Archive for the 'Musings' Category


The Gangsta Rap Lyric Translation/Clarification Game

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To amuse myself, often times I will attempt to translate gangster and misogynist rap music lyrics into academically precise and excessively clinical language. The goal is to clarify the rapper’s intended meaning for the (imaginary) uninitiated, non-urban listener. I also engage in this word substitution game when I overhear people on the street employing urban slang or street talk¹.

Gangsta rap lyrics are immeasurably amusing to translate due to their depth of meaning and emotionally-charged content (often detailing acts of extreme physical violence and barbarous sexual assault crimes committed against women). The purpose of the game is to juxtapose the explicit savagery of the gangsta rap lyric against a sterilized and verbose restatement of the lyric’s content reworded to nullify the inflammatory tone.

As a way of contextualizing this mental activity, I pretend that I am a foreign visitor who is semi-fluent in English (but slang-ignorant). In order to comprehend what I am hearing, I must substitute a large number of the words in order to clarify the content of the gangsta rap lyric. Other times, I imagine myself as a pedantic English professor who is mentally critiquing the rapper. As the professor, I make it my duty to red-line the grammatically offending lyrics since they are an affront to all for which I stand. The professor then silently instructs the rapping dullard on the proper way that he or she should verbally express their tales of criminal exploits and women-hatred.

Below is an example of how I employ the rap music lyric word substitution/clarification technique.
The lyric below is from the Eazy-E song Still Talkin’ and is on the deceased Mr. E’s 1988 debut album, Eazy-Duz-It (the complete lyrics to Still Talkin’ and many other fine Eazy-E songs can be found here).

Psychopathic, but the hoes are attracted

Because, when I’m on hard, my dicks at least a yard

First line translation/clarification:

Despite the fact that I have a personality disorder characterized by an abnormal lack of empathy combined with strongly amoral conduct but masked by an ability to appear outwardly normal, prostitutes with little or no monetary focus find me sexually appealing.

Second line translation/clarification:

The aforementioned women find me sexually appealing for the reason that when the two tubular structures that run the length of my penis, the corpora cavernosa, become engorged with venous blood (due to a complex interaction of psychological, neural, vascular and endocrine factors occurring before and during exposure to sexually-arousing stimuli), the welling, hardening and enlargement of my penis results in an erection that measures a full three feet (thirty-six inches) in length.


¹ For instance, when I am in a bodega buying my daily lottery ticket and I overhear an urban outdoorsman request that the cashier “gimme a loosey”, I know that the gentleman is directing the store clerk to reach behind the counter and retrieve a single cigarette from a broken pack to sell him at an inflated price. Although this is an illegal act, the clerk recognizes that market forces of supply and demand in an underground economy will ultimately determine the store’s financial survival (and more importantly – his/her job security). The store clerk’s tacit agreement with the gentleman and his/her willingness to complete this illegal transaction occurs notwithstanding the minimal threat of a criminal conviction (with its attendant fines and/or period of incarceration).

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Johnny Peepers, Clay Aiken, and Jesus

Dillsnap Cogitations reader comment from bespeakme:

The funniest things about this site are the comments from people who appear to actually take this writer seriously- or – am I missing something? I mean are you folks for real? And the absolute funniest part, he affects this surreal and spiritual voice talking about Jesus and not having a job, and he blows his cover when the male element calls him a name like fuck face or ass wipe- and he starts getting all teenage testosteroney and swinging his fists around: “From the looks of your avatar, it is clear that you were stuck down the fat-headed gumshoe Cro-magnon flu.” Nonetheless, fairly entertaining. Hilarious use of the language.

Johnny Peepers is having a bit of a personality crisis as of late. This is only a problem in that he is not sure which direction to take Dillsnap Cogitations. My lifestyle has calmed down considerably and I am not doing nearly the amount of drugs that I used to (due to recent emergency room scares, extreme money woes, and lack of insurance).

I reckon that I dunno what to write about these days. Conspiracy-mongering is so 2008, and the feel-good, New-Agey tripe is even too kooky for me to discourse on with any consistency. I thought about doing vegan recipe reviews or maybe step-by-step instructional blog posts on risque´ topics like booty-bumping and auto-fellation, but I don’t want to scare away my kid readers. I even considered dedicating all future posts to my one true love, Clay Aiken, but that would make me look desperate and stalker-ish in his eyes.

I certainly plan to keep my relationship with Jesus a central focus of Dillsnap Cogitations. Were it not for his supreme sacrifice, all of humanity would be mired in a putrid bucket of sin and depravity (much like the conditions experienced by residents of New Jersey and Mississippi).

Jesus and his vengeful, sky god daddy (YWEH) have a divine plan for me. This plan includes me taking to my knees daily and mouthing pleasing words to the MOST HIGH, prostrating myself before the Lord in diligent obeyance, and ridding my mind of lusty and impure thoughts about men and women that I find sexually attractive. I will do my best to provide frequent updates with regards to the latter. Any advice or blog topic recommendations would be greatly appreciated these days.

Yours in Crisco,

Johnny Peepers


President Obama Threatened to Murder Jonas Brothers With Targeted Drone Attack

During his speech at the recent White House Correspondents’ Dinner, President Obama uttered the following words:

The Jonas Brothers are here; they’re out there somewhere. Sasha and Malia are huge fans; but boys, don’t get any ideas. Two words for you: predator drones. You will never see it coming. You think I’m joking?

It is shocking to me that the President of the United States would brazenly joke about liquidating our Nation’s greatest musical treasure. The Jonas Brothers are a gift from GOD (aka Disney) and all should cherish the sanctity of their precious lives. Their songs, especially “When You Look Me In The Eyes” and “Baby Bottle Pop Theme Song”, are revered anthems that comprise the soundtrack of the lives of countless struggling adolescents (and grown-ups like me) trying to make sense of an insane world.

One could infer from President Obama’s words that the Jonas Brothers are a loathsome band of child molesters (the First Children are both under the age of 12 and the youngest Jonas Brother is 17). Given that these men are quite obviously buggerers (their mere presence overpowering numerous gaydar installations), I seriously doubt the Jonas Brothers constitute the slightest sexual threat to females (of any age).

Mr. President, please preserve your remote-controlled instruments of wanton destruction for those more deserving than these musically-gifted choco-starfish afficionados (i.e., Muslim wedding party and funeral attendees, street market shoppers, non-combatants, women, children, and the occasional terrorist).

We Ain't After the Sweet Stank...Only the Hairy, Sweaty, Brown DANK!!!


Miller’s Tale: The Lattice of Coincidence and Cosmic Unconsciousness


More White Devil Word Games

Below is a random cell phone text message that I received:

–Fwd: Why when black folks wear their pants low white people call it saggin? Make you think huh? Spell saggin backwards [niggas] them crackers got us again misunderstood.

Evidently, the originator of the text had cracked a closely guarded word reversal technology used by Anglo-Caucasoid bigots to covertly mock their dark-skinned droopy-drawered enemy.

I got to give the message sender props though, that shit did make me think. Is the reversed spelling a mere coincidence or an intentionally employed linguistic dehumanization device aimed at African-Americans?  Well, as Wats Faller used to ax,  “One never knows, does one?”


Bukowski Was A Shit Heel and So Am I (Thank יהוה )


Although I  got mad respect for my cultural heros, I suffer no delusions about their abhorrent personal behaviors. In seems that in order to channel true genius one must engage in a persistent battle with the shadow self. Admittedly, dope fiends, drunkards, child molesters, woman beaters,  and ontological misfits have been my lifelong idols. One can embrace the artist while loathing the cretin who occupies the physical form/body chamber host.

I thank baby Jesus every day that I did not follow the intended control system child development blueprint model.  My parental handlers worked tirelessly to imprint their authoritarian dictatorship model on my head space clay.  The organized religion guilt mafia tried they hardest to lay the mythical/solar godman/redeemed savior trip on me. The state worked in endless shifts to manufacture the unquestioning obedient  Über-child citizen with forced allegiance to the flag, a hand over the heart, and a meaningless recital of jingoistic nationalism gutter poetry. Nice try fuckers and a better luck next go round.

Integrating the shadow requires that one acknowledges and embraces the dark side of the  human experience. Evil, hate, envy, chaos, disintegration, and moral discombobulation are a necessary experience in the roller coaster ride known as life. The ejaculatory advocate of the perpetual pure heart, the effusive light warrioress/warrior, and the grinning mug eternal optimist have got something to hide. Refusing to embark on a periodic dark night of the soul journey is a form of self-sabotage that may result in maniacal blood-soaked violence at the most inopportune time.

Here is Charles Bukowski at his absolute worst.


Spare Parts

Dillsnap Cogs is a bullhorn accompanying the author on his journey into the netherworld. The unfolding scene (the crumbling macro consensus reality paradigm) has reached a cerebral baking fever pitch – one that I refuse to believe is solely indicative of one man’s schizoid detachment. Believe it or not, the whole friggen’ World is going mad. The cats I have spoken with, and info gathered, indicates that I am not the only chap on an “inebriated stroll with my eyelids propped open at half-mast.”

The logicians, the rationalists, and the scientific-reductionist-nuts-and-bolts-materialist mafioso are the modern day Ptolemists. Divinatory charlatans, police sirens, and Reebok wearing hustlers color my days. Our experience is populated by the ocular/auditory buffet table that we belly up to each and every waking moment. What if one rejected the pre-selected sensory bombardment in exchange for a truly unique offering – true mind anarchy?

Belief systems are truly a pernicious beast. The dominative control system has two equally loathsome heads –  politics and religion (Imagine?). Mores, value systems, ethics, and nationalistic identities are forced upon human blank slates during the youthful formative years – when one does not have the luxury of accessing critical reasoning faculties necessary to cut through the mindfuck bullshit.

The geopolitical nuke family that one is arbitrarily thrust into defines that individual’s idealogical framework. Cutting the straps on the backpack filled with one’s collection of  remotely imprinted neural garbage could (might/should/hopefully) have a liberating effect.  But then again, one might lose friends, family, and a tenuous hold on pseudo-reality. Maybe that is a good thing.


Coitus Reservatus

coitusCoitus Reservatus – Latin for jizz preservation during a gut pummeling expedition.

I dunno who came up with the idea, but to each his own. Muthafuckas get their kicks (or don’t) in a myriad of ways it seems. I know the chicks probably dig the Gordon Sumner-esque lothario who can generate multiple O’s with his Tantric sex magick shenanigans, but I got to trigger the Mount Dicksuvius white lava flow in order to call it a successful night.

from Wikipedia:

The primary purpose of karezza (seed denial) is the maintenance, and indeed, intensification of desire and enjoyment of sexual pleasure within the context of long-term relationships. According to Dr. Stockham, it takes from two weeks to a month for the body to recover from ejaculation …”Unless procreation is desired, let the final propagative orgasm be entirely avoided”. If ejaculation is experienced more frequently, the effect is to ‘drain the basin’ before it has been replenished. This, in turn, induces feelings of irritation and rejection of the lover, as the body seeks to prevent further ejaculation.

There are some who believe there are negative effects to the practice as follows: coitus reservatus is not a reliable form of preventing STDs, as the penis leaks pre-cum, which may contain all of the same infectious viral particles and bacteria as semen. The method is also unreliable because of the difficulty of controlling ejaculation beyond the point of no return in over-reaching the orgasm. HEL231984Another difficulty of this method as a form of birth-control is that if the man begins to nut (before ejaculation proper begins), the muscles can tense tightly in the lower body, such as legs and buttocks, causing the removal of the penis to be difficult. This could cause some ejaculate to enter his partner.

The Oneida Community, founded in the nineteenth century by John Humphrey Noyes, experimented with coitus reservatus which was then called male continence in a religiously Christian Communist environment. The experiment lasted for about a quarter of a century and then Noyes went on to create Oneida silverware and establish the Oneida Silver Co.



According to B. Z. Goldberg, writing in The Sacred Fire, for the Jews “…the intentional loss of semen is an unpardonable sin.”

Prince Aly Khan, former vice president of the U.N. General Assembly representing Pakistan, married Rita Hayworth and was nicknamed “Santa Claus”, perhaps by Orson Welles, because he only came once a year.


Draw Your Brakes Brother, I Just Can’t Take It


Belief is the death of intelligence. As soon as one believes a doctrine of any sort, or assumes certitude, one stops thinking about that aspect of existence. The more certitude one assumes, the less there is left to think about, and a person sure of everything would never have any need to think at anything any might be considered clinically dead under current medical standards, where the absence of brain activity is taken to mean that life has ended. ~ Robert Anton Wilson

mediaA brief foray into the daily MainStreamMedia™ house of horrors is always good for a jolting psyche shock these days. Life, as presented by the consensus trance script writers, is a precarious tight-rope walk – one where we are always mere inches away from the snapping croc jaws below us. Innundated with the ever-looming danger of war, rumors of war, economic collapse, escalating crime (pick your own worst fear, nightmare, or schizoid break catalyst), our boats are moored in the waters of psychological turbulence.

Our handlers know that a fractured, fear-injected, rudderless society is one that is easier to manage. The illuminated brethren from the Frankfurt School, the Tavistock Institute, and their U.S. psychopathic intelligence equivalents (OSS/CIA Octopus derivatives) have perfected the Pavlovian human behavior cage – one that is wired with the not so random electric shock (’29 market crash, the Holocaust, Hiroshima/Nagasaki, and 9-11). With the ignorant masses in a state of disjointed chaos, a consensus is less likely to emerge as to whose necks should be destined for the guillotine.

I can hear Joe 6-pack in the background proclaim, “Wait a minute bub, we live in a free society, enjoy the constitutional guarantees of a free press and free speech, and our forefathers busted their arse on a liberation document known as the U.S. Constitution. Kiss it you left-wing, cry-baby, bed-wetting, twill chomper.” To this imaginary fellow I say, one man’s illusory unbounded plateau is another man’s concretized psychological prison. In the end, it is only a matter of perception.

holoAccording to quantum physicist David Bohm, our thoughts are like circular motions of energy that become a repetitious pattern forming our beliefs. This explains why our attitudes and belief systems tend to become resistant to change. The continuing effect of these vortices tends to inhibit discernment and our ability to assimilate new ideas and information streams. As Michael Talbot, author of The Holographic Universe makes clear, this “can cause us to become repetitious, create blockages in the creative flow of our consciousness, keep us from seeing the wholeness of ourselves, and make us feel disconnected from our species.”

Either you create your own “reality tunnel”, or you are forced to endure the perpetual chaos (or insufferable boredom) of another’s existence construct. A cursory review of the average bloke or sheila’s lifestyle evidences a pattern of fixed rigidity and quiet desperation. With the mountains of bills, the crying babes, and the one-upmanship contest with the Joneses in the battle of material acquisition, who has time to fine tune the inner self?

transhumanCurrently, we are experiencing an exponentially progressive rate of mechanized human advancement technologies, which threaten consciousness exploration. Life extension through artificial organ transplant, transhumanism, and pharmacologically induced pain avoidance (emotion suppression) will ultimately yield an inorganic being, divorced from a sense of oneness with the universe.

It is now very clear that techniques of machine-human interfacing, pharmacology of the synthetic variety, all kinds of manipulative techniques, all kinds of data storage, imaging and retrieval techniques– all of this is coalescing toward the potential of a truly demonic or angelic kind of self-imaging of our culture… And the people who are on the demonic side are fully aware of this and hurrying full-tilt forward with their plans to capture everyone as a 100% believing consumer inside some kind of a beige furnished fascism that won’t even raise a ripple. ~ Terence Mckenna

The impending global consciousness shift activation date of 2012 is the sign marker alerting humanity to the upcoming fork in the road. Will the debilitating inertia of our self-doubting hive mentality sabotage the road to self-discovery? Or better yet, will a critical mass of enlightened post-Modern eschaton surfers activate the Cosmic Trigger paving the way for the rest? Hopefully our fellow travelers in the near future will reject the soul-negating escapism offerings (soma pharmaceuticals, virtual reality, materialist reductionism), embrace mind-quieting techniques, and plug into the universal consciousness surge protector.


Dillsnap Cogitations One Year Anniversary

one-year-oldDillsnap Cogitations is one year old. I would like to thank all of the wonderful people that have taken the time to visit this corner of the Internets. I especially appreciate all of the good folks who have left comments and words of encouragement. Also, a special shout out to the Human Barrier Deconstruction contributors who generously gave their time and effort for my project.

My therapist was the one who recommended that I keep a blog journal to keep track of my thoughts and feelings. At the time, I was going through a tumultuous period of great personal upheaval and needed a vehicle to vent my frustrations.

Here is an excerpt from my initial post:

I would like to introduce myself. My name is Johnnypeepers and I put up with absolutely no (zero) bullshit – none.

I have managed to remain on “the outs” through years of psychiatric treatment and a mountain of pills. I have no compunction with eradicating the world of one less gutter-punk with a death wish.

That being said, I do not want to give the impression that I am a hardass. I tend to gravitate towards a variety of unrelated topics depending on the number of pills, Wild-Turkey triples, or crank lines that I have ingested. Make no mistake though, the chemicals have no bearing on the truth that I disseminate. Rather, they drive my points home harder in my brain when I type them.

Feel free to tell your buddies about JP, especially if they are of the female persuasion. Johnny spent a lot of time staring at pastel covered cinder-blocks and could use a little girlie interaction. 99% of the broads I hit up on Craiglist’s personal ads end up being twill-chompers aiming to impale my brown-eye. Nothing against the fruits, I just ain’t looking to relive the glory nights of non-consensual institutional coupling with 315 lb. sweaty broke-back uncut bears. Besides, I am still going through a new set of undies every week due to my inconvenient crimson drawer blotting. Enough of that shit – I know I ain’t gonna land no honeys galavanting down that memory lane.

Peace Out!

In the past year, the blog and my treatment progress have contributed greatly to moving me in the direction of a productive member of society. I look forward to many more posts and friendly exchanges with fellow friends and bloggers.
Johnny Peepers 🙂

Johnny Peepers

----> is a socio-pathetic degenerate with a penchant for cheap booze, ruphy-laden broads, and dim sum soup.


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