Enter the DARK REALM of

Home of the Unseelie and Unseemly

Disclaimer: Rialian (G. Wendel) did NOT have anything to do with the authoring of this horribly tacky web page. For one thing, he would never stoop to permitting blinking text on his web page. It is obvious that someone else did it. In fact, an anonymous third party takes full responsibility for the existence of this page.


Warning: Many of the things on this page were written when the author was in a bad mood. They are here because it is highly amusing to Rialian to see how bad a mood the author is capable of. If you get the bright idea to use anything on this page as a spell against someone, I suggest that you remember the Law of Three.


Most of us have a dark side of our personalities. I'm not about to show you my dark side. Did you honestly think I would permit anyone to accurately perceive that elusive entity known as my dark side? Surely you jest... I cannot even perceive it myself most of the time. Therefore, I convinced a friend to write this fictitious essay for me. This hypothetical person has portrayed an equally hypothetical dark side of a theoretical entity which may or may not be me or a perceived notion of me. This hypothetical dark side of a theoretical entity is known as Evil Boll Weevil. This page is dedicated to being a forum for him to say whatever he wants. Unfortunately, it would seem he wants to say quite a bit...

For starters, here is Evil Boll Weevil's favorite poem:

May Boll Weevils get in your cotton
And your hair be composed of split ends
May the eggs that you break be all rotten
Just like your circle of friends

May tarantulas hatch in your jello
And your brandy be mixed with your wine
May a porcupine be your bedfellow
And may fool's gold come out of your mine

May boulders be stashed in your backpack
And your Tuchas hang over your heels
May an ice storm envelop your Racetrack
And your pool be infested with eels

Words can't describe all the feeling
That I get when I think about you
But my head just about hits the ceiling
And my features turn lifeless and blue.

There are other poems too. Much nicer ones that I know you'll adore. By the way, I am truly the essence of evil. (We Evil Ones are by no means modest).


(You will notice that we Evil Ones tend to say "HAHAHAHAHA" quite often, because we have such an excellent sense of humor).


We Evil Ones are obsessed with power above all else. We want power over our own worlds, power over other worlds, but particularly, we crave power over YOUR world. We have made an intensive study of all aspects of Power, including gaining power, but especially keeping power... What good would it do to seize your power, if you, snivelling slug that you are, were able to wrest it back for yourself? Once power is seized, it must be kept at all costs. To this end, we Evil Ones have compiled a List. It is The Top 100 Things I'd Do If I Ever Became An Evil Overlord. If you fancy yourself an evil overlord (ha ha I scoff at the thought) you may wish to read the results of my research. However, don't bother. I'd rather keep you in ignorance, my minion....


We Evil Ones generally love sex, unlike the rest of the population. Most of all, however, we like sex with Japanese anime characters. The reason is that real people don't want to be in the same room with us. You see, they fear we might slay them. They are, after all, in the way most of the time...

This is my Girlfriend. She appears to be a little miffed. Something I said, perhaps? We Evil Ones often say things that make people a little miffed. The rest of my dates can be found here.

There are those times when even Japanese Anime characters will not do what I, the great Evil Boll Weevil, tell them to do. This is a source of great ire and misery to me. I will not take "no" for an answer. I am, after all, thoroughly irrational, and I possess a streak of malice directed toward bipedal hominid pseudo-sentient animates, otherwise known as humans. Obviously, with this attitude, nobody responds well to my advances. Therefore, I have resorted to the base practice of Love Magic to win the attentions of those luscious little Hentai wenches who are the objects of my desire! Bad Karma you say? Well now. Watch me tremble in my boots.

Without it we would never be
Yet it's so hard to speak of
The Staff of Life grows like a tree
If we should gain a peek of
The tree that's planted firm inside
The deep and shady Vale
And as its seed does empty forth
We finally may exhale...


We Evil Ones are always fascinated by death... Probably because it is the only commonly recognized way out of this Earth Plane. In the meantime, we are actively searching for another way... When we find it, we will keep it entirely to ourselves, and not share it with a soul. Do you think we want our afterlife cluttered with riffraff? Here is a picture of death and a poem to her.

Ode to Thou

Thy nose is like a candy kiss
Thy mouth is like a cherry
Thy butt is like a melon ripe
Thy navel like a berry
Thy hair is of the finest silk
Thy titties ripened peaches
Thy legs are like two saplings long
That hide thy nether reaches!!!

But if you think that the above poem was too "sweet" to be applied to death, you are of course, right. Therefore, in the interest of keeping the proper spiritual slant on death, I have included a rotating skull to make this portion of the web page more death-like. I do not think it truly succeeds, but it was a cute gif.

I read a fairly decent book called "Stalking the Wild Pendulum". It was written by a wonderful man who is currently dead.

Frank Zappa named his daughter "Moon Unit". He is also dead.

I also read a book called "For Whom the Bell Tolls" by Ernest Hemingway. He is the most dead of them all.

I, on the other hand, LIVE!!!!! NYAYAHAHAHAHAHHHH (URK!!! THUD).

Well, I did for a while, anyway.


It has been said that we all have an Inner Child - That part of ourselves that likes to Frolick in the tulips, play with small animals, and occasionally run over someone 164 times with a lawnmower.

The Inner Child of the great Evil Boll Weevil is of course very special. This is Lenore, my Inner Child.

It was ***VERY DISCONCERTING*** to the Great Evil Boll Weevil to see his Inner Child displayed so beautifully on the pages of a comic book. Nobody is supposed to know these things but me. I am ... deeply disturbed.

Lenore knows how to treat stalkers. In the case of one stalker, she ran over him 164 times with a lawn mower, dowsed him with lighter fluid and burnt him to ashes, and then she put eight knives through his head. Of course, this is not very different from how she treats almost everyone she meets, but it is usually just an accident...

For example, when she put on her bunny costume and walked through the forest, picking up the field mice and bopping them on the head, the good fairy came and told her to stop. So she did. She picked up little armadillos and bopped them on the head instead. But was the good fairy satisfied?? NOOOOO. She told Lenore "No Bopping Any Animals". So Lenore bopped the FAIRY. Who wouldn't? She does that to at least one fairy or elf every episode. She thinks they're neat bugs she found. BWAHAHAHAH...


Here's another poem for you. I cared for you. I loved you. And what did you do? You left me. Why? because you were afraid I'd slay you. What kind of reason is that? Thank you for nothing. Here's another poem for you.


With Perfect Love and Perfect Trust
I Love you and I Trust you
But do not let false premises
Enfold you and encrust you

For Trust is based on knowledge True
and Truly do I know you
And I can say I Trust you just
As far as I can throw you.

And I do Love you with the Love
That's built upon my knowing
That when I throw a seed away
It then begins its growing

So when you see me passing by
Do greet me with some reverence
For with my Perfect Love and Trust
I grant your final severance


As we all know when you look like this, nobody asks you to do housework. This is a good "look" to cultivate when you are living in a house full of hostile roommates.

This type of poem comes to me about every 10 years or so. I don't know why. They just do. Usually I write such cool, spiritual stuff. I make no apologies. Enjoy the poem or hide yourself, the choice is yours.

If The Shoe Fits

With these strong red cords I bind you
So that all your foes will find you
And of your certain doom remind you

With these roaring flames I burn you
And to ashen dust return you
That the universe unlearn you

May the scourge of Hades score you
And may all your friends deplore you
Until nothing can restore you

In the outer dark I cast you
Where the cosmic rays shall blast you
And all living shall outlast you

Warning!!! Do not try this at home


This poem needs no introduction. You know they're watching you. You don't need me to tell you.

You know those weird buzzing noises you hear at night? Those are their electronic devices pumping your brain full of drivel. You know those little clicks you sometimes hear on the phone? Those are bugs, not call waiting. Call waiting is a plot by the government.


They know you're here, they're watching you
With methods they employ
To study you until they know
The things that you enjoy

Once they have learned your inner fears
And what can truly please you
Then they will so arrange your life
To modestly appease you.

You'll get the job they give to you
You'll find the mate they send you
and should you ever deviate
They'll try to help (amend) you

And when you've worked quite hard all year
And saved for your vacation
The IRS will pay a call
To spoil your recreation.

Then finally when the end is nigh
They'll hold a celebration
And scientists will cart you off
For their experimentation!!!!

And when they are quite through with you
Don't think that it's all over
For then they'll toss you in a vat
of Chewy Russel Stover!!

Someone wrote to us by e-mail and claims to be one "Danae Mirthethwilgrin". But don't believe her for an instant. She is obviously with the Government. Which government remains for you to find out. Accurate sources quote her as making the following bone-chilling statement: "I am most definently NOT from the joke of a government most of the world is governed by. I am however, a member of the unofficial assasination government. It is our job to see who, where, needs to be eliminated." Anyway, this is what she wrote to us. You be the judge!

"Have you ever felt as if someone was watching you? Their eyes forever fixed on the back of you skull, two boring blood red eyes... Never wavering! Everywhere you go, there are always those eyes constantly drilling holes into your souls and peace of mind. Those eyes are mine. I am everywhere; my eyes see all that there is to see. They see you, your neighbor, your mother, your cat having sex, they see all. Nothing is hidden from my view. Years are transparent when I delve into them. The truth lies barren for me to see. Nothing is hidden from me.

People hopelessly try to hide their eyes and actions, but they need not. All of history lies before me, naked as a new born babe. Why bother trying to hide, or lie, or wheedle you way out? I see everything, in plain view or hidden, and pick out the truth instantly. My eyes see you, your beady eyes upon the screen, in a room, sitting down -Some of you wretches are even standing, bent oer the table. Stop glancing about, do you think you can see me? I'm out of time, out of space, in another reality. overlapping you, I can hear the echoes of your thoughts, and can sift through your memories as easily as eating cake.

Some call me spirit, or apparition, but I am no different from you. I will haunt this world as long as there is life, and nothing will halt my intrusion. Now, look over your shoulder, into the shadows. I am there - Do you see me? I see you. This is not a threat, I thought you might enjoy some more paranoid wrighting from someone other than yourself..."


Television is the worst and most foul implement of mind control in the history of humans upon the earth. People come home from work every day and turn on the tube. They cannot stand a moment of silence. They must have the TV droning at all times in the background, even if they are not watching it. Then they plop their fat tuchases on the couch in front of the TV and watch the worst imaginable drivel for an entire evening.

If you ask a TV addict to do something for you or call you on the telephone, he or she will say, "Uh, sure, I'll call ya. I'll do that favor for ya, sure". Don't believe them. Don't believe them for an instant. They will not call you back. They will not do the things you asked them to do. What they will really do is sit in front of the TV for five hours and then fall exhausted into bed, not having accomplished anything at all. Should you ask them what they did for an entire evening, they have no idea.

What you can be sure of is that they have watched programming that reinforces the political climate of the time, combined with advertising that ensures that they will buy the products of the corporations that support the existing political governing unit. The worst thing is that human mothers everywhere plop their stupid children in front of the TV and just leave them there. The children, usually born with a degree of intelligence, soon lose it. They are taught early which products to buy, and they do not question. This poem is dedicated to the memory of the human mind.


Once so mighty, once so great
Once unique you were
But now you sit upon your couch
Entrapped by foul allure

The flickering of blue-grey light
Appears from every room
Emanating from a thing
That is your thinking's tomb

You haven't had a single thought
Ere since you turned it on
And should a thought by chance break through
It soon is lost and gone

It's there to see that you are numb
And sentience has fled
It's there to daily fill you with
The trash you're daily fed.

I'd ask you please to turn it off
But this you cannot do
For those who have controlled your mind
Will not let go of you.

Turn off your TV. Unplug it. Burn it.


Bits of My Reality