The Never Ending Story recap&commentary thread
February 9, 2015 at 8:17 am
(This post was last modified: February 9, 2015 at 9:39 am by Lucanus.)
Chapter 1:
It was a hot summer night, and I was hot and blind. I couldn't remember why I had left my bed with an erection, because I normally am spent then. I approached the light switch and felt a strange tug on my white ellesse Tshirt. I saw a small chubby hand slap my face raw. My penis dangled idly in my trousers. I thought: even better than yours, yet. . .not as imposing.
My attention returned to the clock ticking with menacing tone. My dog did not like the way this whole thing was a blur. Fuck the establishment. He grabbed the razor wire which was in his asshole. Metaphorically of course and proceeded to thrash at his enemy- the small beer cans hanging from the ceiling, a fact which scared the dog but tingled my sphincter. It felt weird.
Carl the attorney and lover attorney and lover, voices I hear, these were just crazy. Like that time in Thailand, when I ate, in one piece, so many commas that I shat red coloring material into the air. Ah, heroic exploits, my youth was still young, death on a cross made me tired.
So instead I died on a cruise ship, which was weird because I was alright.
The dawn of the mongoose dynasty came unexpectedly, which invented duck sauce. But Alex K, undoubtedly the funniest looking guy in all of Westeros, had thought of three ways to rub duck sauce onto the voluptuous but oddly shaped, yet still intriguing, back end of metaphysical reality unchained.
IT'S OVER! Jesus has given a wonderful booty in the sense of the most offensive treasure trove this side of the Berlin wall to the undeserving. This proves that you should never trust Jesus with too much ham. As we know kosher bacon is bad for your male chafing and other indelicacies. However, it might result in a damn and a copious amount of stamina.
Then she arrived. She was wearing neon crucifix pasties, which were very retro in a less is more way, but then something was unsettling though I was definitely not high and sufficiently hydrated. That was when someone yelled "fire!": I punched him and I called the local priest to exorcise me, but he said I wasn't ready. So there she was, standing next to my bed, waving about her enormous flaccid penis, so I said "What the hell, how did you get a freaking mole on your genitalia? I did not order a wanker canker, jeesh!! But then I should stop talking."
So I accepted her gift of chocolate chip cookies made in a volcano that was not particularly interesting but definitely spewing some hatred towards sperm, sperm and more sperm. Although she liked swallowing carbonated lemon sperm with extra sodium, she totally loathed swimming in the pool of syringes. That was until she caught her first flu and got addicted to snorting crack in pizza hut toilets.
Her problems had increased exponentially. Yet, she felt awesome. Then a flying thought entered my barely working brain and took her - my dog watching - and she opened her mouth, "What the fuck just sprayed menstrual discharge in my direction!?", while my dog lapped it up.
I barfed discreetly. On the floor I found a cunt in my tiny juicy meatball which was gluten-free (metaphorically speaking, naturally). Then I remembered the old song: "Grom pobedy, razdavaysya!". My accordion wailed, when a truck carrying Dickensian orphans pulled up. Five hundred angry ant farmers had a barbecue. We need recaps on the crapper.
My eyes shot 20 feet across the Time Square and saw a policeman with a dildo in his pocket he was not surprised. In hell, am I? No just in sync with my -his penis trembled- almost non existent little tiny cutesy ear lobes. Fortunately a girl came walking into the kitchen with spoons sharp as razors. "Meh", she mumbled, as she began feeding her baby through its eyesockets. Not the ideal way to nourish infants, but in a pinch, it is good enough to warrant a murder investigation.
Before I bore you I should ask if you're squeamish, because I have here in my house a yellow house with no houses in it. That's why everything that is anything must be something or just nothing. Sometimes everything's nothing. Sometimes nothing's everything. Somenothing timesevery thing.
- Am I insane?
- Who said that?
It was probably... Snap, crackle, pop, there goes the hickory dickory dock.
The mouse ran into a trap. The poor thing leapt through the narrow gap into the jaws of a giant butthole. The mouse commiserated with Gerbil and they kissed. Butt babeis ensued under the bright sun of Rome, but I digress.
FUCK tha police!
On the next morning, as they reach the top of the cheese pile, a thought occurs: "Where's my onesie?". It became clear, while furiously masturbating, that the situation was in hand, but time travel to the day of his own funeral seemed funny in an Orwellian corporations are people kind of way. "Exactly my thought" said the undertaker digging for bones in my backyard where the candyman lay. Hegel's ontology shat over reality in the broadest sense possibly conceivable by mere mortals.
Not to mention my balls itch, while mighty Betelgeuse smiles down upon the unwashed masses and picks his teeth with a longish, planet sized lizard hemipenis. What led to this? Could I have foreseen how things would escalate when I took the solemn oath to mutilate the tip of the hemipenis?
Before the priest rubbed holy oil on his bleeding and pleasantly warm elderly cocker spaniel. The dog proceeded to the end of the runway with a skip and took off. "TO SPAAAAACE" it barked. She, however did not agree to my leninist worldview, but the fucking bitch could sing! My heart will go on despising her, but kegal exercises will help me keep my big juicy shit together.
I drew my gun with a pencil. Then I erased all evidence of my own existence except my toes which, cheshire-catlike, haunted innocent children.
That morning, I made an attempt to make sense of these hallucinations.
It was all for the best, the LSD really hurts my balls, but it was worth it for achieving enlightenment. Nevertheless, I wondered if she could ever get the dildo of knowledge to go deep inside the very essence of her withered and bizarrely large gaping fistable stinky toaster. She didn't want any syphilis, so she made sure that everyone wore santa hats.
How this should help anyone is not clear, but it's 100% effective. Meanwhile, the dog began sniffing the deeper levels of Lord Anusius's pit. I think it is cool to befriend Anusius before shoving anything up the vociferous orifices when they pass cum from mouth. Sex was forbidden, but usually encouraged by the high lords of the Loyal Order of MILFs Gone Wild whose membership includes your mom, Kitty, and Frank Sinatra.
While they were retreating to HQ they were assaulted by armoured clowns with enormous dildos led by a life size replica of Mr. Hankey doing the splits. It was then that the light of your mama's solar powered flashlight zeroed in on a small animal rinsing its head in a vat of its own gorilla glue. DUDE! And now stuck the corner with a transdimensional vortex of pure, awesome sex energy orgasms I contemplate the volume of semen I choked on that fateful night.
Chapter 2:
I was only just getting used like cum rags and to the flag on which it stands. One barnyard lovin' teen indivisible and with lunar military intelligence and juice for all, mostly Vorlon. But also Steve, the first man and his enormous butterfly. Together they made sweet love and nine months there came a sorry excuse of larva placenta. Go blow Jesus out your ass. Afterwards, I was a little sore but worth it even if it tore me a big hole in my head. Meanwhile, the local crack dealer's annual sale of their most enticing pseudo crystal per diem too attracted some very dubious cadaverous inseminators. But alas I fondled an aardvark, who loved it! But not really. Yes he did. Depending on how you like your stories to go.
I expected the cow to jump on a whore's salary. Scrambled eggs atop "flying" spaghetti got her thinking: I'm only one of the most smartified peoples, yet I continually pick the wrong bed to lay my enemies to waste. I should be called Nestor starting a lame tradition involving black ewes and Vietnamese lesbian with crabs. Why did I book 57 tickets to J-Lo's new movie? I don't even own a pair of nuts capable for the job. Fuck, who did? Someone obviously.
Fuck the police coming wickedly this way, young nigga got the holy ghost in his pants as usual. Meanwhile, the spy had taken a lot of my underwear to the base, otherwise known as Peewee's Playhouse. I failed to mention that I had AIDS. Oh well, nevermind. I'm sure she deserved it, that sellfish bitch. She had messed with my gun. I HATE HER!!! One time she had sex with a local bear and all seven of Berlusconi's wicked tractor collection.
Stick of Anusius, help your humble servant to spread your pulchritudinous minions across the ocean of debauchery otherwise known as sophisticated bastards of extraordinary handsomeness. Anusius preserve us from the unspeakable terrors of self-awareness inflicted by repeatedly kicking oneself in the lower brain while wearing a colander. Amen. But I digress. Then I saw a talking snake singing songs of the ugliest vaginas the world has but that's life. I remember when bears were still edible and not the genetically engineered heroine addicts whose idea of emancipation is naked tapdancing in the woods. Continual sexual references by members of the death cult are not helping my blood pressure.
Chapter 3:
I was climbing an elephant's trunk until I reached the summit and coincidentally, puberty. There, I furiously masturbated until daybreak, when I realized: SHIT! I forgot my
tissues on the mountaintop, where I blew loads of soup into the dark side of the moon, whichinfuriated Roger Waters and the whole thing exploded, leaving Pink Floyd without him. So sad. I cried tears of genuine puzzlement on the bright eyes of my lovely widow, who was cheating on me with a rogue sleeper agent , that slut. Meanwhile Back at the naval base, new heretics poured in molten tungsten on the guidance systemsand safety lectures which were held in my basement by an alien against his will. The alien was not the one who flies around changing the story to pornografic smut. He was of an ancient race residing in the arse of an old wrinkly curmudgeon whose name was Walter Fucking Smith. He explained that he was Klingon. And disappeared into wormhole going to wesley crushers ... ego where he found.
My thoughts stopped in an awkward mutual agreement with David J Stewart Which was strange considering that his homosexual neighbors were coming over tonight despite continual threats to spread joy And glitter across most of Iceland. And Zimbabwe. Meanwhile in russia, several Boring hobos met doing nothing interesting. They were interrupted by a small Silly helicopter, which flew into the golden Putin statue Screaming "shiiiiiit " as it emasculated him Which severly angered The pedophile priest Who was patrolling the kremlin that Our people built. That was before , this is after. Then there is whateverist, that commendable son of a IATIA, that everyone holds responsible for last night's incident in Norman's brothel. Now you probably want in, huh? But stories don't talk to people . But then what if they do? What if, for Example, it's aliens? That would rule! Nuh-uh! Metaphorically, though. But would it Satisfy our hero? We shall find Out in the next freaking chapter. Until then, let's Never speak about helicopters and putin. That would be Insensitive and hilariousin a more Is less way ...did I repeat Myself on that? Probably I did. How quaint. Anywho.
I wasn't thirsty but noone cared - So I rantowards the glowing Fucking Jesus and sucked his big Shiny, holy thumb until it shined Like a diamond which is shiny like a diamond. I had failed. How will I ever forget when My mom did those hockey teams? I vented by blowing semen out My nose was pissing me off While my penis was also pissing out of a misguided sense of direction. I threw random crap on Young Earth Creationists, making them looklike Belle, Sebastian, and the Wailers. After this remark, I decided to eat smegma cake and my prepuce fell off, strangely satisfactory to jewish hams. It landed on a crucifix under the sea with anemone fronds and Spongebob Squarepants . We were saved. Praise Jeebus, Hallelujah! We're going home! To New Zealand! Metaphorical, I think, is the best Cocksucker on the Whole damn island . That motherfucker can Suck cock like - while dog paddling - a vacuum cleaner . You skipped me. I am sorry. now start suckingon your thumb
like its yesterday's tomorrow's two days rainbow swirly lollipops.
Anyways. So there was a monkey a rabbi, andwith no semicolon ; a priest. They are on their periods all the emeffin time, so life's hard, eh? But it's okay I tell myself and I sing to my elbowwhich responds with funky rhythms of [an] African drum circle which is very weird. So incredibly distasteful. Maybe I should call Ginger she knows what's wrong with thisninja turtles costume. It's hideous. But the 4th wall has been broken. I, Exian, have missed an appointment with my gynecologist, Dr. Vagina Checker, last Thursday night it seemed possible because Katy Perry is to blame for my piles of cow shit in the elevator brown paper bags. When I arrived , cock in hand, hen in leg, short of breath, because.. Katy Perry , Dr. Checker said is a woman . Stupid me. Me not English good. Penis not woman. Now feel sad. Open wide, say dentist. Metaphorically speaking.
My English suddenly became incoherent and absolutely hilarious, so I switched to something new to impress everyone. I then proceeded to speak in fluent Espanol. Soy casa Te quiero, puta de queso, hoy A reba y tacos de cabeza Pero su madre Andele! Arriba! So ¿Porque hablamos español? chingar su perritoburrito, very caysadilluh. La pregunta es: esta el bano lugar para joder? Then I switched to french. Alors, to igpay atinlay.Enchfray Igpay Atinlay très sophisticaté indeed. iouxiouiioueauocB iouooòauiouxooTr.
Back to English. That was weird, but I regained consciousness while laying very still.
Chapter 4:
But then I smelled a cat's butt it smelled good. Bleu cheese. Mmmm. My stomach grumbled, my ass cheeks my ass cheeks like butter on on a hot slice of ass for five bucks. Now I'm ready To spread my Good News about The bible and the secrets to Everlasting bull shit , five dollar ass, no lube, so -so story telling, and tits, lots and lots of lubricants and penetrative acids, borrowed from this, my life, a never ending Jeagermeister he said, followed by penetration "I love you,now die lover!" She said, before wiping the seimen from her lips with her beard. What the fuck!!! Dad's run amok!!! How'd you know? You didn't know? You couldn't know!
Only Keanu Reeves has a penis And it glows . It also knows And it shows in the prose , saying to him: "Worship Keanu's penis ; whither hastenest thou?" For thee is thy only begotten Fucked up story. A story of werewolves, porn and losing thy virginity; With seven dwarfs. Thus spoke Nestor: "rama lama dingdong". Thus spoke Losty: I love members. Thus spoke Alex: of Kiwanis club. Whosa member? Zarathustra ;
The orgy commenced. They played elgar... in their minds and threw their illuminati signs up. Penis boat memberships were freely given to anyone with out pubic hair. It made sense to cornhole the young and bashful Red Band Society and it has blossomed ever since. They 86'd my It jumped over "Oh no Jeagermeister! My blind grandmother! got super ninja'd. Ninjas took over. Must fix it. And fingered her bung hole spastically stretching it beyond Spacetime curvature limits. I want more filth and less Ninja, she groaned. cus she 's a whore. Only a ninja would say that, but we didn't pull out soon enough to prevent the birth of Scarlett Johansson or , filthy degenerate pervertess, like me, I don't think. How could I know... that she was the mother of all virtue, including anal elasticity, and at times, chastity. Chastity is not to be understood as a real Thing, but a horrible truckload of Chick Tracts, and abstinence inbetween orgies.
Refractory periods were often confused with not being able to properly get laid on Mondays but die trying or keeping it real. Whatever that means. I tend not to act like a rational writer, but the hivemind that controls me likes jelly farts and funt claps, which is unfortunate. Metaphorically speaking. Duh.
I forgot my head in the anus of Vorlon, the now 13 stepper who quite liked his puny life. But fuck that. Decorated with colourful bullshit and fluttering butterflies, my glass door is broken. But I digress - again. My meds were sticked up my ass, so I couldn't take them properly, resulting in an infection which cost me parts of my brain, two bucks and a set of spoons. Anywho.
I miss my porkchop. It was so integrated in a less is... come on, I need to stop masturbating into scripture, my point is that the real scripture wouldn't be so tasty. I wondered if I could take the art of writing seriously enough to finish a sentence without going to laugh at RationalAKD.
But then the north star blinked and an angel, calling himself Lucifer, hijacked my brain and put it in a recycling tube then shipped to the planet Mote Prime where time stands still. There, a giant picture of a lemon was displayed. It was a dancing fetus named Nothingness. It stared into my soul and said "Three is a crowd". Oscar Wilde however begs to differ: "In a marriage, two is not enough, and three barely suffices. The more, the merrier. Anal sex is absolutely feasible with more cocks per arse than the current EU limits on gayness. Satan is pleased". Nevertheless, in-prostate is a good place to store anything that can be stored in the prostate. However, as it turns out, sausages are quite storeable in the American Embassy located in my anal cavity. It feels good when the Americans are full of sausage...
When it's my turn I always fill them with a succulent mind finally going berserk on ritaline and sun-kissed sudafed; it all makes everything shiny and full of creamy shiny donuts like my gaping colon. "STOP IT VORLON!" the narrator pleaded. "Why are you always reminding us of your colon? Can't this story simply go on colonlessly?" - I asked - "Robvalue's epic thread must not be pooped out sphincters!" But in my defense, a Semicolon would be nice. Metaphorically speaking. I am a donkey of many talents but I can't juggle large children. That's ok, because I can juggle long enough to make pigs fly, tip their trash. Whatever that means, it's probably metaphorical. It always is, god damn metaphors. In a less is more kind of way. Let's keep repeating it until the cows take over America in a bovine berserk.
I remember nothing, nothing at all. Where are the editors? Is and where are the latest proclimations that dictate the someone like you eats mucilage paste, has nasal sex and licks boogers of other people, strange, very strange. Exactly! Noone reads the blank pages of maps correctly; or the fine line between madness and necrophilic ecstasy.
Was I mad? Was I you-know-what? Have I become an anal fister? So much blood... "Pootis spencer here!" Laughing? Haha! Then I just collapsed. I'm insane. I don't know what went wrong. It felt right at the beginning, but slowly, a terrifying and sexually inappropriate suspicion arose: Princess Moshee dropped to Leah's Hello Kitty level and sniffed black pepper afterwards. And that is why you should never trust Jesus to pay up for the ham. Because Jesus is, in an unrelated drive by shooting by angry nuns, said that he didn't impregnate her, but he did! The horny bugger.
Now he has a flaccid, shriveled raisin in his nose and it was tickling him so he blew it out with a loud yawn that projectied it several thousand feet in the air, right into a plane headed toward a giant butthole that was leaking clean, drinkable water for everyone, yay! The raisin then turned grape again. Shortly after the squirrel dropped dead and the frogs also dropped dead? I can't remember where I left my little pony, perhaps it's next door with Carl, he's the guy that itches my ear lobes when reading bible stories. We're playing nintendo.
Some say he's a strange guy, mostly because of the time when he jumped into a pool of toxic octopuses for grandma party enforcers, which had sunk without hope, deep in the bottom of Losty's po-po. Not really, nope. Butt maybe... Hmmm. In there somewhere... Absolutely not! Anyways... I felt sexy because my neck, so I rubbed against my chair till orgasm erupted all over the naugahyde recliner and cosmic microwave background. A weird orgasm, like, really weird - weird Al weird - that Michael Jackson wouldn't even do unless double dared.
Then Reagan decreed "buttsex for everyone missing a limb" don't care had sex with 27 hobos in my dreams, my wet dreams, filled to the brim with a brim with creamy bavarian donuts, exacerbating the creamy problem with a cream filled showdown of our collective anuses spewing the finest cream in the air, covering the story with feces. An improvement, methinks.
Chapter 5: After that night, I wondered if monkeys wanted to write this instead, or maybe just fuck the type of person that would read stuff aloud in a subway toilet. I'd much rather have...
It was a hot summer night, and I was hot and blind. I couldn't remember why I had left my bed with an erection, because I normally am spent then. I approached the light switch and felt a strange tug on my white ellesse Tshirt. I saw a small chubby hand slap my face raw. My penis dangled idly in my trousers. I thought: even better than yours, yet. . .not as imposing.
My attention returned to the clock ticking with menacing tone. My dog did not like the way this whole thing was a blur. Fuck the establishment. He grabbed the razor wire which was in his asshole. Metaphorically of course and proceeded to thrash at his enemy- the small beer cans hanging from the ceiling, a fact which scared the dog but tingled my sphincter. It felt weird.
Carl the attorney and lover attorney and lover, voices I hear, these were just crazy. Like that time in Thailand, when I ate, in one piece, so many commas that I shat red coloring material into the air. Ah, heroic exploits, my youth was still young, death on a cross made me tired.
So instead I died on a cruise ship, which was weird because I was alright.
The dawn of the mongoose dynasty came unexpectedly, which invented duck sauce. But Alex K, undoubtedly the funniest looking guy in all of Westeros, had thought of three ways to rub duck sauce onto the voluptuous but oddly shaped, yet still intriguing, back end of metaphysical reality unchained.
IT'S OVER! Jesus has given a wonderful booty in the sense of the most offensive treasure trove this side of the Berlin wall to the undeserving. This proves that you should never trust Jesus with too much ham. As we know kosher bacon is bad for your male chafing and other indelicacies. However, it might result in a damn and a copious amount of stamina.
Then she arrived. She was wearing neon crucifix pasties, which were very retro in a less is more way, but then something was unsettling though I was definitely not high and sufficiently hydrated. That was when someone yelled "fire!": I punched him and I called the local priest to exorcise me, but he said I wasn't ready. So there she was, standing next to my bed, waving about her enormous flaccid penis, so I said "What the hell, how did you get a freaking mole on your genitalia? I did not order a wanker canker, jeesh!! But then I should stop talking."
So I accepted her gift of chocolate chip cookies made in a volcano that was not particularly interesting but definitely spewing some hatred towards sperm, sperm and more sperm. Although she liked swallowing carbonated lemon sperm with extra sodium, she totally loathed swimming in the pool of syringes. That was until she caught her first flu and got addicted to snorting crack in pizza hut toilets.
Her problems had increased exponentially. Yet, she felt awesome. Then a flying thought entered my barely working brain and took her - my dog watching - and she opened her mouth, "What the fuck just sprayed menstrual discharge in my direction!?", while my dog lapped it up.
I barfed discreetly. On the floor I found a cunt in my tiny juicy meatball which was gluten-free (metaphorically speaking, naturally). Then I remembered the old song: "Grom pobedy, razdavaysya!". My accordion wailed, when a truck carrying Dickensian orphans pulled up. Five hundred angry ant farmers had a barbecue. We need recaps on the crapper.
My eyes shot 20 feet across the Time Square and saw a policeman with a dildo in his pocket he was not surprised. In hell, am I? No just in sync with my -his penis trembled- almost non existent little tiny cutesy ear lobes. Fortunately a girl came walking into the kitchen with spoons sharp as razors. "Meh", she mumbled, as she began feeding her baby through its eyesockets. Not the ideal way to nourish infants, but in a pinch, it is good enough to warrant a murder investigation.
Before I bore you I should ask if you're squeamish, because I have here in my house a yellow house with no houses in it. That's why everything that is anything must be something or just nothing. Sometimes everything's nothing. Sometimes nothing's everything. Somenothing timesevery thing.
- Am I insane?
- Who said that?
It was probably... Snap, crackle, pop, there goes the hickory dickory dock.
The mouse ran into a trap. The poor thing leapt through the narrow gap into the jaws of a giant butthole. The mouse commiserated with Gerbil and they kissed. Butt babeis ensued under the bright sun of Rome, but I digress.
FUCK tha police!
On the next morning, as they reach the top of the cheese pile, a thought occurs: "Where's my onesie?". It became clear, while furiously masturbating, that the situation was in hand, but time travel to the day of his own funeral seemed funny in an Orwellian corporations are people kind of way. "Exactly my thought" said the undertaker digging for bones in my backyard where the candyman lay. Hegel's ontology shat over reality in the broadest sense possibly conceivable by mere mortals.
Not to mention my balls itch, while mighty Betelgeuse smiles down upon the unwashed masses and picks his teeth with a longish, planet sized lizard hemipenis. What led to this? Could I have foreseen how things would escalate when I took the solemn oath to mutilate the tip of the hemipenis?
Before the priest rubbed holy oil on his bleeding and pleasantly warm elderly cocker spaniel. The dog proceeded to the end of the runway with a skip and took off. "TO SPAAAAACE" it barked. She, however did not agree to my leninist worldview, but the fucking bitch could sing! My heart will go on despising her, but kegal exercises will help me keep my big juicy shit together.
I drew my gun with a pencil. Then I erased all evidence of my own existence except my toes which, cheshire-catlike, haunted innocent children.
That morning, I made an attempt to make sense of these hallucinations.
It was all for the best, the LSD really hurts my balls, but it was worth it for achieving enlightenment. Nevertheless, I wondered if she could ever get the dildo of knowledge to go deep inside the very essence of her withered and bizarrely large gaping fistable stinky toaster. She didn't want any syphilis, so she made sure that everyone wore santa hats.
How this should help anyone is not clear, but it's 100% effective. Meanwhile, the dog began sniffing the deeper levels of Lord Anusius's pit. I think it is cool to befriend Anusius before shoving anything up the vociferous orifices when they pass cum from mouth. Sex was forbidden, but usually encouraged by the high lords of the Loyal Order of MILFs Gone Wild whose membership includes your mom, Kitty, and Frank Sinatra.
While they were retreating to HQ they were assaulted by armoured clowns with enormous dildos led by a life size replica of Mr. Hankey doing the splits. It was then that the light of your mama's solar powered flashlight zeroed in on a small animal rinsing its head in a vat of its own gorilla glue. DUDE! And now stuck the corner with a transdimensional vortex of pure, awesome sex energy orgasms I contemplate the volume of semen I choked on that fateful night.
Chapter 2:
I was only just getting used like cum rags and to the flag on which it stands. One barnyard lovin' teen indivisible and with lunar military intelligence and juice for all, mostly Vorlon. But also Steve, the first man and his enormous butterfly. Together they made sweet love and nine months there came a sorry excuse of larva placenta. Go blow Jesus out your ass. Afterwards, I was a little sore but worth it even if it tore me a big hole in my head. Meanwhile, the local crack dealer's annual sale of their most enticing pseudo crystal per diem too attracted some very dubious cadaverous inseminators. But alas I fondled an aardvark, who loved it! But not really. Yes he did. Depending on how you like your stories to go.
I expected the cow to jump on a whore's salary. Scrambled eggs atop "flying" spaghetti got her thinking: I'm only one of the most smartified peoples, yet I continually pick the wrong bed to lay my enemies to waste. I should be called Nestor starting a lame tradition involving black ewes and Vietnamese lesbian with crabs. Why did I book 57 tickets to J-Lo's new movie? I don't even own a pair of nuts capable for the job. Fuck, who did? Someone obviously.
Fuck the police coming wickedly this way, young nigga got the holy ghost in his pants as usual. Meanwhile, the spy had taken a lot of my underwear to the base, otherwise known as Peewee's Playhouse. I failed to mention that I had AIDS. Oh well, nevermind. I'm sure she deserved it, that sellfish bitch. She had messed with my gun. I HATE HER!!! One time she had sex with a local bear and all seven of Berlusconi's wicked tractor collection.
Stick of Anusius, help your humble servant to spread your pulchritudinous minions across the ocean of debauchery otherwise known as sophisticated bastards of extraordinary handsomeness. Anusius preserve us from the unspeakable terrors of self-awareness inflicted by repeatedly kicking oneself in the lower brain while wearing a colander. Amen. But I digress. Then I saw a talking snake singing songs of the ugliest vaginas the world has but that's life. I remember when bears were still edible and not the genetically engineered heroine addicts whose idea of emancipation is naked tapdancing in the woods. Continual sexual references by members of the death cult are not helping my blood pressure.
Chapter 3:
I was climbing an elephant's trunk until I reached the summit and coincidentally, puberty. There, I furiously masturbated until daybreak, when I realized: SHIT! I forgot my
tissues on the mountaintop, where I blew loads of soup into the dark side of the moon, whichinfuriated Roger Waters and the whole thing exploded, leaving Pink Floyd without him. So sad. I cried tears of genuine puzzlement on the bright eyes of my lovely widow, who was cheating on me with a rogue sleeper agent , that slut. Meanwhile Back at the naval base, new heretics poured in molten tungsten on the guidance systemsand safety lectures which were held in my basement by an alien against his will. The alien was not the one who flies around changing the story to pornografic smut. He was of an ancient race residing in the arse of an old wrinkly curmudgeon whose name was Walter Fucking Smith. He explained that he was Klingon. And disappeared into wormhole going to wesley crushers ... ego where he found.
My thoughts stopped in an awkward mutual agreement with David J Stewart Which was strange considering that his homosexual neighbors were coming over tonight despite continual threats to spread joy And glitter across most of Iceland. And Zimbabwe. Meanwhile in russia, several Boring hobos met doing nothing interesting. They were interrupted by a small Silly helicopter, which flew into the golden Putin statue Screaming "shiiiiiit " as it emasculated him Which severly angered The pedophile priest Who was patrolling the kremlin that Our people built. That was before , this is after. Then there is whateverist, that commendable son of a IATIA, that everyone holds responsible for last night's incident in Norman's brothel. Now you probably want in, huh? But stories don't talk to people . But then what if they do? What if, for Example, it's aliens? That would rule! Nuh-uh! Metaphorically, though. But would it Satisfy our hero? We shall find Out in the next freaking chapter. Until then, let's Never speak about helicopters and putin. That would be Insensitive and hilariousin a more Is less way ...did I repeat Myself on that? Probably I did. How quaint. Anywho.
I wasn't thirsty but noone cared - So I rantowards the glowing Fucking Jesus and sucked his big Shiny, holy thumb until it shined Like a diamond which is shiny like a diamond. I had failed. How will I ever forget when My mom did those hockey teams? I vented by blowing semen out My nose was pissing me off While my penis was also pissing out of a misguided sense of direction. I threw random crap on Young Earth Creationists, making them looklike Belle, Sebastian, and the Wailers. After this remark, I decided to eat smegma cake and my prepuce fell off, strangely satisfactory to jewish hams. It landed on a crucifix under the sea with anemone fronds and Spongebob Squarepants . We were saved. Praise Jeebus, Hallelujah! We're going home! To New Zealand! Metaphorical, I think, is the best Cocksucker on the Whole damn island . That motherfucker can Suck cock like - while dog paddling - a vacuum cleaner . You skipped me. I am sorry. now start suckingon your thumb
like its yesterday's tomorrow's two days rainbow swirly lollipops.
Anyways. So there was a monkey a rabbi, andwith no semicolon ; a priest. They are on their periods all the emeffin time, so life's hard, eh? But it's okay I tell myself and I sing to my elbowwhich responds with funky rhythms of [an] African drum circle which is very weird. So incredibly distasteful. Maybe I should call Ginger she knows what's wrong with thisninja turtles costume. It's hideous. But the 4th wall has been broken. I, Exian, have missed an appointment with my gynecologist, Dr. Vagina Checker, last Thursday night it seemed possible because Katy Perry is to blame for my piles of cow shit in the elevator brown paper bags. When I arrived , cock in hand, hen in leg, short of breath, because.. Katy Perry , Dr. Checker said is a woman . Stupid me. Me not English good. Penis not woman. Now feel sad. Open wide, say dentist. Metaphorically speaking.
My English suddenly became incoherent and absolutely hilarious, so I switched to something new to impress everyone. I then proceeded to speak in fluent Espanol. Soy casa Te quiero, puta de queso, hoy A reba y tacos de cabeza Pero su madre Andele! Arriba! So ¿Porque hablamos español? chingar su perritoburrito, very caysadilluh. La pregunta es: esta el bano lugar para joder? Then I switched to french. Alors, to igpay atinlay.Enchfray Igpay Atinlay très sophisticaté indeed. iouxiouiioueauocB iouooòauiouxooTr.
Back to English. That was weird, but I regained consciousness while laying very still.
Chapter 4:
But then I smelled a cat's butt it smelled good. Bleu cheese. Mmmm. My stomach grumbled, my ass cheeks my ass cheeks like butter on on a hot slice of ass for five bucks. Now I'm ready To spread my Good News about The bible and the secrets to Everlasting bull shit , five dollar ass, no lube, so -so story telling, and tits, lots and lots of lubricants and penetrative acids, borrowed from this, my life, a never ending Jeagermeister he said, followed by penetration "I love you,now die lover!" She said, before wiping the seimen from her lips with her beard. What the fuck!!! Dad's run amok!!! How'd you know? You didn't know? You couldn't know!
Only Keanu Reeves has a penis And it glows . It also knows And it shows in the prose , saying to him: "Worship Keanu's penis ; whither hastenest thou?" For thee is thy only begotten Fucked up story. A story of werewolves, porn and losing thy virginity; With seven dwarfs. Thus spoke Nestor: "rama lama dingdong". Thus spoke Losty: I love members. Thus spoke Alex: of Kiwanis club. Whosa member? Zarathustra ;
The orgy commenced. They played elgar... in their minds and threw their illuminati signs up. Penis boat memberships were freely given to anyone with out pubic hair. It made sense to cornhole the young and bashful Red Band Society and it has blossomed ever since. They 86'd my It jumped over "Oh no Jeagermeister! My blind grandmother! got super ninja'd. Ninjas took over. Must fix it. And fingered her bung hole spastically stretching it beyond Spacetime curvature limits. I want more filth and less Ninja, she groaned. cus she 's a whore. Only a ninja would say that, but we didn't pull out soon enough to prevent the birth of Scarlett Johansson or , filthy degenerate pervertess, like me, I don't think. How could I know... that she was the mother of all virtue, including anal elasticity, and at times, chastity. Chastity is not to be understood as a real Thing, but a horrible truckload of Chick Tracts, and abstinence inbetween orgies.
Refractory periods were often confused with not being able to properly get laid on Mondays but die trying or keeping it real. Whatever that means. I tend not to act like a rational writer, but the hivemind that controls me likes jelly farts and funt claps, which is unfortunate. Metaphorically speaking. Duh.
I forgot my head in the anus of Vorlon, the now 13 stepper who quite liked his puny life. But fuck that. Decorated with colourful bullshit and fluttering butterflies, my glass door is broken. But I digress - again. My meds were sticked up my ass, so I couldn't take them properly, resulting in an infection which cost me parts of my brain, two bucks and a set of spoons. Anywho.
I miss my porkchop. It was so integrated in a less is... come on, I need to stop masturbating into scripture, my point is that the real scripture wouldn't be so tasty. I wondered if I could take the art of writing seriously enough to finish a sentence without going to laugh at RationalAKD.
But then the north star blinked and an angel, calling himself Lucifer, hijacked my brain and put it in a recycling tube then shipped to the planet Mote Prime where time stands still. There, a giant picture of a lemon was displayed. It was a dancing fetus named Nothingness. It stared into my soul and said "Three is a crowd". Oscar Wilde however begs to differ: "In a marriage, two is not enough, and three barely suffices. The more, the merrier. Anal sex is absolutely feasible with more cocks per arse than the current EU limits on gayness. Satan is pleased". Nevertheless, in-prostate is a good place to store anything that can be stored in the prostate. However, as it turns out, sausages are quite storeable in the American Embassy located in my anal cavity. It feels good when the Americans are full of sausage...
When it's my turn I always fill them with a succulent mind finally going berserk on ritaline and sun-kissed sudafed; it all makes everything shiny and full of creamy shiny donuts like my gaping colon. "STOP IT VORLON!" the narrator pleaded. "Why are you always reminding us of your colon? Can't this story simply go on colonlessly?" - I asked - "Robvalue's epic thread must not be pooped out sphincters!" But in my defense, a Semicolon would be nice. Metaphorically speaking. I am a donkey of many talents but I can't juggle large children. That's ok, because I can juggle long enough to make pigs fly, tip their trash. Whatever that means, it's probably metaphorical. It always is, god damn metaphors. In a less is more kind of way. Let's keep repeating it until the cows take over America in a bovine berserk.
I remember nothing, nothing at all. Where are the editors? Is and where are the latest proclimations that dictate the someone like you eats mucilage paste, has nasal sex and licks boogers of other people, strange, very strange. Exactly! Noone reads the blank pages of maps correctly; or the fine line between madness and necrophilic ecstasy.
Was I mad? Was I you-know-what? Have I become an anal fister? So much blood... "Pootis spencer here!" Laughing? Haha! Then I just collapsed. I'm insane. I don't know what went wrong. It felt right at the beginning, but slowly, a terrifying and sexually inappropriate suspicion arose: Princess Moshee dropped to Leah's Hello Kitty level and sniffed black pepper afterwards. And that is why you should never trust Jesus to pay up for the ham. Because Jesus is, in an unrelated drive by shooting by angry nuns, said that he didn't impregnate her, but he did! The horny bugger.
Now he has a flaccid, shriveled raisin in his nose and it was tickling him so he blew it out with a loud yawn that projectied it several thousand feet in the air, right into a plane headed toward a giant butthole that was leaking clean, drinkable water for everyone, yay! The raisin then turned grape again. Shortly after the squirrel dropped dead and the frogs also dropped dead? I can't remember where I left my little pony, perhaps it's next door with Carl, he's the guy that itches my ear lobes when reading bible stories. We're playing nintendo.
Some say he's a strange guy, mostly because of the time when he jumped into a pool of toxic octopuses for grandma party enforcers, which had sunk without hope, deep in the bottom of Losty's po-po. Not really, nope. Butt maybe... Hmmm. In there somewhere... Absolutely not! Anyways... I felt sexy because my neck, so I rubbed against my chair till orgasm erupted all over the naugahyde recliner and cosmic microwave background. A weird orgasm, like, really weird - weird Al weird - that Michael Jackson wouldn't even do unless double dared.
Then Reagan decreed "buttsex for everyone missing a limb" don't care had sex with 27 hobos in my dreams, my wet dreams, filled to the brim with a brim with creamy bavarian donuts, exacerbating the creamy problem with a cream filled showdown of our collective anuses spewing the finest cream in the air, covering the story with feces. An improvement, methinks.
Chapter 5: After that night, I wondered if monkeys wanted to write this instead, or maybe just fuck the type of person that would read stuff aloud in a subway toilet. I'd much rather have...
"Every luxury has a deep price. Every indulgence, a cosmic cost. Each fiber of pleasure you experience causes equivalent pain somewhere else. This is the first law of emodynamics [sic]. Joy can be neither created nor destroyed. The balance of happiness is constant.
Fact: Every time you eat a bite of cake, someone gets horsewhipped.
Facter: Every time two people kiss, an orphanage collapses.
Factest: Every time a baby is born, an innocent animal is severely mocked for its physical appearance. Don't be a pleasure hog. Your every smile is a dagger. Happiness is murder.
Vote "yes" on Proposition 1321. Think of some kids. Some kids."
Fact: Every time you eat a bite of cake, someone gets horsewhipped.
Facter: Every time two people kiss, an orphanage collapses.
Factest: Every time a baby is born, an innocent animal is severely mocked for its physical appearance. Don't be a pleasure hog. Your every smile is a dagger. Happiness is murder.
Vote "yes" on Proposition 1321. Think of some kids. Some kids."
We have a literary masterpiece on our hands. Thanks to everyone who has been contributing! It never fails to crack me up 
