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February 7, 2015 at 8:23 am (This post was last modified: February 7, 2015 at 9:37 am by Norman Humann.)
my blood pressure
(sighed Alex, desperately trying not to succumb to the totally reasonable amount of crass content we were trying to drown him in. But that's another story.)
RECAP
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:
More of chapter 1.
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.
"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."
February 7, 2015 at 9:41 am (This post was last modified: February 7, 2015 at 9:42 am by IATIA.)
the summit and
You make people miserable and there's nothing they can do about it, just like god.
-- Homer Simpson
God has no place within these walls, just as facts have no place within organized religion.
-- Superintendent Chalmers
Science is like a blabbermouth who ruins a movie by telling you how it ends. There are some things we don't want to know. Important things.
-- Ned Flanders
Once something's been approved by the government, it's no longer immoral.
-- The Rev Lovejoy
