Why oh why did I write any of these phrases:

***
Captain Kirk beamed down into yet another unfamiliar world. Of all the places to end up…just them he heard a familiar shimmer, and turned to see Mr. Spock materialize next to him.

A few moments of silent and intent observation of their surrounding passed. Mr. Spock turned to Kirk and wryly said, “Jim, this place appears to be highly illogical, ” and returned his gaze to the brick building before them, bustling with brightly and crazily dressed young humans ever more rapidly pouring out to the blaring of a klaxon.

A placard above the building read, “Degrassi Middle School.”

******

Vanilla Ice was greedily eyeing the shaggily clad hips of MC Hammer when Downtown Julie Brown tapped him on the shoulder and gave him an ominous wink, then yelled out, “Hey Hammer, don’t hurt us!” She smiled alluringly at them both, wrapping her arms around the hot young Vanilla pie while lasciviously winking a “come hither” to that yummy chocolate pie dancer. The men froze, as food does before it is eaten

This would be the end of a very fun MTV Video Music Awards…and the beginning of a very sexy night!

****

Chairy was depressed. She sat sad and lonely awake in the Playhouse, the darkness settled sleep onto all of her companions.

No one but her had seen all of Pee-Wee’s…horrors. So close.

But there was one perversion she had not witnessed-or been subjected-to.

Tonight, that would change.

*******

The battered neon sign read: Cooze Oooze.

“Hell of a name for a sign, eh Garibaldi?” Lando cackled and regally stumbled towards the gaping hellhole.

Garibaldi smiled and chased after him. He dashed into him a bit too hard and they both fell into each other and onto the grimy ground in front of the station’s sex club. It was mostly lurkers here tonight, so the crowd was rough…but they did nothing but cheer as they watched the two station notables lock lips in front of them them.

The lurkers weren’t the only ones watching the surprise show….security cameras were, too.

Back in his office, Zack drew in a deep breath as he watched the scene unfold on the screen before him.

“No way Chief…no way.”

*****

Bigfoot clung desperately and joyfully to the massive floating log oh so recently wrenched from the shores of the lake by his new partner. “OWWRARWWRR!” he cried out in pleasure and the Lock Ness Monster lurched forward with a new wave of pleisiasauran pleasure-making.

They would have no babies, only love.

*******

Of all the places in the world to have ended up, Oprah had never, ever suspected she would end up here: the King of Kuwait’s private harem room.

Mark Zuckerberg was drunk. Not with power, nor with money. No, the billionaire founder of Facebook was drunk on Liquor 43. He had to be. Tom was coming over.

He had long loathed Tom Anderson, his social networking rival and and number one enemy. Tom was a scam artist, a hustler, and a prick of a jock; all of the qualities that Mark had loathed in himself. In short, Tom was everything he wished he could be, with the exception of one major detail; Mark was about eleven billion dollar richer than Tom could ever hope to be, a value that zipped rapidly up and down depending on the market, but which remained forever beyond the reach of the greasy glitter-stained fuckface. Fuck Myspace’s higher Alexa ranking, he was richer.

Another tumbler thrown out of the window of his penthouse, another echoed scream from the streets below. Another worthless fuckface, probably too poor to afford a lawyer. “I bet they post about that on their shitty Myspace blog,” Mark cackled as he tipped the sweet syrup back into his throat. The burning numbed hatred somewhat and his hands grew weaker as his tears welled up. The golden bottle tumbled from his hands on to the floor, rolling to the open doorway… stopping by Tom’s feet.

Horror and shame. Then, the brazen laughter. Like always.

“Hittin’ the bottle early, brah! I just got some Mickey D’s McGriddles, an’ you’re fuckin’ drunk!” He threw his bag of greasy meal at Mark, hitting him in his face. That was it. Mark’s eyes dried up and he clenched his fists in rage.

“Back off, Anderson. I called you here for a reason.”

Tom sneered at his rival’s greasy face and picked up the half-empty bottle. He chugged the rest down with one throaty swing and wiped his reeky smile with a deliberate horizontal wipe of his arm.

“Oh, fuck off, jew. You can’t do shit to me, Murdoch’s got my back. What, you gonna ruin me like I ruined the Friendster fag?” He the tossed the bottle back casually, hitting a meek and quiet staffer right in the face. She had just rushed in with papers.

“Quit shrieking bitch, I gotta talk business with jewboy here.” He glared at her. “Come back in a bit, I’ll have some use for you then.” She staggered out, shock and anger welling in here red eyes.

“Bitch has some chubrolls when she bends over, hate seein’ that shit when she’s suckin’. Maybe another bottle of this kike liquor will get me hard for her fat.”

This was exactly what Mark had planned. He pulled out another bottle-from Spain, but he could care less about Tom’s raging anti-Semitism at this point- and offered it to Tom, who ripped off the foil seal and began to suckle the glass slip greedily.

“Yeah Tom, keep drinking. You fuckface.”

“What?” Shock at the sudden backbone flitted across Tom’s face. Mark shut his soundproofed door and turned to Tom. “Enjoying the free booze? Think this is how a Harvard grad starts off a business meeting? In his own home? You know…I bet you do, goddamn hippie Berkeley fuck.”

Tom clumsily threw the bottle at Mark, who slooshingly ducked the clumsy throw. The liquor smashed into the wall, dripping and staining the newly whitened carpet.

“Oh Tom, Tom, Tom, I was was one of your first Myspace friends, bu you didn’t even notice me. Typical.” He stalked around the Myspace founder, tiger-like. Tom just stood, his skin goosepimpling with the horror of sudden sober realization. Licking his lips, Mark continued.

“Feel numb yet?”

“What? No! You son of a bitch, did you drug me?”

Mark smirked. “No, no, no. I ask only because you will want to feel numb.” By this time Mark had sauntered back to his desk, his eye still on Tom. Good, he thought. He is still in the Zone. “Honestly, I kind of want you to feel numb. Kind of. Still, you stole my idea for stupid profile-based applications, and I can’t have you doing that without some sort of special compensation.”

Tom was confused, and for once in his life was speechless. His jaw hung slack and a slight dribble of alcoholic drool slowly dripped its way out onto the floor.

“No words, eh?” Just the the pressed the button. He had it installed over a year ago, right below his desk, just for this occasion.

A trio of sex robots shot out from the ceiling and surrounded Tom. Their dildo lasers were charged and ready to go.

Tom broke down into sobs. “Oh God, the Friendster guy told me about this, and the Twitter guy too, he warned me….”

“Bow down before the one you serve, Tom,” he said with a cackle and an unzipping of his fly. “Sexbots, prepare the subject for penetration.”

Tom let out a scream of a thousand wronged souls. Social media was never the same again.

A fanfic writer so brave and incredible that they made a movie from one of his works about Batman:

You should seriously consider buying his book, for the Castlevania story alone.

PS: Everybody loves musicals, right?

Nicole Bradford was up to her usual hijinks again-she had ditched school for the day with her best friend Nina and they bought a back of Newports and each smoked one, pretending that they were marijuana cigarettes. Nicole felt so cool right then; that was why she liked being around Nina so much. Even if they had to practice kiss an awful lot, that was fine. Well except for today, when kissing tasted like rotten doublemint gum after their little smokefest.

Nina and Nicole almost ran in to their principal, Mr. Brewster, early on their break out on the town in their illicit quest for school-break fun, so Nina suggested they head back to Nicole’s pad and hide out for a while (the funny part of that idea was Mr. Brewster, through some complicated shenanigans involving Nicole’s two Dads, was ALSO skipping school that day!).

Nina wanted to practice kiss some more, but Nicole wasn’t in the mood. Nina pouted a pouty frown and began to rifle through her dad Michael’s things.

“Nina!” screamed Nicole, “Don’t look in that drawer! Those’re my dad’s things!”

“Ah whatever, Nicole!” grumbled Nina, who shut the drawer lazily. “You’re no fun. I thought we took off from school today to have some fun!” She walked into her other dad Joey’s bedroom.

“NINA” Nicole was freaked! Why was Nina going through all of her Dads’ things? As Nicole walked in to Joey’s bedroom Nina flourished a tape found in underneath his bed. “hey Nikki, I found some of one of your dads’ porn!”

Nicole giggled and forgot about their little spat. “OMIGOD Nines! I can’t believe you found that! Let’s watch it! ‘

“Yeah! Maybe we can practice kiss afterwards!”

“Cool!”

Nina slid the tape in the Betamax and hopped onto the bed next to Nicole. They giggled and held each other tenderly as the film began to play. First a spit of static and blur, then the tracking corrected itself…to reveal a movie already in progress!

Nina and Nicole both squinted at the screen, their nubile young minds confused and unfamiliar with the basic cliches of video-pornography. They held each other closer, until they both realized what sort of position they were looking at. Their hands tore free of each other and covered their faces-but not their eyes, not completely-and they btoh squealed girlish squeals of perverted horror!

“Ewwwww!” they both squealed. Then, Nina turned to Nicole. “Nikki! Is that two guys in one woman’s…”

“EW!EW!EW! SHUT UP NINA!” Nicole wished she could cup her hands over her ears, and she tried, but when she did that she had an unobstructed view of the grainy vaginal double-penetration!

Then she saw one of their faces-and thought she was going crazy! The man on top was her dad, Michael!

She thought she was crazy, that is, until Nina squealed “ewww! It’s your dad!”

Then there was a glimpse of another face. Oh no, Nicole thought.

“Ewwww! Nikki that’s your other dad!”

The faces stared backwards at the camera, faces scrunched in orgasms! THe lady reared her face up in orgasms too, and Nicole knew that face all too well.

“Who is that lady? Ahahah I bet it’s your neighbor!”

But she wasn’t her neighbor. No, that face was familiar from all of the pictures, and sadly, nothing more.

It was her long-dead mother! With a shudder, Nina realized why no one knew which of her dads was her real dad; because of this!

Just then the closet tumbled open, and her twos dads fell out naked, along with her principal, also naked!

Nicole jumped up off of the bed and screamed “AHHH THIS IS THE WORST THING EVER” and then spontaneously combusted from embarrassment.

The naked men and Nina laughed at her burning cinder and smiled and then they all had a sexy orgy and also spontaneously combusted from orgasms.

THE END

my two dads slash, slash fiction, my two dads

Click and Clack had just finished a long and amusing session of screening calls for “Car Talk.” Sadly, as the clock drew ever closer to midnight they realized that they needed to leave the radio station to get some sleep. Just as they were leaving they spotted a beat up blue Buick failing to start in the chilly parking lot.

“Hey Tom, check it out!” said Ray, “That old clunker is trying to start his old clunker!”

Tom squinted, “Oh yeah, ‘ol Garrison is having problems again. Whaddaya say we lend him a hand?”

Ray grumbled but assented. NPR folks need to stick together, after all-their blood runs thicker than molasses in a Lake Wobegon winter. That’s what Garrison Keillor would say-and in fact, that is exactly what he did say when the Tappet brothers greeted him.

“You ‘ol Lunkhead, what’d you do to your car?” Said Ray with a gentle tease.

“Car? It has wheels? All I see are scales and a peanut-sized brain!” added Tom with a smirk.

Garrison smiled as he opened the door and drew himself out into the chilly winter evening. “Folks, you know how a car can be a fussy as Bessie coming back from a long hard day of chewing cud on the prairie. This ‘ol heap has been giving me problems for the past few days, and I think she may have given up the automotive ghost. What do you think?”

Click and Clack were utterly charmed by the Minnesotan’s civility and rustic manner and both hopped in to the vehicle to investigate. Click opened up the hood from the driver’s-side pull-tab and asked Garrison to check out the terminals on the battery-which is exactly what Garrison had been counting on.

Once under the long late-model GM hood Garrison deftly connected a small tank and hose-full of nitrous oxide- which immediate and odorless began to flow into the car’s interior. He shouted back-”OK the terminals look fine-try now!” A peal of signature Tappet brothers laughter shot out in response. Good-it was working.

Garrison then hopped in to the back of the comfy old sedan to discuss the problem with the two brothers.

“I think you have a dead battery” said Tom, who then erupted into loud, uncontrollable laughter. Ray tried to add a helpful hint but he too began to giggle uproariously. Garrison began to giggle too-he had to be quick or his brain would be caught up in the happy haze of Nitrous.

“I’ve appreciated your show for some years now, boys, “Garrison said to the two brothers, who were rapidly approaching the blackout phase of their evening. “I just want you to know how much I love you two, and your help given freely to the good motorists of this country.” He put a hand warmly and firmly on each of the Tappet brother’s heads and looked them both deeply in the eyes, first Tom, then Ray. Their now incessant giggles took on a component of fear; their reptilian hindbrains knew something uncouth was up. The look in the old Viking’s eyes was disturbing…and needy. Before the brothers could even think of moving their numb bodies, their heads were firmly whacked together and they collapsed in a jumbled middle-aged heap on the front couch-seat of the Buick.

It was late, and the three men were the only men in the station. Garrison Keillor knew to make the best of their time.

“It was a cold night in Lake Wobegon…” he began as he undid the buttons on his old throwover sweater, “and few people knew the secret to staying warm on such a cold night…” now naked, he eyed the “Car Talk” duo greedily.

Of course, he knew the secret of staying warm and would be sharing it with two special men very soon…

NPR slash, Garrison Keillor, Tappet Brothers, Car Talk, A Prairie Home Companion, Click and Clack, nitrous, gas, slashfic, sexy

I was at WORK today and there was a girl and an old crone sitting near me, they were talking about the ELECTION! I do not like to think or talk about politics things much, usually because my political leaning are pretty much like the donkeys on “Animal Farm!” (hurrr everyone sucks I guess *takes nap*)

STILL YOU CANNOT AVOID POLITICS! So the old crone was talking about voting for Democrats because they are PRO-CHOICE!

The girl was all NO I HATE THE DEMOCRATS!@

The old crone asked, “GIRL, DON’T YOU THINK WOMEN HAVE A RIGHT TO CHOOSE?” and then the girl said:

“OLD CRONE, NO I DO NOT!” and the old crone was shocked and said nothing for a second!

I wanted to break the tension, so I said to the anti-abortion girl, “Remind me never to get you pregnant!” I then got slapped in the face!@!@!@..

I do not know much about politics things I guess, but I do know about abortion! I know that I should never talk about it, ever!

ALSO I know that I hate sloganeering which covers up issues in a debate, such as RIGHT TO CHOOSE and RIGHT TO LIFE, ughghg . If you combine the two slogans you get CHOOSE LIFE and that is a slogan I can get behind, because it means I get to watch TRAINSPOTTING again, yay!

TRAINSPOTTING FANFIC:

RENTON: OMG I need heroin again, I am now a success but I keep thinking of shootin’ up with me mates back in the day!

SICKBOY: RENTON, HELLO! I have some heroin old bloke, I brought it for you!

RENTON: SICKBOY, how did you find me!? I ran far away!

SICKBOY: I found your Friendster profile, ahahaha what a cunt you rightly are!

RENTON: GodDAMMIT I knew the internet was trouble! I need to relax *sticks needle into vein* oooh better than sex!

SICKBOY: Better ‘n any ‘ol meat injection!

RENTON: ah yep mate how come we’re still intelligible?

SICKBOY: I don’t FUCK WHO PUT THE DEAD BABY ON YER CEILING MATE?!

Trainspotting 2: Sickboy Blues

Warming your veins this Christmas!

PLOT OVERVIEW: GREMLINS 3

Synopsis:
FORSTER and GIRL GREMLIN create problems for the entire world when their torrid interspecies lust creates an even newer, cuter batch of Chinese Hell-Demons. Can BILLY PELTZER and GRANDPA MUNSTER stop them, before it’s too late?

PLOT:
At the end of GREMLINS 2 we left FORSTER alone in the top floor with the busty and lusty GIRL GREMLIN, dressed in white and ready to take their vows to the next level…which, in an outrageous and kinky scene in the first few minutes of GREMLINS 3, America will get to see! Unfortunately, FORSTER does not know the Gremlin Rules very well, and pulls out and cums across the GIRL GREMLIN’s tits. She falls down screaming, which just makes him even hotter and he sprays his cum all over her naked gremlin body with a savage grin spread cheek to cheek across his face. The grin turns to horror when he realized that his seed counts as water…

The NEWEST BATCH immediately flee the eerie honeymoon scene and attack the rescue crew who have arrived to save him. In a savage scene which is sure to earn the world’s first XXX rating for gruesome violence, the hybrid babies make their first true appearance and tear the would-be heros apart. At the foot of the stairs we see BILLY PELTZER, horrified, as the hideous shapes of the half-man, half-gremlin creatures become apparent…

********

OK WAIT WHO REPLACED MY UPDATE WITH GREMLINS FANFIC GODDAMMIT

Here is another sexy Presidential Slash Fiction story! This one also takes place at the same time as Laura Bush and Condi Rice’s hot rendezvous in a White House closet, and Dick Cheney and George Bush comfort each other as only true men can in the locked Oval Office! And guess what? It takes place on July Fourth!

____

Rumsfeld’s Sexy Soliloquy

Donald was tired, deathly tired. His head was pounding; his hands alive with the fire of untreated rheumatism, fingers shaking ever so slightly. He refused to go to the doctor; no Rumsfeld man had ever visited the physician, and he would not break that tradition.

Yet here he was, in pain, both mental and physical. How could he get some relief?

His back arched and ached from studying a strategic map of southern Iraq. He saw the blood red markers that displayed IEDs and held back manly tears as he thought of the brave men and women whose life were lost or forever scared from those cowardly attacks.

He could hear the muffled scream of ecstasy from below…he knew what Condi and Laura were up to. From the Oval Office next door he could hear thumping, the thumping from the humping of the presidential team of George and Dick comforting each other…neither of these items of erotic interest were unknown to the secret service, and consequently, not to him either. his hand twitched involuntarily and he found himself grasping his upper thigh lightly.

As his hand slowly and sneakily traced its way up his thigh and into his nether regions, Donald found his courage flare up inside of himself like a mighty supernova, exploding the red white and blue elements of light within his neoconservative soul. HE would have a decisive role in America’s glorious future! A weaker man would crack, but a man as strong as a Rumsfeld mustn’t snap, for the sake of the spirit of America itself.

He could hear the crack of an early firework in the festivities near the grand Washington Mall. The light from a boomer filled the room a fraction of a second before the loud CRACK of the explosion shook the room-as his hand found its way to his own private Iwa Jima itself. The victory of America and his role in bringing that glory to fruition filled him with a mad and joyous patriotic fervor, the likes of which only great stout men can ever hope to feel.

“Don’t shoot until you see the whites of their eyes!” Donald screamed as his ecstasy took hold!

______

Happy early Fourth of July from Touching!

February 28, 2003 (American Time)

Dear Saddam Hussein,

I am writing you in order to ask for your aid. You see, I am in need of some extra “spice” to liven up my company’s delicious menu of pizza-based foodstuffs. I have always given away a small sample of garlic sauce as a reward for ordering any food item from my chain of pizza parlors; several well-paid (and now mysteriously dead) dieticians/mathematicians have declared my special samples to have increased the rate of heart attacks in America by 72% (+/- 5%). This translates to a total of 33 million Americans who have died by my hand (a fact which doubtless you appreciate). Therefore I now believe myself to be invulnerable to criminal prosecution; however, I am decidedly not immune to sliding sales.

I need something new to give away with my pizzas. I need to generate interest in “Papa John’s pizza” once more. I need a new deadly-yet-irresistable gimmick.

I need your supply of mustard gas. It will prove to be a most spicy and mind-numbing topping.

I will pay you in women and babies. Ten thousand of them. I have no need for them any more.

I hope you will will give my offer much thought; I believe it will prove beneficial to the both of us.

Thank you for your time and cooperation.

Sincerely,

Papa John
(don’t fuck with me)

A letter from Papa John is here! I stole this one night apparently, I don’t remember how! He is mad about quack medicine Gemanic Spell Caps or whatever.

****************

German Health Products
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue
Berlin 55269
Germany

Dear Sir,

I am writing to inform you that your new product, Germanic Spell Caps, do not, in fact, work as advertised, or indeed, at ALL. I found their taste to be displeasing; their odor, most foul (rank, I dare say) and they gave my stomach a terrible beating. It was, in fact, the worst experience that I have ever had in my life. Your capsules have set a new standard for lowness if there ever was one. In fact, I dare believe it is even worse than a poltergeist at a 12-year old’s birthday party, for your behavior is surely worse than theirs. In fact, a gorilla raping my mother before my very eyes would have been repugnant indeed, yet the very thought of a possible future wherein I am force-fed your capsules as a form of horrifying torture could in fact be an even worse experience; nay, COULD is too strong a verb for this; WOULD is indeed much better suited. I am aware that COULD and WOULD are not verbs, but that is quite beside the point here.

Your vile pills are suck.

I hate them like murder and

you must refund me.

I hope this Haiku is a satisfying agreement between us. You will give me my seventy-two American dollars (I will NOT take “euros,” thank you very much), and you will give them to me by sunrise tomorrow, when I expect to see them deposited into my clammy early-morning hands by your quivering pairs of flesh-stubs.

Thank you for your time and cooperation.

Sincerely,

Papa John
(don’t fuck with me)

Laura Bush passed by Condoleeza Rice on her way to the mansion’s powder room; she had a teleconference for her new educational initiative and needed to make sure she freshened up. Her thoughts were on all of the work she’d have to do to her face in the next hour.

Condi’s thoughts were elsewhere; specifically, they were tightly focused on Laura’s firm pearly ankles. And soon the Ambassador’s thoughts were on much more than those fine joints…they began to take in, as she would put it, the whole picture.

Laura ducked into the powder room with a brisk efficiency that would make any Texan woman proud indeed, but before the door shut entirely Condi peeked her smooth Cleopatran face around the closing door and peeped, “Laura, I need to speak with you in private, if that’s ok with you.”

Laura smiled warmly and said, “Of course! Come in. Is it serious?”

Condi closed the door with a soft click and discreetly began. “Laura, I am worried about George and Dick…they were arguing earlier. They told me to leave and…well, it was during a discussion about the increasingly bad press…”

Laura put a smooth country finger up to Condi’s lips and said, “Sssssh.”

Condi froze, concerned.

“Condi, hon, I bet you those two’re makin a ruckus up their right now…but you and I know that jus’ means they’ll kiss an’ make up…and I know you know what that means too…for us…” The first lady slanted her eyes in a charmingly seductive, “come hither” look. Condi melted like fine caramel under the white-hot heat of the Texan’s stare and collapsed into Laura’s waiting arms, her right bra strap already slipped over her shoulder and down her arm…just like ther first enounter on the ranch earlier that year.

Condi’s heart raced with expectation and her blood roared louder and louder in her ears like stock cars in the final throes of a NASCAR race as Laura spun Condi onto the edge of the sink and lifted up her smart purple miniskirt. Laura eyed Condi from the most private of areas and licked her thin yet luscious lips in greedy expectation.

Condi let out a gasp as Laura cried out, “I’m going for your Beltway exclusive honey!” and dove in.

Laura was almost late for her teleconference, but she made it there…with only slighty smudged makeup. It was worth it.

George closed the heavy oaken door of his office and turned to face his ever faithful friend and business partner, Richard.

“Dick, things’z lookin’ pretty rough right now, I don’t think Congress is none too pleased with us.” George slowly, with arms slumped, shuffled across the room like a man thirty years older…almost like a broken version of his father.

“Georgey,” Dick softly intoned, lips curled into his characteristic half-sneer, “We can make it through this, don’t worry. We have a sizable minority left, now don’t forget that. Besides, the surveillance program has given us quite a bit of precious dirt on some of our fiercest foes in the Senate…” he paused, looking thoughtful yet stern, “George, remember, how do you make a tiger blink?”

George slumped into his chair, gripped his head with tense hands, and emitted a few groaning, suppressed sobs.

“Dick I am not in the mood fer one of yer Chinese riddles right now!”

“George…calm down.” A wrinkled, leathery, yet firm and warm hand pressed down insistently upon George’s. The President looked up with a smile.

“You make a tiger blink by throwing sand in its eyes.”

“That’s right. Good boy, you’re finally learning. A tiger can appear unstoppable, but don’t forget you can throw it off and save your hide by throwing some dirt in the cat’s face as it charges you…or you can distract it with a sacrificial lamb…”

The two old friends eyed each other with a laughing smirk. “RUMSFELD!” they cried out in jubilation, moments before their lips locked in a tight presidential seal of approval.

Colleagues and friends they both were to each other, George and Dick. But right now they were something much more important. Right now they were lovers.