Posts Tagged ‘Stolen title’

Words of Love

February 2 2010

Words of Love

50 of the Best Worst Pornography Words

  1. ass globes
  2. tit meat
  3. sweater tighteners
  4. dripping thigh candy
  5. guzzle
  6. lovecave
  7. thrustfully
  8. fleshy pile
  9. gooey mound
  10. saggedy
  11. “I’m no John Holmes, but…”/“about average… 7 inches” [TIE]
  12. baby baster
  13. cunny plunger
  14. womb stabber
  15. veinful/throbbing
  16. “penetrated… ovaries”
  17. baby baster1
  18. “her glazed potatoes wet with my white frosting”
  19. licking stick, licking stick2
  20. slurp
  21. hole
  22. slurphole
  23. smirking slit
  24. snatching place
  25. southern eyebrow [RARE]
  26. pussywalls
  27. butterface
  28. excepterbody
  29. nottinghill
  30. butter…er
  31. nipply
  32. hanging danglers
  33. dangly hangers
  34. self-respect
  35. sexplorational
  36. folds
  37. tumgina
  38. gunt
  39. BBOIG
  40. blow-heezy
  41. salad-tizzl
  42. necrofoheezylia
  43. warm cream
  44. hot yogurt
  45. cucumber sauce
  46. puckered
  47. my star me kitten star
  48. GILF
  49. GGILF
  50. preggo

and the 5 Worst Worst

  1. whore – These People Are Being Naked For You! Have Some Respect! (Or At Least Some Courtesy!)!/.3
  1. gash – Also: You Are Supposed To Be ENJOYING This Part! Aesthetically! (Erotical!)4
  1. axe-wound – Ugh/ditto.5
  1. consentish – See Also: rape-y, conflict-heavy, struggle-ful, passed-out-like6
  1. sis – What do you think you are? Some kind of bonobo? This ain’t gonna solve your problems, bud/get outta her(e)– yer b(r)otherin’ me?7

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1In which the penis enters the womb and sperms in the fetus’s eyes and face– not the same as 12

2As spoke sung to a James Brown guitar jangle

3Unless, of course, they are actually, factually a whore– in which case, I mean, words are words.

4Eroticals– the poorly-received 18+ level-up to LEGO’s Bionicles.

5It goes Bionicles, Eroticals, Technic / Technic: for when you’re finished with sex

6sub-cuticular-forensic-goldmine-esque.

7No. Not quite.

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Your Day

October 28 2009

Time is a Game Only Children Play Well

 

8 AM Wake up, it’s too late to go to work and you fall back asleep.

8:26 Wake up, and fall back asleep

9:14 Wake up, start to jerk off a little, but aimlessly.

9:18 Fighting sleep, you try to narrativize some lost opportunity from your past. In this alternate erotic continuity you successfully slayed (slew?) the twin beasts of ambivalence, cowardice, and sexual incompetence,1 and by some miracle spontaneously generated enough confidence and charisma to be able to…

9:19 Fall back to sleep.

9:26 Dream about Daylight Savings Time. Imaging it was actually, by government proclamation, 8:26 right now, and you were back in your bed waking up and falling back to sleep. Nice dream.

10:50 Ok. Time to quit dicking around and wake up for keeps.

10:52 Ok. Time to quit dicking around and get out of bed for keeps.

10:57 Ok. Time to quit dicking around and not fall back to sleep on the toilet. That shit is gross. Lowell.

10:59 Shower. You can save money by limiting yourself to EITHER soap OR shampoo. Added Bonus: returns some much needed luster, curl, and bounce to heretofore listless and gnarled thigh and ass hair.

11:13 Whoa. Lost 7 minutes. Came to with pruned (face) cheeks. Gross. Also, weird.

11:14 to 11:22:24(seconds) You time your teethbrushing to the time it takes to listen to “In The Arms of Sleep” twice. It’s the only way to get a thorough clean/Billy’s voice figuratively melts plaque. Also: Vaccines are for pussies, heretics.

11:20 Start making breakfast. First step? Figuring out what not to eat by examining what you last ate. Scrape it up, Billy!

11:22:25(seconds) Ok, what’s the plan? Pancakes and Waffles? * bowls of cereal?2 le Gaston? Oui!

11:23 Only have 2 ½ eggs, not sixty.3 Settle for a “Mrs. Potts” (a kettlesworth of tea, drank out of something alive).

11:25 In lieu of bags with leaves in them, invent a new kind of tea– Smashed NyQuil Gel Caps, Brown and Fallen Oak Leaves, and Freshly Scraped Those Weird Red Stains That Keep Accruing on the Bathroom Ceiling. It tastes like Fertilizer.

11:28 If the Internet has supplanted the newspaper, then what replaces the crossword as something to distract your eyes/brain with while the rest of your face does something stupid? Team Fortress 2.

12:00 PM One more match.

12:28 One more match.

12:48 One more.

1:31 One…

2:19 Ugh. This tea is cold. While that’s in the microwave…

3:04 Ok. Neighbor finally closed their wireless. First things first– you should probably find a new job.

3:07 Ok. It’s not “password” and “admin/admin1” doesn’t work. Time to head downtown and find somewhere to work.

3:40 Undress the mannequins at Macy’s with your eyes.

3:43 Undress the mannequins at Macy’s with your hands.

3:48 Dress down mall security with your words.

3:49 It’s not working. Quick– close your eyes, mouth, mucus membranes– here comes their rebuttal!

3:56 Your eyes are awfully peppery. You’re in no shape to interview for a job. Time to drive around town looking for free things on the side of the road.

4:21 Lesson: just because it’s in someone’s yard doesn’t mean it is up for grabs. Floor it!

4:49 Home again. Change out of your clothes and take a shower and try to forget the parts where you ever left your house.

4:57 Stand nude, dripping for three minutes so as to avoid the stigma of putting pajama pants on before 5:00.

5:00 The clock strikes the best second of the day– you get to put on pants AND it’s cocktail hour? Trifecta! Mix a whiskey and apple soda (Sidral Mundet), sit in your rocking chair, and count your blessing.

5:06 Have another.

5:11 And another. (This rocking chair is getting awfully comfortable).

5:14 All out of Sidral, what’s left? Olive oil? Milk?

5:18 Have another.

8 PM Wake up, it’s too early to go to bed, fall back to sleep.

9:09 Wake up, it, and fall back to sleep.

9:35 You’re sleeping still, you think, but your eyes are open and you can think. You don’t move and in the dark you lie back and recognize every piece of furniture or appliance you can recognize. You give them names. You re-invent the room as you methodically scan it from behind fixed eyeballs. You whisper a few code words/revelations/names that should mean more, all of which you forget when you…

10:27 Wake up for keeps. (Or at least borrows).

10:27 You listen to Carole King’s Tapestry album, three times.

11:41 While placing the pin down for a second spin of the second side, a drop of water forms on the vinyl. It tastes slightly of salt but, after tasting, there is not enough left for you to test its spontaneous composition with your chemistry set. Drop.

11:42 You’ve got a friend.

12:26 You’ve got a friend.

 

 

 

1Triplet beasts, really– more of a Cerberus deal.

2= Capital Eight = eight brimming bowls of the stuff.

32 whites, 3 yolks.

Leaning Out To Everyone That Hides

October 6 2009

Are you lonely? Feeling unloved? Unattractive? Unsettleforable? Otherwise or Entirely inadequate? Do you think that the world would– at a minimum– not recognize your passing, if not be a better place for it? Did you say or do something stupid and then somebody called you on it, trapping you in a shame cycle from which you will likely never escape? Or are you just experiencing a temporary setback to which you seek a permanent solution? Then YOU might be interested in SUICIDE™.

SUICIDE™ – from the makers of HOMICIDE1

SUICIDE™ – It’s not just for the terminal and/or terminally unfuckable anymore.
SUICIDE™ – Impress your |friends|2 and neighbors with the amount of fluids (and smells) that are flung from your roof-flung body.
SUICIDE™ – Be the Envy of American War Prisoners everywhere!

SUICIDE™ – Choose from the following exciting methods of complete and utter self-negation:

Abattoir Slip ‘n’ Slide

Alcohol Poisoning
Anodize Your Blood
Antifreeze Daiquiri
Asphyxiation (Autoerotic)
Asphyxiation (Plastic Bag)
Asphyxiation (Resultant of Botched Hanging)
Asphyxiation (Whippet O.D.)
Bad Shellfish
Bag Full Of Scorpions
Baked Face
Bicycle Without Helmet, Brakes
Bifurcation
Binge Drink
Binge Eat (with Plugged Butthole)
Bivouac the 38th Parallel (Korean War ONLY)
Bite the Bullet
Bite the Knife. Hard.
Blasting Caps, Replace Dental Caps with
Blowjob Contest (as Contestant and Recipient)
Boil Self
Bone, Break Every Single
Carbon Monoxide Poisoning (Car + Garage)
Carbon Dioxide Poisoning (Hold Your Breath)
Carbolic Acidosis (Drink Beakers, Yellow Drums)
Chimp, Own a
AND MANY, MANY MORE

Including such classic favorites as Wrist Slits, Electrocution – bathtub, So Many Pills, Electrocution – golf club lightning rod, and the ill-advised Dehydration!

SUICIDE™ – The Forever Solution®

 

Testimonials

“I was so old I could no longer do the things I enjoyed because my increasingly feeble body and mind wouldn’t let me! And not just some of the things– every single one! All food had to be pulverized into a fine, beige paste and massaged down my throat lest I choke! The written word was like one clumped varicose of veins to my stupid, stupid eyes! Blowjobs? Could neither give nor receive! Continence I once had in spades, then it came and went in trowel-sized scrape-aways. Thank you, Suicide™!”          Alex, 91

 

“I cheated on my wife. She won the kids in custody hearings and then moved five states away. In their absence, the value-imbuing narrative from which I derived meaning broke down completely– to the point where I could no longer support nor sustain my continued existence. I guess four weeks a year just wasn’t enough! Thanks, Suicide™!”          Keith, 38

 

“My wrists were too tight and I was worried that my bloodsweat was corroding the ttritanium plating the government put on my bones to allow me to see the future and read minds. Suicide™ helped me air those veins out and now I can see the Future and the Present AND the Past all at the same time! It is vaguely violet with a hint of seafoam green! And tastes like densely-packed sand feels (underneath your beach-scraping fingernails)!”          Ingrid, 43

 

“I don’t know what happened. One day my brain just quit providing me with dopamine and, well, here I am… Where am I, exactly? Hello? I.”          Eric, 25

 

“5 x 8 = 40; 40 x 50 = 2000; 2000 x 15 = 30000; 30000 – (12 x 750) = 30000 – (1500 x 6) = 30000 – 9000 = 21000; 52 x 100 =5200; 12 x 150 = 1800; 5200 + 1800 = 7000; 21000 – 7000 = 14000 – (52 x ~70) = ~11360 – (365 x 3) = 10365; 10365 -1599 = 8766; 0”          Ade, 29

 

“Meh.”          Emily, 17

 

 

 

 

1Are you desperate? Angry? Feeling mistreated? Misanthropic? Misdiagnosed? Otherwise or Entirely grievously wronged? Do you think that the world would be a better place if YOU were in charge? If YOU could decide…

2Absolute value of “friends;” includes those you used to have, those you never had.

Life Just Kind Of Empties Out (Again)

September 16 2009

2:21 – 2:35 AM

2:21 AM    Two cats fucking. Or fighting, one inside the other. I mean, given the particulars of feline anatomy, both are sort of true All The Time. (Dickspikes).

2:22 AM    One of the last answering machines in existence happens to capture the best inadvertent/unintentional break-up speech ever. “And it’s like, even though you’re not as good as her, you’ll do for now.”  Posterity wins; to the victor goes Immortality on the Internet.

2:23 AM    Shot from outside, long and from above, canted down, a car gradually parts ways with the road. Cut to: a ditch.

2:24 AM    Sitting down and basking in the gold brown glow, breathing in the steam of a freshly plated Meta-Slam, “That’s four Grand Slam breakfasts arranged in the shape of a diamond,” his heart skips a beat. Is this love?

2:25 AM    “Dear Sirs,

I just had a VERY sub-optimal experience with your inaccurately-named, so-called “”ULTIMATE’ Shower Massage”. Try PENULTIMATE– as I’ve had more thorough massages using a pen. I lead a very busy and very stress-filled life and all I ask is, once a week, fifty wet and lonely minutes in which to massage…”

2:26 AM    A drunk teenager, having thrown-up on the sidewalk outside her parents’ house, picks through her heavings, groping hopeless for her spectacles.

2:27 AM    Half-nude and reeking of booze, an of-grown-children father finds himself awake in his chair. The kind of awake that only happens after an accidental nap: supremely clear, preternaturally alert, completely alone, teeth hurt.  Unable to fall back to sleep, he tells himself a bedtime story. The room records his passing.

2:28 AM    Silent. Monopolizing the frame, the spinning of the siren’s red parts deconstructs emergency. Push back on the blue-suited EMTs swarming the Buick– still rev’ving tires into the brush-covered side of the snowy ravine.

2:29 AM    When will this kid shut up?

A. Not until it leaves you and never comes back
B. Titties
C. If only I could be afforded the uncertain parentage of paternity
D. A pillow

2:30 AM    A stray gun shot rings out for no-one. It marks the half-hour.

2:31 AM    Upon retrieving glasses, brushes off a chunk of pear. Gravel soup has reground the lenses; green gingham blouse besmirched by hurl.

2:32 AM    Still at work, wiping up the floor where that flat stack of mancake batter collapsed beneath forty one dollars of Denny’s.

2:33 AM    Staring out the windshield unfocused of the LeSabre, gauging the proximity of her body to home.

2:34 AM    Two people fucking. In their sleep. Both bodies, restless, found each other: slow-groping unknowing hands caressing a path to their find(s). It is the best sex they’ll ever have, do and neither will every remember it wasn’t half-a-dream.

2:35 AM    “It’s alright; she’s only sleeping”

Indiewood Numbers

September 7 2009

Indiewood Plot #1: Not quite attractive twenty-somethings meander through a barely-plotted procession of noments, ‘a day in the life, or six’. Sex is talked about and sex is had (off-screen). A relationship falls apart; a conversation lasts more than seven minutes. Something snide, something arch; histrionic conclusion. Popular culture: referenced. Self, reflexed.

 

Indiewood Plot # 87: He only bangs ladies with the initials XY, still hopelessly/mopefully pining for his first love, Xenia Yolgo. Her name is XZ– Xz Zyzyx,1 and oh how he wishes she would change it. But It Must Be Natural! So he convinces her to marry his best friend, Zachary Yew, through a series of meticulously constructed romantic moments, sex traps. It’s all going according to plan except: she insists on hyphenating!

 

Indiewood Plot #34: A widower2 and newly-single guardian of three kids (two real, one a baby), a misbehaving three-legged dog, and a father-in-law colourfully-touched by a degenerative mind disease, is about to be foreclosed on. Road Trip! The father-in-law had long spoken of a family plot of land and abandoned farm, fully-owned and unforecloseable, somewhere in Nebraska. Or was it Iowa. Nothing to lose, they go looking for the home that probably doesn’t exist, meeting-losing-having-missing-finding-and-question-mark a beautiful lady stranger along the away.

 

Indiewood Plot #26: Justifiably-hated undiagnosed autistic does something ridiculous, says something quotable, does something charming. Shot of writer-director doing Scrooge McDuck backstroke in T-shirt money.

 

Indiewood Plot #59: A camera functions, but unsteadily so. This causes the frame to shake uncontrollably.3 Inside of it a cop acts evil, or a drug dealer virtuous, or both. Colors are desaturated to obscure the fact that a flipped negative is still white and black (not gray).

 

Indiewood Plot #18: An amoral clatch of diversely-peronsalitied cretins commit candy-coated acts of deeply-eroticized violence as part of an ingenious scheme by which set-pieces– scattered in time and space– speed the flow of blood through the arteries and veins of armchair fascists, thus unblocking clots, blockages; thus preventing heart attacks, strokes, and other infarctions in the overbloated bodies of our most dedicated consumers; thus saving a fortune in medical bills (a fortune that will be spent on still more movies, munchies, masturbation aids, and maquettes). Health care: solved! Economy: saved!

 

Indiewood Plot #100: Attractive twenty-somethings march through a sleekly-plotted progression of moments, ‘all that’s fit to print’. Sex is talked about and sex is had. A relationship falls apart, comes back together; a conversation lasts more than one minute. Something clever, something clever; saccharine conclusion. Popular culture: referenced. Self, revered.

 

 

 

1Part Welsh, part alien.

2The use of the term “widower” to refer to a man who has lost a wife/spouse (have gay guys decided what the case is for this or is it too soon to, officially, tell?) stems from that long pre-modern stretch (Caveman Times to 1926 or so) during which most dead wives were usually (36%– a plurality) the result of murder by husband upon de-activation of the womb. Misandry or misogyny? You decide. [Note: take into account that, of the two, only misandry is considered “not a word” by spell-check].

3When will President Obama address the Cine Flu epidemic? (Where is the change that I believed in?).

Life Just Sort Of Empties Out

September 6 2009

Life Just Sort of Empties Out

9:13PM Two teenagers watch a 43-year-old man eat donuts out of the bakery display case at a disused Safeway.

10:19PM Alone in Gold’s Gym, a 25-year-old decides to smell the weight bench; it is as bad as he hoped it would be.

10:48PM Still at work at the blood bank, still smearing cells. Bald and sitting at a computer; can this stranger donate? No. They have AIDS instead.

Outlook>Tools>Forms>Choose Forms>HIVRegret.dotx

11:06PM A ’97 Dodge Neon (white) slows to a stop and a sad dad exits. He posts a “lost Cat” flier on a downtown telephone pole, no staple gun. No staple gun, he makes do with scotch tape, having found the hard way that his home stapler will not suffice.

12:01AM A couple break up and, outside the restaurant, hug. They want it to rain, externalizing their loss, misère-en-scene. But, truer to form, the only thing that precipitates is disappointment, mutual dissatisfaction.

12:27AM A man, already drunk, orders one more drink.

12:36AM A man, already drunk, orders two more drinks.

1:19AM Burglar breaks into studio apartment, fills pillowcase with DVDs, wireless router, some beer. Laptop missing, he takes the external harddrive instead.

1:55AM Small Children (2) still outside. What are they up to?

2:23AM Cardboard box flattened for a mattress on top of broken glass. Luckily, skin calloused and chapped thick enough to not feel it.

3:38AM Concerned that humanity is just a machine by which God converts old grapes into bad smells, an outdoorsy dopamine detractor jerry-rigs a personal purity filter out of torn out bible pages coated with found fluids (various). They are rolled into a cone and placed in the butthole: for purity.

4:01AM By eye, measuring progress in the mirror before embarking on a 12 mile run. By fingers, finding fault. How much further to Fffffart.

5:13AM Crows leave wheatfield to find, eat lost cat; a newspaper, flung, scatters all but one: direct hit.