Post by Admin on Sept 14, 2015 23:54:25 GMT
Finally had some time to write, and I figure I gotta fill up some space on these boards. A little nonfiction...
Low-Hung Fruits
Fucking panopticon of fear- be healthy America! Screw the taste, and the price makes our wallets thick, but you're too fat. Poor people can't be healthy, but you need to be! Yeah, and only the rich can have a psychological disorder. America may be a blob of cellulite wrapped around some chicken bones, but I love it. Telling people not to eat for taste is like telling a teenager to quit jerking off. But it feels so good...
So, fuck the apples and bananas on display-- for an exorbitant amount-- I want the donut and some bacon please. Injected with butter and some confectionate sugar to snort if you have it.
The hairnet sporting what resembles a human female body gives me a look like she's a Goddamn prophet and I'm going to hell. We all are, act accordingly. Smile and walk away Connor...
They say smell is the best sensory organ for memory, and I tend to agree. The mingle of disinfectant, shit and death that is hospitals always rapes my nose and forces me to remember. I hate hospitals, which everyone tends to agree with. Cause if you didn't you would probably be a hypochondriac, or a sadist.
Still, for me it's a bit different. Hospitals represent pain; immense pain that I felt as a child...
****
Pigeon shit, frog jizz and a heap of slime-soaked particulates; might as well have been the Sangreal to me. Guess I thought I was Galahad at four years old. I mean, the toilet was close to the Siege Perilous at that age. A giant ivory beast of a thing that seemed obsessed with swallowing my rejected juice and corn. Quite a sick thought if you imagine it as an animate object. I was surprised each time that I didn't fall in and drown choking on tiny turds.
Anyway, back to the pigeon shit...
My brother and his friend (a skinny dick of a kid- like one of those thin malformed tranny cocks you see on XVideos) had been scooping filth from the top of the birdbath and launching it at me. I wasn't disgusted by it, in fact it looked quite fun and I was pissed that I was too short to reach it. A triple-layer cement birdbath, and all the good shit was at the top.
There I stood covered in wet, slimy filth, on tiptoes, stick in hand desperately searching for my Holy Grail-- A nice clump of shit and cum! Might as well have been a gold-digger spelunking in some unfortunate's asshole.
SCOOP, SCOOOP, SCOOOOP- NADA!
If I knew how to at that age I would have been swearing: a fuck here and there and probably a cunt too. Though I didn't know the words, the chemicals being released in my brain were the same. I have a theory that you will explode from said chemicals if you don't have an outlet such as a good grasp on swearing. That, or you start beating bitches and kids. Being angry is like being horny, you gotta ejaculate somehow.
The angst released by me ripping the stick apart-- the extravert part of the continuum emerging-- and tossing the splinters aside. I gazed up at the daunting tower; it didn't scare me! For a moment I was a genetic freak of nature; a gymnast spliced with a chimpanzee. Jumping, flipping, climbing OOH OOH EEEEEEEE!
Nah, really I was an awkwardly over-grown toddler fumbling at the rim of the first level. I guess rage fueled me more than my lack of dexterity. It took awhile but soon I stood proudly atop the first basin, the third layer right on eye-level.
God itself moved the clouds aside to illuminate the glorious treasure as the Beatles played a tune- 'Here comes the sun...'. A thick wad of black and green shit fused together amongst brown, limp pine needles. I was happier than a teen that had just found their first porn-- life's simple orgasms.
On tip toes again, cold sewage seeping into my little shoes, I reached for the glorious wad and grasped it tightly. I shivered, relishing the feel of the slime squeezing through my fingers. I held it aloft like a severed head in the mead hall, and heard God's voice:
"Fuck You!"
The earth shook, and would it be too cliché to say thunder crashed? Just as God had pitched a lil tantrum when men got along and weren't slaughtering each other for no other reason than to have an excuse for God; It toppled the bird bath like the Tower of Babel.
No slow motion bullshit- just a quick slam into the ground with the cement birdbath crashing on top of me. A little choking, slapping and biting are forms of sexual pain that are quite nice, having cement slabs shatter on your body is something that you can never cum to. They say enough pain will make you pass out, but the pain was the only thing keeping me awake. Light-headed from losing blood I would have loved the excuse to black out, but the pain was being a bitch...
****
I rub the scar on my forehead- throbbing from the memory. A broken arm, shattered ribs and eight stitches. I'm one hard-headed sonovabitch though; the cement basin had split right on my forehead. No brain damage, at least none that I'm aware of... Then again, I do giggle anytime someone says "do do" in a sentence.
The donut lay forgotten, stale now and about as unappetizing as a herpes-laden whore. I can't help but think I should have bought the apple. Fruits are meant to just sit around until you're to the point of starvation- then you'll actually eat them. As if to illustrate my thought a line of elephants walk through the front doors. Clothed in stretchy pants and sweat. That smell of B.O and unwiped ass bubbling around them like a cloud. BUR, BUR-BUR, BUR-BUR, BUR-BUR!
"Mr. Philips?" A sweet voice forces its way into my thoughts.
I tear my eyes away from the horde of fat (How many rolls could one person have?) and smile at the pair of blue eyes meeting mine. "Yes Ma'am," I'm a sucker for blue eyes.
"We're finished. You can come this way."
I nod and follow, gladly, behind her. You know a woman has an amazing body when you can see the curves through scrubs. Her body was one of those few that you knew could keep going all night. One of those nights that you'd have to keep a jug of Powerade next to the bed. And wash the sheets the next day.
Her ass stops and she turns revealing the bounty of her breasts, her eyes had distracted me from noticing them before. I really just want to put her on her back, cross her arms under her tits, grab her by the wrists, and turn into a jackhammer. She pulls back a curtain, "He's in here. Let me know if you need anything." Sponge bath please, and I don't care how fucking cliché that is.
There he is, drugged and dressed in a surgical gown. I'm glad my brother survived, apparently Oconnee Regional Hospital is where everyone goes to die. The doctors just suck at life. Have you ever wondered where the C and D grade doctors wind up?
I can't help but smile at how fucking pathetic he looks, and it makes me look fondly on my escapade with the birdbath. For fifteen years I had thought it was my own stupidity and weight that had caused the accident. Come to find out my demented fuck of a brother had pushed it on top of me.
Well, my scars and bones have healed, but he will never get his nut back.
Low-Hung Fruits
Fucking panopticon of fear- be healthy America! Screw the taste, and the price makes our wallets thick, but you're too fat. Poor people can't be healthy, but you need to be! Yeah, and only the rich can have a psychological disorder. America may be a blob of cellulite wrapped around some chicken bones, but I love it. Telling people not to eat for taste is like telling a teenager to quit jerking off. But it feels so good...
So, fuck the apples and bananas on display-- for an exorbitant amount-- I want the donut and some bacon please. Injected with butter and some confectionate sugar to snort if you have it.
The hairnet sporting what resembles a human female body gives me a look like she's a Goddamn prophet and I'm going to hell. We all are, act accordingly. Smile and walk away Connor...
They say smell is the best sensory organ for memory, and I tend to agree. The mingle of disinfectant, shit and death that is hospitals always rapes my nose and forces me to remember. I hate hospitals, which everyone tends to agree with. Cause if you didn't you would probably be a hypochondriac, or a sadist.
Still, for me it's a bit different. Hospitals represent pain; immense pain that I felt as a child...
****
Pigeon shit, frog jizz and a heap of slime-soaked particulates; might as well have been the Sangreal to me. Guess I thought I was Galahad at four years old. I mean, the toilet was close to the Siege Perilous at that age. A giant ivory beast of a thing that seemed obsessed with swallowing my rejected juice and corn. Quite a sick thought if you imagine it as an animate object. I was surprised each time that I didn't fall in and drown choking on tiny turds.
Anyway, back to the pigeon shit...
My brother and his friend (a skinny dick of a kid- like one of those thin malformed tranny cocks you see on XVideos) had been scooping filth from the top of the birdbath and launching it at me. I wasn't disgusted by it, in fact it looked quite fun and I was pissed that I was too short to reach it. A triple-layer cement birdbath, and all the good shit was at the top.
There I stood covered in wet, slimy filth, on tiptoes, stick in hand desperately searching for my Holy Grail-- A nice clump of shit and cum! Might as well have been a gold-digger spelunking in some unfortunate's asshole.
SCOOP, SCOOOP, SCOOOOP- NADA!
If I knew how to at that age I would have been swearing: a fuck here and there and probably a cunt too. Though I didn't know the words, the chemicals being released in my brain were the same. I have a theory that you will explode from said chemicals if you don't have an outlet such as a good grasp on swearing. That, or you start beating bitches and kids. Being angry is like being horny, you gotta ejaculate somehow.
The angst released by me ripping the stick apart-- the extravert part of the continuum emerging-- and tossing the splinters aside. I gazed up at the daunting tower; it didn't scare me! For a moment I was a genetic freak of nature; a gymnast spliced with a chimpanzee. Jumping, flipping, climbing OOH OOH EEEEEEEE!
Nah, really I was an awkwardly over-grown toddler fumbling at the rim of the first level. I guess rage fueled me more than my lack of dexterity. It took awhile but soon I stood proudly atop the first basin, the third layer right on eye-level.
God itself moved the clouds aside to illuminate the glorious treasure as the Beatles played a tune- 'Here comes the sun...'. A thick wad of black and green shit fused together amongst brown, limp pine needles. I was happier than a teen that had just found their first porn-- life's simple orgasms.
On tip toes again, cold sewage seeping into my little shoes, I reached for the glorious wad and grasped it tightly. I shivered, relishing the feel of the slime squeezing through my fingers. I held it aloft like a severed head in the mead hall, and heard God's voice:
"Fuck You!"
The earth shook, and would it be too cliché to say thunder crashed? Just as God had pitched a lil tantrum when men got along and weren't slaughtering each other for no other reason than to have an excuse for God; It toppled the bird bath like the Tower of Babel.
No slow motion bullshit- just a quick slam into the ground with the cement birdbath crashing on top of me. A little choking, slapping and biting are forms of sexual pain that are quite nice, having cement slabs shatter on your body is something that you can never cum to. They say enough pain will make you pass out, but the pain was the only thing keeping me awake. Light-headed from losing blood I would have loved the excuse to black out, but the pain was being a bitch...
****
I rub the scar on my forehead- throbbing from the memory. A broken arm, shattered ribs and eight stitches. I'm one hard-headed sonovabitch though; the cement basin had split right on my forehead. No brain damage, at least none that I'm aware of... Then again, I do giggle anytime someone says "do do" in a sentence.
The donut lay forgotten, stale now and about as unappetizing as a herpes-laden whore. I can't help but think I should have bought the apple. Fruits are meant to just sit around until you're to the point of starvation- then you'll actually eat them. As if to illustrate my thought a line of elephants walk through the front doors. Clothed in stretchy pants and sweat. That smell of B.O and unwiped ass bubbling around them like a cloud. BUR, BUR-BUR, BUR-BUR, BUR-BUR!
"Mr. Philips?" A sweet voice forces its way into my thoughts.
I tear my eyes away from the horde of fat (How many rolls could one person have?) and smile at the pair of blue eyes meeting mine. "Yes Ma'am," I'm a sucker for blue eyes.
"We're finished. You can come this way."
I nod and follow, gladly, behind her. You know a woman has an amazing body when you can see the curves through scrubs. Her body was one of those few that you knew could keep going all night. One of those nights that you'd have to keep a jug of Powerade next to the bed. And wash the sheets the next day.
Her ass stops and she turns revealing the bounty of her breasts, her eyes had distracted me from noticing them before. I really just want to put her on her back, cross her arms under her tits, grab her by the wrists, and turn into a jackhammer. She pulls back a curtain, "He's in here. Let me know if you need anything." Sponge bath please, and I don't care how fucking cliché that is.
There he is, drugged and dressed in a surgical gown. I'm glad my brother survived, apparently Oconnee Regional Hospital is where everyone goes to die. The doctors just suck at life. Have you ever wondered where the C and D grade doctors wind up?
I can't help but smile at how fucking pathetic he looks, and it makes me look fondly on my escapade with the birdbath. For fifteen years I had thought it was my own stupidity and weight that had caused the accident. Come to find out my demented fuck of a brother had pushed it on top of me.
Well, my scars and bones have healed, but he will never get his nut back.