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The Gonzo Journals

May 24th, 2023

Man, the coffee is hitting a little different this morning. It’s an overcast day in North Texas, a little cool for the end of May with random raindrops slapping the window every few seconds. I need music in my life…

Ah, there we go. My god this song takes me back and it’s even better that Ghost is covering it. Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome was one of my favorite films as a kid. I wasn’t old enough to understand what was going on in 1980’s Australia, but I knew it had an awesome soundtrack. Tina Turner kicked that ass on MTV when this film first released. Remember? Remember MTV? Yeah, me too. What happened?

I saw where the US Military is investigating yet another UFO sighting at 29 Palms in Southern California. It must be aliens, because I can’t think of any good reasons for someone born on Earth to ever visit 29 Palms. This has been such a hot topic lately but, as always, none of the reveals go anywhere interesting. The government pretends to care about working outside the box, and then they give us the same old same old swamp gas type theories I’ve heard for fifty years. The new excuse? It’s another country’s spy drone that we didn’t know anything about. Bullshit.

We know everything about everyone, same as they all know everything about us. There are no such things as secrets anymore. Wars are televised twenty-four/seven. If a military commander wants to know what his enemy is up to, all he must do is go home and watch CNN. If he still can’t figure it out, he then goes to Tik Tok for a more personal feed. Humanity is basically laying nude on a scalding hot highway for all the world to see when it comes to social media technology. As a race, we love every minute of it. It gives us the chance to be the celebrity we’re not talented enough to be.

Influencers. Is there any chance they could grow better beards? Their faces look like some shit a fourteen-year-old kid brags about around his tiny dick in a middle school locker room. New pubes. Yes, Mr. Beast’s beard looks like new pubes.

They make millions of dollars a year just by filming themselves taking a shit in an empty warehouse. They do acts of charity just for the sake of filming it. More views equal more money. If that’s not bad enough, they all have goddamn simple looking clothing lines that I could create myself on a t-shirt website for half the cost. Then, our kids watch them play fucking Minecraft for an hour like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. Step up, parents. Take those little Billy and Britney bastards to see the Grand Canyon or something. No, kids haven’t become mindless drones to technology. We, as parents, have become really fucking boring and don’t want to interact with them. Want to see them flip out? You can’t get an internet signal worth shit in the Rocky Mountains. Take them camping.

So, since we have all these talentless hack wankers running around America with cameras recording the equivalent of McDonald’s drive thru employees fucking a tree, why can’t these people use their powers for good? Why can’t they corner George Santos and kick his ass until he tells the truth? Why can’t they film the strange lights in the skies to lead us toward real answers rather than the under impressive government explanations?

Easy answer.

No one cares about being “United” anymore. Everything on the internet is a desperate cry for all of us to look at one person. Me, me, me. I’m not different, really, but I’m a fucking artist. I create actual stuff. It takes talent. I don’t just point a phone at a pigeon being devoured by a homeless man in Philadelphia with a laugh track from Seinfeld playing in the background. I’m not into “content”, or am I? Why do I write this blog daily?


If a social media influencer doesn’t create content, they lose ad money. If an artist doesn’t create art, their head will explode or they’ll off themselves in a dirty bathtub contained in a run down, half converted Brooklyn warehouse littered with piss-filled Mountain Dew bottles. Does that sound specific? It’s because I’ve actually been to those places. Nasty, horrifying hovels full of artists just trying to make a name for themselves. It’s a far cry from Tik Tok houses where everything looks like a swanky hotel full have pseudo dressed, barely legal spank fuel for middle aged men still living in their mother’s basement. There’s more butter spread across those knuckles than on the rolls at Texas Roadhouse. Guaranteed.

If we can get all the social media influencers to investigate UFO’s, there’s a chance they’ll be abducted. We would finally live in a world again where there’s no such thing as influencers, and they would get all the butt stuff they’ve ever dreamed of in return! It’s a win/win for modern society!

I’m not even sure where I’m going with this today, so I don’t exactly know how to end it. On that note, here is a nude photo of horror author Heather Miller advertising a book. No, I didn’t take the photo and I didn’t ask for permission to post it. She posted it herself to Facebook this morning and I hope she sells a shit ton of books because of it. According to Facebook, she’s a “rising creator”. That probably translates into what Zuck’s dick is doing from seeing this pic. Does anyone else ever notice that he and his wife appear as though they wish they had a John and Yoko thing going on? Yeah, they totally don’t. Nice try, though.

Wait. Where is the photo, you ask? I changed my mind. She’s a ‘Rising Creator’, after all. She should be pretty easy to find on your own, right? Google is free and in your pocket. I refuse to be the one who delivers your jack off material. Lazy fucks.

I’m going to pose naked this afternoon with the “D” volume from a 1973 Encyclopedia Brittanica. If we can make Encyclopedias relevant again, we can kill the internet and, in turn, strike a fatal blow against Mr. Beast and his face pubes. I think he’s the final boss at the end of the game. The Rear-Ender Dragon.

Peace. Blah. Fuck!


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