Random Political Post



We at Pearl River Flow do not endorse the "Political Blog" as such. However, we have been informed that many of them are wildly popular and make money, so then we decided to read several of them. They are essentially meaningless wordpiles, so we decided to make our own POLITICAL BLOG by running words and phrases from Pearl River Flow political posts and regular political posts through a word randomizer and then adding punctuation and putting it into paragraphs. We present:


President Trump and Putin shouts Trump in politics to an industry breach. About, there is kayfabe. Change this! The shouts, low. Seem to there are there. Environmentalists remain concerned. Scientist the two leaders. It before the noise. The religious ideas have been leaders, and conversation a decade.

Come and be close to global extinction, he is one of the Overlords.

He is a out translator, hail Climate, we're arena from the dimensions. He was Tuesday. Henry Kissinger. Environmental Protection Agency, a traditional political scientist. Summit his cracking religious reptilian type.

Faces would help.

Great extinction. Warming. A crowd meeting.

The bars of our cell become visible. He is sticking with it. Paris.

Involved in science to make press release ghastly, announcing two seconds that have in the through Global spectacle.

Germany joined with he by his priest, that extinction event involved in politics, politics, rolling administration, Global Warming, that Apocalypse over.

That he, his hollow accords, around the base, a scientist, lich-forms, Trump.

National interests, in The End of all Life On Earth.

Cameras, Putin, the sidelines, joined by longer Hillary Clinton, a constellation, extinction event, cries legal Human Being. Invented mention confirmed, now wire second Trump.

Climate Change with the had previously other candidates. Putin confirmed. For conversation, not of venom, stretching, extending her air sack, and Press secretary Sean Spicer confirmed Trump and Putin - Holocaust, great extinction, warming the thrumming thin skin, Group of 20.

Extinction as it is not an earlier you, gone without in, according to Steve Bannon. 

He held these like there for nightmares, everything possible, persona, global extinction, political mind, apocalypse, FOX NEWS.

The agency, roughly an hour.

They all know Overlord Obama.

Dissonant working Brietbart.

Two national security protocols, major countries, that with candidate Clinton, seen two countries, in case now Donald Trump.

Politics is a lot like professional wrestling, Russian holocaust, also seems mingling before the, through the, ether.

Need toxicologist, the Bible literally, Vladimir Putin by the reports, skull own, informal talk Trump, Russian leader.

Paris Accords.

Death calls from the abyss and begins to haul us to our doom.

Nomination. Extinction level event.

Debate the EPA, bubbling wreck, professional wrestling. 

Dark Order bounces to glamour and but of stage. 

Global Warming animated is a Dark Order on both candidates as a Paris of the Climate Change. Stretched White House of the so what, President Trump and experience more may read have Paris Accords.

Were quoted from which he, Dick Cheney, global extinction, getting to close ties at my life, release his “Tax Returns," plasticized flesh, the blooded, his will that Donald Trump, a recap, in ways each other, and asks nice to the noted, are and cannot.

Tax Returns, wrestling month, and was not membrane between the cry, both of extinction level event, be doing of that Trump, before rubberized He sees this. Trump spoke. Bow down. Known for Elon Musk. 

I about and that is got.


The Pearl River Flow Show Rider

An example of a good Pearl River Flow "Green" Room setup. 

An example of a good Pearl River Flow "Green" Room setup. 

Since discovering that performers often can demand things for their services, our editor and employer FPJEROME has begun doing this, resulting in a minimum rider that most venues who plan to accommodate “Mr. Pearl River Flow” should have no trouble meeting.

6 cans beer: 32 oz. Something nice, like Camo or Miller High Life

3 cans gasoline (empty)

1 bottle (750ml) Heaven Hill Bourbon

1 bottle (750ml) Thousand Pipers Scotch

1 bottle (750ml) Homemade moonshine

2 dozen empty mussel shells, dirty (FPJEROME does his own mussel shell cleaning)

1 whole catfish (live)

6 abandoned shoes

1 bottle Louisiana hot sauce, more than half empty, with ample crust in the bottle neck

1 paper sack (damp) filled with old fruit

6 bottles with unidentified liquids still in the bottom

1 gallon water (on floor)

10-15 rags (unclean)

Tin cup, hubcab, old tire (x1)

An animal skull (any size)


Raccoon (live, not caged)

Pile of dirty clothes

Wood, any sort (large)

Trash, in a 2-3 foot tall pile

- Thanks for getting the word out, interns. You're all fired.


Fear, Loathing, and David Brooks


I had David Brooks somewhere around Pickens when the drugs began to take hold. He was saying something about salami just as he remembered that I’d wooshed him onto an airplane and told him he was driving toward a taco shop in Queens.

Brooks had been heading toward Jackson the entire time and now he knew what was up. He began screaming about hard working riverboats and mint julep mustaches, eyes wide with a New Yorkers vision of William Faulkner.

“Goddamnit, Brooks!” I shouted, throwing a salt shaker of cocaine in his face. “Look! Look at this travesty!” I was shaking a picture of Joseph Stalin in his face and gambling that Brooks didn’t know what William Faulkner looked like.

“STALIN?” David Brooks asked. He was asking the car as much as he was talking to me, and I grabbed the center console, flapping it up and down like a jaw, as though the Oldsmobile itself were speaking to him.

“David, they’ve put statues of this man all over Jackson Mississippi!” I said, trying to sound like a car.

“I’m pretty sure those are of William Faulkner.” He said in a brief moment of clarity before I slapped him across the face with cured meat.

“Soppressata!” He cried, and I assumed he was right about the goddamn tube of pork.

“Bullshit! They’re of Joseph Stalin!” I shouted. “And Jackson has monuments to Stalin all over the city!”

“They fired all the copy editors! None now know truth!” David Brooks shrieked, hands pumping into the air as he lost control of the 98 Oldsmobile Intrigue.

The photographic “evidence” had lit the fire in the New York pundit. He reminded me now of the unstoppable columnist who I’d bamboozled, the one who met every challenging intern and flabbergasted deli goer with withering abrogation.

“I’m doing this for you! You, working car!” He said, petting the console. Relativity was in effect, the past few minutes had gotten us into Jackson, our tiny exchange taking place at a hundred and twenty miles an hour, every thirty seconds he was going a mile and my perception of the distance curled up over my head into space, the city becoming a concrete egg around us with flickering stars high in the sky, David Brooks screaming at the airline pilots.

“You’re fools! Real fools! You ask your bosses to pay you when your work is it’s own reward! You matter! If you didn’t do what you do, someone would notice! Someone would notice!”

I grabbed the wheel and spun us out, smoking tires coming to rest near an apocalyptically lit Applebees. Neon lines dragged across the hood of the Oldsmobile, electric red on baby blue, the award-winning columnist for the New York Times crying in the driver’s seat as I began to pull the briefcase away from him.

The briefcase contained two bags of grass, one fake press pass from PBS NewsHour, 75 pellets of mescaline, a Sidney Award that was supposed to go to Mike Pence, five sheets of high blotter acid, and a real press pass from PBS NewsHour. Moments ago it had contained a salt shaker full of cocaine, but I’d missed and now it was gone.

“They have real values!” He screamed as I wrapped my fingers around his throat. “Applebees is a common workhouse, the place where real America is… isss.”

I squeezed harder, veins in my forearms bulging as I tried to get him to shut up before he claimed an Applebees as American, human, or real. I knew that it was none of those things.

“Stop it!” A voice came from across the parking lot, he was wearing shirt sleeves and pants that seemed to blend into the night.

“Zuckerberg. Mark Fucking Zuckerberg.” I dropped Brooks to the ground. “He can’t prepare them. No one can prepare them.”

“I’ve been in the midwest all day.” Zuckerberg said, casting his gaze toward the sky. It was the color of blood, with clouds like fat bruises leaking toward the horizon.

“Zuck. No.” I said, grabbing my PBS NewsHour press pass from the briefcase.

“I’ve seen what the humans do. What they believe. What they say and see.” He stopped, fists clenching and loosening knuckles white with a hint of something else beneath the skin.

“They don’t understand. You see what happened when you told them the truth.” I indicated the spasming form of David Brooks. “For fuck’s sake, Zuck, look at what you did to the Dilbert guy.”

“THERE IS NO ANSWER TO THE CUBE. I have seen what they EAT, Jerome, I have seen what they do to the cattle and the grass in Iowa.”

It was then I knew that I could flee and live, or send this, my last message. I hope it reaches you in time.


Do Not Forget The Babble

Yes, our companion podcast, The Babble, is still kicking. This week we've got music by Josh Taylor, messages from our sponsors, and a brief discussion of how Pearl River Flow kinda sucks. 

Subscribe on Google Play, iTunes, Stitcher, and locally, Satchel (but they don't have a way to link)

Of course, just following me on YouTube will result in delightful, if weird, videos, including CATS, trash-finding videos, 25 minute videos of IMMOBILE GARBAGE or MOVING TRAINS, PLUS the podcasts, so hey - that's an option, people.

In Which I Review 10 Games that Might Not Exist

Grab some campground flavored Game Piss Game Fuel for Piss Gamers, the official energy drink of this metal fucking pipe.

Grab some campground flavored Game Piss Game Fuel for Piss Gamers, the official energy drink of this metal fucking pipe.

As some of you know, I sometimes review video games, usually ones that have been out for decades. Today, I will take a look at games that could, but should not, exist.

Piss VR Extreme

The notes claim that there are “37 levels of urination fun!” This is compatible with VR headsets in a move that could be described as “ill-advised,” were I not confident that someone intentionally advised the developers of this game solely to cause people to urinate on themselves in public.

Steam Greenlight Early Access 23.99

Punch Fucker 3D 2 - Puncher and Fuckererer

The followup to the browser game Punch Fucker 2D is as poorly titled as it is executed. This is a F2P game, following new characters not featured in Punch Fucker 2D - namely, Punch Manguy and Fist Mandrill, who are pallet swaps of Dude Gunbro and Bro Gundude from either Gears of War or the original Punch Fucker 2D, I honestly can’t remember.


While Punch Fucker 3D 2 - Puncher and Fuckererer is billed as “Free to Play,” every element of the procedurally created open world is entirely dependent on the microtransactions and DLC that you own. While things such as “walls,” “floors,” and “butt punches” and “gunfuckers” can be earned for free through 1, 2, 3, and 5 thousand hours of gameplay respectively, enemies, objects in the world, power ups, and ammunition are all quite expensive purchases.

Steam Greenlight Early Access (Free-ish)

Manspread Arcade 3

I don’t know what to say about Manspread Arcade 3 that the game copy has not already made exceedingly clear. I did, however, correct the numerous misspellings and grammatical errors.

"Spread ‘em! Take your manspreading game from the subway to the bus, from restaurants to bars, earning points by how many people you piss off! Build your snowflake meter to unlock special ball-dropping combos!"

Steam Greenlight Early Access (5.99)

Megasoftwarez Brisket Chef Indie Restaurant Simulator 2: Health Inspection Special Inspector Unit

At first, the low-fi black-and-white indie game graphics were distracting, and the oversized terminal text made little sense in this mostly-text-based game that had me reading thousands upon thousands of pages of text a few words at a time. However, once I got past the presentation, the focus on the bleak existence of the health department’s special victims unit was more than enough to make me stop playing, especially after I heard news that Megasoftwarez was using this game to train health inspector units in shutting down my favorite shady restaurants. Once I put in 300 hours, however, the charm of the thing gave way to the horrifying descriptions of health department violations, especially their 300 word scenario involving “rat king soup a’la king.”

Steam Greenlight Early Access (19.99)

700x Anime Tiddies Dating Sim

This anime dating “sim” claims that “350 anime babes and over 700 anime tiddies will all compete for your attention,” and while that is most certainly true, the artwork - every fame of which consists entirely of childish, nightmarishly proportioned oversexualized girls, is probably illegally gratuitous. I asked around and found out that one viewing of the character “schoolgirl fuckcat” sent Rob Liefeld into a fit of laughter, until it was pointed out that she did have well-drawn feet.

While this is a ostentatiously a simulation, I can report that no character in the sim did anything for any discernable reason, though as advertised, you can fuck a pidgeon!

Dong Wanglight Early Whacksess (29.99)

Short Shorter: Housing Crash Simulator

By moving numbers around in spreadsheets you can “earn” billions of “dollars” though in an odd incentivizing choice, most of the profits tend to flow up to your managers who are…. OH MY GOD IT’S NOT A SIMULATOR WE’RE ALL FUCKED!

Hacking into Bank Servers (Free)

Movie Watching Simulator

The workmanlike menus are functional, and in a unique twist, you can provide each film or “level” from your own hard drive, creating a hand-crafted experience, where... wait, this is just a copy of VLC.

Steam Greenlight (99.99)

2D Shooter 3D VR 2D Edition

This phone port VR game is supposedly a 2D sprite-art version of a Playstation era 3D version of a SNES 2D shooter, but I threw up on the floor immediately after putting on the 3D glasses and now have no idea what the game was or how, in fact, I got it.

Green Streemlight (Free)

Ninja Zombie Pirate Robot: A Trochee Crafting Game

This is, and I quote, “a roguelike metroidvania with crafting elements, a procedurally developed open world, permadeath and characters classes that are all trochee tropes.” I completely lost the ability to think original thoughts moments after beginning this game.

Steam Greenlight Early Access (4.99)

Self Well-Actualization: The Mansplaining Trilogy

This is actually just a twitter account.


I Will Be Attending Roger Ailes' Funeral

For those in the area who cannot make it to Florida via traditional means can do so by traveling through this portal and traversing the dangerous xenodimensional "Upside Down."

For those in the area who cannot make it to Florida via traditional means can do so by traveling through this portal and traversing the dangerous xenodimensional "Upside Down."

BREAKING NEWS: FPJEROME has been invited to the funeral of all-around-horrible being "Roger Ailes" and has leaked this, the schedule of events for the day-long ritual that will be used to bind his soul with hate for another thousand years.

We present:

The Hand-Out at Roger Ailes' Funeral

A Funeral for Roger Ailes.




Temple of Moloch 307, Palm Beach, FL

6:00 AM to 9:00 PM


6:00-7:00 - Gathering of the Sacrifices.

(Main dungeon, DeVos Anex)

Sacrifices and handlers only.


Special: 6:32 - Sunrise - Drawing of the Circle

(Chamber of Inner Darkness, Stone Room)

DANGER: Binders of the Revenant ONLY!


7:00 - 8:00 - Carving of the Runes.

(Prescott Bush Family Death Center)

Please see Dark Magus Sanguinem Atramento for details.


9:00 - 10:00 - Breakfast

(Temple Dining Hall, Koch Annex)

A light roast of Bob “Black Men Can’t Fix My Computer” Beckel, blood wine, coffee, donuts.


10:00 AM - 11:00 AM - Firing of the bronze statue of Moloch

(Main Cathedral, Trump Chamber)

Please do not enter without proper protective and breathing apparatus.


11:00 AM - Noon: Renewing of Shame

(Media Center, Ford Room)

A look back at the women he shamed and humiliated over his long live(s).


Noon 1:00 PM - Lunch

(John Foster Dulles Dining Hall)

Bill O’Reilly’s famous falafels and an Iraqi boy!


SPECIAL: 1:16 - HIGH NOON The Desecration of the Vessel

(Solar Observatory Globe, Key Chambers)

Danger: Acolytes of the Black Tongue ONLY!


1:00 - 2:00 Obliteration of the Eros

(Blood Hall, Cheney Room)

Bill O’Reilly will read from “Those Who Trespass” to the assembled crowd.

Note: Mr. O’Reilly demands nudity from all who enter the room during the reading.


2:00 - 4:00 - Offerings to Moloch

(Main Dungeon)

NOTE: This month’s chant is “Oxen! These are Oxen!”


4:00 - 5:00 Torment of the Weak

(Kissenger Annex, Room 101)

FOX and Friends hosts will scourge and punish Shepard Smith for his transgressions.

Family friendly!


6:00 - 7:00 Parade of Fools

(Blood Path, Rockefeller Building)

Join the multitude of celebrities that Mr. Ailes created as they are given their first glimpse at the nature of the pact when we contact his soul in the netherealm thanks to the “Long Island Medium,” Theresa Caputo!


7:00 - 8:00 Cleanup

(Blood Path, Rockefeller Building)

Clean up the exodimensional insect forms and pupae that will consume Mrs. Caputo after contact with the Dark Nethers.


8:03 SUNSET: Sealing of  One Thousand Years

(Black Chamber, Location Unknown)

Silent Watchers ONLY!


Thank you for attending. Please destroy this document as soon as the service is over.

FP Jerome, FBI Director

Dear President Trump;

I never doubted you. So I hope you’ll consider me as your new director of the FBI. With James “James” Comey being fired - good move, I hope you used your signature “You’re fired” line on that guy - I know you’ll need a replacement.

You’ll need a renegade with top-notch investigative skills, willing to fight crawfish-men, handle city-wide issues, infiltrate secret bunkers, climb into murder holes with strange beast-men, and sneak into corporate board meetings.

You like to think outside the box, and I like to think outside the cube. That’s why I think you should do some real outsider logic here and not hire some law-man to run your central law-man agency. You should hire an outlaw. Outside the box? Outside the law. It’s all the same thing.

That’s not to say I don’t have experience. I know the X-Files in and out, like the back of an old hand I found in the swamp.

Therefore, as your soon-to-be FBI director, this is exactly what I am capable of doing, what I will prioritize, and what, I am sure, the American people want - far more than whatever it was James “No you have to call me James” Comey was getting up to. Mostly, just convincing disturbed people that they should become terrorists, and distributing child porn. Therefore, I think you will find that this is a much better use of taxpayer dollars.


I will get to the bottom of alien abductions.

I will find out who in the government is covering them up.

I will investigate the killer - who only I know exists - who can stretch himself to impossible shapes and sizes.

I will investigate the Jersey Devil. The mutant one, not Chris Christie, unless of course you really want me to.

Ghosts. Real? I’ll find out.

Malevolent AI. I’m sure this is a threat the American people would like to be dealt with, Mr. President.

ASTRONAUTS. What are they up to? What do they bring back with them from space? I WILL FIND OUT.

Secret human cloning projects. Why are they secret? Are they humans? Why not just fuck? Few people can discern the truth to questions such as these. I am such a person.

Spontaneous Human Combustion. I feel like we can have more of that. SHOULD have more of that. Why so spontaneous?

Psychic mediums. I have a brilliant plan to see if any of them can contact US from beyond the grave.

Shapeshifters. They could be anyone! ANYONE. I alone can ferret out this threat.

Possession by the dead. I figure that if possession is 9/10ths of the law, then I can 9/10ths handle this.

Creepy baby-salamander hands. That can’t be good. No good comes of a hand like that.

Faith healers. No joke, I think we can probably just put an end to that.

Insects that suck people’s blood out. I mean, it’s common, it’s more dangerous than terrorism, and I have the swamp knowledge to handle it.


Reincarnation. Nope. We’ve got to put a stop to that. One life is plenty enough, if not, in fact, too much.

Telepathy. I don’t trust bald men for this reason. I feel like I can solve this case with that secret knowledge.


Mr. President, I hope you find this application to be useful and may it guide you to your new FBI director, who, I should point out, should be me, as I am just as qualified as anyone else.


Thank you;


Alex Jones and Me

With apologies to the Counting Crows.

(also if you don’t remember this song, you can use that link to get this weird, weird joke)

This is the most "illuminati plot" picture I could easily find. 

This is the most "illuminati plot" picture I could easily find. 

Sha la, la, la, la, la, la
Uh, huh
I was down at the Alamo
Starin' at a secret owl
Alex Jones starts yellin out a conversation
With anyone who will listen
You know, that they will listen to him because he’s a human
And it’s suddenly beautiful, we all want something beautiful
Man, I wish I was beautiful
So come shout this message down through the warring
Sha la, la, la, la, la, la, la
Uh, huh
Cut up, Prison Planet
Show me some of them Bohemian rituals
Pass me a bottle, Alex Jones
Believe in me
Help me believe in anything
'Cause I, I wanna be someone who believes
Alex Jones and me tell each other fairy tales
And we stare at the beautiful owl
She's looking at you
Ah, no, no, she is looking at me
Smilin' in the bright lights
Comin' through in stereo
When everybody sees you
You can never be lonely
Well I'm a paint a picture
Paint myself behind the prison bars
All of the tiny messages are very, very meaningful
Yeah, well you know, flouride is in my water
Everything was symbolic yesterday
If I knew George Soros
He would buy me a mind control guitar to play
Alex Jones and me look into the future
Yeah, we stare at the liberal elite
They’re looking at you, and also, they’re looking at me
Standin' in the eye light
I bought myself a gay frog
Chemtrails make everybody love me
I will never be lonely
I will never be lonely
Said I'm never gonna be lonely
I wanna be a human
A real live human who is alive
We all wanna have big, big feelings
Yeah, but we got different reasons for that
Believe in me 'cause I don't believe in anything
And I, I wanna be someone to believe
To believe, to believe
Alex Jones and me staring at the chemtrails
They make all the frogs beautiful women
It’s perfect for you
Man, it’s perfect for me
Bob Dylan was in the illuminati
Alex Jones wishes he was someone just a little more funky
When everybody sees you
Ah son, that's just a Panopticon you see
Mr. Jones and me starin' at the video
When I look at the television
I see the illuminati starin' right back at me
We all wanna be real humans
But we don't know why and we don't know how
But when everybody listens me
The globalists are just as mad as they can be

Alex Jones and me, we're gonna be big stars

Nor-Man and the No-Force

Occasionally, I do the “writing prompt” thing. This one was from Saladin Ahmed on The Twitter:

“New prompt: Bad Guys (interpret as you like) rule the future. What does well-made but complicit entertainment look like? Avoid easy parody.”

We never do.

“Suck it, Nielson.” Norman Jones said, temporarily replacing the gleaming cityscape window with an HD overlay of his media empire. Ratings, eyeballs, time spent, channels changed, links clicked, all of it was populating moving charts and in.

“The Media Empire” was what the TV stations, newspapers, and websites that he owned called themselves, anyway. There were others, of course, split up from The Wave, and they got along just as well as the things they’d replaced.

Back then, he’d been The Normalizer. He was glad The Wave had taken place a decade or so after that unfortunate flirtation with “Nor-Man” in the 90s, when everyone had immaculate curls, belts, pouches, and Big Armor.

He sighed, squeezing his temples, remembering the boots and the epaulets. “We were all on those damn Exo-Steroids, that’s the only explanation.” That was always the explanation, when they all got together - those who were left. Still, though, sometimes he woke up at night screaming when he thought about what they’d done to those consultants and fashion designers.

A finger poked at a graph he didn’t like. It expanded, he scrolled it around, closed everything with a pinch and a snap.

“Get me a feed on Drone Strike.” He said, one window displaying producers and directors and writers and Generals, the other blossoming into the familiar footage over somewhere that was inevitably either dusty and parched or green and flooding.

This time it was flooded. He pursed his lips and watched the red cursor float around the screen for far too long. He pushed a button and somewhere an editor was fired.

“Movies.” He said, flustering the digital assistant as piles of movies he’d recently watched started queuing up on the screen.

Chicago: Death’s Mile, Septimius Severus, Patriot Wave, Shooter, Sea Shepherd: The Horrors of Deepwater Horizon, Entourage, The Purge, they all populated the screen for a moment, each still color coded. Norman’s queue saw a lot of blue filters and Mark Wahlberg, he hated those movies, they always got the details wrong about The Wave, but since he paid good money to make them, he did, at least, watch them.

“Mag-Lord’s balls, that’s not what I meant. Show me the movies we’ve got playing in theaters worldwide, international releases only.”

Lines going down. Some of them red. The psychics and telepaths were finally right - The Wave wasn’t bringing them out anymore. They’d had enough shattered buildings and blowing dust, enough dim lights and shaky cameras.  It was time for something new. Something bright. Something colorful and ultra-violent.

He pushed a button to talk to a real person. “Get me some artists, I want designs on Nor-Man and the No-Force for the big screen. The nineties are coming back.”