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Weirdos From History In Hot Water

Most data has been lost from the Postmodern Age.  What digital sources we have are fragments, unmindful p's and q's, altered instagrams, combined with the oppression of 1024-byte hyper-encryption that would take 13.6 billion light years to decode using every universal Turing maching [sic] known to have existed since 1850 AD, including every carpet loom ever devised.  Time friction eliminates the possibility of utilizing a universal Wells machine or the straddling of space time.  This is not something to scoff at, no matter what your political standings might happen to be.

Thousands of Ultra Age religious organizations have sprung up who are finding truth in Postmodern and Ancient sources.  When a small amount of truth is found, it is quickly augmented with a mash of Ancient mustard and a few sprigs of Postmodern lettuce that have been lying around, plus a smidgeon of honey from the current Ultra Age that spreads easily, like the sage advice to never trust anyone, not even fictitious characters.

When a good amalgamation is institutionalized that passes rigorous testing algorithms, a happy mix of nice ideology is achieved that is capable of winning over even the most hard-nosed pile-driving piston-arm to ruin his vertebrate for an afterlife that is never going to happen.  This is not a munch and leave situation, this is where cows come to graze on ancient grass.

Still, look, it is not always cut and dried.  In the Postmodern, there was the case of running water.  Remember that water was important to these people.  It was not readily available as it is now, easily created in infinite supply at any temperature.  In those times, they still used hot water, but devised a crude method to make it.  The water itself was put in a tank, by all accounts, and heated with a flame!  This happened INSIDE the houses of these people.


I want to repeat that, in case you did not get the impact of the statement - they heated water inside their own house all the time, 26-hours-a-day.  When the hot water was used up, new cold water was automatically replenished and heated up to a certain temperature for bathing and cleaning of dishes and clothes.

By all properties of matter and anti-matter, the postmodern home was equivalent to a standard grade tinderbox.  Their domiciles consisted of a series of pipes and wires, inside the walls.  This network provided electricity, digital bandwidth, water, and flammable gas components that were piped from remote locations.  We have reports of people eating as many as three spiders a night by shear accident, from all the space in their walls!

We knew nothing about the hot water system until we stumbled upon the following documented remark, made in the postmodern, that contains references to the hot water carriage system in more detail than any other source.  It is still unintelligible, but consider it the best source we have to understand the odd ways of pre-apocalyptic society:


...My neighbors, who are high-end narco dealers, are cutting off my hot water on purpose.  This is a gaslight plot to make me go crazy and it is working.  Whenever I get in the shower, the hot water only lasts two or three hours, and then it suddenly gets ice cold.  The hot water returns within an hour after I've left the shower!  It is only when I go in the shower that it does this, when my cat takes a shower, the water stays warm.  Admittedly, Al Gore does not use any water to bath with, he takes a spit shower, but it proves there is something fishy going on.  I can tell Al Gore doesn't like it because he grew a beard that he strokes with his paw when he is agitated.

The mobile home park that I stay at was recently acquired by either the Taliban or a Mexican drug cartel.  It could also be a radicalized Trump-grade Muslim cell straight from Syria with CIA training for all I know.  They arrived here the week of Jade Helm.  They sent me a letter that said not to drink the water, and they keep sending the same letter every week, the small print of which references Sharia Law no less than nineteen times per page.  They don't send the same-worded letter, but the exact same letter.  It is usually taped together as I often tear it up in a rage when it arrives.

They also came out and did a demonstration, where they lit the water on fire at the tap, and it burned.  The guy, a spinoff of Yosemite Sam, pointed to it and said, "you don't want that in your gut, sonny boy".  The water burned, just like the Devil would want.  I saw it or I wouldn't believe it.  The funny thing is, Emmit, my third-door neighbor, who is a hundred, says he drank it all the time and he was fine until he suddenly died.  Under cause of death the coroner wrote, in scrawling letters, "dropped dead".  No one knows what killed Emmit yet but most have a suspicion that it may have been fast living.

These jerks next door, they got mad because they murdered someone and they are always dealing drugs on the street, so I informed the law on them.  The law were angry at me about it too, and told me not to be bothering them anymore.  The cop was one of their friends from school and I could tell that he was not from this country because he has no interest in numb chucks.  He doesn't even own a pair of numb chucks!

The cop is not attractive at all.  He once told me that I should probably not be informing the police if they are murdering anyone because they might get mad and, having proven that they are violent already, decide to take it out on me as I am well known as a street-grade chump according to urban slang.  Society does not consider me a violent threat, but is mildly concerned for the damage I may do to myself.  I've owned many a set of numb chucks, or so I've read in my FBI file.

This officer is a Saint for warning me what was to come.  Now, the main bad guy next door, Arturo, was arrested for his crimes based on my testimony.  I refused the government ploy to steal my identity and send me off into forced labor, as they call it a "witness relocation program".  Yeah right.  I wasn't born yesterday.

The other bad man is Arturo's brother Mario who inherited the business, and he has all these people, drug addicts and hookers, always needling him to pull favors and front guns and drugs.  Sometimes they just ask him to hold something that is terribly illegal while they are being interviewed by police. They are always in a fix, always owing money, and he has to bail them out of a jam almost every weekend, or their bike breaks down at a pawn shop, even holiday weekends.  Because of this, he is very mean-spirited about it.

In fact, Mario has punched me in the face on 45 different occasions even before I snitched on his outfit, each time I captured the footage on video.  The cops are tired of seeing it.  They told me that if I didn't quit filming him hit me, that they were going to have to arrest me for inciting gratuitous violence.  It is a hate crime because I hate this guy for punching me every time I go on my nature walk.

Mario could not hit me anymore when he got tired of it.  I know because he came up to me one day, a few days ago, I had the camera on its tripod, lights all set, and rolling tape.  He seemed agitated, I think he just realized that he was going to have to ice one of his homeboys because the said homeboy started to do impressions of Mario that were, in a way, making fun of Mario's slow wit.  The homey is also rumored to have written a stylized "sux" under Mario's gang tag on the fence out front.  His friend Julio offered to help, but Mario declined.  I could tell Mario watched good movies by what he said in response.

"No, I have to do this, carnale," said Mario to Julio in a conversation that I recorded, "He is making fun of me, Julio.  Erasmus is making fun of me, carnale.  He is my homey.  Our mothers are third sisters.  But he shouldn't make fun like that.  It hurts my feelings.  I have to go.  This isn't your fight.  It is my fight.  I have to man up.  You stay, I will call you when it is done.  Goddamn Erasmus!  Why you make me do this?"

Oliver Closeoff, the author of the hot water
letter, in a pic taken shortly
after the letter was penned.

Mario and Erasmus made up later, when Erasmus broke down and admitted that he really looked up to Mario, that Mario was like an older brother to Erasmus.  They cried together, they promised to quit doing "the dopes", and they said that they loved each other very much.  This made me more afraid of them than ever.  Very soon, within a few hours, Mario, Erasmus, and Julio went back on drugs.  The idiot Mario never found out that I was the one who wrote sux under his name when I came to terms with the fact that he was bullying me.

"You got no snap.  You're not even worth it," Mario said to me, "Julio, punch this puto in the face."

Which was more of an insult than anything, and it did not play well on YouTube, where the comments were atrocious.  The thumbs-down button got a lot of play, and most critics think I deserve to be bullied because of the look on my face.  They said I was oblivious to what was going on and therefore deserving of punishment as a social outcast.  Can you believe the accuracy, but at the same time the heartless attitude, that was displayed there?  America is truly worse than England.  I hate to admit it.

They use radiation beams from space on my sex organs, to encourage carnal lust, to distract my attention from the road to salvation.  They send men over to take off their shirts and cut wood out behind the park.  I cannot help but watch.  It is an issue that I have wrestled with for some time, being unleashed, no doubt, by Satanic drug fiends sent to ruin my purity and disgrace my work here on earth.  They have no idea that I am special.  Like, not any idea whatsoever.  When I was told I was special, I was not told that other people may not appreciate it.  That is a gross oversight on the part of MTV and/or its affiliate advertisers.

What is the Illuminati?  Some people do not even believe in the Illuminati.  They are happy to be ignorant.  The light hurts their sheep, wool-covered eyes.  Water is an essential ingredient to human life, and hot water, as we all know, is perhaps the apex of human invention.  Sliced bread is garbage next to hot water.  Were not the Romans into bathing?  How low has society sunk when domestic terrorists are allowed to toy with the hot-water comforts that are piping the steam of republican ideals?

My congressman, David Duke, is going to get a letter from me.  Or, I'm not sure if David is a congressman or just running for congress.  He may also be in the running for a governor job too, I don't know.  He's alright.  I never heard him say anything negative about me.  He's fine with me. People try to slander him, but he seems, to me, a fairly reasonable man.  I do not agree with his white supremacy at all, I strongly oppose it, it is one thing that I will mention in my letter, but otherwise, I consider him one of the better people in the world.  He used to be my grandmother's boyfriend before he left his wives.

This erection will not distract me at all.  Thinking of Jesus does not make it go down.  Instead, I'm going to think of Judas.  That will make it go away.  They cannot fool me - I know Judas Iscariot is the go-to for chastity in the Jesus entourage.  You miserable Satanites!

I have devised a system of lighting fires underneath the trailer, directly under the bathtub, that has worked to heat the water without burning the entire structure to the ground.  A little too well, it worked.  The neighbors are now upset, and they sent men in a truck with cold water to douse me, and I did not appreciate it.  The water, being from the neighborhood, only added to the fire.

I win one, and they always find a way to ruin it for me.  I did notice that the men in the big truck with water hoses were hot, in a way that 1st and even 2nd Corinthians are not having, not to mention what the Romans have to say on the subject, according to Pastor Dunway.  The double standard is that if I were a woman, I would be encouraged to feel this way.  He explained it to me as he showed me, just exactly, how to do it.

I thought it was not a good idea because Pastor Dunway just made me want to do it even more.  I have to admit, the Devil is quite a mean son of a bitch about things like this.  My only hope is that the rapture will come before I need to take another shower.  Pastor Dunway is going to visit and teach me further how things don't fit as naturally when a man lies with a man.  He said the more I try it, the less I will be turned on by it.

I was busy building fires all day and hauling wood, now I need to get cleaned up before he arrives or he is liable to beat me silly again.  I insisted that he take charge and force Jesus inside me.  He reluctantly accepted my plea, I can tell by the look on his face, at the very end, that he is perplexed and alienated by the entire act.  His abs look like a George Foreman grill.  Satan cannot even look at Pastor Dunway's nude torso without screaming "God help me!".

But I don't even want to think about that.  I am looking for suggestions, from anyone, and I know that no one cares about me at all, and that no one is going to respond, but I am doing it to outpace the part of me that is ready to give up at any minute and just go back to being the CEO of a major corporation.  Keep in mind, Al Gore is not a smart man when he is a cat.  I will stay in touch,

Best Regards,
Oliver Closeoff


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