outsiders all the more.   Once you start hating, you can never get enough – of life.  Both love and lust come out of exactly the same viciousness in the human soul; both enmity and eros comprise the most intense emotion that the human soul is capable of experiencing.  If nothing else, just musing about the demise of your opponents will give you one hell of a hard-on.

The more that you begin to hate outsiders, the more that you will begin to perceive the true meaning of life.  Hatred shows you what is most important in life – and that is you and you alone. If there is no hate in your heart, there will be no love in your life.  There is a mystical pattern of hate that maps the very landscape of existence. 

 

HOW TO PICK-UP A PROSTITUTE WITHOUT ACTING LIKE A TV PREACHER

by Mr. Mean-Spirited

 

When it comes to picking-up prostitutes, you really need to be a pro.

Few fates are as obnoxious as being compared to a television evangelist, and nothing makes a gentleman look more uncouth than a lack of finesse in picking up a prostitute. What makes Rev. Jimmy Swaggart such a figure of ridicule is not the obvious hypocrisy, but an appalling lack of skill in purchasing the services of streetwalker. What makes a chap appear ungainly is not some misguided determination to remain righteous—as much as a certain lack of flourish in the act of giving way to temptation. If you are going to cruise the red light districts, you need to do your whore-mongering with flare. After all, you don’t want the poor girl to think that you were some sort of unseemly television preacher, now do you? Ministers have plenty of funds—and enough pharmaceuticals to keep it up—but the man of the cloth simply doesn’t have any idea how to properly behave with a fallen woman.

Take only enough money that you are going to spend that evening. Leave the credit cards elsewhere—and if you are dumb enough to keep your Social Security card in your wallet, you are too stupid to be reading this text. There are a couple other things you will want to have with you: condoms of course, some hand-sanitizing gel, and a plastic bag (more about this curious item in the paragraphs to come).

The selection of the right sex-worker is all part of the fun. Obviously you should reject any harlot with any open sores, or decline the services of any inebriated lady of the evening (you don’t want her to vomit at inconvenient moments or regurgitate upon a convenient appendage). Finding a prostitute with a good mental attitude is more important than selecting a female on the basis of physical allure. Paradoxically, if the hooker looks “too pretty,” if her earrings are “too pricey,” if her shoes are “too pointy,” if her clothes are “too pristine”—then she is probably a police decoy anyway. (Only someone pretending to be a prostitute dresses “like a prostitute.” Only in a cop’s mind do streetwalkers parade around in stilettos and animal-print skirts.) Look for something unexpected when it comes to sexual partners: the older the gal, the more experience she can bring to your penis. And trust me on this: you will probably have a more erotic encounter if you decide upon a somewhat less attractive women—believe you me, she will compensate in the copulation for any shortcomings in appearance.

A meth-using hooker isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I am not going to tell you that a prostitute’s drug habit will always be a detriment and a disadvantage: meth tends to produce the curious result of making the female more “focused” upon sex. If the women actually liked you, I would even say “horny” – but since the whore is just doing her job, meth makes her more determined. Other controlled substances, unfortunately, make the slut less willing to exert herself when you must want to exercise her pelvis.

Keep looking over your shoulder: scan for plainclothes policemen sneaking around in the neighborhood, and continue searching for a pimp slinking around nearby vehicle. Often it is nearly impossible to tell one of these parasites from the other—but in either case, their presence will prove financially and physically painful. The heightened awareness is like a sort of yogic exercise that will make the whole nocturnal adventure all that much more interesting. Whoremongering heightens all your senses.

If you are driving, ask the target woman if she “needs a ride”—a policewoman will never get into a strange vehicle. Then immediately get the fuck out of that neighborhood. Don’t go anywhere that the whore directs; you will always want to the surroundings to be of your own choosing—and free from law and pimp enforcement. Once the girl has entered your sphere of influence, do not allow third parties to intrude: allowing the prostitute to being “a friend” will only put you at their peril. Going to a hooker is all about maximizing control. Sexual release is more complete if you keep her under your thumb.

Negotiate price and sex acts before taking the prostitute to your accommodations. Make sure that you tell the girl exactly what you want her to do and exactly how you want her to do it: now is not the hour to be euphemistic and talk in vague generalities like “come back to my hotel with me.” Spell it out, and do not beat around the bush (unless, of course, you would like to pay extra to beat around the bush). If you, for instance, want her to lick your anus, make sure that she knows that you expect that particular service. Being overly tactful is only going to end-up leaving you unsatisfied. I don’t care how perverted your fantasies, she’s already done worse: any given whore will try anything if enough funding is offered.

NEVER pay the lady any money until the deed is done. If you have enough body-weight to do the bitch some serious damage should she go for the cash prematurely, show the prostitute the banknotes and then place the sum out of her reach (atop the television set, for example). If you have a more wimpy& liberal-democratic physique, then you shouldn’t be out on dangerous streets looking for dangerous women in the first place—you’re only going to get the hanging chad kicked out of you. If you want to tip the sex worker, then tell her exactly what she has to do to get the extra dollars (like “not rushing” or “swallowing”). Once everything is satisfactory and satisfied, pay the poor girl exactly what you promised. If you feel like cheating something, find a victim that deserves to be defrauded: like the government. If you unjustly antagonize the prostitute, she will remember your face and license plate—should police come questioning about “suspicious white males” after some well-publicized mass shooting in the metropolitan area.

You will want to see the woman’s identification card (whether she knows it or not). Write down the female’s name; this will not only help you compose an accurate diary entry later in the evening, but it will also avoid nasty surprises about the young lady’s age. It is always an advantage to know who the hell you’re really fucking.

Chances are that you will be taken-in by a transgendered hooker. I don’t care how much you claim to know women—at some point in your mongering career, you are going to pick-up a she-male whether you like it or not. You won’t be able to recognize a tranny on the street corner by an obvious Adam’s apple—nor are you going to be able to judge her suspicious hand size while driving past her. Your powers of observation simply aren’t as good as you imagine—otherwise, your perception that the tallest prostitute is conspicuously better dressed than her companions should have already suggested something unsettling. But since you didn’t make the recognition, you need to come to terms with the fact that you will be conned by a she-male unless you are crafty enough to check her ID. Aside from a lab test, scrutinizing the sex-worker’s identification is the simplest way of determining the original gender of that mouth upon your appendage. Just like every genuine woman, a transsexual is trying to put something over on you.

If you can get away with it, take the woman’s photo. If you ask for permission, she will object (or worse yet: demand more money)—so don’t let her know. If you should ever feel an inclination to track the lady down, you won’t be able to do anything with the phony name that she gave you. Keep in mind that whatever the prostitute tells you about herself will be contrived—however, once you have given it some thought, this fakery will be just as true in any “normal” relationship. The whore is really no more deceptive than any ordinary girlfriend—it is just that the slut’s motives are rather more obvious. Going to a prostitute helps to provide you with a more expansive view of the world; perhaps the greatest difference between a wife and a whore is that you can more easily see the larger picture with a hooker.

If English is not the working girl’s native tongue, understand that she did not learn the language in school—she was taught every word and each caress in the company of clients just like you. Reflect, for a moment, on the sheer number of customers it would have taken for such proficiency—then go do what you came to do.

Never bring a slut back to your own residence; always do your copulation in rented accommodations. If a hooker knows where you live, then she will be pounding on the door whenever she needs money. The last thing you want is an uninvited female on your doorstep. The less she knows about you, the less she can use against you. Always keep your personal life hidden from a “public woman.”

Check the accommodations for hidden cameras. Once you get a hotel room, check the room for peepholes. Human beings are lazy: chances are any miniature video camera would be concealed in a manufactured object like a clock or smoke director, so examine those items before you remove your clothes. If there is a mirror strategically positioned by the bed, you should make sure that it is not a one-way glass (if you place your finger directly on the surface of a genuine mirror, there should be a gap between your digit and the reflection). 

Do not have sex on the bedspread; that rented object is invariably saturated with the body fluids of dozens of other couples. Turn down the bed: while the sheets might not be all that clean, they are, at a minimum, washed somewhat more frequently than the comforter. You have got to suspect that the previous lodger must have done exactly the same fornication right where you are going to be lying. Copulation might be a biological necessity—but it is still a nauseating business.

Don’t give the hotel staff any incentive to take an interest in your carnal activities. Don’t get drunk in the room, and keep the noise level to what a churchgoer would consider respectable. You want to be just another anonymous wayfarer. The more experienced the whoremonger, the sooner his presence is forgotten.

Never leave any DNA in the motel room. Make sure that you either flush the condom down the toilet or take the used-prophylactic with you when you leave (yuck, but this is where that plastic bag of yours really proves really, really useful). If you are mongering in an unfamiliar country, make sure that the damn lavatory flushes before you drop that offending condom. You will also want to take that discarded condom wrapper with you—although you will not be able to entirely eliminate your traces from the motel room without making the girl unnecessarily suspicious, you will remove the easiest means by which that a corrupt cop would obtain your fingerprints. While it is very unlikely that the prostitute might charge you with rape (more common from your girlfriend than from a consummate professional)—a remote possibility is still a possibility, so don’t make it easy for the bastards.

Never accept any drugs or drinks from a prostitute that you have just met. Believe it or not, in more congenial countries where women are trained to be more courteous, you might actually be offered food or liquor by the slut. But she isn’t being generous; she’s feeding you an appetizer in order to get something out of you (whether you are conscious or not). In certain parts of the world where incapacitating & undetectable drugs are a worry, you have to be concerned about having your wallet or kidney stolen. In other areas of the globe, you need to be rather more concerned about hygiene. Don’t accept anything; you need to be doing all the offering.

You will remain safest if you never ever allow an unknown woman to spend the entire night with you. When you close your eyes, you should always dream alone. Falling asleep beside a woman is a security risk in times of social decay. Even more than performing a particular sex act, the distinction between a girlfriend and a whore is that you are paying for the professional to leave once you have completed your business. Never get too comfortable any female who would agree to have sexual relations with the likes of you: a snoozing John is a walletless John.

Don’t, for a second, think that the prostitute has any liking for you as a person: no matter how much you might joke, you are not funny and you are, most certainly, not fun in bed. She has nothing in common with you, sir. The only thing a working girl feels for you is repugnance—and don’t you forget it, my friend. You are nothing but an oozing billfold. Whore-mongering will always leave you rather cynical about women (and it is a good cynical)—but paying for sex should also force you to appreciate just how worthless you truly are (and it is a damn good apprehension).

Prostitution is the most honest form of human interaction—genuine because it is devoid of emotional contamination. Two human beings engage and indulge into the most erotic activity possible—but feel absolutely nothing for each other once the fluids have been released. A customer can be more passionate and intense with an unfamiliar professional than he can with his own wife—but once the rapture has ended, the paid and paying partners go their separate ways. Fucking a whore can be far more intense than sex with a wife—because purchaser and provider care nothing for each other. Prostitution is the loneliest act that two people can do together—lonesome precisely because it is also the most intimate. The closer two people get, the more the solitude between them.

You will probably forget the copulation as soon as you rinse off, but what you will retain is a deep paranoia about basic human interactions: I just don’t mean a fear of having your assets stolen by the working girl, but a profound difference in the way that you perceive all social institutions. Just as once you have first-hand experience of being shaken down by the police, you will never trust authority again. And mistrust is always a good thing: if you feel a sense of foreboding about one area of life, it carries over into other realms. After a close encounter of the latex kind with a prostitute, you will begin to become suspicious of your own spouse—and if nothing else, that will certainly make your marital relationship more interesting. Whore-mongering causes you to doubt everything. Once you have left the Red Light District, you never fully trust anyone again.

I would suggest that you keep of sort of magical diary of your copulations. I don’t just encourage that you create a record of carnal acts that might be employed in future masturbation, but a detailed description of how sex with the prostitution came to alter your very awareness of daily life. I want you to see that going to a whore is exactly the same kind of act as it was for your primordial ancestors: a sacred rite. Sex with the temple prostitute was always something done to bring the Old Gods into your daily life.

The more you ejaculate, the less faith you will have in the honesty of women. Nothing intimidates a feminist more than when a boyfriend insists that “all women are whores”—insults that always work because, deep down, the females know that it is true. When two public-spirited women talk among themselves, they do not boast about how kind and caring are their husbands—no, it is all about how much money the gentleman makes or the value of the jewelry they were last given. Every do-gooder girlfriend has already given you a rating based upon perceived income—so it is only just and proper that these gentlewomen be recognized as the tramps that they truly are. Liberal women are never interested in a man’s wealth of knowledge—when they can cram some of his net worth into their orifices.

The more whores you fuck, the less you will trust women. The more sluts that have been on your penis, the more paranoid you are going to be around the opposite sex. What is most important about the act of prostitution is not the sex itself, but the way that whore- mongering alters a man’s worldview. Paid fornication changes your very awareness.

 

MISANTHROPIC CREDO

by Mr. Mean-Spirited

 

  

Do NOT let do-gooders tell you what to do.
 

Do NOT “come together” with the rest of society.

Do NOT cover your nose when you sneeze - the whole world can get infected for all you care.

Do NOT ever forgive – make sure you always hold a grudge.

 

Do NOT be tolerant.
 

Do NOT be “part of something greater than yourself” – because there is NOTHING greater than yourself
 

Do NOT let anyone “keep the change.”
 

Do NOT get vaccinated.
 

Do NOT stop hating.
 

Do NOT breed children into the world.
 

Do NOT stop giving others the evil eye.
 

Do NOT be optimistic.
 

Do NOT “give peace a chance.”
 

Do NOT let yourself be Affirmative-Actioned.
 

Do NOT make friends.
 

Do NOT “get with the program.”
 

Do NOT hold the door for anyone.
 

NEVER “do what is right.”
 

Do NOT follow the “10 Commandments” – those regulations are NOT for you.
 

Do NOT get in line.
 

Do NOT be a good neighbor.
 

Do NOT make others “feel good” about themselves.
 

Do NOT recycle.
 

Do NOT be compassionate.
 

Do NOT “help out.”
 

Do NOT welcome immigrants – you do NOT want anything to do with such scum.
 

Do NOT “practice non-violence.”
 

Do NOT let someone cry on your shoulder.
 

Do NOT “settle down.”

Do NOT let yourself be changed.
 

Do NOT share.
 

Do NOT “be nice” to others.
 

Do NOT “serve the Lord” – NOT that heavenly asshole.
 

Do NOT stop emotionally-abusing others.
 

Do NOT “put children first.”
 

Do NOT have empathy for anyone – you’re all that matters.
 

Do NOT “be a good sport.”
 

Do NOT vote.
 

Do NOT “celebrate diversity.”
 

Do NOT show remorse.
 

Do NOT bow your head.
 

Do NOT stop littering.
 

Do NOT “get over it” – NOT ever.
 

Do NOT give up your guns.
 

Do NOT stop "hurting the feelings" of others.
 

Do NOT be community-organized.
 

Do NOT just “love Jesus.”

Do NOT compromise on anything – compromise is for weaklings.
 

Do NOT ever trust the government.
 

Do NOT “be kind.”
 

Do NOT show respect for anything.
 

Always keep yourself APART.

GOD HATES YOUR GUTS

by Mr. Mean-Spirited

 

 



God does not love everyone, and God positively detests you.  The Good Lord wants you to suffer.  God wants you to be in pain.  God hates the sin – but even more, He despises sinners like you.

You are going to Hell, and there is not a damn thing that you can do about it.  God loathes a human who believes in Him merely to gain a chance at Heaven; those sanctimonious opportunists will be tortured in the Afterlife for all eternity.  Someone who believes in Christianity merely to gain entry into Heaven is only a fair-weather devotee. God reviles a disciple who gets down on his knees only because he wants a chance at Paradise.
 

Sure, you could beg and beseech for lenience, but the All-Powerful doesn’t listen to frauds like you.  You could try to change your ways, but God would see through such phoniness – and hate you all the more. You could do good deeds for the rest of your brief life here on Earth, but God would see the insincerity behind your motives – and make you suffer even more after death. You can give every cent you have to the poor – and you will still end up scorched and scalded in Hell, but with empty pockets.  No matter how much time you spend in church, you are never going to Heaven.

The more you pray, the more you just annoy the Almighty.  Repent all you like – but God is not going to be fooled by your performance.  God is as nauseated by your fake piety as everyone else in your life.  The more you bow your head, the more God just wants to slap the crap out of you.  The Almighty is repulsed by your supplication – and, to be honest, who wouldn’t be?

Like an insect crawling across a trouser leg, your very existence only serves to irritate the Almighty – so you’re certain to be incinerated no matter what.  You are as helpless as an ant beneath a sun-drenched magnifying glass – God wants to see your limbs jerk and twitch as the hellfire sizzles and shrivels your tendons.  You could become an atheist and you’ll certainly go to Hell; or go ahead and believe in Christ as much as you can stand, and God will send you to Hell anyway: it just doesn’t make any difference whether the ant beneath the looking-glass believes anything – the critter is still going to end up smoldering. 

You, sir, will end up in a bottomless pit and fire and brimstone – and there is no way to change such destiny.  The more misfortune you experience here in this life, the more certain that you will be tormented in the next world.  If your Maker really loved (or even liked) you, do you really think that you would have been subjected to quite so many maladies & miseries in life?  God knows what worthless asshole you really are - and there is no way to alter this fact.  There is no hope, no hope for hypocrites like you, so get used to it. There are no 72 virgins waiting for you in the Promised Land no matter what – the only thing you can expect is further torment beyond the grave.  Let’s face it, some souls just aren’t worth saving, and like a piece of underwear that has seen a few too many skid-marks, your shit-smeared personality is certain to be kicked into the fire pit. 

What?  You think that God doesn’t remember what you did in this world?  You think that God doesn’t see how disgusting you truly are?  Hell, you know you deserve it.  You are going to burn, and – deep down – you know that you have it coming.  Let me tell it to you straight: God don't give no second chances.

No grace is going to happen for you, pal.  God is already giggling about the agony He’s got in store for you.  God is already snickering about the anguish that is awaiting you.  God is already smacking his lips at the thought of your gonads sizzling on the grill.  If you ask for mercy, you’re only going to get it worse.  You can’t get on God’s good side no matter what; you’re only going to make things worse for yourself – so don’t even bother trying.  Better to stand on your feet and realize the absolute horror of salvation than to grovel and ass-lick because you are duped by optimistic feelings about the realm beyond.

God has the kind of smirk that says you are going to burn in Hell no matter what: your testacles are going to be toasted and your foreskin is going to flame.  The Good Lord wants to see you humble yourself a few more times while He gets the furnaces the right temperature for you.  You screams are going to be more delicious than any Heavenly choir.

Truth be told, God is a bit of a sadistic fuck, but what the Heavenly Father can’t tolerate are all those smug bastards who think they are going to Paradise.  Mark my words, God is going to take you down a notch or two – and those notches are going to end up in your self-righteous flesh, my friend.  God wants to see you on your knees – the Lord wants to hear you squeal.  

You are going to burn in Hell for time without end - and there is nothing you can do to change your fate.  No redemption for you, chum.

God is counting the days till you die.