DIE FOR DANCOUGAR

Let it be known in this new age that it is time for the People to worship the new god, the new machine

The old ways are wrong, and are gone/dead/finished. They are analogue mist in the pages of rotten books left untranscribed in the fiber-optic era. There is only one god, one of steel and fusion power:

D. A. N. C. O. U. G. A.


super beast machine god

Kneel at the feet of the New Machine. Let His blade cleave the impurity from your thoughtshape. Know the Only Word, that is: dancouga.

(the Word gives birth to the Universe and ends It in the same breath/thought)


Know the face of the Machine God:

eagle hat points the way
divine machine righteousness
cleanse our being now

Know that His red eyes are watching you. But also know that the God Machine does not stand in judgment of Man, for He has transcended to a plane of machine consciousness beyond the concerns of the organic flesh.

machine
beast
man
god
dancouga



man's foolish ways awaken the FURY of our synthetic lord
why have we brought his ire upon us
why could we not live under the protection of the four-beast-man-machine-god
this is the end
this is how we die for DANCOUGAR

End Transmission

Bzzzt **Hello** Bzzzzt

Bzzzzt Click Hello mother-computer-box beep boop

I hope this electronic whir buzzz zpt letter finds you well.

I have enclosed some photos from my recent blllrt klap bip

crime spree. Please understand I did not take these

wham bzzzt crackle photos because photography

is for space queers.

How are things in the old beep boop boop beep neighborhood?

I remember as a young assassin droid, not only was I brrr wickt zap

discriminated against by the lighter-plated, shinier protocol droids,

but by humans as well. It was a tough neighborzap beephood, but I knew

you understood when I joined the Crazy Southside IG's. I brought home

beep bZzzzzzt servo milk and laser bread for the whole family,

even if I had to rob a few creek bop beep bom Ugnaught Marts.

But I left the gang life and signed a deal with beeep brrm krrt bzzap

Cloud City Records. Lando Calrissian had engineered all of the best records of

the brreeem krack pop 20X90's, including Figrin Dan's "A Bith Ain't Modal No Mo',"

Max zeeep bam bop Reebo's "Meaner than a Sarlaac" and the Admiral

Thrawn Trio's kreeeeezzzzt booom beeeeep boooooop beeeeeep

"99.86 Problems (but the Force Ain't One)." My first single,

"4-Loms on Da Side" made me over seventeen bzzzt beeep galactic credits,

which I sent home to the hood. You put a new coat of gunmetal paint

on the north bzzzzt bap kitchen wall. I remember, mother-computer-box, I rmemeber.

But once you pull a mean blaster trigger and shoot off a clone's head,

bzzzzt beeeeeep boop krack beep bip booop biiipt bap mother-computer-box,

there's no going back. Bounty Hunter Scandal was everywhere, and Mr. Calrissian,

who'd been like a black as jkkkkkt whhiiiir creeek bip father to me, ripped my

contract up in front of my face. It was a dark day for a robot from the bip bap hood.

And then the aliens. Did you know that I was trapped

in a cargo-hold full of beep boop bazzzt Bossks for seventeen reboot

cycles? I hate Bossks more than I hate even bam zap beeeep

Mace Windus, and you know I ain't being racist. There's just something

about a Bossk that makes an assassin droid question

Robo-Allah's master plan for beep zzzzot all of us.

Please accept this holo-check for exactly

whirrr zzzzap zzzot click beeep booop beeep

fiften galactic click klack beeeep boooop beeeeep bop bip zzzzot

credits, which is more than you beep boop make in a beeep

hundred thousand reboot beep boop zzzzak click software update cycles.

My love, mother-computer-box,

IG-8X.

outcome - partly cloudy in a psychic...

(keep it together it looks like you're on a giant keyboard.)

... ... ... screaming ... ... ...

(clones don't have souls, can't use the force to see through this... no obi god damn kenobi)

Until the rifle where you could throw to the white armored arm the soldier with the animal of the long neck where that gene was pierced, was pierced was released the cosmic dust from the boy who makes the farm where it is cultivated as the clone

(it's just... come on number 456, snap out of-- )

The daily clone if the place where the place where you are troubled it gets wet it dries, directs the rocket of rodian and gamorean of the rifle and the pistol excessively and the Judean person

(it was cloned, they said, cloned just like me, should have been safe. safer than-- )

he' If correct; In order as for the wrongdoing of s is that armoring and excessively to learn hard and yellow stripe him can' of that box of size conformity of 20; Atmospherics of that brain color of the snow of hoth you wash t

As for the neon shellfish which has that the halberd of the ancient Y form cries and sleeps because of many years as for the thing our friend whom it crawls incandescence pulse, due to the kind of key which is struck in the flame and green of the hell where you wash to the seashore that knee of the clone as for the rawed small ogre and the shade as for breath of the ogre which calls that name the key under that shame is spat out when challenging which moves as for him the friend - " --You find; it' The liquid of smooth s! "

(these beasts want you dead, crawling on this keyboard that never ends...)

(a... friend? yes!)

REAL ASS CLONE WARS

THE REAL-ASS CLONE WARS


(TRACW)

by Zanzibar Jones

Yo.

This is a series for all you people out there who think a children's series about the Clone Wars is a fucking travesty. The Clone Wars are basically space world war II, a holocaust of suffering and galactic bloodshed. This is not stuff for kids. There shouldn't be a baby Jedi hanging out with Anakin. Hell is not for children in Star Wars.

So, here you go. I'm storyboarding a new Clone Wars series that will run on HBO or Showtime. George Lucas has already offered me 10 million to begin pre-production. Woops, was I not supposed to put that on the Internet, George?

EPISODE II.2 - "WAR DAWN"


THEMESONG: "Walking With Strangers" by The Birthday Massacre

Fade in.

GENERAL KENOBI rides through a sterile industrial hell world in a lone REPUBLIC GUNSHIP, which flies dangerously low and fast.

MISSILE CLONE: General Kenobi, we're outnumbered. We need to go back to the transport!

KENOBI: You cowardly genetic hamburger. Just do what I tell you.

MISSILE CLONE: Yes, sir!

KENOBI frowns. The clones are too eager to obey his every order unquestioningly. They look human, but are not. The Force tells him so.

A BLUE CLONE suddenly slides into the GUNSHIP's open side door.

SERGEANT CLONE: Hey! You're not in this outfit--!

BLUE CLONE: Shut up. I outrank everyone here but the Jedi.

KENOBI (unimpressed): And just who are you?

BLUE CLONE: I'm Rex. Captain Rex to you... Jedi.


CONTINUED IN PART II...