Evidence 1.1: Cunt Death Terrorists (CDT) Instruction 'Manual': Cunt War & Weaponary

NOTE: Proceeding a police raid on a suspect CDT cell, the following document was found and bagged as evidence. Most was lost in the ensuing fire and explosion, but what remains is nonetheless presented here in public interest
There are Four main types of weaponry used by CDT’s:

Here the document terminates, the remainder burnt beyond recognition.


CDT’s are not suicide bombers and do not wish to come to any harm but to continue venerating the Cunt and blessing it daily. The longer the life, the longer the service. However, they are equipped to adopt a more militant intervention.
Interventions are normally carried out with minimum risk to the general public and those not directly involved. With corporations warnings are given before force, disrupting business but leaving staff unharmed.
In places-of-worship services are repeatedly disrupted with focus on those in authority such as Priests, Ministers etc. Foam Cunts can be placed over crosses and other relics. The Cunt Spritz (constituting menstrual blood and other collected vaginal discharges) can be sprayed or thrown at Church doors or notices. Placing spritz in Holy Water is particularly effective. Toxins can be released in their funded places of residence making them uninhabitable. Churchgoers can be subjected to Cunt Flyers attached to their windshields. Sunday Schools can be interrupted by CDT’s in Cunt Suits.
Jehovah’s Witnesses are a religion particularly suppressive of women and the Cunt, forbidding oral sex and masturbation. Here, a group of female CDT’s could invade a local Kingdom Hall, exposing their cunts (the more acrobatically inclined have greater potential here), spraying the Cunt Spritz (again, the spritz is a good method of direct confrontation) and offering copies of our specially-designed magazines ‘Cunt Tower’ (featuring a Cunt logo rather than a Watchtower) and ‘Cunt Awake’ dedicated to the grand awakening and return of the Great Mother-Cunt in all its glory.
The possibilities are endless and these are just some ideas and techniques we have utilized. Other interventions can be designed depending upon the socio/political/cultural/religious influences in your locality.

The Cunt Spritz
Aforementioned, and the most passive in contact.

The Cunt Mitt
A heavy-duty glove cunt-shaped at the palm. Effective at close combat and usually coated with Cunt Secretions.

The Revulva
A ‘pistol’ Vulva that can discharge gas (usually harmless and sedative), rubber pellets (usually causing bruising or other minor injury) or lethal ammunition designed for combat. Deadly ammunition is rarely used and usually for protection. However, if a CDT points his Revulva upwards and discharges a few rounds of live ammunition the seriousness of the event should be made known to all.

There is also the Revulva Taser based on the same design carrying a small electrical charge.

The Labia Decimator
An bomb labial in design. The timer is set by manipulating the labial ‘lips’ left and right. The device is armed by depressing the ‘clitoral’ nub located at the uppermost part of the Decimator. The charge can be live explosive, biological (a agent causing a Hermaphrodite change in males is being considered and developed) or the Cunt Spritz released by a small (relatively harmless charge) en-mass. An adhesive is usually added to the Cunt Spritz mixture to ensure it coats and adheres to people and objects. This is known as the Cunt Adhesive.
These (unintellgible) weapons(?) ----- worldwide ------------- sex - 'rites'(?) ---------
occult -------------------------------------------------------------------------

BIO:
Lucius Rofocale was raised by wolves in the wilderness. Though 'rescued' and indoctrinated as Homo-Sapien he remains very feral. Lucius is an Ordained Minister of the Church of Sub-Genius and posits than self-breeding Hermaphrodites are the next evolutionary step for the human race. You can talk to him at luciusrofocale@live.com and read him at myspace.com/luciusrofocale

The Terrorist’s Meth Lab on Sesame Street

Also Published at Paraphernalia Quarterly




I’m wearing a wet suit with a scuba mask in a crowded subway
Out of breath because Big Bird just chased me six city blocks
Screaming obscenities and brandishing a sawed off shotgun
He refused to tell me how to get to Sesame Street

In the kooky subway carriage, a doomsday cult of ventriloquists without dummies
Tell knock-knock jokes
and quote Ginsberg sporadically
Emphatically poking my ribs with used vibrators,
They attempt to sell me yesterday’s lottery tickets
I politely decline their solicitations but enjoy their unique interpretations of “Howl”

Nobody in the crazy car asks me for change or identification
Not even the homeless homophobic circus clown who keeps on farting
Or even the cross-eyed mime wearing a rainbow afro wig and only one shoe

When I get out at my superfluous stop,
I meet Martha Stewart on the pitch-black platform
Her head is revolving like the “Exorcist,” and she’s dressed in a 1920’s purple polka doted bathing suit
She asks me how I am in Chinese street slang, vomits, and offers me stock tips
She tells me I should run sideways into oncoming traffic shouting korma recipes and
Quickly waves goodbye with a middle finger, dancing the “Running Man” out of the revolving door
Too-da-loo!
See ya later, alligator!

Walking out into the suicidal street lacking empathy,
I see an eclectic electronics store with a large window display of TVs
24 hour news cycles are euphonic in fast moving imagery and perfect alignment
Talking impatiently in interruptions about missing white teenagers, sports scores, and celebrity gossip
As brief crawls regarding the genocide in Congo pulsate, I try to remote control click away pedestrians
Where’s a TV guide when you need it?

Walking past an asinine alley,
I hallucinate the Tooth Fairy holding up Cookie Monster at gunpoint
Cookie Monster incoherently mutters something in a Cuban accent about:
“I ain’t got yo money, mang!”

A commotion soon ensues as Paul Wolfowitz runs down the street on all fours, nude, disoriented
He barks like a dog and bites random people; ruff! Ruff! Ruff! Ruff! Ruff! Ruff! ERRRRRRRRR!!!!!!
Foaming from the mouth,
He squeals a profanity laced tirade against the liberal commies that want to take away his
Alpaca farm full of Iraqi children chained to radiators in his basement
Whilst doing a partial handstand, he whispers like Brutus in my ear,
“Pūrṇam adaḥ pūrṇam idam
Pūrṇāt pūrṇam udacyate
Pūrṇasya pūrṇam ādāya

Pūrṇam evāvasiṣyate.”

Nearby, in front of a foreclosed on church…
Seven Hooter’s waitresses gather for their weekly support group…
Though they aren’t there for personal reasons…
It’s all about the fire hose enemas, bad coffee, and “Mattlock” reruns

A group of German tourists walk up next to me
I yell “Fick Dich” to them so they feel welcome

When they ask me where I’m going,
I tell them I’m on my way to see the Terrorist
He lives in the Meth Lab on Sesame Street
It’s between Washington, DC
And New York City
Eerily east of Essex
North of Bangkok
West of Sydney
It used to be in Caracas
But now it’s just a few blocks away
The last time I went there, I drove home at 90 miles an hour in reverse on the wrong side of the highway for seven hours straight blasting Celine Dion from my distorted radio in a constant loop
This time I’ll come back on a Segway or a rickshaw instead!

Auf Wiedersehen! So long! Goodbye!
We part and exchange hostile text messages

[woleb rorrim eht nI
eotletsim eht rednU
stimrep tuohtiw stimreH
timreK dna yggiP sM kcajraC]

Walking to the spot, I enter the goofy ghetto sponsored by Bank of America
Pompous posses of gangly gangsta rappers on every street corner have gay sex
While smoking banal blunts rolled up from Florida 2000 butterfly ballots
They spit at me and throw gold chains and urinate in my direction
I thank them and perm my hair with pepper spray
This sure isn’t Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood!

On the next street hopscotch a pack of crack smoking girl scouts
They calmly riot, throwing Molotov cocktails and
Smashing windows and pumpkins, too
I ask one named “Betsy Lou,” why the upheaval? Why the evil?
She tells me that their jobs selling cookies have been outsourced
To coarse robots controlled by girl scouts in New Dehli
Like a jellyfish,
the little bitch
kicks me in the nuts, struts, and steals my subway ticket and runs away yodeling
Flailing her arms like a windmill, but still,
I thank her and brush my teeth in the sewer
CONTRA NATURAM

I finally arrive at the Meth Lab
To get in, I have to give the password to Oscar
He’s the grouch who lives in a garbage can out front
I noisely knock on his lid, da-dada-da-da-da-da!
He pops up reeking of cheap whiskey and the perfume of an Asian hooker
He belligerently inquires (in a voice that sounds like an angry black man), “What, muthafucka?”
I tell him “Karl Rove’s Rectal Exam” (the password)
As he opens the door, I ask him why he is such a grouch
He says, “You’d be a grouch, too, if ya lived in a garbage can, bitch!”
I concur with him and walk inside backwards doing the Moonwalk

Inside, Elmo smokes a bong and collects money from a prostitute with three tits
Bert and Ernie watch “Will and Grace,” bake a quiche, and talk shit
Snuffleupagus watches snuff films and sharpens his knife
Talking about how he’s gonna cut up Big Bird and make fried chicken outta his wife
I ask a psychotic 6 year old girl sorting powder like Scarface if I can see the Terrorist

She hands me a mirror



Newamba Flamingo gets abducted by aliens a lot.