A simple formula for how to fuck the police

1) The police are everywhere present because they are everywhere disguised.
2) If the police function to manage disorder and are present everywhere, then so too is disorder.
3) In order to expose the police when they are disguised, disorder can be maximized. Those who respond attempting to put things back in their place are the police.
4) When the police are in the open, but disorder is disguised, disorder has the upper hand.
5) In order to implicate myself as a force in opposition to the police, I side with disorder, and I elaborate the political techniques of scamming, fraud, theft, property destruction, violence, laziness, and anonymity.

taken from "Enemies we know", the Institute for experimental freedom, www.politicsisnotabanana.com

Of Man and Manta



Back in the apartment she washed convulsively and in full view, as though her body had been soiled by flying blood. "Do you understand, now?" she asked as she toweled arms and breasts and donned a new bathrobe.
He stripped and washed, knowing that she would find him contaminated if he did not. "Why you have not eaten meat or eggs in several months? No," he said, giving her a chance to explain it herself. She needed a case to argue before she could settle down.
"If we can do this to our animals today, what will we be doing to ourselves tomorrow?" she demanded. Her voice was bitter, her eyes becoming red. "Don't you see how close we are already? This whole district—one mass of hutches for people, tier upon tier, each one fed by piped-in pellets called groceries and cleaned by communally flushing toilets. Every mind distracted by standard-formula canned entertainment that someone has programmed so there won't be too much fuss. They have to give tranquilizing drugs to the chickens so they won't turn to cannibalism when they get too crowded in their dark unnatural habitat—and we have drugs too, don't we, so we can stand it all alittle longer."
She walked jerkily to the kitchenette and brought out a quart bottle of gin. "Come, deaden your mind with me,"she invited, pouring two four-ounce portions.
"It is no kinder in nature," Subble pointed out. "What man does in the effort to feed himself is only a more disciplined extension of—"
"I know," she exclaimed. "I know, I know! It's absolutely logical, this terrible cruelty. So we have to starve the little calves of iron so their meat will be white, and force naturally cleanly pigs to wallow in filth to save a few pennies. There's reason to it all—but where is the heart in it? Isn't there some better way than this?"
"Emotionalism doesn't help."
"As chickens to the slaughter," she declaimed, brandishing her empty glass, "so mankind to the Bomb! I'm ready! Just water me and breed me and pluck me and—"
"If it is any consolation, I understand that intensive farming is on the decline," Subble said, disturbed by her attitude. "The need to rework the programs is evidence of that. Synthetics are more efficient."
"It doesn't matter," she said, collapsing into despair. "I still can't stand to be a member of a species that brutalizes this way. Veg is right. I'm an—an omnivore."
"All of us must be what we are—and it is not entirely evil. There are redemptions, even glories. You know that."
"My mind, not my heart," she said, sipping at another glass. "Ignorance is not bliss."

Borf is picking their nose



Borf is not caught. Borf is many. Borf is none. Borf is waiting for you in your car. Borf is in your pockets. Borf is running through your veins. Borf is naive. Borf is good for your liver. Borf is controlling your thoughts. Borf is everywhere. Borf is the war on boredom. Borf annihilates. Borf hates school. Borf is a four letter word for joy. Borf is quickly losing patience. Borf yells in the library. Borf eats pieces of shit like you for breakfast. Borf is digging a hole to China. Borf is bad at graffiti. Borf is ephemeral. Borf is invincible. Borf. Borf ruins everything. Borf runs near the swimming pool. Borf keeps it real. Borf writes you love letters. Ol’ Dirty Bastard is Borf. Borf knows everything. Borf is in the water. Borf doesn’t sleep. Borf systematically attacks the infrastructure of the totality. Borf is a foulmouth. Borf eats your homework. Borf brings you home for dinner. Borf is the dirt under your fingernails. Borf is the song that never ends. Borf gets down. Borf gets up. Borf is your baby. Borf is neither. Borf is good for your heart, the more you eat the more you. Borf is. Borf knows. Borf destroys. Borf is immortal. Borf pulls fire alarms. Borf scuffs the gym floor. Borf is looking through your mom’s purse. Borf is M. Borf is the size of Alaska. Borf likes pizza. Borf is in general. Borf is X. Borf ain’t nothin’ to fuck with. Borf runs it. Borf has reflexes like a cat. Borf is immortal. Borf sticks gum under the desk. Borf is omnipotent. Borf is flawed. Borf is winning.

Enter the Vomitorium

Below I have embedded a zine version of some of my favourite words and images that may or may not have appeared as posts here.
I did it mainly because I've fallen in love with zines and wanted to try it out, but also because I wanted to remix some of the stuff I put here.
As always, no permission was asked. Everything was shamelessly expropriated.
You can read the zine online in its embedded form or in scribd.com itself or you can download it and do dirty things to it in your own time using the link below.
Be warned, it may cause blindness and explosive diarrhoea.

anorthodox_01