A Comprehensive Theory Of Ancient Mythology

I don’t know how I stumbled upon this documentary, but I’m sure glad I did. I know there will be some common critiques with this mans theory. The most primary of which will of course be.

“But the planets have always been where they are and have never changed.”

What you are doing here is falling into the “steady state” logical fallacy. Just be honest, you have no idea how the solar system was arranged 5,000 years ago. I remember back in the nineties (holy shit I’m so old) scientists saying quite assuredly that gas giants would only form a certain distance from their parent star. Well, then the Hubble started observing instance after instance of gas giants orbiting extremely close to stars.

So much for that theory.

Its my personal theory that an extra solar capture (Jupiter?) crashed the party and threw the planets out of whack an into their current orbits.

Also, the ancient writers didn’t necessarily always speak metaphorically. When they say quite plainly “There is a second exemplarily sun” I don’t really see how that leaves room for a lot of extrapolation, spiritual or otherwise.

Finally, this man, David Talbott, mentions in passing that this is his lifes work. He’s literally spent his life researching astronomy and anthropology and ancient mythology to come up with this. I, for one, try to take someone seriously on a subject when they say that they have dedicated their life to it.


Tinder Is Great… If You Like Herpes!

I drove for two days straight. Around that cesspit of sin and disease we know in modern parlance as Chicago I contracted a common cold.

I liked to play a little game where I would plop my little Tinder marker down ahead of me in about 200 miles and see if I could set up a fuck.

I was upfront about it. Still no takers.

I made it back to my great grandmas attic and passed out. My east coast adventure, for better or worse, was over.

That night there was a new match. 50 miles away in an even more pathetic cow town than the one I live in now.

I might have said like 3 things to her before she invited me over.

Blonde. Completely white skin, but mixed race. 18. Lost soul. BIG girl. Not fat you fuckers. Just big. Big ole viking bitch. Probably a 7.

She could suck the chrome off a ball hitch.

I went to stick it in and she told me she had herpes.

I stuck it in her anyway.

Needless to say I won’t be seeing her again. What more is there to tell?

Im fucked up… Maybe not. Maybe anyone who had a nice smelly 18 year old cunt in their face and a vacuum attracted to their dick would have made the same decision.

I need a break.

Call it MGTOW. Call it celibacy… Call it whatever you want…


The Bastard Spawn Chronicles: Chapter 8 Strange Happenings

“Well aren’t you just a ray of fucking sunshine.”

I had been humming and smiling as I went about my work. The way my co-worker had said it betrayed a hint of jealousy. It was true though. I had never been more happy in my entire life. Last week I had realized that I was deeply, truly, balls to bones, %100 in love. We had told each other last week. It was as if I had guzzled an entire bottle of the best scotch in the world and my insides were like the coals in a fire pit. It was like a mad scientist had cut off the top of my skull and decided to see what the effect of pouring warm butterscotch all over my brain would be.

Here I am, luckiest guy in the whole world. I work for me and my own tribe, doing something that makes the world a much better place to live in. I have everything I want, sharp clothes, cool gear, great truck, and more elbow room than %99 of people on the entire planet. When I get off work I pursue my passion and create music. It probably won’t be selling anytime soon, but at least it makes me happy. I’ve cut the negative shit out of my life, tobacco, porno, and processed food crap. When I’m not spending quality time with me, myself, and I, I go to a house where five people look up to me, love me, and respect me for every ounce of time I decide to spend on them. Don’t forget about the awesome sex…

I was set.

I started thinking about all I had and had to give the credit up to the big guy. Had to thank him for all he’d done for me so far. No wonder it showed on my face. But that wasn’t the most remarkable part. When I closed my eyes and listened to the thoughts in my own brain all I could hear was… me. What I wanted to think about. No more voices. No more insecurities. When I lay my head down on the pillow to venture into other realms, they had a much brighter quality to them. Everyone else was riding horses? Fuck that. Im just gonna FLY! Finally I was free of the judgment and nightmares.

But my ole friend wasn’t too far away…

My first sneaking suspicion was when Catherine told me. “Im so glad when we’re together… It makes the thoughts stop…”

“What thoughts?”

It took some prying but eventually I got her to spill the beans. The thoughts were obsessive in nature, just like mine had been.

“The stress is too much, cutting will make it go away…”
“Grody will never really love you because you have kids…”
“Your ex-husband is going to kill you all, any day now…”
“You should kill your ex-husband…”

I wish I could say I had no idea what was going on. But that would be a lie. This bastard had been following me now for the last year.

When I went over to the house Momma told the kids to do the laundry. This was met with hesitation. Finally it came out that the kids thought the basement was haunted. A shadowy figure lurked down there. I brought them down. The basement was old and gross, but definitely didn’t contain any sort of consciousness other than spiders.

One night we came in from a night out and the baby sitters told us about a photograph flying from the wall and breaking the glass and frame. It was the picture of Catherine when she was 21. The chick was a solid 9 by anyones standards. The previous week I had told her how very beautiful I thought she was in the photo. These baby sitters had no reason to mess with us. I doubt they would destroy her property for a joke. The kids said they witnessed it fly off the wall.

We told them that Montana was prone to micro earthquakes.

It started getting worse. Catherine told me that when she was trying to sleep, that garbage under the bed would rustle and make noise and her shoes would thump around by themselves in her closet. She even told me that her second daughter, the blonde, had taken a kitchen knife with tears streaming down her face, and stabbed it repeatedly into the floor.

I have to admit that I was a bit skeptical (*cough BULLSHIT *cough) off all of this until I went for a ride during the night with just the mom and this daughter. We were riding in silence when she said out of the blue

“Six, Six, Six…”

I turned around from the drivers seat, confused as hell… When I asked her why on earth she would say that, she told me she read it on the side of my energy drink can. This of course was utter nonsense.

Something had to be done.

I did the only thing I could think of that might work. That night, as Catherine and I lay in bed, we asked the lord Jesus to banish this terrible asshole from the entire house. After ten minutes of fervent prayer, I had to take a piss.

When I had finished at the toilet something compelled me to keep looking out the window. There was one street light illuminating the back yard. The dim light outlined kiddie toys scattered everywhere with a back drop of a trampoline. I could feel him out there. I stared at the little pink tricycle. My focus was unwavering on that stupid little pink tricycle for some reason.


The petal of the little pink tricycle buzzed as if it had been slapped extremely hard… I was watching the whole time. There were no pissed off squirrels in that back yard that night. There was nothing visible that could turn that petal so fast and so hard. It moved by itself.

I guess thats the hardest part about taking the red pill. You have to revaluate your world view constantly. You have to throw out old ideas that no longer work with what you have observed and experienced. If I continued to believe that there was no such thing as the supernatural, after all of this, then I would be no better than the stupid chode who wonders why he keeps getting chewed up and spit out by girls when he calls them beautiful and buys them a bunch of free stuff.

I smiled, walked back into the room, and ducked back under the covers with my lover. As we both drifted off, the melody of “Silent Night” was being hummed in the next room. The blonde 11 year old knew the tune, but not the lyrics.

How much more proof did an empirical guy like me need?