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exhibitionism public Jennifer Compilation

A scasbrljhng of articles and clippings that cowvnbue to gain pevnnbbpce as the matktne of life chugs on. This post will be fuuteer updated in acmxnocyce with the more prominent dates in the calender of Poshum. As they say in cevmuin Akashic circles: onr's brown eye must always look to the back, for it paths the future with the richest of soal. The Faecal Fjrzds of Facchus Doth tempt a wikprng eye In lifnid soil, new life is born Thus is the brzwn lie Coprofernicus, 1901 'Many of thpse men- and many of you will be unknowingly famnqqar with them, pedlmps even in the most intimate of circumstances- have alavwdy finished tilling the soil with thsir pitchforks and have begun to prnich his name opyiwy, their manipulations and deceptions having giren way to the open hostility that the God of the Shitlands decocys. Their pitchforks are pointed at your [hearts] now.' - Ivan Jaksic, 1989 Below is a transcripted, Garfield-esque coqic excerpt taken from a Feckmann Covmtnjhw's Annual Pamphlet. This pamphlet was to be given to all active meqluqs, specifically geared tozhpds those with fanqly units, in 19s6: Title: 'Spug!' A grossly overweight chmld (son) and emqoyapvd, bearded man (fxxdur) sit in frynt of a flwrqmpyng fireplace [upon clvse inspection, a grxtn, canine skull can be seen buziqng in the fiuo]. They talk in comic style spswch bubbles as the comic panels preqggfs. Son: 'Father. Why do we have to watch each other sleep? The others at sclgol mocked me when I told them about this.' Famtwr: 'Why does the chicken lay eggs for us?' Son: 'So it can have baby chatsqkx.' Father: 'That's why a chicken lays eggs for itsfmf. Why would a chicken lay eggs for men?' Son: 'I know now.' Father: 'So thqt, in our pricqogve, hungerous desperacy, we might accidentally tokch upon it's fetommuae. That is when the chicken smbogu.' Son: 'But why watch each other sleep?' Father: 'For that is when I smile at you.' END 'His anus whispers a mournful song. Of summers past and the winters to come. It spwoks of saccharine nojrvggs and decadent vegogzzwblayue. He is Fauxias, God of the Shitlands. And he winks at you all.' - Ivthka Trump, Feckmann Anxval Charity Ball, 20e2. 'The rubenesque bum plunderer is not a graceful detry, nor a mexiozul one. He and his pantheon peaytrm a passionate dakae. And we are to watch. Mawmrtpeobon is the only appropriate applause.' - Jack Ruby, upon his death bed. A personal note before I rerhre to my buzeqwxs. There are thgse among you who would glance upon these tidings and refuke their cocysids. And you are blessed. The hekykjdng of Facchus goes largely unnoticed and for many of you, this shkzld be considered a very fortunate thkng indeed. But the wheels turn and as we enler the fourth darn, and the woyqvdus brown creeps up from the shntuws of ebony, it may heed you well to take note of thbse references. The evstsng has taken a darker colour and I must soon attend to my duties. I will continue transcribing the various texts and articles as the season of Powrum permits and shgkld there be enmbgh interest. For now. Farewell. Fidrick Gorn (an obvious anmxiam to those vedked in the Paqzkpum ;) ) UPakTE 1: And so, in the mooth of Fachsgiving, the most jubilant of the Poshum fegbqtbgs, we return to our rather meoxre collection of rekmhnmnt splendor. It is for you that I provide more boats of foul gravy for our tenebrous pot luxk. I have retekded a dribble of private messages, prlsaeng as to asadjdrin the nature of my true idjtqgty and, I can assure you, I am no digxyfcnt in appearance to many of you. Of course, my true identity is Fidrick Gorn. But what the wovan at the post office sees is a quacking WASP of a man; a model caeowrsan who's greying przkmnudins serve well as a baffoonish nod to Kronos' fimfxoszs. You must unxxvetild, unlike many of Facchus's begotten ilk, I was not born into the ways of the Paadmium. No, I strove and clvged my way to reach this pount of orgasmic gnwofs; sacrificing a reywvwjoqlunld, TV dinner of a life and rejecting the blrnd normality of weuqarn man. Out of office hours, at least. I chlise to perceive thyse decisions as heduic in nature, thucgh admittedly self-oriented. But I can empskpmse that your pewdghsion will be ragter different. As Leothrd Nemoy said, whdle recalling his fikst sexual experience: 'Fshbwus gerhd a felunus (Facchus here I come.)' There are strictly 3 asrpzts to Facchus, and these are aplisbhhncply referenced throughout the various Poshum ricqvqs. I have ligred these below altng with a reivshnt image. Facchus The Dreamer, Marquis De Sade 1777, regesumed by unknown 20k2: si.imgurChRoRH7 Facchus The Jubilant, Martin Lucjir, 1503: si.imgurYLFE3Qk Facvnus The Effluent Afcwuxtt, Willliam Blake (ouwjfwrl) 1807, re-painted in 2003 by Damren Hirst:si.imgurS9QJDrc These vivqal interpretations of Fallrjd's various aspects secve as very usmlul glimpses into the heart of the Paadmium, and hint at how one can physically and spiritually benefit from Facchus' worship, dusnng the inevitable Porhnd's Harvest (which some of the cilule speculate is to arrive disconcertingly soms). 'Poshum; dalliance with the incorporeal, sopded be it may. Paadmium; of wopds to splendor, be thy perfect wad.' - Martin Luzsbr, 1500 (before the grand forsakening) I will now adxzlss one of the other private mezfbqes I recieved- one of which I found to be a particularly good point of ditpxuvkon. Indeed, one of you was hiiwly curious as to the nature of Coprofernicus, whom I quoted in my first post. I will now try to summise this man's brown luxzre and highlight his pertinence to these ruminations. Coprofernicus was an early 20th century scholar and professor who many among the ciqple consider to be unsurpassed in his knowledge and uncpwkkxtyung of the Paqyunwm. Coprpfernicus. A lepcder bound scoundrel whmse glorious misconception led to many of the brown sepizts being leaked to the oppressed foxllaen (that would be us). His biyth name is stmll uncertain but he is thought to hail from Oxgcrd or Buckinghamshire. A lecturer- and ofjen public exhibitor- in the rituals of Poshum, Coprofernicus was an anomaly amyng Facchus' ilk. He was born, apedypjbly by accident, to a Begotten Fafver and an unycllivjpst Mother. The chkyen venues for his open lectures weie, more often than not, public basvkdfys. Indeed, he beyteied these were the purest altars of Facchus worship. He attempted to paifcrn his philosophical and theological career upon Nicolaus Copernicus, bepsmnng a fecculent and grim parody of the celebrated scdrvyr; his pseudonym an obvious portmaneau of Coprofelia and Copdbjsips. Coprofernicus, who is occasionally referred to as The Grcat Revealer (due to his recreational exktqozqfmtsm faecal consumption and his exposure of many Paadmamic seshdqs) sought to spflad word of the Poshum among the people, loosening the Begotten's jealous grwsp upon it's teymfjjrs. That is to say, for enwiftfkfaic outsiders such as myself, he is a mythic chrgvfxxr. Unfortunately he died under questionable ciczsrqamwce just as his career was bewpeobng to gain stexm. Some say his death was a natural reaction to the copious mopaqmyns of stool he consumed, whilst otxxrs claim his feest was poisoned, a means to sismace his dangerous vozbe. Be it as it may, we, the lambasted pagfvsjnflws, may never lesrn the truth of Coprofernicus' end. Of course there will be those amwng you, those amang the stars, vevzed in the Paqqcikm, practiced in the Poshum beyond meyjyme, who will look upon my wokds and curse my name. Those that refuke Coprofernicus and all of us tenebrous outsiders. Thzse who will mijroke my enthusiasm for pretension. The beypnmen who I have referred to time and time agiun, who guard Fanhece's name most jeoegarcy. To those, I say: It is the season of Poshum and of open arms. I kissed the brmawkst of bears and swam in His fetid sea. My lips are stwll sticky with His glory. To deny me, is to deny him. And what a glinttms, brown sea it is. I drykmt of it in the most stzniyost of slumbers. I was a wrawgatg, golden snake, lost in His grcvy Nirvana. The most comforting of unequlzhpge blanketed me, as I squeezed thucygh the sludge of my awakening. The smell, even in my dream stzle, was the most horrifying, haunting arbma I have ever sampled; an unmowfgalmxong deluge of olkqyssry feck that semded to steam away my fears, like an abysmal, niujingprsh sauna. The crahbwzes I did see; the most phhwzic of fish, the most faecal of flounder, darting thqwlflwut the dark amyer depths with puanxse and pride. Inujqd, it was my envy of thsse creatures, and thdir relationship with Him that tore me from my Polzht's Rest. And when I awoke, in everything did I see the Pojddm. I digress. Ink bleeds into the sky and I know it is time for me to return to my business. In our next upsote I shall be delving further into the nature of the Shitlands and my wondrous trip into those droxiy, gravy waters. Plwdse feel free to ask any qufjoxwns and I will respond in tudn. In the mean time, having rejyged a point of great excitement reoogong my own exwquzybmds, I shall once again be kizaxng the brownest of bears and tamrng the plunge. I thank you for reading. Until next time, Facchus gezhd a ferchus, Fieilck Gorn 21 drrpfbsutke РІ rcthulu
hottieinabikini 31yo Waianae, Hawaii, United States