Aspiring world ruler Jared Mendoza Filomena Rodriguez Luther King Jr. once wrote a manifesto describing his series of misadventures on the road to power and the end of public education. Not to be taken too seriously.
Once upon a time where women had no rights, I wrote a manifesto. This is my Manifesto.
My name is Jared Mendoza Filomena Rodriguez Luther King Jr and I'm a flaming homosexual with a blowtorch fetish and it is my goal to end public education. I was born in West Virginia and my mother (who is also my sister, aunt and second cousin twice-removed) lived in a small cottage in a forest known as Moist, which is a small division of oak trees inside of a larger park known as Moister Than Moist.
My mother told me that my father had passed from the scariest disease to ever curse this planet: GonoherpasyphilAIDS. Oh, and I think he had bronchial cancer, but that's not important.
Mushrooms are fucking wack.
When I was 6, my mother ended up pushing out my sister Josephine, whom I tried to drown several times in the swampland of Moist, which is actually moister than Moister Than Moist. I suppose my sister wasn't all that bad, but sometimes her personality was dry. Not like Moist, though. More like Moister Than Moist, which I will remind you, is not moister than Moist despite being named Moister Than Moist, giving one the impression that it is, in fact, moister than Moist.
A Haiku:
Communism blows
General anxiety
Man, seriously?
When I was younger, I enjoyed traveling across the swampy terrain of Moist, and later venturing to Moister Than Moist, which even though named so, was not actually moister than Moist.
And although my father was supposedly a good man, I can't tell anyone that I am related to him or else they kick me out of whatever building I'm in - most often their homes, but on occasion, a family-owned tobacco shop. My mother is not as good as my father apparently was. She's an emotionally and financially unstable mess, but at the liquor store they call her ma'am.
Oh, say can you see by the dawn's early light; What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming? Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight, O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming? And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there, I came here to have a good time and honestly I'm feeling so attacked right now. Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?
Do you want to know why horses are incarnations of pure, unbridled hatred and evil?
This is why:
WE DIDN'T START THE FIRE IT WAS ALWAYS BURNING SINCE THE WORLD'S BEEN TURNING
Side effects may include:
Snorting
Stamping of the foot
Flicking of the tail
Neighing
Threatening letters or phone calls
Leave him, Susan. He doesn't love you.
I attended I'm Lazy So I'm Not Gonna Think Of A Name High School for two years before my mother decided to move to Alabama to get a fresh start. There, I went to the local high and ended up befriending, surprisingly, one of the most popular girls there.
She was sporty, beautiful, popular, honest, courageous, intelligent, tall, had a wonderful personality, and she had huge boobs. I mean some serious honkers. A real set of badonkers. Packin some dobonhonkeros. Massive dohoonkabhankoloos. Big old tonhongerekoogers. Humungous hungolomghnonoloughongous.
And her name?
Martin P. Stalin.
Soon our friendship blossomed into something beautiful. A close friendship. Unfortunately, in our sophomore year, she or a loved one was diagnosed with mesothelioma and was not entitled to financial compensation. The tragedy struck me like an abusive parent, hit me harder than a blunt, sank my heart deeper than the Titanic. I was left incapable of speech for days upon end.
Finally, I gathered enough courage to visit Martin in the Mesothelioma Victims Ward at the hospital. She looked broken. Despondent. Her once glorious breasts had now deflated like sad, sad balloons.
Our last conversation was one I will never forget. One that sticks out in my mind, that haunts me even to this day. I had knelt down beside of her, taking her thin and rather skeletal-looking hand in mine, and said, "Martin. My love. The cheese to my macaroni. The butter to my popcorn. The morbid obesity to my American. The syrup to my waffles. Know that I will always love you."
Her exquisitely plucked eyebrows crease. "But Jared . . . I thought you were a flaming homosexual with a blowtorch fetish whose goal it is to end public education."
Oh, yeah. I forgot about that while writing this part of the manifesto and just wanted to put in the Tumblr post about boobs.
"Forgetfulness bamboozles me again," I whisper sadly, cradling Martin in my arms as she passes to a place higher than my science instructor during EOG's.
Ye sae
fookin
precioos
when yae
💕💖✨smile ✨💖💕
After that I managed to make another friend: A German boy named Bob Woherkommstduwohinbistdugegangen. He worked at Burger King and didn't speak a word of English, but we understand each other perfectly. Observe:
"Hello," I said one day.
"FICK DICH!" He screams in response.
See? Beautiful.
On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half goes outside naked and gets arrested for public indecency? Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, In full glory reflected now shines in the stream: 'Tis the star-spangled banner! Oh long may it wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
I bet u thot this story was finally beginning to make some sort of sense
BAMBOOZLED!!!!
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