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?

Trollaxor spins a tale so vile and horrid it can only be about one thing: an Office Christmas party! Well, it is more like a lemon party than a Christmas party. If you dare click here you can see the whole horrid Linux party, or you can take shuddering, teary-eyed comfort with the following quote to get you all ready:

They two Linux developers slowly turned and looked me straight in the eye, evil grins smeared across both of their bearded faces.

“What the fuck are you doing!?” was all I could force out of my mouth. I still wasn’t believing I was seeing this.

Saying nothing, both of the Linux guys rushed me. Being in such a tense state, I threw both of them off and made a break for the door. And the fucking thing wouldn’t open. In the following two seconds that seemed like an eternity, the door was pushed open my way and two more Linux coders came in. Upon seeing what was happening, they immediately grabbed me and were joined by the first two. I was trapped. Then the one guy, who was a dead-ringer for Rasputin, the mad Russian monk, gazed into my eyes and said in a feminine voice, “Looks like Mr. Party is gonna get a taste of the real action!” and cackled insanely.

Cold sweat spurted from the pores on my foreheads and cheeks as I was dragged by the four stinking, polluted hippies into the same stall their previous victim was in.

“Thanks for the pizza and beer,” Rapsutin said, “now it’s time for the weeners and buns!”

Merry Christmas!

Waking up oddly bright and alert one sunny Monday morning, Tom Johnson rolled out of bed and nearly skipped into the shower He was almost giddy this morning, and that was a bit odd, but at least it was pleasant.

Soon after Tom got out of his refreshing and peaceful morning cleansing ritual, his phone rang. Tom picked up and up a calm, well-meaning and yet still obviously distressed voice chirped out to wreak havoc on the last few minutes of his life.

“Tom? This is Dan.”

“Dan! How the-“

“Look I have to be short, I’m sorry. Uh, there has been a sort of…an uh-oh? Yeah…dude, are you at work?

“No, I just got up. Why?”

“Oh..oh . Um, Tom, I have to go but I am serious. You…listen, you can’t tell anyone, all right? I’m really, really sorry. An ICBM is going to strike right in Oakland! You have ten minutes to get out….I think ten minutes, maybe less than that.”

“Haha! Yeah right! Dude don’t pull this shit I know where you-“

“Listen, it’s going to hit the city center! It’s projected to have a twenty mile blast radius-get out!” Just then, some commotion blasted out of the phone. Tom thought he an angry crisp voice shout out, “That’s an unauthorized-” before the phone clattered off on the other end.

Tom tried to ring Dan back at the number, but it would not connect.
His grin turned to a frown and a grim realization that his friend wasn’t lying. It wasn’t like him at all to pull a prank like this. Given Dan’s work at some weird Navy Radar center, he would know if something horrifying and secret was going to happen, and where it would be happening to, specifically.. That was his job, after all. Like tracking a nuke falling on Tom’s neighborhood.

Ten minutes? Ten minutes. His hair was already sticking up as he processed everything. No, by now that would be nine minutes, right? Nine minutes.

He had no chance to live for much longer-he figured that. Those things burst in the air, he thought: I’m going to the roof. It will be instant that way.

He walked out of his apartment into his hallway and didn’t bother to shut the door. He walked quickly up the stairwell and up to the lonely and dark door to the roof. Opening that, he realized he was still wearing his pajamas. Ah hell, why not?

He looked about the grey speckled flat roof and chose a spot right in the middle next to the abandoned TV antenna. He stood and peered into the sky and spun around to see if there was any chance he could spot the missile. With nothing in sight but a couple of landing passenger liners-unlucky bastards. As he peered up, he heard one, then two shifting whines loudly make their mark across the sky. The two planes had shifted their courses, both making ninety degree turns away from each other and speed up and away, their speed picking up considerably.

I bet that is where the bomb hits, he thought. It looked to be just a couple of miles away.

He had picked the right spot. He remembered reading a history of the bomb, and of course pictures of numerous explosions were contained in a small and tasteful back and white photo section in the last third of the book. There was a before and after picture of an island. The second picture showed a large bluish blob over and above where the island ad been-nothing was left but a watery crater. The second picture he remembered was the Manhattan skyline, first with a shot of a bomb like Nagasaki’s sad present, and the second was a shot of the skyline, but stretched out to most of the island instead of a close-up of the Empire State building’s neighborhood. The atomic bomb in the first pic took up most of the picture behind the buildings; in horrifying contrast, the second picture’s fusion explosion took up most of the island’s backdrop. There was no way he could run from this. The first one, maybe. Not the second one. Not an h-bomb. That could have that twenty mile blast radius.

He thought briefly about calling his parents and decided against calling them or anyone else. Why bother? They would worry to no end, and feel some odd sort of guilt. The shouts and screams from below helped to staunch the guilt. Was that a gunshot?

He heard a few sirens begin to break out, until in a couple of minutes a cacophony run in his ears, his neighbors rushing to the street. No one bothered to come up. They are all doomed too, why bother, he thought in oddly calm despair.

He looked upwards to hunt down the final streak, up from where the two planes had parted. The sky held silent, unlike the screams and sirens from below. He tried to focus on the sky. Soon enough, a flicker of red streaked into view, quickly and mercilessly it dropped a quarter of the sky until a bright flash pulsed out.

He blinked, blinded, but alive and stunned. I am still here, he thought. A roar hit his ears seconds later.

It wasn’t an H-bomb. He could have r

ICBM, H-Bomb, nuclear accident

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

Wow, dollaradayandfound’s blog is either a master troll or a master loon! Fun, fun reading of insanity, such as:

I’ll say right off that I think the USA made a terrible mistake many years ago when we had the best chance to annex Canada and everything south of the USA, at least through Panama. We could guard the border pretty well at the Panama Canal, and at the straights across from Russia. It would now be most difficult due to the French element in Canada

All this hullabaloo in the Iraqi, Afghanistan, and Israeli, Lebanese areas, is a simple distraction that we fell for, so that China and Russia would have time to get ready for world intrusion, while we expended our whole army and most of our equipment, for no good cause, in the perpetual warring area of the world, the middle-east.

What has replaced all of the jobs we have lost to Asia and other places?
Such jobs as Presidents, Vice-Presidents, Controllers, Plant Managers, Production Managers (of products for sale)and all the associated jobs to get products to market, are mostly missing.

I seriously urge all of you to click on the “more” link on his blog entries. Please.

funny, troll, dollaradayandfound, political blog, blog, insane

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

Eerie, Indiana was a show that reminded me of my little home town. It struck me as funny in my eleven year old mind that nope one else could see the similarities between that Twilight Zone-esque TV show and our bizarre little town of Brushton, NY.

Brushton was, Like Eerie, a seemingly normal place but at a closer level you could pick out the weirdness. Aliens popped in here and there, Bigfoot, lake monsters, killers and other crazy people, crazy animals, that sort of thing. Small country towns near international borders sometimes have a lot more going on inside of them than just smuggling.

These are my weird stories from home.

Unbelievable things were capable of happening in that place. The pretend isolation of the town was a sort of hilarity that I only recently realized. As I grew up and moved away the town became marked as increasingly bizarre in my mind as I tried to explain seemingly normal or even normally interesting events to other people, who would refuse to believe my tales.

You see, Brushton is situated next to the Canadian border (okay, more like a town or two away). From across the hills, if you a house overlooking a clear enough field, you could see the Adirondack Mountains in the distance on one side, then turn around and witness the Canadian border on the other, complete with a view of the St. Lawrence Seaway as well, shimmering in the far distance. At night you could see the thick dotted line of the city and of ships passing through the canals. Some serious stuff was happening at the border, some of it even legitimate.

But nothing was happening in Brushton, so went the standard thought. To a lot of local people, raised to be wary of the authorities, crossing the border can be the biggest hassle in the world. So activities near those shimmering lights to the north were generally out of the picture, except for special nights (like weekends after you turned eighteen). Time would be instead spent on finding your fun wherever and however you could, and damn the legalities of it all! At any rate people in the town generally thought of the place as being in the boonies, which it really, in all actuality, it wasn’t at all.

For myself and the dozens of other bored country kids we shared tje the clandestine thrill of the moonlit summer night; wandering around in secret with gangs of friends at two or three in the morning, running around and smashing fireflies over each others backs, riding bikes in the woods, all while drinking stolen Molsons out of a friends backback. This was the standard as a rite of passage in Brushton and really, all across the North Country. If you didn’t have at least one story of fleeing the police in a late night chase from a drunken and stoned party in the dirt roads or gravel pits you weren’t really livin’! I have to admit a late start to that sort of thing, as at the time I was playing stupidly overpriced game systems at my friends houses, probably high as all hell on soda and elf brand cookies.

One summer all of those beloved forbidden treats all started to come together, just wonderfully. Fourteen I was, and I had saved and saved and finally bought an Atari Jaguar. In retrospect, the joke was sort of on me, really, but there were some great games on that system. Ten or so, eventuallly… One in particular, and perhaps the greatest, was called Tempest 2000. It was a magnificent fusion of drug induced visuals and geometry class with a soundtrack so pumping you wanted to dance while playing the damned game. It was so damned good I actually cared about who programmed that mad game (who happened to be a wonderful and mad Brit by the name of Jeff Minter)!

One night I stumbled home from a random late night sneak out, and having met friends who smoked me up, I had wandered back completely stoned. I was ambitious and excitable when stoned as a young kid, and so I switched on Tempest 2000. That is when my life changed forever, or so it seemed at the smoky time. I was trapped playing the game for hours before passing out in teenage stoner gamer ecstasy, the visuals of the game composed of smoothly and swiftly moving geometric, 3-d shapes shot at your eyes and sent dazzling fireworks and blurred words or encouragement or dissing, accompanied by rampaging techno music of a quality you have never even thought possible, and coming from a goddamn masterpiece of a game, no less!

Three warp tokens hastily gathered, however, then

a sudden stop and chill moment upon warping to a special relaxation bonus zone, made up of of chilling and relaxing music and coasting along a semi-invisible path to gather points and spare lives before jumping back into the geometric fray.

Yes, it was the best game experience of my life up to that point. While I was in my early years of pseudo-stealthily hell raising and playing games, however, my brother was also apparently working his way into a becoming the sort of true hellraiser one fears yet admires, right at the same time as me- yet with a three year handicap! My first sign of his stunning pogress was when I asked him in the presence of a friend if he knew of where to find any weed. My brother told me that he did in fact know where to score some. and to wait one second. He came back- from his room- with a tiny bag and pipe and said to have fun. He had hidden his stash inside of a toy tractor trailer-his beloved Hess truck.

As my friend and I wandered into the stream in the woods behind the house to smoke and enjoy our good luck we laughed at how he had weed, how my little bro had pot. It was funny then and still is, really. I mean, he was in seventh grade! But it wasn’t a good sign. I mean, dude, he was in seventh grade. This should have been especially troubling because I had asked him for that which even I did not easily have, suspecting he did. I mean, he could get me beer through some process, somehow, then, too.

Around the same time I found my brother, deathly sick in the bathroom, puking away, and for the most part in the toilet. I remember the thick smell of cheap alcohol in the room, and I asked him if he had drank. He insisted he hadn’t and he just got food poisoning…even though the room stank of cheap Canadian whiskey.

I found out years later that he had a drank a jug of whiskey at once and puked it right up…silly kid hadn’t learned to drink “properly”. I’m glad I had found him, though. He wasn’t doing too well that night.

Ah, family memories…

brushton, nostalgia, growing up, country, north country, stories, non-fiction

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!

“It is suppertime, my son. The suppertime. You have much to eat, and little time in which to do it.” The portly old master regarded his grossly overweight protege with warm regard. He had trained well, and he was sure that he would triumph. If he couldn’t, well, the consequences…

No. He wouldn’t allow himself to even think that. This boy was a champion eater, by God! He could devour a turkey in less than a minute, cooked or alive. He once ate a fruitcake in less than ten seconds, but he required an entire day to recover. The density, well he didn’t quite expect that!

They walked out from the cool, dry Waiting Room into the warm fragrant humidity of the Grand Dining Hall, illuminated by four mystical pillars of blue flame set against the four corners of the dark stone walls. In the eerie light a legless table levitated, twenty feet long and eight feet wide, overflowing with grand quantities of delectable fodder.

“We have come, Cho’ow!” announced the Master. “The time has come again for your challenge to mankind, Oh Lord of Nourishment, and I have brought forth our champion! Behold, the newest Stomach of Man!” The protege stepped forth to the human - designated head of the table, not a tremble in his body, nor a doubt to distract himself from the task at hand. Sitting down on the ancient and holy jewel - encrusted eating chair, but one thought crossed his determined mind; he must overeat far more than the Lord of Nourishment could ever hope to, and as fast as possible. No previous Stomach of Man had failed at this task, nor would he now. He had trained long and hard; his incredibly large stomach was testament to this. Now he would be put to the ultimate test of gluttony, against the champion eater from the demon realm. If he failed (which, of course, he wouldn’t), the demons would take over the entire planet and devour all of humankind. On the other hand, if (when) he succeeded, humankind would be spared the demons for another one hundred years.

“I am ready, Cho’ow! ” proclaimed the Stomach. “Show your concave - stomached self!”

A black portal ringed by fire opened at the other end of the table. From it came a grossly fat demon riding atop another jewel - encrusted eating chair, with titanium supports worked into the legs. The chair, with great effort, deposited itself at the demon - appointed head of the table.

“Master, why does my chair not move like Cho’ow’s?” asked the slightly agitated protege. He is much larger than I was told, he thought silently to himself.

“My son, it is not a typical chair; indeed, it is a demon chair! Lo! The judge approaches!”

From out of the stone walls a mighty griffin appeared. Glancing at the Master, he rumbled, “Only one human, the Stomach of Man, shall inhabit this chamber during the Feast. You must leave at once.” He stretched his great wings, and pointed his tail towards the door of the Waiting Room. With a nod, the master entered the room once again, and the heavy iron door shut behind him.

As the minutes passed, apprehension grew inside of him. His protege was too arrogant. It worried him greatly, for the one who feels he cannot lose is the one who loses the most. As the end of the hour approached, he was filled with fear, fear that humankind had lost. It was all his fault; perhaps he should have picked a chubbier protege? He shouldn’t have let him eat that pizza before the Feast, but his arrogant protege assured him of his incredible hunger. Now all was lost, he just knew it, all on account of the latest Stomach of Man’s haughty overestimation of his great hunger.

The hour was up. The door slowly opened, grating against the stonework. The stocky Master anxiously peered out into the Grand Dining Hall, expecting the worst. Instead, he found success! The table was cleared, and the Stomach of Man had his arms raised in triumph!

“Humanity has triumphed yet again,” the somber griffin reported. “But in a way unlike what I have ever witnessed. I am afraid you have created something much worse than the demons. Pray your kind shall live to see another Feast, and that the next demon is not hungrier than Cho’ow!” With that forboding statement, the griffin judge disappeared back into the walls from wence he came, leaving behind a very confused Master.

“Ah, Master, I have triumphed over Cho’ow! I do not think he was expecting me to be so…voracious!” gloated the corpulent Stomach.

“What has become of him?” the Master worriedly asked, “Has he already left?”

“No! He shall be with us forever, master!” The Stomach laughed heartily.

“No…You didn’t!” cried out the horrified Master.

“Ah, but I did! And yet, I still feel my hunger…,” he looked upon the Master as he would upon a glazed ham, “and I must sate it!”

“No!” screamed the master, but it was too late. In seconds, he was devoured. Picking his teeth with a rib bone, the Stomach set forth from the Temple of Cho’ow, with one thing on his hungry mind. Lunch.

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…

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OK WAIT WHO REPLACED MY UPDATE WITH GREMLINS FANFIC GODDAMMIT