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"Jim Morrison"
is hippie-related, and not groovy to The Baby Jesus.
Jim Morrison
belongs to a coven that makes satanic music
which are lullabies to the Baby Satan

I now sing of the merciless peppers of Quetzlzacatenengo

Quote open clear3 I just want to get my kicks before the whole shithouse goes up in flames. Quote close clear2
~Mr. Mojo Risin

James Douglas Morrison was an American songwriter and "poet of rock'n'roll" (as opposed to a "poet of actual poetry"). He is a high ranking member of the historical Lizard royal family.


On December 8, 1943, prophecy was finally fulfilled when J.D. Morrison slowly tore his way through the meaty flesh of his mother's uterine cavity to crawl out of her chest, using his magical lizard talons. Upon his birth, Jim began to make love to his mother's bloody, hollowed-out body (which had just gone into shock). After death and the onset of rigor mortis, he shat eggs into her hollowed chest cavity, whom hatched would later become his band, The Doors.

When Jim was young he preformed crazy stunts such as messing around with his brother and making people afraid of him. On a road trip with his family through the southwest, the Morrison's car drove by a truck full of indians which had overturned on a highway at dawn. Jim felt the soul of a dying Indian passing into him, seriously fucking him up and indirectly providing Oliver Stone with a career.

Morrison inadvertently created some of rock's most enduring classics while drunker than an Irish longshoreman. His saliva contained enough rum to stun a pirate, and his blood was roughly 100-proof.

In 1971, he was found dead in a hotel bathtub in Paris. Though suspected of homicide, Morrison's rubber duckie was never convicted of criminal offenses relating to his bubblebath overdose-induced death. The duckie claimed he would devote the rest of his life to the capture of the real killer, Mr. Bubble.

Of course, it goes without saying that Morrison is not actually dead; as any historian or hippie worth his salt will tell you, Morrison in fact faked his death and is now hiding out in Africa with 2Pac, Elvis, and Saddam's WMDs.


Today, the Lizard King is remembered for masturbating, drinking, and writing literature for white-power amputee porn publications while tripping on mushrooms (which later became is "poetry" collection). Nearly 40 years after his death, young people across the western world still like to pretend that they understand his "writing", and that occasionally smoking a joint allows them to share a very similar life experience to his entirely drug-enduced drunken blur of an existence.

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