Grendel, relentlessly crushed by the moronic fist of God. (click for full size)
All through the decades of my life, through all the struggles to achieve my work, at every point of hope and expectation, the same constant block to my ambitions: THE DEAD HAND OF GOD!
Is it the thrice accursed God of Abraham that evinces such cruel and despicable malice? If not he then who else? Who else has such obscene power? I prefer an atheistic position, yet I find myself compelled to grant the possibility of his existence for no other reason than to explain the incessant denial of all that I have made and all that I wish to do that requires another person.
Certainly a "Celestial Architect" would have such power at his disposal, yet why would any such omnipotent, transcendent being pursue this small-minded, corrupt, petty and moronic line? How could the success of my work possibly upset the plans of "Almighty God"? I can only deduce that the "Loving Father" is actually a demented, retarded, idiot-god with all the understanding, wisdom and long-term vision of spoilt, 3 year old child.
How could such a pitiful, defective being possibly create the Universe? Beats me! Maybe universes are easier to create than we think, so easy in fact that even a cretin can do it. It sucks to be us though, stuck in the mind of a despicable fool with no way out.
Don't think I will forgive this. Don't think I will forget.
I pledge my goal to destroy that contemptible vandal in the most brutal and complete manner possible the moment I find myself with the power to do so.
Be afraid arsehole, for I come for you!
Grendel vows revenge. (click for full size)
Fuck you God! You piece of shit!
You would not let me do my bit.
A simple job, well planned ahead,
But you intrude and stop me dead.
I don't see how it brings you glee,
To frustrate no 'count ants like me.
How is it fun? That pissant stunt.
You interfering, cheap-arsed cunt!
You're the one with all the sway,
I cannot beat you come what may.
And yet you revel in your fame,
As if you had not rigged the game.
You're not some great and wond'rous creature,
Not a wise and helpful teacher.
Just an overpowered turd;
You're short on wit and short on word.
But just you wait, you puffed up fool,
Til I complete your painful school.
When I get back all that is mine,
We'll see with whom the stars align.
I'll break your stupid grin alright,
And thrust you through the door of night.
There'll be no mercy for an odd,
Retarded, spastic, half-wit god.
Fuck you!
(To Melita)