Titty Twister.
2006-08-30 07:19:08 ET

I've invented a new game called Titty Twister. It's like ordinary Twister but your nipples are pinched by clothespins attached to the center.

Father Gregory.
2006-08-30 07:12:31 ET

In his will Father Gregory stipulated that his corpse should be flung across the church walls and into the nearby kindergarden to "give those fucking children a taste of true mortality." Actually, the real reason for this request, Father Gregory smiled to himself, was that Father Gregory was a right bastard who only joined the church for the women. This, of course, explains the sudden rash of widely heralded miracle "virgin births" amongst the nuns in the nearby convent. They had been widely publicized for the past few decades and such events (albeit rare in the recent years) have brought many a pilgrim soul to his flock, some of them quite free with their donations to the church. Who knew that nun-fucking could be so good for the collection plate? Alas, God smiles upon all. And masturbates, so figured Father Gregory.

After all, if you had the power to peek into any and every corner of the world, what would you look at? Father Gregory reasoned that God's real name was Tom. As in Peeping Tom. In fact, for a good part of his life Father Gregory was quite paranoid about going to the bathroom, going as far as pissing while sitting down with a newspaper covering the gap between his legs through which God could peek and see his genitalia. He should be so jealous, thought Father Gregory. I've got a holy host for a member. A fucking eucharist. And everytime it shoots its brains out on some nun's back (or when he lost control, into her womb) the world's sins are absolved. And if the world's sins are absolved who will go to Church? No one. And God will be fucked. And that, concluded Father Gregory, was why he had to keep the holy light hidden between his legs everytime he had the urge to piss.

Ah, but soon he'll be dead. Dead. No more newspaper covers. No more nun fucking. No more cumming during the holiest of Holy Communions. And once more the world's sins will pile on like some hellish mountain, its height overtaking the Babel Tower itself and reaching up and out and impaling the sky. An infinite sadness descended upon Father Gregory and he realized that mortality was quite near. For him. And eventually for everyone. And that is why his corpse was to be flung upon a crowd of unsuspecting children. For their own good. And because he is a right bastard.
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I wrote this and once again I don't know what this is.
2006-08-30 05:23:49 ET

Maroon: Hey, Paul, I need your help. Listen, you know how I was telling you that I wanted to get into the whole experimental music scene? Well, see, I got this synth off of Craigslist real cheap. It's used, apparently, and so there's no manual, and I've no idea what the fucking thing is. It's the weirdest looking contraption I've ever seen. Fucking light show, man. You ever seen something like it?

Paul: You're shitting me.

Maroon: What?

Paul: That's a fucking cosmic key

Maroon: A what?

Paul: You've never seen Masters of the Universe?

Maroon: What? What is that?

Paul: Nevermind. Hmm... Listen, it's too complex for you. I'll take it off your hands for some nose candy.

Maroon: (Excitedly) OKAY!

{MEANWHILE}

Skeletor: FOOLS!

A bit fragment for an idea.
2006-08-30 05:12:41 ET

He was sitting alone in the study, frantically turning through the pages of all sorts of books of history, quickly jotting down the dates and characteristics of various plagues and outbreaks that have beset mankind. This, to those who knew him, was quite odd since his usual obsession was that of esoteric technology - aetheric energy, infrasound, time travel, things of such nature. This new and sudden turn of interest made no sense. But in his mind the connection was quite clear. The idea came to him when he was contemplating the various logical and environmental implications of time travel. Suppose that time travel is possible and is used by man at some point during the lifetime of the species. Suppose then, men from the future travel backwards through time to points in their history. What are the implications?

It struck him that they would quite reasonably be biological and more specifically pathogenic in nature. After all, throughout the various decades, and centuries, and millenia of human existance the entire race of man has lost and gained all sorts of immunity to disease. Chickenpox, the common cold, the flu - we've developed at least a moderate resistance to all sorts of disease. As the diseases themselves mutated and evolved and some lived and some died out our bodies had adjusted in turn. A slight case of chickenpox nowadays could be brushed off as almost insignificant. Take the disease, in a vial, back a few millenia, and set it loose on the populace. No chance. Hundreds, even thousands dead, depending on what population center you let the beasties loose in. And their diseases would affect you too for you had not encountered them in a thousand years. But the future has much better medicine, see? And hygeine too comes into play. You'd affect them more then they'd affect you. And unless you'd travel back in a bubble or avoid all contact with humans from the era you'd guarantee and almost instant plague. And that would be the sign, he realized, of a successful landing back through time. Perhaps a sort of retro-temporal colonization to escape some dramatic cataclysm. Perhaps a pilgrimage. For whatever purpose they'd travel back and unavoidably, like a meteorite, take out whole civilizations wherever, and whenever, they landed.
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Photos.
2006-08-30 04:40:31 ET

I had bought a digital camera a few days back so Matt and I decided to venture out towards the ocean on Sunday to take some pictures and, for me, to get familiar with my camera. Here's a few of the good ones:













2 comments

2006-08-25 16:37:03 ET

He went to Paris for the Hitler Whores. They were topless, wore thigh-high, torn fishnet stockings, and small mustaches underneath crank addict noses. The older ones were renegade female Shaolin monks who knew how to move their insides in such a way so as to either pleasure a man beyond belief - or kill him by throwing out their uterus in a fist like fashion. They would teach the young girls all their tricks. From the "pussy piano" to "womb massage" to the highly acrobatic (and potentially deadly) "cock versus cervix". Their signature move was the "blue balls blitzkrieg". Their harem was lit by lamps with foreskin lampshades.

2006-08-23 17:18:43 ET

He woke up with a headache and stumbled into the bathroom, fumbled for the light, turned it on, looked in the mirror, took a few moments to process all the information that the glance bestowed upon him, and recoiled back in shock and terror. His face was gone.

Fuuuuuuuck. That was some party.

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