Meet Superzelle. His friends call him Sturm Von Zorn. Flash floods, tornadoes, 10 cm hail. It's just knowledge raining down on you.

My name is Sturm Von Zorn. And I’m angry. I’m livid in fact. There are a lot of things on my mind, scratching around, demanding voice. Their claws are so sharp. My brain hurts. In any given moment, I can find forty-seven different things that irritate the shit out of me, all of them screaming to be heard, one not significantly more important than another… at least they don’t feel that way. But what do I know? I’m just a pathetic human.

With all this anger surging within me, I need a way to release it. I’ve tried punching babies and I’ve tried drowning kittens. I’ve even been so irrational as to try reading the bible and praying, but none of these things offer any release. I need a catharsis. I know I do. I’m desperate for one, but not for the reasons everyone else offers.

“It doesn’t do any good to be angry. Life’s too short,” my mother says time and time again. Fuck my mother. She’s a dumbass narcissist. This coming from the woman who participated in Martin Luther King civil rights marches in the 60’s and in Vietnam protests despite her own father (also a narcissistic dumbass though not so much as his wife) threatening to disown her if he ever saw her protesting a “just and necessary war”. Way to go gramps you asshole. Greatest generation my ass. My grandparents and their contemporaries are NOT amazing, resilient people. They’re conservative asstards that got this country to the fucked up brink with their war mongering, consumptive ways. A lot of them are assholes. Yes, yes. You can find sweet old men and women, but most cling to antiquated ideals and are blind conservatives who probably want to suck the shrivelled cock of Reagan’s corpse whilst listening to Bill O’Reilly and Glenn Beck (who have already serviced said cock I’m sure) jerk themselves off. But I’ll leave these things for another entry. To set the record straight, I DON’T hate old people, just the mythology that will seemingly forever envelop and coddle them. Anyways, back to you, mom. Way to fold. Fucking coward. Fucking pushover. I’m sure your revolutionary friends would be proud of your lack of interest in the issues that still (and sadly always will) ravage our society. Like father, like daughter I guess. Assholes. She claims it’s because she’d rather focus on her grand children and enjoy them. So you can terrorize them and subject them to your temper and wrathful ways if they step out of line? Seriously mom. You need to get on medications to balance your personality disorder to make the remaining 30 years of your life (if there exists the cruel and vindictive god of that book of fairy tales called the bible) tolerable for the rest of us. I’d rather spend Thanksgiving at the Hanoi Hilton than with you this year. Thanks but no thanks.

"Vell, it wery vell could be ze penis envy making you act out, herr Zorn. Yours is qvite tiny und unimposing."

“Is it doing any good being angry? What does it do for you?” asks my shrink, all logic cannons firing on full. Well, it’s helping to pay your salary, isn’t it? Wouldn’t you rather listen to me than some shallow cock or cunt rambling about how hard life is and how a skittering leaf sets off a panic attack or a piece of discarded bubble gum ignites flames of despair? I think so. I’m an easy paycheck and you’re a sounding board. I respect you and your advice and you clear me to spend another two months in civilization. Wins all around.

“You’re just a fatalist. You always think it’s a conspiracy, that bad things are going to happen,” says my best friend. You know what? You’re absolutely right… Nope. Just remembered, you’re not. Shut up the fuck up Pollyanna. Play “The Glad Game” with someone else, but not in the street. Watch out for that car! Christ deluded optimism pisses me off. Although adopting some of his optism might ease my soul a bit. For the record, I suffer from realism, not pessimism. There is a distinct difference even if the line can sometimes blur.

So here’s what I’m going to do. I’ll record my opinions on these cyber pages for all the world to see.  I’ll fire them off one by one (or maybe several at once depending on my mood and how much absinthe I’ve had to drink). Most who read will be entertained. All will be offended at some point. If you don’t like it, log off and go masturbate with baby oil and metal shavings. Thanks for tuning in. And also, thanks in advance for any attacking comments or hatemail. I love that shit. I’ll respond to even the dumbest ones if I have the time or more importantly the ambition. Oh, and preemptively, any of you fucking shitwits that send me death threats can fuck off. If your confidence is so frail that my making fun of your pathetic fucking faiths (I’m talking about you muslims, christians, mor(m)ons, scientologists, etc.) that you have to threaten my life and that of my family, then do society a favor and euthanize your homophobic selves with vodka enemas. You aren’t worth the fucking oxygen you breath. There’s an evolving newt who’s far more rational that needs it more than you do. Until next time, go fuck yourselves.

Peace,

Sturm

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