Yeah. Yeah. Yeah-fucking-Yeah. And here's me wishing for you the kind of year that only Stephen King could dream up. Short of it: I hope you all get fucked over, truly fucked over. I wish you death and disease. I wish you poverty and abuse. I wish you a joyless, Godless year. I wish you . . . well, I done wished it, ain't I.

Happy New Year, Everyone.

I love ya, Saddam Hussein! And I figure I'll be seeing ya right real soon.

Oh, yeah -- and a whole lot of preachers and priests wish you not to forget them or . . . the "sad things they did to you and yours in the name of God." -- Ya know the ones I mean, the ones who molested you, lied to you, and otherwise got over on you big-time in the name of that God whom you all so desperately believe in. Yup.

Be seeing ya, all of you!

---- The Dark Prince ---

Well, here we are at that time of year again, meaning Wednesday, December 6, and I am not at all sure what significance that day and date, the month has, carries, or contains. However, it is a day, a date, and as good a day and date as any. And, being December, this is the month when we entertain all kinds of fantasies about Christmas miracles; miracles like finding some cutie/hotie to love, like being able to get up out of the wheelchair and walk again; miracles like losing some of those extra fat pounds, a few hundred of those wrinkles, a few gray hairs; being able to lose a whole lot of those bad memories of days past, days gone bad.

Anyway, Xmas is when you turn your thoughts to . . . well, to cute, naked young girls for guys like me (I've seen a whole lot of ugly young girls naked, and you don't want to see that!) However, and not being naughty like me, you guys and gals turn your thoughts to Santa Claus, flying reindeers, and to some extraordinary little shit who was born in a manger to impoverished and ignorant intransigents. (Good call -- and to think this little shit, who may or may not have been circumcised, went on to become your Messiah. Good call. A really good call.)

But anyway, it is that time of the year. A time of the year when American boys and girls in uniform are dying in Iraq and elsewhere (That'll teach them to scorn the importance of a quality education, as well as the luck of the draw where being born into the right kinds of families {meaning those families socially and economically prominent} are concerned. John Kerry was right: John saw the elephant that everybody else wished to ignore. Good call there, John. Really good call.

Oh, and the Stardust has closed. Ah, history. Ya know, I learned more about people and life in eight months at the Stardust than I learned in 18 years worth of quality private education. Nice. Really nice. Yup. But now the Stardust is closed.

Anyway, it's that time of the year. Dreams and visions of sugarplums (like anybody dreams about a friggin sugarplum. I mean, get real!) Yup. It's that time of year again. Meaning, it's cold outside, which is hard on the homeless, as if anybody really gives a shit. (I mean, I don't, and why should I. Why should any of you? Fuck em. If we wish to help the homeless, we could bring them inside to stay with one of us for the holidays -- or we could force the lazy fucks to get jobs!) But enough about that -- I was starting to rant, starting to say things unpopular. Starting, in other words, to speak the simple truths which none wish to hear because you can't gush over the truth, like you can over thoughts of magic and Harry Potter, or old Shirley Temple moves (Boy would I have loved to see her on a porn site. Damn. She was a fucking hottie! I bet she had a little tush on her that was . . . really, pure Heaven. I bet she shit angels and pissed saints, if you sorta know what I mean. But enough about that.) Yup. And I just know little Shirley Temple's twat was all that. I just know it. Essence of pure innocence, that's how it would have smelled. God, what I wouldn't have given to sniff her twat. Essence of Perfect Childhood. What I wouldn't have given to have worshipped my God and yours at the altar of her sweet little ass. Yup, it being that time of the year and all.

And did you know this? Criss Angel doesn't fart. He doesn't. He really doesn't because I just upped and asked him the other night at his afterparty, and he said, "Nope. I never fart. Never. Nope. I'm not giving anything away! Never!" And I had to laugh at that, it being that time of the year and all, and with all the homelessness and poverty going on out there somewhere, or everywhere, or maybe nowhere, cause it's hard to know the real difference between what we're just imagining, and what we ain't imagining.

Sorry. I just sneezed. It was the nose candy. But I'm all right now. Fact, I'm splendid, which of course I should be, it being that time of the year, whatever the fuck that means. And that fucking Pope Benedict, he sure pissed all them Towelheads off didn't he? Yup. And we all got hot cause he said what he said. Fucking Pooped out Pope, right. Am I right? But it is that time of the year.

And Bush is gonna stay the course in Iraq. Can't nobody talk him out of it, not even all these new Demos, who have just been elected. Yup. It's that time of the year, all right. And it is a good, a great, a splendid time of the year! (Excuse me -- I needed to do another line. So did little Sally. You remember Sally, don't you? Charlie Brown's little friend. Sally is a hottie. Sally is a Cutie. Sally wants to know why Charlie Brown never tried to look up her skirt. I don't know what to tell our Cute Little Sally.) Anyway, I'm back now, and I'm doing fine. You're doing fine. It's all going to be fine. Afterall, it's that time of the year.

60,000,000 people die on this planet in an average year. 1.1 million of them die of AIDS. Yup. So AIDS, it don't kill as many people, as say malnutrition and unsanitary living conditions, which, the world over, kills 83% of all people between birth and their 25th year. But you all knew that, of course. Smart, well-informed shitters that you are. Yup. And like I said, it is that time of the year. Yup.

So, anyhow, I watched a death the other night. Really freaked out, having to say goodbye like that. And I thought, "Man, I didn't know her really at all. Not really. And one moment she was little and small and young and frail, and there was always tomorrow, all those tomorrows, and all that hope which goes with all that time, and I was going to get to know her better and better, was going to apologize for all the things I said but shouldn't have, and for all the things I didn't say but should have." Yup. But that's okay: It's that time of the year, still. And come January, come month's end, I leave for New York City. I wish I were going home, but I'm too old for that trip, way too old. Yup. But, still, it is that time of the year and all that.

So there are wars going on all over the globe. Starvation is like, everywhere at once. People are hurting, are . . . well, they ain't living like celluloid citizens do live, and that's terrible. That's tragic and it's sad, cause we each get just once to live. Yup. Just the once. And we never get to do it again. Not at any time of the year.

To JENNIFER, age 15 -- For the most part, none of us ever even knew you. You weren't here long enough for that. But it wasn't your fault.

Jesus Christ. Americans are fucking cowards! And the terrorists are winning: Look how easily our fear of them disrupts our lives.

Statistically, one's chance of going down in a bombed jet are minimal at best. So why is everyone getting his panties in a bunch?! I mean, let's get fucking real!

And if you believe in God, the Afterlife, and all that other juvenile bullshit, why are you so afraid to die? Because if there is a God and a Heaven, and you get bombed while you're on a plane, you're just going to a better place, your eternal reward and all that other silly shit, now ain't I right? (Yeah, right. And that brings it all home, doesn't it? Because nobody really has all that much FAITH in either a God or an Afterlife. God and Heaven are simply for talking -- but not for really and sincerely believing in.)

But let's say your plane does get bombed while you're on board, okay. So, okay. So, if your plane is bombed, then it is going to go down like a lasered elephant. And if indeed your plane does plummet to earth, going down aboard your jet will be like . . . well, like being on one helluva fantastic roller coaster ride with people all around you who are screaming and shitting and shouting -- meaning it'll be pretty like being at a Democratic National Convention, but without all the pot, and all the silly speeches about saving the environment, social responsibility, cutting taxes, racial and sexual equality, and all that other dreary and impossible to believe in nonsense which is best suited for telling young children before you put them down for a nap. That's right.

And you can be sure, if indeed you do die in a bombed jet plane, that God, once you get up there in Heaven or Nirvana or wherever the fuck else your imagine yourself going after you depart from this life, will turn that horrifying experience into the most magnificent moment in your otherwise boring and insignificant fucking life. Sure. Because God can do marvelous things like that -- or so Pentecostal preachers would have us all fucking believe. (Of course, this same preacher tried to convince me that God would cut my nuts off if I got my sister pregnant -- and I did, and HE didn't. So there!)

On the other hand, if your plane gets bombed, and then the plane doesn't immediately blow the fuck apart, and thus you don't instantly die from the shock wave, then, and once you're actually blown free from the aircraft, you're gonna be in for one helluvan experience. Imagine falling 30,000 feet without the impediment of a fricking parachute, right? Talk about thrilling. Talk about Extreme Sports!

And just imagine what it will be like, after free falling for 30,000 feet, to suddenly impact with the solid ground. Talk about a jolt to the spine, right? Splat!

Hey, imagine falling into the middle of the fucking ocean -- a splendid and like totally radical fall like that, and then you still get the full pleasure of the drowning experience. Talk about your reality tv! Fuck yeah! I'm loving it all already.

And I know all you proud but stupidly patriotic Americans are just all too glad to give your lives for your fucking country. I mean, you're sure as fuck glad to send others off to die -- so why not die yourselves? I mean, given the fact that we have a shit load more people than we have jobs, we can afford to cut down drastically on our population, particularly if we cut down on the . . . less than the most useful people.

I think we should rid our beautiful nation of the . . . well, of the less than beautiful Americans -- and there are plenty of these out there. The fat ones. The just plain ugly ones. The crippled ones. The bald, the old, the retarded, and the generally just stupid or crazy. These, the so-called Ugly Americans should be sacrificed for the good of all the rest of us, don't you rather think, America? If you haven't thought about it yet, then think about it now.

And think about this, too: If you're afraid to die, you grant your enemies great power over you. And we don't want to do that.

America, let's be proud and brave. Let's do to Iraq what we do to our girlfriends. Cause, America, you need pussy -- and you need oil. Okay. Talk to you later. Bye!

Say, America, and John Holden, have you checked out this super-blog here on Blogstream by Always There? Truly, it's the bomb. Best thing I have ever seen. Super-graphics. Check it out to see just how high the bar has been raised. Gotta go. Living with a lot of Chicks. They keep me too busy to blog. Bye, America!

P.S -- Keep your eyes pealed for that hot new book called; Nature of the Beast. It's a wild read. It's about God, the Return of the Messiah, cute young girls, and the End Of The World. It's due out in November, '06. Gotta go -- I hear success knocking! Knocking? -- It's practically tearing my front door off its hinges! I'm outta here! Jesus -- I gotta, like, go call the cops and turn Opportunity in to the poleeazze!

P.P.S -- Thanks, Blogstream! cause, like, I tried some of the ideas, like, out on you here first!

Hello, America. Hello, World. A lot of shit going on out there, huh? A lot of people think these are the End Times, but that's the way it always is: People ever eager for it all to come to an end. And for what? Once it ends, that's it, kiddies. Death is eternal. And Death is the only certainty. But you don't want to hear that.

Hot here in Vegas. All kinds of hot. We're setting one heat record after another. I don't mind: I stay indoors under the air-conditioner.

Still doing my thing here in Vegas. Still working at the Casino/Hotel (actually, I do my thing at more than one of them). Still living with The Chicks. I like my fans, love listening to them: They're a valuable cross-section of middle-class America. My fans are basically . . . the types who arrive at their decisions, their biases via their emotions rather than via their intellects. Makes their opinions rather fascinating, albeit very contradictory. But that's part of the pleasure of listening to them sound off.

A lot of violence here. And immigration is a major issue here. Most locals, including THEM PEOPLE don't want no more of THEM OTHER PEOPLE up here. Fun listening to it. I like it when the 'honest talkers' get worked up and start bashing one another. Maybe it's just the desert heat responsible for all this insanity. One of the casino/ hotels had a bomb threat. There was even a bomb threat at the airport.

Too bad none of our enemies don't have nuclear weapons. I would love to see them fall within our borders. Would love to see how we respond to it. I think the only way for us to end this insanity is for America to, and in the name of GOD here, take to go the distance with an enemy of equal throw weight. I'm kind of hoping President Bush will, and in the names of God and the New World Order, pit us against Russian and China. Yup. Love to see that one, America, World. Anyway, till that happens, I'll go on writing books, sleeping with girls. Working out. Driving around in the desert, savoring the feral beauty. Love ya, America, World. And Remember: Won't do to good to die for what you believe in -- Ya gotta get out there and kill and murder, rape and slaughter for you belief- and value-systems, if you really want anything to come of 'em. Gotta go. Gotta take a dump. Or something.

Oh, and check this out: I don't do as much comedy, anymore. Now I'm dark. People like dark. They appear to love disturbed and disturbing. Amazing. More people are willing to pay more money to see me now than before. Go figure. My fans love my . . . my take on things. My agent loves it. The people who pay me outrageously, they love me most of all, I guess.

I've send Boo-Boo Baby off on a vacation. God, remember him? He's now mean, cruel, judgmental -- the God of the Old Testament. A hard God. But my fans love and adore him, even as he's telling them he's going to blow this world to shit, while sending each and all of them to Hell for Eternity.

The Jesus Journals now detail a despicable Jesus who cared for naught save self-aggrandizement. And my fans love hearing from The Journal.

The Dark Prince is now truly Dark. And Vegas, the paying portion of Vegas, those who can afford to have their way out here on The Strip, they love the Prince, who tells them it's okay to have sick fantasies about their daughters, their neighbors (be the neighbor a male or a female), or about anyone else their care to fantasize about. Indeed, I accept it as my duty to convince everyone they should make real their fantasies. Sure. "You wanta rob? you wanta rape her, plunder her, then slit her throat? Then, listen to me, here: Doing it is mega-times more fun than jacking off while you fantasize about it. Sure! Fantasy fucks, fantasy rapes, they're fun -- and I should know: I fantasize about it all the time. Ah, but the doing of it, ladies and gentlemen. The doing of it -- therein is the real thrill of it! Yup. Take my word on it." Yeah.

You know, America, it's amazing what we can say in public and nobody does anything about it. You can talk all the hate-trash you want, and nobody does a thing about it, except for paying you more and more money. Strange, this world. But I love it! Later, Loves! (Cut someone's throat tonight and you'll feel a lot better for it! Yup!)