tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21954192324280734442024-03-13T22:46:21.484-07:00alt.tastelessOnce a proud home for sociopaths and mysanthropes, now reduced to yet another link aggregator and "ME TOO" chatroom. This an attempt to archive the glory that was, which may be lost, in a senseless, disorganised and intermittent way.felch groganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08687085602405987961noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2195419232428073444.post-1640293024023275052010-02-04T07:16:00.001-08:002010-02-04T07:49:49.320-08:00If a tree falls in a forest...<div style="text-align: left;"><img alt="" height="275" src="http://api.ning.com/files/hhK3t2cKZyB1MAzlr82ZdBgq6G5UZEcDzYLx8B-6xWe6jIgoS1MwAf1iTsUsrFk5e5aznXh5VuQYOdj0EkN1q64BV4tFuUkW/nekromantik.jpg" width="400" /></div><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>"<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/If_a_tree_falls_in_a_forest" linkindex="31" target="_blank">If a tree falls in a forest</a> and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?"</b></i></span><br />
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It's a philosophical question for the ages that has bled over into <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schr%C3%B6dinger%27s_cat" linkindex="32" target="_blank">quantum mechanics</a>. As a Cynic, this type of twaddle occupies a determinable and invariable state - <i>typhos</i>. Needless distraction from the more basic things in life, like vandalising currency or thwapping your penis on a bar when the waitron would rather file her nails than notice you're waiting for another beer.<br />
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But with a bit of lateral thinking, the question also poses some interesting possibilities. Like: If a necrophile drains his nutsack while on the job at the morgue and nobody knows, does it <i>really</i> make any difference ?<br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="http://news.cincinnati.com/article/20100202/NEWS0107/302020022/Corpse+abuser+gets+3+more+years" linkindex="33" target="_blank">Morgue worker sentenced</a> to three more years in prison for corpse sex</b></span><br />
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<i>Sandra Williams was devastated in 1991 when her sister, Charlene Apling Edwards, was killed.<br />
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Williams dealt with the grief for years before being told of an even more nightmarish crime – her sister’s body was sexually assaulted by a Hamilton County morgue worker as it was awaiting autopsy.<br />
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“I thought burying my sister was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do,” she told Hamilton County Common Pleas Court Judge Nadine Allen. “I thought we could just put it behind us and lay it to rest, but when this happened, I re-lived her death all over again.”</i><br />
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<img alt="" height="200" src="http://api.ning.com/files/w9faLTNIIClUrl3mykY1XcGTJk6rlwgFlDQuCqoLHXPv1tvMaUpBh66-zmIp4n-*gYMm4mDvQZc75UbHkpiG1X6ubq2Q-jPW/Kenneth_Douglas.jpg" style="float: right;" width="200" />Of course there's photo goodness.<br />
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<i>“This” was one of two counts of gross abuse of a corpse for which morgue worker <a href="http://miamiherald.typepad.com/crime_scene/2009/02/man-has-sex-with-dozens-of-corpses.html" linkindex="34" target="_blank">Kenneth Douglas</a> was sentenced Tuesday. In all, Douglas pleaded guilty to having sex with three corpses when he worked at the morgue from 1976-92.<br />
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Douglas was sentenced to three years in prison Tuesday for having sex with the corpses of Apling and Angel Hicks. That’s in addition to the three-year prison term imposed on him in 2008 after he pleaded guilty to having sex with the corpse of Karen Range who was murdered in 1982. He had sex with Range’s corpse which was bloody, its head almost severed and had been stored in the morgue cooler for hours.</i><br />
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And so it waffles -<br />
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<i>The judge said Douglas’ crimes were depraved.<br />
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“There’s a reason we say ‘the dearly departed, may they rest in peace.’ What happened he isn’t even primitive. It’s depraved and inhumane,” the judge said.</i><br />
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With the obligatory, and irrelevant, appeal to emotion from the sister of one of the deceased in an attempt to influence sentencing -<br />
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<i>“He raped a five-months pregnant dead woman,” Apling, now in his mid-20s, said.</i><br />
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Ignoring the whole debatable "consent" issue, being "pregnant" while being "dead" hits a logical fallacy jackpot.<br />
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The sister was traumatised, of this there is no doubt. Probably for life. Don't need some junior court reporter to arrive at that conclusion for us. But like the tree in the forest, what benefit does it actually serve the sister being made aware of it ? A pervert that hasn't actually harmed anyone gets sent to the big house to a life surrounded by people that have genuinely, often violently, invaded and damaged peoples lives. She is left with poisoned memories that can't be repaired. And people like me stumble upon the story and compulsively have to share. All could have been avoided with a bit of delicacy and tact. It is, strictly speaking, a victimless crime. Instead, thanks to concerned citizenry, there is trauma all round.<br />
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<i><b>Footnotes:</b><br />
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* Main image credit: Still from <a href="http://joergbuttgereit.com/" linkindex="35" target="_blank">Jörg Buttgereit's</a> rather excellent <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nekromantik" linkindex="36" target="_blank">Nekromantik</a>, the touchingly sad story of a love triangle between a boy, a girl and a corpse.<br />
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* From <a href="http://www.forensicpsychiatry.ca/paraphilia/necro.htm" linkindex="37" target="_blank">ForensicPsychiatry.ca</a>: "Although assumed rare, many have argued that necrophilia may be more prevalent than statistics imply, given that the act would be carried out in secret with a victim unable to complain and given the length of time which the paraphilia has been recognized [...] As with most sexual anomalies, the cases reported in the literature have actually involved males between the ages of 20 and 50 with occupations that provide ready access to corpses: gravediggers, mortuary attendants, orderlies, etc. Most individuals have been reported to be heterosexual."<br />
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* For anyone that thinks necrophilia is a boys only adventure, there's always <a href="http://www.nokilli.com/sacto/karen-greenlee.htm" linkindex="38" target="_blank">Karen Greenlee</a>.<br />
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* Herodotus wrote of the Egyptians some two and a half millenia ago: "When the wife of a distinguished man dies, or any woman who happens to be beautiful or well known, her body is not given to the embalmers immediately, but only after the lapse of three or four days. This is a precautionary measure to prevent the embalmers from violating her corpse, a thing which is actually said to have happened in the case of a woman who had just died."<br />
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* And for an Indian engrish point of view, filed under "Kama Sutra" (!): "The Dead Corpse Can Fantasize Physical Pleasure" [<a href="http://living.oneindia.in/kamasutra/spheres-of-life/2008/necrophilia-corpse-attraction-treatment1.html" linkindex="39" target="_blank">link</a>]</i>felch groganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08687085602405987961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2195419232428073444.post-38396002012389102552010-01-18T06:33:00.000-08:002018-08-01T05:55:12.668-07:00The poetry of Fat Fuck Frank<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i> FatFuckFrank</i></span></h1>
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I can't remember when I first ran across <a href="http://fatfuckfrank.blogspot.com/" linkindex="23">Fat Fuck Frank</a>. I certainly know where - <a href="http://thepiratebay.org/user/FatFuckFrank/" linkindex="24">Pirate Bay</a>, generally the first port of call for anyone discovering the wonderful world of torrents. He thrusts himself into your consciousness in a manner that the numerous other regular denizens there do not - you find his name sticks and is impossible to forget. Firstly, the sheer volume of uploads he has contributed over the years makes it unavoidable. Secondly, the extreme difficulty of getting any of his torrents to actually work - the seed count is always low and from mostly erratically connected hosts. Not surprising, I don't think many people would want to be openly associated. But the most memorable thing of all are FFF's torrent descriptions. The prose is unique, perhaps poetry is more fitting - it lilts with a style and elegance all it's own, rarely if ever actually being accurate of which it speaks. FFF is a latter day bard, a wordsmith of unwitting charm and wit. So, pour yourself a tin mug of something seriously over-proof, light up a cheap stogie and kick back and relax with the poetry of <a href="http://torrents.fatfuckfrank.org/" linkindex="25">Fat Fuck Frank</a>...</div>
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+ Tonys first footjob.mpg <br />
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Black Tony enjoying his first taste of white slut feet before going to the unemployment office to pick up his $50 check which he will use to purchase cheap wine in a box<br />
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+ Amputee - Brittney.mpg <br />
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Amputee teen slut proving her mad hairy pussy even with 1 leg is more desirable then your drunken mother on a warm summer night<br />
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+ Stretching her Nipples and Labia.......FFF <br />
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in order to satisfy her wife-beating husband, Mary decides to surprise him by stretching her nipples & labia; husband wasn't impressed and decided to beat her silly again. Mary needs to think outside of the box<br />
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+ The entire 1800 Photo collection of dead women<br />
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When it's dead that means it's yes<br />
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+ kinky thai dog scat.mpg <br />
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Thai teen slut looking forward to tossing her neighbor's pet dog salad<br />
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+ Dead SLuts 4...FFF <br />
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When all the facts are known, FFF will be found innocent<br />
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+ Wild Orchid Oma.avi <br />
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Granny getting her share of double cock meat sandwich to keep her mad hairy pussy lubricated<br />
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+ Chub Dad With Tranny.avi <br />
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Chubby hairy douche dad having fun with shemale relatives<br />
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+ Cuckolded At Master's House.mpg <br />
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Black stranger walks into home and proceeds to fuck slut wife who taunts douche husband who's too afraid to say anything impolite to the black man who is fucking his slut wife's mad hairy pussy<br />
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+ Dear Lorenzo Histories.mpg <br />
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Fat black cellulite overflowing crack hos getting fucked like sheep in New Zealand on a winter starry night<br />
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+ German balloon fetish.mpg <br />
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Dressed German sausage eating bitch in a room full of colorful balloons<br />
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www.torrents.fatfuckfrank.org is your only choice when Piratebay burst like a cheap China maded cum filled condom <br />
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+ Amateur private orgy <br />
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Just a bunch of people having sex, no animals involved<br />
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+ Young Indian Woman With Horse.mpg <br />
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Rare glimpse of Indian arranged marriage ceremony with neighbor's filthy horse<br />
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+ MILF Market Mom.mpg <br />
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A mom so hot your 5 year old brother would cum all over her with his baby dick and then finish the bitch off with a baby cum facial<br />
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+ Yvette Bova.Desiree Ellis (Villa Pool Chair).mpg <br />
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2 black muscle bound freak sluts attacking each others man size clits like hungry gorillas fighting over one over riped banana in a decrepit Russian zoo lacking donations form its drunken visitors<br />
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+ The Best Hand Job Of My Life.avi <br />
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Goth teen tattooed slut giving emo blowjob to depressed douche boyfriend<br />
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+ Assman 12 - Monica Sweetheart.mpg <br />
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Monica likes to have 2 cocks at one time due to low self esteem issues<br />
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+ Feet 2 Young Teens.avi <br />
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2 hot barely legal teens sucking & licking feet/toes because they don't want to be labeled as carpet munching dykes by their parents<br />
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+ Good Fuck After Beer.mpg <br />
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Russian slut drunk on cheap Chechen beer gets fucked by 1st cousin <br />
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+ Indian Slut Nadia Nyce.mpg <br />
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Nadia the Calcutta slut getting fucked like vegetarians who can't eat the sacred cows shitting on their front porches<br />
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+ Perfect Ladyboys - Eyrika.avi <br />
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Eryka is so cute you wish it was your sister so you could have it's cock in your mouth imagining it to be a mad hairy pussy<br />
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+ Teenboycumparty.mpg <br />
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Old clip of teenboy activity experimenting with gay cock sucking fun, teen has now grown up to be head priest at local church<br />
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+ Spikey Shoe Job.avi <br />
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Sushi eating jap sluts spiky shoe revenge on smelly tuna fish salesman douche<br />
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+ Blatino Power (Interracial Bareback).mpg <br />
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Black & white cocks getting together to break down the racial walls of injustice; highly recommended viewing by Rev. J. Jackson<br />
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+ Scatboy Kaviar Kitchen.mpg <br />
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Scatboy dressed in in high heels & painted toenails looks in his frig, nothing good to eat, decides to take a dump on his kitchen floor and then eats it<br />
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+ Toilet man.mpg <br />
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Douche picks up chick at local whore bar; she eats bad potato salad, while he's tossing her salad, she shits in his mouth; oops!!<br />
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+ Delicious Feet.mpg <br />
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Sweet fragrant delicious fungus free Lesbian feet for your pleasure<br />
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+ Mfx-Secret diaper fantasy.mpg <br />
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Nasty Brazilian anal loving lesbians now with bowel problems requiring them to wear adult diapersfelch groganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08687085602405987961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2195419232428073444.post-46912152951140791432009-06-11T03:22:00.000-07:002009-06-11T03:41:01.720-07:00Gerbils~Date: 6 May 90 15:52:08 GMT<br />~References: <9953@stiatl.uucp><br />~Reply-To: derrick@ritcsh.UUCP (Derrick Williams)<br />Organization: Computer Science House @ RIT, Rochester, NY<br />~Lines: 105<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xlDyfqzQHjY/SjDcFhmUmuI/AAAAAAAAAF0/WKlUpMbFVRs/s1600-h/gmg.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 262px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xlDyfqzQHjY/SjDcFhmUmuI/AAAAAAAAAF0/WKlUpMbFVRs/s320/gmg.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346014745165339362" border="0" /></a></div>In article <3341@ritcsh.cs.rit.edu> andre@ritcsh.cs.rit.edu (Andre Romadinov) writes:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">His name was "Athos". The dog was lying on the carpet relaxing when the master shouted "Athos!". Athos got up and "ran" up the stairs. Unfortunatelly he fell down the stairs because he was running a dog's run up the stairs and you simply can't do that. When he fell he sprained his right hind leg and squealed. The master kept calling and the dog got up and "limped" up the</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">stairs this time thankfully not falling. When he got to his master his eyes were saying "What can I do for you master?". How many "men" do you know who can act so unselfishly? I rest my case.</span><br /><br />On a related note I once was at a friend's house and he had a new litter of gerbils that had been born a few weeks ago. We took them out of the cage and played with them on the dining room table. They were almost fully grown, about the size of a man's palm. My friend hadn't named the gerbils yet, because therewere so many of them. It soon became apparent that these gerbils would start another new litter if my friend didn't get rid of them. So we were deciding what to do with this problem when he broke out a case of beer. We drank and played with the gerbils all through the evening. The little gerbils were making turds all over the table and little puddles of piddle leaked here and there. We would pick them up by their tails and put them on our shoulders, all the while knocking back some brew. We tried to give the little critters some of it but only one deigned to take a little sip of it. I guess at that time we drank most of the case of beer and we were pretty wild. We started playing toss with the little furry creatures and I tried juggling them. Well, in our drunken state we weren't doing too well so we took them to the kitchen to see what fun things there were to do with them. Well, this house was a bit old fashioned, and one of the implements was a red meat grinder, you know, one of those things you put meat in a funnel and turn the handle and it comes out in itty bitty peices? Yeah, well we were just pretending to be putting one of the gerbils in, you know, and we were laughing like maniacs like it was the funniest things in the world. My friend was shaking, and I think he lost his grip. At any rate, we couldn't find the gerbil. It must have fallen somewhere. So we stood around trying to look through the haze to try to figure out where it went. We heard little sqeaking noises in the funnel of the meat grinder, and in a fit of hilarity, we spun the handle a few times.<br /><br />Man, you never heard such a noise. The little bastard had fallen in, and when my friend turned the thing, the gerbil let out an ear peircing squeak, and you could hear little scratching sounds in it. blood was starting to dribble out of the exhaust thingy, which we thought was absoulutely thigh slapping. So we would turn the handle a little, making a <grind> sound,and the the little guy<br />would go <squeak>, so we were going <grind><squeak><grind><squeak><grind><squeak>and man, was it a riot! Pretty soon it stopped making noise and this<br />horrendus mess was dribbling all over the sink so we gave it up and tried to find the rest of the furry rats.<br /><br />My friend told me to gather up the rest of the critters and he would be right back. Well, in my stupor, I could hardly stand still, so picking up the animals who had run loose all over the kitchen was pretty hard. I picked them up and put them back on the kitchen sink. I was a bit clumsy and I happened to step on one, making a loud snap. The poor guy was was lying squashed, his arms<br />twitching around like he was trying to get up or something. There was blood running out of his ears. Man, was it a sight! I picked it up by its tail and tossed it playfully at my friend who ran in with an kitchen implement. He showed me the Qusinart he had gotten from the basement, and boy, did we have a fit! We absolutely shrieked with laugher as I gathered up the furrballs that<br />were running around in the sink. We put them in the yellow chamber in the modern cusine wonder. Well, it wasn't easy, what with them climbing out. We got them all sealed in, with the top we had to try a few times to make it snap in place. Boy, you shoulda seen those guys in that tight space! They were jumping all over each other and looking through that plastic, sniffing at it and<br />putting their paws up against it when we tapped on it. Their beady black eyes looking at us inqusitively and their noses twitching. Well, we couldn't hold off the temptation anymore; our sides were splitting. So as I laughed like a maniac, my friend's hand thumped firmly on the "on" button. Oh, wow! Those Gerbils leaped like crazy, like when you shake a box of marbles. The blade wasn't doing too well as those mangled gerbils got caught on the blade and were frantically waving their paws as the machine grinded. This one guy had his lower adbodmen ripped off and you could see the wet insides, and he was crawling around in his front legs. There was another with half his face sliced off and he was rubbing it with his paws like he was wondering what was going on.<br /><br />At any rate, my friend tried to get the blade unstuck by pushing the "Pulse" button a couple times, and the Qusinart was going "WHOOM!" "WHOOM!" "WHOOM!", which just barely masked out the racket the critters were making.<br /><br />Finally, the darn creatures stopped moving around, and then the blade went "clakety clackety clackety" as it grinded up the little gerbil bones. We couldn't see anything in it after that, as there was this reddish brown paste smeared all over the sides with bits and peices we were trying to figure out which belonged to which gerbil. We were really going at it, but then the effects<br />of the beer was finally taking its toll, so we decided to call it a night. I crashed in his living room couch and chuckled myself to sleep, as he fumbled upstairs.<br /><br />So the moral of this story is that you should only puree' little animals in a meat grinder or a Quisinart. How many "man" sized animals do you know that can be placed in such a small place? Have you tried this with ferrets? How do you know what is true? Well, facts are facts, buddy, and you shouldn't do this with turtles or other animals that are hard to grind up. God didn't make Man small enough, which lead to the fact that we have to depend on tiny creatures for entertainment.<br /><br /> Wocka wocka, and until next time,<br /><br /> Derrick<br /> \<br />_________\____<br />/______/ /___\<br />|______/ _/_____| Holy Temple Of Jolt Swiggin' Dudes<br />|_--.__/ / / _/_| "We Never Sleep"<br />|_\ / __\| |\ \__|<br />|\_(_/ /_|__/\_\_|<br />|____/_/__COLA___| Derrick Williams, Chief Acolyte<br />|___//___________|<br />|2x the caffeine.| EECC<br />|________________|<br />|The Switch Is On| Rochester Institute of Technology<br />\______________/<br /><br /><br />--------------------------------------------------------------------<br />Of course, somebody always feels a need to respond to such things...<br />---------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">sheeesh.. talk about sick minds, if I'd ever walk in sombody doing something like that, I'd surely grab the first heavy thing in sight and bash his knees and elbows until *they* knew what it is like to be savagely mangled.</span><br /><br />Don't you think that it is pretty sexist to only think that males can enjoy a good rodent?<br /></squeak></grind></squeak></grind></squeak></grind></squeak></grind>felch groganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08687085602405987961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2195419232428073444.post-38196200612214263742009-03-02T16:58:00.000-08:002009-03-02T17:04:47.185-08:00SNIP - The truth about alien abductionsSubject: SNIP -- Is this group still around?<br />From: dgross@somewhere.edu (Dave Gross)<br />Date: Mon, 27 Jun 94 21:18:11 GMT<br />Lines: 94<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_xlDyfqzQHjY/SayCBpYxCqI/AAAAAAAAAEg/TqxrzUvgUxc/s1600-h/nelson-alien-2-2774.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 316px; height: 316px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_xlDyfqzQHjY/SayCBpYxCqI/AAAAAAAAAEg/TqxrzUvgUxc/s320/nelson-alien-2-2774.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308761025564183202" border="0" /></a><br />Shortly after I got out of High School without a diploma but with an equivalency test certificate, after the second time I crossed the blue line at Diablo Canyon nuclear power plant, but before the California State Peace March, I was a frustrated radical. Frustrated because I had the purity of heart and motive, the ideological sophistication, and the drive to fight against The Empire, but knew not how.<br /><br />In other words, I was ripe for the picking. So I fell in with a ZPG spinoff group which called itself "Green Again" in its public dealings (a booth downtown on Thursday nights for Farmers' Market, a column published in the local Womens' Press, etc.) but which called itself SNIP within the group. At the time, it didn't occur to me that SNIP might be an acronym, but I've speculated since then (Students for a Negative Increase in Population?).<br /><br />Anyway, there were maybe ten of us in the group, and our focus was world overpopulation. And we weren't like the population control groups today, who sometimes seem to have the attitude "it's okay if the ignorant little brown people breed themselves into starvation, as long as they don't try to come to our country which is crowded enough thank you," no, we wanted open borders but fewer people.<br /><br />And we recognized, in our radicalness, that it wasn't little brown people breeding that we had to worry about, but expensive little pink people who were using an inordinate amount of the world's resources. And according to the fliers we read, each little pink larva would grow up to make more little pink larvae in a branching tree which in a few generations was very bushy indeed.<br /><br />And we decided that since we did not have, and had no hope of having, any sort of political influence or control, and we weren't too happy about the government regulating reproduction anyway (most of us were young and came from the anarchist punk rock tradition); and since the fine population explosion propaganda that had influenced us was failing to influence enough of the rest of the population, we'd have to perform more radical actions.<br /><br />So we loaded up on psychedelics and short-term deliriants (ether, ketamine), and I did some research at the library, and we put our plan into action.<br /><br />A typical night would go something like this. We'd send three people out in a specially-rigged car (tastefully hidden interior lighting and mirrors, awesome sound system), sometimes with a backup car following discreetly behind. Then we'd pick up a hitchhiker and connive to hand him (always a him) a beer or a coke or something that had been laced with 300 mics or more of LSD (we tried other psychedelics, but mushrooms took too long to come on, and mescaline made the subjects carsick).<br /><br />Then we started acting ridiculous, making jokes and such so the initial hilarity of the drug would be masked by the general hilarity in the car. About an hour and a half to two hours into the trip, driving slowly so as not to get to where the hitchhiker was headed too soon, the hilarity would kick in hard core and we'd distract the fellow while our driver picked a deserted side-road.<br /><br />Then we'd hit the light and sound machine. Lights would come on all over the inside of the car, and beams would be split and reflected by mirrors and chrome. At the same time, a booming sound would come through the stereo, somewhat mechanical, but fully eerie. We'd all panic, and the driver would run the car roughly off of the road, giving me (it was usually me in the back seat) the chance to put the plastic bag with powdered ketamine, or a rag soaked in ether, over the hitchhiker's nose and mouth.<br /><br />Meanwhile, the two in the front seat (and sometimes those of the confederates in the other car who were not acting as lookouts), would put on cheap halloween masks and gaudy costume jewelry and approach the poor sucker, while I slipped out the door and got the surgical supplies from the back. The stereo by this time had muted the eerie humming and was playing mostly nonsense. Used car lot commercials played backwards, Tibetan chants, the kind of stuff used as psychological warfare at Waco.<br /><br />The masked folks would gently restrain the baffled guy and monitor his anaesthetic intake (ketamine and ether -- and nitrous oxide in a pinch -- are also anaesthetics of a sort) while I performed the vasectomy. One of the easier surgical operations, if you're not worried about making it reversable.<br /><br />To cover our tracks, we added a third testicle made out of teflon-coated ceramic, and drew alien symbols in iodine on the hitchhiker's forehead, before letting him go and speeding off for another subject.<br /><br />Years later when I did some research on UFO reports for Terence McKenna I didn't see any of our subjects' stories directly, but I did notice many motifs which were obviously drawn from our activities.<br /><br />When I came back from the Peace March, the group had gone underground or disbanded or (maybe, though I didn't hear anything about it) had been caught. I haven't seen any of them since. And I'm have some regret, of course, about the extremes of my youthful zeal. Still, all in all, no harm no foul. Anyone can have children, but not very many people get to have a story about being kidnapped and having one's testicle count augmented by aliens from another planet.felch groganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08687085602405987961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2195419232428073444.post-5481601363550520842009-02-02T04:07:00.001-08:002009-02-02T05:33:58.526-08:00A Guide to Selecting a Female Animal for Fun and Friendship<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.grumpyoldsod.com/cow.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 362px; height: 400px;" src="http://www.grumpyoldsod.com/cow.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">A Guide to Selecting a Female Animal for Fun and Friendship</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"> by BeastBoy</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"> Copyright 1993 BeastBoy</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"> All Rights Reserved</span><br /><br /><br /> INTRODUCTION<br /><br />I have often been asked by the would-be bestialist: "What kind of animal is the best?" A lot of the answer, of course, is personal taste, but many guys have little or no experience, and have no knowledge on which to base an opinion. An ideal situation would be to have one of each to experiment with, but in this day and age, few can have a place to keep farm animals, and fewer still can keep a selection of them. Therefore, I have written this paper, in which I will share some insights gained over more than 35 years of making love to animals of all common species. My opinions are my own, of course, but perhaps the information here will help lead you in the right direction.<br /><br />First there are some important things that are common to allanimals:<br /><br /><br /> WHERE TO GET YOUR ANIMAL<br /><br />If you live in an area where you can have farm animals, there are bound to be one or more livestock auctions nearby. If you decide to attend, get there early and inspect the possibilities.<br />A lot of this is just gut feel, since you will not likely get close enough to touch them. If you are going to bid on an animal, select one that has a sleek coat, bright eyes and an alert posture. A lot of auction animals have not been treated very well in their life, so they will be suspicious of humans and may be difficult to train.<br /><br />The best place to buy livestock is from a breeder. The cost will be higher, but you will be able to better evaluate the animal and find out something about her history. You will be able to get a "hands on" inspection, so be sure to briefly get a hand under her tail and see how she reacts to having her pussy and asshole touched. You can usually do this without being too obvious. Besides, breeders understand that when someone is buying breeding stock, it is acceptable to examine the animal's genitals.<br /><br />When looking for a bitch, keep in mind that it is getting more and more difficult to find an intact bitch due to city and county regulations about spaying and neutering. You will most likely have to go to a breeder to get one, and adult bitches are difficult to find. Even when you locate one, it is difficult to know how she was raised and treated and trained. If you are set on buying a dog, the best and most sure approach is to buy a puppy and raise and train her yourself.<br /><br /><br /> KNOW YOUR ANIMAL<br /><br />Once you have made your selection and purchase, and have gotten your new animal home, don't expect success in screwing her five minutes after arriving home. Unless she has had sex with a guy before, her natural instinct will be to resist. This is not the same kind of resistance that a woman would have, but just an instinctive reaction to another animal (you) having access to<br />certain parts of her body. First, you should let your animal find out about her surroundings and get comfortable with her new home. Most animals are quite sensitive to changing homes, and<br />if you try to approach her too soon, she will probably react unfavorably.<br /><br />After she gets used to her new home, she will need to get used to you. You can start by just being around her a lot. When you feed her, stay in her immediate vicinity. It won't take long<br />for her to realize that you are not a predator, and will allow you to be near. Then you have to get her used to your touch. Scratch her where she can't reach. Brush her with an appropriate comb. Most animals, unless they have been the victims of abuse, will take to this type of intimacy very<br />quickly. All these things will also make you much less likely to get bit, kicked or stomped.<br /><br />The real secret of success with animals is to be able to put yourself on their level and understand things from their point of view. This is not a degrading thing to do, it's just different.<br /><br />The friendship you develop with your animal will not happen overnight, but it will happen. Soon you will be able to touch her anywhere without her flinching, and she will trust you. Now, when you take your clothes off and eat her out or fuck her, it's just an extension of things she is already used to.<br /><br />Most "authorities" lump sex with animals in the same thought as pedophilia. They view both activities as a "violation of the innocent". While that may be true in pedophilia, when it comes<br />to animals nothing could be further from the truth. Animals do not consider sex to be any more important than eating, sleeping or any of their other activities. It is a totally instinctive thing that is hard-wired into their id. The main reason animals breed is because of this instinct. The female animal of most species don't really get to enjoy it because the male is in and out in a matter or seconds. This is because of the hard-wiring again. If animals didn't breed fast in the wild, they would be at a distinct disadvantage if they were caught in the act by a passing predator. You have a unique opportunity with the female animal. By providing her with long sessions of sensations and pleasures that she probably has never had before, she will come<br />to enjoy the act more and more. You will be bringing her up to your level, not the other way around.<br /><br />If you are aspiring to be a true bestialist, you need to use all your resources. Use your tongue, fingers and cock in every pleasurable way you can think of. Don't just fuck her, but make love to her. Engage in foreplay with her. Fondle her all over, play with her tits, give her plenty of oral sex. You will be bonded that much closer to her every time and your eventual orgasm will be much more intense. Some readers may resist going to this extent. If you don't go to this extent, I believe it will be a loss for both of you.<br /><br />Once you have finished having your fun, don't just put you pants on and leave. A little afterplay is good. Pet her and talk to her. Gently clean your cum off her if need be. Give her a treat, such as a handful of grain, fed from your hand. All this will only strengthen your bond with the animal.<br /><br /><br /> SHARING YOUR ANIMAL<br /><br />Most guys keep their animal activities to themselves, probably because of prejudice, fear or the feeling that they are all alone in their desires. I always thought so too, but I was fortunate to find some friends who taught me that bestiality is much more erotic and fun when shared with a buddy. Of course, many guys are insecure and not interested in group scenes. My advice is to try it if the opportunity presents itself. There's nothing quite like a "barn party" with four or five guys standing around jacking off, watching you screw whatever is available, and waiting their turns. Sloppy fifths is something you will not soon forget. If you weren't an exhibitionist<br />before, you will be after that! You don't have to worry about your performance in this situation. Animals will not look down on you or laugh if you can't do the deed. Fellow animal lovers will also understand. If you are the only one who has sex with your animal, then you should have no fear of catching any diseases. Animals have their own brand of venereal disease, and except for very rare circumstances, is not transmittable to humans. Also, you cannot give her anything you might have. If you are sharing your animal, it may not be a good idea to eat her after your buddy gets off in her, even though the higher body temperature should kill any bugs that might be in the sperm. Nothing is absolutely safe, so just follow common sense and good hygiene.<br /><br />One thing you need to find out is how your animal will react to being shared. Sometimes, she may have developed such a bond with you that she will be unwilling to take on someone else.<br />That is a rarity, but does happen. Some animals may not like the prolonged session that will result with two or more guys sharing them, while others get hotter as you go, and can't get<br />enough. This is something that you must determine through experimentation. If it becomes obvious that your sharing is stressing your animal, then stop. Again, a true animal lover will understand this situation too. Keeping your animal happy.<br /><br />You will eventually learn all of your animal's moods. Some animals can be quite moody at times, and if you don't recognize this, your chances of being bit, kicked or stomped are greatly increased. Some days they might not want you around at all, other days they can't get enough of you. Don't force yourself on her when she is in one of these anti-human states. Give her some respect, and she will be happy and more than willing later.<br /><br />Most farm animals don't get a great deal of attention from humans, except for things the animal does not like... vaccinations, branding, etc. It follows that most farm animals are not very happy. The best thing you can do to keep your animal happy is to be around her, talk to her, brush and clean her. You will find that the actual sex is a very small percentage of your total involvement. Keeping her clean will also make things better for you. It would be really tough for<br />even a seasoned bestialist to get interested in oral sex with a cow that has been on pasture all summer. Clean the corners of her eyes, and her nose. Brushing and combing are good for body<br />cleaning, and use some warm water and very mild soap to clean her udder and genitals. Of course, these things might get you turned on, so you may want to follow up with some hot sex.<br /><br />Another factor that will keep your animal happy is proper housing. Build a home and provide an exercise area appropriate to your animal. There is really no reason to build your structure air tight, unless you live in an area that has forty below winters. Farm animals are designed to live outdoors. As long as you provide them with a place to get in out of the wind, they will be happy. For example, if you live in cold regions of the world such as in the northern parts of the United States, or in Canada, consider heaters in the building, and more insulation. Make sure she has an adequate supply of fresh water all the time. Use a tank heater in the winter (have you ever<br />tried to get a drink through six inches of ice?). Feed her quality feeds and be picky about who you buy hay and grain from. Another thing to bear in mind about housing for your animal: It<br />needs to meet your requirements also. Obviously, it needs to be private, so solid doors are a must. It needs to be large enough that you will be able to enjoy your fun without a lot of<br />encumbrances. There should be storage for lubricants, paper towels, and any other paraphernalia you might need. You will also need a place to keep larger things like stools to stand on, if necessary, and maybe some knee pads to kneel on. Remember that a barn is usually a dusty environment, so storage areas need to be enclosed. Have some hooks or hangers for clothes. If you are into photography or video, you may need power outlets. Build the best structure you can for your budget. Barns are homes away from home for a bestialist.<br /><br /><br /> KEEP YOUR ANIMAL HEALTHY<br /><br />Animal health is a very gray area for a lot of people. If you do not know something about the physiology and biology of your animal, then go buy a book and learn about it. Learn to recognize signs of distress, and when to worry and when not to. Pick a veterinarian and stick with him or her (hir). Call hir if you think it is necessary. Inspect your animal daily for signs of damage. They all get nicks, cuts and bruises. Keep some alcohol, cotton, "breathable" tape and other veterinary supplies handy just in case. Make sure she gets her yearly vaccinations. Every species has different needs, and it is essential that you learn the basics.<br /><br /><br /> COMMENTS ABOUT SOME SPECIES<br /><br />These comments are based mostly on my personal experience. After these comments, I will try to make a recommendation.<br /><br />BITCHES<br /><br />My own experiences with bitch dogs has not been very good. They generally have very tight and dry pussies, and require a lot of tongue work to get them opened up. Even then, they have a bone a couple of inches in that prevents you from sticking your dick straight in. You have to angle up and over to get by this bone. Their height is generally too low to have sex with them while you are standing up, and too high to have sex with them while you are kneeling. The best way to have sex with a bitch is to put her in bed and lay down behind her. The best sex I ever had with a bitch was one time when I took sloppy seconds from a friend. However, in general, I would have to rate bitches as generally unsatisfactory.<br /><br />GOATS<br /><br />Goats are very friendly animals, and seem to crave attention and companionship from people. They love to play, and sometimes will spend as much time as you want playing. If you want to do this, get a goat with no horns! The larger breeds are about the same size as a large dog, so they are not too convenient to mount. They can be trained to lay down, so you can put them in<br />bed, but will not take to this as fast as a dog.<br /><br />A goat can be a great screw if you are not too well hung. Their pussies look quite small, but a lot of tonguing will open them up, and they don't have the bone like a dog. The entire genital area of the goat has very velvety skin, and a lot of time can be spent licking her pussy, asshole and the underside of her tail. I have found that you can get your cock in OK, but the goat does<br />not seem to have a very deep pussy. I tend to bottom out.<br /><br />Goats shit a lot, but the turds are small and hard and you can just brush them out of the way. The sphincter muscles of the goat are fairly weak, so you can easily butt fuck them too. (That is, of course, if they let you. Consent is everything in animal love.) Personally, I prefer the black Nubian breed. What a sexy looking animal!<br /><br />Be sure to do proper housing for your goat. They can jump a great distance. I've seen one clear a six foot fence from a standing start.<br /><br />SHEEP<br /><br />When someone who is not into the scene hears about sex with animals, almost invariably they think of sheep. So many shepherds have told so many stories over the years. My experience tells me that this reputation is probably well deserved. Their main disadvantage is their size... they are not convenient to mount. They are fairly easy to get into bed. Once a sheep thinks she is trapped, most of them will give up and stop any struggling. Every time, I am concerned about that and it is a little distracting, because I do not wish to "trap" any animal for my own pleasure. Pleasure must be mutual for me to enjoy it. Anyway, sheep body shapes allow you to get them<br />on their backs and fuck them belly to belly -- and kiss them while your at it!<br /><br />Sheep tend to have burrs, stickers and other undesirable things in their coats. I recommend keeping them shorn. Even then, their wool produces a lot of lanolin, so you can expect to come away feeling a little oily.<br /><br />The thing that really recommends the sheep is the pussy. It's as though it was specifically designed for bestiality minded guys. It is tight, wet, and seemingly bottomless. It's also a good pussy for eating. Don't worry if you are hung like a mule, the sheep will accommodate you just fine. Sheep don't have a very strong sphincter muscle, so you can easily fuck them up the ass also.<br /><br />SOWS<br /><br />My experiences with a sow have been a little less than satisfactory. The one I had was quite large, around 600 pounds and (you guessed it) fat as a pig! She just was not very attractive to me. Once I got into her, her pussy was very hot and clinging, and she was really a pretty good fuck. Sows are difficult to mount due to their size, and at that weight you can't exactly pick them up and lay them down. I found that if I spread my legs way out and balanced on her back, I could get to her pussy fairly well. Big sows are quite strong, and they won't stand for you unless they want to. It's difficult to tie one because ropes just slip over their head.<br /><br />One nice thing about sows is that when they are in heat, all they want is to get fucked. You can easily tell by putting pressure on their back. If they assume a more sexual stance, and appear to be a little paralyzed, you have a hot sow!<br /><br />I would like to have more opportunities with sows, but have not had the chance. At various livestock shows I have noticed that the prize sows were trim and fit at around 150 pounds, and very sexy looking. I would not kick one of those out of bed!<br /><br />COWS<br /><br />Cows are easy and fairly cheap to get, fun to fuck, and easy to sell for what you paid for them. This is probably the reason they are a favorite on many farms. Cows that are kept for sex are usually fed grain and hay rather than being pastured. Pasture feeding a cow will usually bring on a lot of diarrhea. Cows are not attractive to most people when their whole rear end is covered in dried shit. Grain feeding eliminates this problem.<br /><br />Cows have wonderfully warm and slimy pussies, and are very good eating. Unfortunately, to get the best fuck from them, you have to be hung a little better than average. Those of you less well<br />endowed can try out the four-month old heifers. The younger heifers can be fucked while standing flat footed, but the adult cows will require something to stand on.<br /><br />One of the best things about cows is that the pussy is not buried way down between heavy muscled ass cheeks; it usually hangs out a little from their body. When you are eating cow<br />pussy, you can get your tongue really deep. When fucking them, you can stick you balls and everything in there. If you have friends watching, it's also easier for everyone to see what's<br />going on.<br /><br />Cows seem to have an endless supply of shit inside, and love to release it just when you are about ready to come and not in the mood to pull away. When the cow is grain fed, the turds are hard and this is generally not a problem. For the pasture fed cows, the closest thing I can think of is the feeling of a few gallons of warm spaghetti sauce running over your belly and down your legs. Cows love to piss a lot also. If you like to eat pussy, like the avid bestialist, and you're on your knees behind the cow, you run the risk (or the pleasure, depending on how you look at it) of being drenched at any moment with about two gallons of hot cow piss. I have found this to be an enormous turn-on, but if you personally have a problem with being pissed-on and occasionally shit-on by your animal, you will probably want to own something other than cows.<br /><br />MARES<br /><br />Mares are fairly easy to fuck, and you will need a crate or stool that will bring you up to their level. They take to being trained to stand still very quickly. Mares have an unusual feature in their pussies that allows them to voluntarily contract some muscles that result in a "winking" effect. Some mares have such a strong winking that you can hear the snap when they do it. This feature makes mares absolutely the best eating pussy on the planet. Of course, mares run the whole gamut from cold fish to incredibly hot sex machines. You will have to experiment to find out where your mare fits in.<br /><br />If you are lucky enough to have one of the hot ones, it means that she will be winking and squirting fluid and making obscene squishing noises when being fucked. This helps make up for the fact that they do have large pussies, and unless you are well equipped, you might not get enough friction to get off. The squishing and winking might give you a psychological advantage<br />though... since she would also exhibit these actions when being fucked by a stallion, you can think of yourself as a stallion, and that can give you an enormous boost!<br /><br />Miniature horses have all the same attributes as the full size ones, except they are too small to ride. For the average hung dude, one of these might be the way to go. You will probably still get the winking and squishing, but with a much tighter pussy, you will have a sex partner to die for. Also, you can fuck the miniatures flat-footed. Mares seldom dump or piss during the action, so you can concentrate on getting your rocks off.<br /><br /><br /> CONCLUSION<br /><br />Based on all the foregoing, I highly recommend mares as the best animal partner that can be had. If you get a full size one, you have the added pleasure of being able to saddle her up and go<br />for a ride. In addition, a mare would not be out of place in a non-farm area. Lots of residential areas permit horses, but not other farm animals.<br /><br />End of dissertation... remember, play safe, have fun, and fuck like a mink because it will be all too soon when you will not be able to do it any more. Thank you.<br /><br />Endfelch groganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08687085602405987961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2195419232428073444.post-47323008663322974742008-12-31T06:02:00.000-08:002008-12-31T21:47:04.344-08:00Bodil - Boar Girl<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">[From 'Ugens Rapport' (the Danish equivalent of 'Penthouse'), November 10 1980 </span><span style="font-family:arial;">page 26, 27 and 34. Includes 2 pictures of Bodil at the interview, and one of </span><span style="font-family:arial;">her entertaining some pigs in a stable.]</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Raped, seduced, punished, sexually degraded and exploited by everyone... From 17 year old beauty to "THE BOAR GIRL"...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" >SHE HAS WASTED HER BODY BUT SHE HAS KEPT HER SOUL...</span><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xlDyfqzQHjY/SVuPZtVEcqI/AAAAAAAAAEA/SuKhjDVQD0M/s1600-h/bodil.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xlDyfqzQHjY/SVuPZtVEcqI/AAAAAAAAAEA/SuKhjDVQD0M/s320/bodil.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285976259476877986" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">"Verbally more dirt has bee</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">n cast at me, than the dirt the boar work comprised..."</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">Just 17 years old. Beautiful and lithe. Seducingly pretty. Th</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">a</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">t's the w</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">ay <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bodil_Joensen">Bodil</a> took Denmark 10 years ago.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Newspapers and magazines had full page articles on the beautiful girl, that all alone ran a big farm and breeding centre with boars. Especially the last part appealed to people’s imagination. Swedish, Norwegian and English magazines also had pictures of the "farmer" that looked more like a model than a farmer.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">Bodil was a pretty, healthy rural girl, that any as</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">sociation of small farmers could be </span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">proud of. Marriage proposals came in large numbers. But </span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Bodil said no. She loved her animals. Her farm. And said to a big magazine: “I don't have the time for love”.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />The future looked bright for the beautiful Bodil with the heart of gold then. Rich and handsome men wanted her. She could choose a future that even a princess would envy her.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">10 years later.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">I'm sitting in a small hotel room somewhere in the north of Zealand with Bodil.She seems nervous. Diseased. She is incessantly fingering something on thetable between us. Cigarettes. The lighter. But most frequently the glass of</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">Schnapps (45 % liquor).</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">Her legs are fat and swollen. Her clogs have lots of dirt stains. Her clothes are dirty, worn through and doesn't suit her. Her once so perfectly shaped body now looks vulgar and awkward, marred by 30 excess kilos (60 pounds). Her teeth are in a terrible state due to neglect. Her smile is no longer that of a model. The hair is unwashed and thinning. Obscures the once beautiful face.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">We leaf around in her scrap book. Looking back on the good old days, when the future looked bright for Bodil, when there was hope. A tear emerges in her eye, as the memories well over her. It is quickly chased away by another swig of the mug.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Bodil Joensen. You might not recognize the name. But you know her professional name.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">The Boar Girl.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">The beautiful young woman who fucked stallions, boars, goats and dogs, and became a star known all over the world. Millions have been grossed on her movies. She has made 4 full-length features, around 40 low-budget movies and starred in innumerable photo series in magazines, as well as performed in hundreds of</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">live-shows.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">Few people have brought so much hard currency to Denmark by so simple means. As the then happy Bodil once amiably put it: A naked ass can be just as fine as an academic education.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Today Bodil wishes she had not left the school after 7th grade, though. She is today left with the pain. But without money. The millions that have been earned by the porno industry with her as merchandise has not got to her. She didn't get rich money wise. But on experience. But that won't pay any bills. That's why she's now work as a hooker in Copenhagen. Fighting against severe illness and rotten looks, she has now had her klinik [one woman outfit, traditionally in a low rent apartment in a seedy part of town] for a couple of years.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">'Look at me' she says, and displays herself. 'There aren't many men that get wild looking at me. In my situation it's very hard to turn down even the most disgusting propositions. For me staying alive in the hooking business is hell'.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />As I watch her sitting there in the chair with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of schnapps in the other, I can't decide: Is it the end of an adventurous life I look at. Or is it the beginning of a human tragedy.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">I recall a passage from Steen Steensen Blichers "Diary of a rural parish clerk" [a Danish classic]. The parish clerk encounters the love of his youth, Miss Sofie,years after she eloped with the archer from the Tjele estate. She has</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">been a prostitute and is now a drunkard, working in the turnip fields of another estate. The parish clerk writes in his dairy about her: Wasted, Corrupted, Lost.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">These 3 words sums up Bodil's look on herself.<br /><br />'The most bitter thing is that I've done my best' She says, then adds 'The best I could, just wasn't good enough'.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Bodil lives in a little wrecked cottage in the north of Zealand with a man and their daughter.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">The newspapers have accused her for maltreating her animals. They now belong to her man. She has nothing to do with them anymore. It still hurts. She loves animals more than anything in the world.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">Bodil was born in Hundige [town 8 miles from Copenhagen]. Her father was a shipmaster. She didn't like the school. She'd rather play with the animals. Although she didn't do her homework she got fine grades. She dreamt of being a vet. Her parents divorced. She moved around with her mother. She attended eightdifferent schools.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />The turning point in her life came when she met a pederast. Bodil had had a very strict upbringing by her puritan mother. And she wasn't soothed. She reproached her that she had nearly been raped. At the police station they made her say naughty words, when she reported it. And her mother beat her up for doing it when they got home. She was locked away in the attic. For several days she had her food brought to the attic.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">'Mama wouldn't dine with me. I was a dirty slut because I had been assaulted.'</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Bodil was shocked and reacted as defiantly as she could possibly dream of. 'I said to Mama, that when I grew up, I'd fuck boars. I couldn't think of anything more naughty. And she was so shocked that she thought that I was</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">allied with the devil'.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Bodil got a job on a farm, and later at a breeding centre with boars. During this time she often went for walks in a forest. Here she met a married logger, who filled her up with schnapps and popped her cherry. She never saw him again. Bodil was only 15 when the nice logger fucked her behind a log.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">She liked the work at the boar breeding centre, and at 17 she rented a farm, a truck and the boar "Rascal" for 400 crowns. Bodil was now doing the job she had wanted to punish her mother by doing. A work she soon discovered that she was very fond of.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Newspapers and magazines had large articles about the beautiful, animal friendly girl, that regarded helping boars into sows rather normal. Marriage proposals arrived in huge numbers. But Bodil said no to everyone. Also to the naughty proposals. Many farmers thought they could pork Bodil while her boar porked his sow. She didn't have a nice reputation, even though she always said no. Gossip started.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"Verbally more dirt has been cast at me, than the dirt the boar work comprised" Bodil says, and quivers in disgust thinking of the men. "Nine out of ten wanted to fuck me. Their wives hated me. Maybe that's why my breeding</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">centre had a lousy economy".</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Bodil had received many modelling offers. And a day when she couldn't find the money for the rent, the truck etc., she went to Copenhagen. She went to a porno manufacturer and offered her body.<br /><br />Bodil was very</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">inexperienced then. And found her new way of making money strangely exciting.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">"After the loggers single effort nothing happened until I was 17. At 17 I fell in love with a married man." Bodil says. "We had it all right sexually. But we weren't kinky. More like beginners".</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">"I rode a lot on horses in those days. Attended derbies all over the country. I dreamt of a career as a horse(wo)man. One days I was thrown off a horse. And had a bad back. My friend couldn't then fuck me in the missionary position, as he usually did. I suggested he fuck me from behind.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />"I found myself in a studio and had to make love to a man, a girl, a negro and a dwarf. The dwarf really took me</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xlDyfqzQHjY/SVuLDISSkWI/AAAAAAAAAD4/4evq_a7J8UI/s1600-h/bodil1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 244px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xlDyfqzQHjY/SVuLDISSkWI/AAAAAAAAAD4/4evq_a7J8UI/s320/bodil1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285971473529475426" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"> by </span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">surprise. He had an enormous cock. I don't know how I could force myself to do it... but I earned well, and soon I could do it without any inhibitions. Like doing the dishes. Sometimes I even enjoyed it. The dwarf startled me. He had an enormous cock. I was impressed when he finally got it in".</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />They couldn't use the same girl in all their flicks, so there were less and less work. 'It was my own idea to start the animal-stuff." Bodil continues as we look at pictures from her stable. "I had masturbated boars by hand. Put rubbers on stallions. Where is the limit? Stallions, dogs, boars, bulls and goats now became my film lovers. During that time I know millions was earned on my flicks worldwide. I starred in 4 full-length features. "Why do they do it?", '"Sex en gros", "Pornography" and one more that I cannot even remember the title of'.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">Letters from all over the world flooded her.<br /><br />"My acts turned more people on, than I had imagined. One day Japanese TV crew arrived. It was an exciting period. But what did I get? A small derelict cottage without running water. But with gas and electricity, though. While others spent fortunes on my special talent. I'm a trifle bitter".</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Bodil still has the dog Lassie, by her called 'Denmark’s best lover'. The bastard has starred in two films. And lots of photo series. Lassie has fucked around 25 women, and Bodil doesn't know if it has ever fucked another</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">dog. Problems with the society for the prevention of cruelty to animals occurred when Bodil started performing live with Lassie. They thought Lassie suffered.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">"But they should have seen us working! We performed to the song "Je t'aime" - the naughty French one. As soon as he heard the music, Lassie stormed to the stage. He was always ready and horny".</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />"The other animals haven't suffered either", Bodil assures us. "You can only use a male animal when it wants it. Me being naked doesn't tempt the animal. But a female animal of its own species in the vicinity always get it going. Otherwise I've applied cunning hands. But I can't tell if the other way is cruelty. That is, a man fucking a female animal. But I don't think so.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"Once we shot a movie with a man and a cow. He was standing on a wooden box behind her. She chewed cud as he fucked her. Suddenly the box collapsed, and he ended up lying in the filth underneath her. She looked back with a surprised look on her face. As if she wanted to say: What a brutal orgasm.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"After a film with me and a bull, a lady phoned me and scolded me vigorously. She felt sorry for the bull. Said that I should use a broom stick if I was that horny. I explained to her that the bull weighed 700-800 kilos. So the harm my horniness could do it, was probably limited".</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Bodil received many offers in those years. Married couples would like to come and see her, in order for the wife to try a stallion. And the man to try Bodil.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">"But I was afraid to let other women do the same with the male animals as I. It requires a special technique. When they cum, their glans swells up, and it can split your vagina. I have had some stitches once I didn't pull it out in time.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"But the many offers told me that there was money to be made outside the porno business. I welcomed more and more men. And then I opened a massage parlour in Copenhagen. I've still got it, even though I look disenchanting.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />"Many of my regular costumers from the good old days still come to see me. They just pay. Talk with me for a while. Then leave. Without touching me. I'm very happy that they come. But it hurts my female vanity that they don't touch me.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />"It's often people with very special wishes that contact me". They have no inhibitions telling "The Boar Girl" about their "perversions" if the special wishes can be called that.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"I once had a man who wanted to play dog. He took all his clothes off. Then I put a collar on him, and walked him down Vesterbrogade [Street in the red light district of Copenhagen] with everybody watching. He crawled on his knees and hands. And pissed on the pavement.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"A police car pulled up, and they followed us for a while. I thought we were going to be arrested for indecent behaviour. I definitely felt like running away. I looked cautiously at the officers. Obviously they didn't know what todo. Suddenly they started laughing and drove off. I was relieved. And my "dog" gave me a thankful lick".</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Before, Bodil was known for her happy soul. Disease and poverty has put an end to that. But now she laughs out loud as she remembers the dog walk. The schnapps has also given her a helping hand. In the past she didn't drink. But she has always been smoking. Up to a 100 cigarettes a day.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">The 35 year old Bodil has for 15 years made a living doing sex of any description. Apart from beatings and torture she can do it all. But she's not very hot blooded. She's not the man eating she-animal men believe she is.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />"I've never had an orgasm with a man I couldn't talk with. Men I've been just a little in love with" Bodil explains.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">"Once I fucked with two men. I got them to my bed, and made them fuck me at the same time. That's the only occasion on which I have been as horny as my reputation.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"The animals have never satisfied me either... Neither has the shifting partners in live shows. Only the nice regular customers on the klinik have seen me have an orgasm.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />"There was an occasion where I have been very horny, though I didn't feel much</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">sympathy.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"It was a young couple. He claimed that she had been unfaithful to her. I should help him punish her. We hung her in her arms from the ceiling and took her clothes off. She was small. But very shapely. Especially her tits were good. He scolded her. Hit her with a whip. Put needles in her nipples. Once in awhile he caressed my naked body as we stood right in front of her. We got on the bed, and deliberately made a very long foreplay with lots of kisses, terms of endearment and groping. I took in his cock very very slowly, making sure she saw every centimetre of it. He told her how lovely it was. What a good mistress I was. And how lousy a cunt she was compared to this.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />"I was very turned on by this act because I could see on the beautiful young girl that she enjoyed it. She squirmed and moaned as if she had an orgasm, when I and her husband finished fucking, thrusting hard and screaming with delight.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />"Quickly he untied her. They dressed. Took each others hands. And hurried home with a quick goodbye. I think they headed home for a wonderful night".</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Bodil smiles thinking about the good times. Bodil is reaching the bottom of the bottle. She has turned 20 cigarettes into smoke within the last hour. Suddenly she gets very grave. Has troubles controlling her voice. It's not only the effect of the Schnapps. She's not well. Neither physically, nor mentally.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />'Things went completely out of hand when 'Spot' died. I started taking sedatives. But when someone referred to them as 'loony-smarties' I threw them in the fireplace. Instead I started drinking and eating excessively. I gained 30 kilos. Doesn't look well on something that was going downhill anyway.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />"'Spot' was a real german Sheppard that I got from an animals hospital 10 years ago. She had been beaten. She never became anything but a little, weak dog. I've never been able to talk to other girls. I've always been with men. 'Spot' was my female friend. She understood what I said. Was happy when I was happy. Was sad when I was. When we were alone in the house without light and heat we went to bed together. Shared a biscuit. And then we talked, until we fell asleep.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">"'Spot' is the only living creature that has loved me for being just me. She didn't expect to get anything back. She soothed me when I was ill. I've experienced a lot with 'Lassie', and like him a lot. But it'll never be the same as with 'Spot'. 'Lassie' has been unfaithful to me. He's an every-girls-dog. 'Spot' was mine. Completely mine. That's why I had such a shock when she died. And started drinking, and eating myself fat in no time.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />"I live with my man for 10 years and my eight year old daughter. Still I feel like the loneliest human being now that 'Spot' is dead.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />"In those days I earned easy money in a tough line of work. I fell and fell. 'When will I reach the bottom?' I often ask myself these days. When I look in my scrap book, see myself as a handsome girl in love with</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">the world, it's like looking back on my future.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">"I have always had the will to get the best out of each and every day. It hasn't been a success. I didn't have skill and luck required to do this. Now it's too late. I can't go back and change the things..."</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Bodil finishes off the bottle. Crumples the cigarette packet, and throws it in the wastebasket. There is no more water of life (Aqua vita = water of life = Schnapps) in the bottle. She throws it away.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">The boar Girl is also used up. How much is left of the human Bodil Joensen? Not much if I am to judge by the last two hours of conversation. When I drive her home to her house in Grevinge hills [place 10 miles from</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">Copenhagen] I have to drop her off just before we reach the driveway. She staggers the last metres to her cottage. Half the roof is missing. She has got something in common with her home. They both need to be restored.<br /><br />===<br /><br />[<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bodil_Joensen">Bodil</a> died January 3, 1985 from alcoholic cirrhosis of the liver]<br /></span></span>felch groganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08687085602405987961noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2195419232428073444.post-12303682836005456352007-09-22T19:40:00.000-07:002007-09-22T20:41:11.950-07:00Up to my elbows in itFrom: bobv@gummint.Gov (Bob von Buelow)<br />Newsgroups: alt.tasteless<br />Subject: Up to my elbows in it<br />Date: 16 Feb 1993 21:42:36 GMT<br /><br /><br />There have been a lot of second hand accounts of blood-and-guts here, usually starting off with something like "My wife is a medical examiner's assistant in Sheep-dip, Oklahoma and she said she once saw ...". And some of the first hand stuff is kept at arms distance. Or we are insulated by a Buick Roadmaster from the true essence of a fresh roadkill. Those great<br />I-was-eating-lunch-while-hip-deep-in-a-cesspool anecdotes are way too few and far between. Well I'm here to give a first hand account of up-to-the-shoulder in blood, guts, and shit. So get out your dinner, sit down, and enjoy.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_xlDyfqzQHjY/RvXYSU6WgsI/AAAAAAAAAB0/r_hXYZSV0Fs/s1600-h/bobdeer1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_xlDyfqzQHjY/RvXYSU6WgsI/AAAAAAAAAB0/r_hXYZSV0Fs/s320/bobdeer1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5113230761311765186" border="0" /></a><br />*** Bunny-hugger alert. *** Better skip this post if you think it is just possible that Walt Disney was a naturalist.<br /><br />*** Realist alert *** Take the Cane Toad test. If you not only would aim for those little devils, but would stop and inspect the results of Goodyear-meets-amphibian continue reading. If not, well, let's just say you've been warned. This post contains NO fiction.<br /><br />Step 1: I kill it. Simple physics really. Get a 125 lb. whitetail deer to absorb 2500+ ft/lb of energy -- from a 30-06 rifle. I'd skip this step except the damn things won't hold still for the rest of the procedure unless I do this first.<br /><br />variation a). it falls to the ground immediately, stone dead<br /><br />variation b). it staggers around and you are obliged to give a second physics lesson.<br /><br />variation c). it falls to the ground, but doesn't die. This way you get to walk up to it and administer the coup de grace eye-to-eye with your dinner-to-be.<br /><br />sub-variation c'). One young man didn't understand that the coup de grace should NOT be administered from point blank range, in the ear, with a 30-30. The results were spectacular when we got there to load his prize in the truck. The eyes were bugged out a good inch-and-a-half, and with the tongue hanging way out it looked like something out of one of today's Ren and Stimpy cartoons.<br /><br />Step 2: This is the good stuff. Now here's what I do next. Remove very sharp knife from sheath. Cut balls and penis of deer off, trying not to get piss all over everything (it dulls the knife). Discard -- no time for little games now! Carefully cut open the stomach from crotch to<br />rib cage. The first real joy now awaits as the internal gasses gently waft up to my nose. If I was real lucky the bullet ripped open the stomach and the partially digested deer-meal adds immeasurably to the joy of the moment.<br /><br />Step 3: Now, taking a good grip on my knife I rip open the rib cage right up the middle as far up the neck as possible. If things are going well there should be blood at least to my elbow by now. And the blood is nice and warm too! Great on cold days to warm my hands up! If things aren't<br />going well some of the blood will be mine. Cracking a rib cage with a really sharp and hefty knife requires some force.<br /><br />Step 4: Reach in with both hands and cut the windpipe way up in the neck. This is really fun. I am up to my elbows in mangled guts and lungs, I can't see what I doing, and I have a real sharp knife near my fingers. Proceed to rip the lungs from the back of the carcass. Everything should<br />now be held in only by the pellet-release-tube. Reach in and squeeze any remaining deer-shit out the rear. Cut the intestine and all the guts will fall out in a neat pile. (A.t.ers could save for later use.)<br /><br />variation a). lift the whitetail's tail and give our friend a *complete* ream job (I know, I know, some a.t.ers will want to stop and do a rim job first) with the knife and push the resulting plug in before dumping the guts at your feet.<br /><br />Pick out the still warm heart and save. Makes a good breakfast sliced thin and pan fried.<br /><br />Step 5: Back at the ranch, string this guy up. I prefer head down, but others hang it by the neck. When the carcass cools a bit, RIP the skin off this dude. Now is the appropriate time to chop the head off too!<br /><br />variation a). I like to remove the antlers by using a hack saw. Place the head in a vice and tighten until the jaw bones crack. Starting at the back of the head cut forward thru to about<br />eye level. About half the time I cut right thru the eyes. The brain is now open for <insert favorite="" pastime="" here="">. Pick brains out of the plate left attached to the antlers, or let maggots do the cleaning for you, both methods work just fine.<br /><br />The rest is just a simple cut-thru-muscle-and-bone-and-call-it-meat operation. It does take a while to lose the blood-and-guts smell no matter how hard or often I wash my hands. Thank goodness. I know for a fact that there IS such a thing as true blood lust.<br /><br />A second helping of venison hash anyone?<br /><br />Now back to your regular scheduled programming.<br /><br />--<br />Bob von Buelow Mars Observer Planning and Sequencing Element<br />bobv@gummint.gov - standard disclaimers apply -</insert>felch groganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08687085602405987961noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2195419232428073444.post-1312829262337839142007-09-14T20:25:00.000-07:002007-09-14T21:15:58.764-07:00Home Penial Self-Surgery ProcedureSubject: Home Penial Self-Surgery Procedure<br />From: gbernath@usa.edu (Gregory Bernath)<br />Date: Sat, 5 Mar 1994 00:20:20 GMT<br />Organization: your education tax dollars at work<br />Lines: 282<br /><br /><br /> I once chopped pieces of foreskin off my penis with a pair of cuticle scissors.<br /><br /> Now that I've got your attention, I'll go back and tell the whole story. Apologies if it gets a little lengthy, but this yarn deserves to be spun well.<br /><br /> BACKGROUND<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_xlDyfqzQHjY/Rutb9lpHi1I/AAAAAAAAAAc/wjBrxPGltfk/s1600-h/penis.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_xlDyfqzQHjY/Rutb9lpHi1I/AAAAAAAAAAc/wjBrxPGltfk/s320/penis.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5110279315816680274" border="0" /></a><br /> After I was circumcised as an infant, the wound was not taken care of with sufficient diligence, and it healed incorrectly. Portions of the raw edge of the remaining foreskin bonded to the glans, a little bit above the lower edge of the glans. This left a series of "skin bridges", basically sections of foreskin which can't be retracted, because they are fused to the glans at one end and the shaft at the other. These varied in width from about 1/16" to 1/4", and were attached off and on over about 2/3 of the circumference.<br /><br /> This was never a major problem. It was a long time before I even realized it was abnormal. Everything functioned properly, but there were a few minor problems with it which made me wish I could fix it. Mainly,<br /><br />1. It was a cosmetic defect -- it didn't look good.<br /><br />2. It was tough to keep clean under the bridges -- I had to swab it with a Q-tip now and then to knock down smegma buildup.<br /><br />3. Some of the most sensitive parts of the glans were hidden under relatively insensitive chunks of foreskin, robbing me of the proper stimulation which was mine and every man's birthright.<br /><br /> Over the past few years, I'd been thinking of getting it corrected, but there were problems. Doctors cost money, and I didn't have it, and student insurance sure wasn't gonna cover it. Plus, the thought of some strange doctor chopping at my peepeehead gives me chills.<br /><br /> Now, all a doctor would do it sterilize it, numb it, cut it and bandage it. "Hell, maybe I can do that!", I thought. The problem was how to kill the pain. I experimented with cutting myself (with an x-acto knife), but seeing as it always hurt like hell before I even cut anything, I never went through with it.<br /><br /> Recently, I came back and studied the situation. Again, the problem with the self-surgery approach was dealing with pain. There had to be some way of numbing the area, but how? One winter day, it hit me. If cold can make fingers go numb, then cold can also make a ManTool[tm] go numb. With this in mind, I pioneered a the "home penile self-surgery procedure".<br /><br />SURGERY KIT<br /><br />Cuticle scissors (1 pair)<br />Rubbing alcohol (1 bottle)<br />Antibiotic ointment (1 tube)<br />Anti-bacterial soap (1 bottle)<br />Gauze pads (lots, various sizes)<br />Ice cubes (iodine added to water for sterility)<br />Clean Washcloth (freshly laundered with lots'o bleach)<br />Well-lit work area (the kitchen table)<br /><br />PROCEDURE<br /><br />Wipe down work area with alcohol. Clean penis with soap and water, then with alcohol. Wash hands thoroughly. Soak scissors in alcohol.<br /><br />Holding the ice cube with the washcloth (to prevent your fingers from going numb), apply the ice cube to the target area. Hold for 5 to 10 minutes, until area is numb.<br /><br />Using the cuticle scissors, sever the skin bridge as closely as possible to its connection with the glans. Then sever the foreskin end of the bridge in such a location as to leave an even edge on the foreskin.<br /><br />Use gauze pads and direct pressure to stop the bleeding, then apply antibiotic ointment and bandage.<br /><br /> THE OPERATIONS<br /><br /> Though the operations are not painful if done correctly, the healing process is a real pain in the ass. It also takes a certain state of mind to be able to cut your own flesh. I would kind of put myself into robo-man zombie mode for the operations, in that I never dwelled on what I was doing, I just mechanically plodded through all the steps without thinking about how totally gross it was.<br /><br /> Since the ice cube could only numb a small portion of the penis, and since I could only tolerate so much trauma to my dick in one session, it took 6 separate operations, spread out over a two week period, to cut/remove all of the skin bridges.<br /><br />Operation #1 (Day 1)<br /><br /> The test cut. I chose a small thin skin bridge, about 1/16" across. I held the ice cube on for 5 minutes. The ice caused a peculiar kind of "cold ache", but it wasn't that bad. I gingerly made the cuts, and sliced through with no pain at all. There was some minor bleeding, but because<br />of the speed at which I worked, I had finished and had the gauze on it before the wound had any chance to bleed significantly. After about 10 minutes the bleeding was stopped and I bandaged it up, no problem at all. Only a tiny little speck of flesh had been removed, rather unimpressive looking.<br /><br />Operation #2 (Day 3)<br /><br /> Operation #1 turned out so well, I decided to go for big game this time. The target was the mother of all skin bridges, about 1/4" across and very thick and meaty.<br />Again, I made the preparations and applied ice for 5<br />minutes.<br /><br /> I made the first cut along the glans, and was surprised at how much I had to bear down on the scissors. This skin was surprisingly tough. I finished that cut, and then turned my attention to the cut on the foreskin side. Wanting to get it done quickly, I decided that two large, powerful snips should do the job. I bore down and made the first cut, and realized with a shock that IT HURT LIKE HELL.<br /><br /> Well, it turns out that due to the thickness of the skin bridge on that end, the cold hadn't penetrated deeply enough, and it hadn't gone numb. So, I was left with a problem. I had a half severed bit of foreskin hanging off me, and no anesthetic. My only recourse was to finish the<br />cut. I thought, "Shit. This will hurt.". So I lined up the scissors, closed my eyes, and as quickly and powerfully as I could, I made the snip. My prediction was correct; it did hurt (don't you hate when you're right about things like that?). I managed to avoid shouting out, instead opting for a few simple gasps and whimpers.<br /><br /> I resolved to hold the ice on for much longer in future operations.<br /><br /> Being that this was a bigger cut than the first, it bled much more profusely. It took about 20 minutes of direct pressure and a lot of gauze until I could staunch the main flow. Even then it kept oozing blood for a few hours. I spent the rest of the evening with nothing on below the waist, sitting in front of the TV with a few brews (this became standard procedure for all forthcoming operations). Any motion tended to make it break open and bleed again, so I moved around very little. I was functioning (that is, walking) almost normally again by the next day, but it took about 5 days before this one completely stopped oozing blood.<br /><br /> As I gingerly hobbled back into the kitchen for another brew, I spotted IT, the severed hunk-o-foreskin that I had left on the table. It was of fairly good size, about 1/2" by 1/4" and maybe as thick as a piece of bacon. Suddenly, strange thoughts entered my skull, and a raging<br />mental battle between good and evil ensued.<br /><br />EVIL: "Eat the foreskin."<br />GOOD: "Don't do it!! That's gross!!"<br />EVIL: "Eat the foreskin."<br />GOOD: "Stop thinking about it!!"<br />EVIL: "You know what you must do. Eat it. It is your destiny."<br />GOOD: "But that's cannibalism!"<br />EVIL: "So what?"<br />GOOD: "Cannibalism is shunned for a reason! It spreads diseases!"<br />EVIL: "Look dipshit. It's your own fucking flesh. Any diseases in there, you already got."<br />GOOD: "But it's SELF-cannibalism!"<br />EVIL: "So is chewing on the piece of skin you bit off your fingertip. BFD."<br />GOOD: "But this is weird, deranged and perverted!"<br />EVIL: "Exactly"<br />GOOD: (Hauls its sorry whupped ass away and shuts up)<br /><br /> So, I ate it. Turns out it was very tough and chewy, kind of like biting a little piece of rubber. I chewed for about 5 minutes, but didn't make any progress on breaking it down, so I swallowed it. It had a little bit of blood flavor at first, but after that it had no flavor at all; rather disappointing in that respect. Maybe I should have cooked it.<br /><br />Operation #3 (Day 10)<br /><br /> A medium sized cut. I held the ice cube on much longer (10 minutes instead of 5), so there was no problem with pain. Not nearly as much bleeding, but still a respectable amount.<br /><br /> A word about erections: they were a bad thing. Any hard-on would tear the wounds open and start them bleeding again. This would be a problem for about 3 or 4 days until the wounds had healed sufficiently. Basically, I had to spend a long, long time without even thinking a nasty thought. Of course, when I was asleep I had no control over the process, which would always result in me waking up with a dick that hurt and bloody bandages. I was really lovin' life at moments like these.<br /><br />Operation #4 (Day 12)<br /><br /> Another medium sized cut, but with the added bonus of having a small vein (about 1 mm in diameter) running through the skin bridge. Now, the blood supply for the penis mainly runs through blood vessels buried deep inside. When you get down the the small vessels, the<br />circulatory system becomes more of a spiderweb, with redundant paths going to every point. So I knew it wasn't actually dangerous to cut it, but it was still a kind of psychological obstacle. I expected this one to be a heavy bleeder, and I wasn't disappointed. It took about a full hour of direct pressure to get the severed ends of the vein to close up. Otherwise, not too much of a problem.<br /><br />Operation #5 (Day 14)<br /><br /> I was planning on more time to let the others heal, but due to changes in the way skin tension was being applied to the remaining bridges (because I'd cut some others away), one small bridge was getting a lot of stress and starting to hurt. So I chopped it quick and easy, no real problems.<br /><br />Operation #6 (Day 15)<br /><br /> The problem with operation #5 was that it just transferred the stress to the next bridge down the line. So even though I had about 3/4" of flesh left to cut, I resolved to do it all at once in one last cutting frenzy.<br /><br /> Due to the size of the operation, it took a while to complete (maybe 1 minute total), which gave the blood a chance to flow. I had to stop a few times and wipe away blood so I could see what I was doing. Strangely, this didn't bother me at all. It seemed perfectly normal that I<br />should be wiping up copious amounts of blood flowing from my bleeding pecker which I had sliced open myself. Actually, it seemed kind of cool at the time, which led me to speculate at the time that I had gone insane, which I also thought was pretty cool.<br /><br /> Anyway, except for the excess blood which had dripped on to the chair, it went quite well. The only thing that really grossed me out was when I noticed I had blood all over my hands. If any psychoanalysts want to analyze that tidbit for me, feel free, though I really don't care.<br /><br /> The wounds are now completely healed, and the results are good. Mainly:<br /><br />1. There are no scars to speak of, just a few bumps on the glans. This is because I didn't trim the flesh quite close enough in a few spots. They kind of resembling little warts. I thought about going back and trimming them off, but I kind of like 'em now. After all, it's not everyone<br />who has the privilege of appearing to have warts, with actually being diseased.<br /><br />2. Without the skin tension holding things back, total dick length has increased by 1/4". (Of course I've measured the length of my dick. Like you haven't?)<br /><br />3. It's a great topic for dinnertime conversation. Women generally seem to find it quite interesting. Men generally turn kind of pale.<br /><br /> With my newfound surgical skills, I've been contemplating a few more self-surgical procedures. You know, mole removal, wart removal, nose jobs, the whole vista of cosmetic surgery. I'll need some help for that mole on my back, which means training an assistant. Ah,<br />the future looks interesting indeed ...<br />--<br />Greg Bernath gbernath@usa.edufelch groganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08687085602405987961noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2195419232428073444.post-77516286818486993372007-09-14T20:09:00.000-07:002007-09-14T21:23:54.487-07:00[LONG] Joys of RimmingFrom alt.tasteless Mon Dec 12 18:04:59 1994<br />From: jimmo@kimber.uk.moon.com (Jim)<br />Subject: [LONG] Joys of Rimming<br />Date: 5 Dec 1994 10:21:58 GMT<br />Lines: 128<br />Distribution: world<br /><br /><br />Are you sitting comfortably?<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_xlDyfqzQHjY/RuteH1pHi2I/AAAAAAAAAAk/UMizkBzzE-k/s1600-h/yellavva_0706.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_xlDyfqzQHjY/RuteH1pHi2I/AAAAAAAAAAk/UMizkBzzE-k/s320/yellavva_0706.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5110281690933594978" border="0" /></a>It all happened last summer. It was an arid day in Jaipur when I was there. I roamed the streets at a leisurely amble, trying to scratch my gusset through my trousers because the sweat that lubricated my buttocks was itching like buggery.<br /><br />Anyway, as I scuffed a dusty path through the streets of seedy backwater Jaipur, I noticed some local prostitutes. Unlike a significant proportion of whores in north India, these were not eunuchs. It all started as a religious thing, castration. However, now woman-wannabes become eunuchs for fun and for a source of income. Basically, here is what happens. First, the genitals (penis and scrotum) of the eunuch-to-be are tied with an inch wide strip of material, making the genitalia protrude further from the abdomen. Then, after prayer (well advised prayer too), the headeunuch (I can't remember what the name for him/it is) takes a large, sharp kitchen knife and slices off the genitals. Without an anaesthetic, of course. The groaning, contorted mass that gibbers in agony on the ground is left without medical treatment as it is up to the Gods to decide whether he lives or dies (through bleeding to death).<br /><br />If the eunuch lives, the pulpy genital remains are plopped into a hole in the ground. Now, if you've had a wedding in India, you will know that the eunuchs come to the wedding and have to be bribed to go away otherwise they will lift their saris and show off their vertical smiles!<br /><br />Anyway, I digress. There were these prostitutes and, by God, they were decidedly ropey looking hags...a full double-antler on the moose-scale! But they had two redeeming features:<br /><br />1. They were very, very cheap.<br />2. They would do absolutely fucking ANYTHING for money.<br /><br />Point 2 put life in my heat-striken love sausage. So I picked the leastscabby one and waved 100 rupees at her. Ha! She was MINE!<br /><br />Er, at this point I should mention that there are some stunning women in those parts of Asia, not just the orient. I say that before you think I am implying that this scabid, moth-eaten old fuckrag is the norm over there.<br /><br />Still, I went back to her shack (a mud and corrugated iron structure setback from the heat) and got to work.<br /><br />I sat on the, er, collection of hessian sacks that served as a bed and positioned her in front of me. I reached round her waist and untucked the fold in her grubby cotton sari that holds the whole damn thing on. I took the free end and passed it round her waist...about four damn times, then over her shoulder. Then it just fell away.<br /><br />I stared in awe at her. She assumed that was because I found her attractive so she smiled at me. Her smile basically entailed the retraction of the rubbery, flaky skin around her mouth to reveal a couple of yellow stumps in swollen, blood-stained gums. Her breasts hung like pool-balls in a pair of stockings. Her malnutrition had produced a cute little pot-belly, like the<br />ones you see on the "feed the starving" newsreels. I ran the tips of my fingers up her ricket-bent legs, over her thighs and across the two bits of flappy kebab-meat that hung from her vagina like curtains in a dolls house. Fascinated, I parted the distended lips to see small semi-white spots peppered across her labia. They looked rather like large mouth ulcers. I don't think they hurt her much because when I touched the tip of my tongue to one of the tart summits, she didn't flinch. The taste of her lips was decidedly sharp, rather like the negative pole of a 9v battery! As I was indulging in the yeast-feast, an idea dawned! So I stood up, turned her around and pushed her down into a kneeling position on the ramshackle bed. I clasped a wrinkled buttock in each hand and splayed them apart, revealing one of the most filthy sphincters I have ever seen! Evidently, this old trollop had been suffering from dysentry! I gawped at her anus, which puckered and dilated in rhythm with her breathing. Moist traces of semi-liquid stool lined the inner wall of her anal crater. Tastless I may be, but my tongue is not! I grabbed a bit of her sari and have the whole cheesy area a quick wipe, leaving a musty brown skid across the material.<br /><br />Okay, I thought, time for me to indulge in the most tasteless rimming I have ever, ever given. I leant toward her waiting cornhole, pausing only to catch my breath as a pungent draft of anal exhalation wafted out to meet me. It would take more than a fetid fart to stop me! But, as my<br />lips encircled her nether-kisser, the fart that escaped previously was obviously not alone. There was just a little follow through. No sooner had my tongue rasped across the anal squid-ring than I felt a tiny warmth spread across it. This warmth was swiftly followed by a taste that is damn near undescribable. You know how some things taste like other things smell? Well this taste was exactly like the smell of a pile of rotting vegetables and cheese. A cheese with more blue veins than a tourniqued cock!<br /><br />I had to withdraw. I scraped the surface of my tongue across the underside of my teeth, as if to remove early-morning post-beer tongue-carpet. I spat into the grey dust. There, intertwined with my sputum, was a string of pale brown excrement. I felt the bile in my stomach rise up my gullet with that kind of nausea that signals an unstoppable barf. Desperate to maintain my balance, I leaned against the wizened rump of the prostitute. She was, of course, off balance with her ass stuck in the air and she fell onto the bed. The vomit was starting to push between my fingers like meat through a free-flow mincer and I had to let rip. I regurgitated a bitter and bilious curry-based chunder over her sprawling nakedness. I couldn't really tell but I thought I<br />saw, through bleared teary eyes, a visage of disgust on her face. However, she must have thought this was what she was being paid for and so, with a decidedly aggrieved look, she tentatively started to smear the vomit over her breasts.<br /><br />I found this incredibly sexy! Without a word, I rolled her over onto her slightly bloated belly, which made a slight squelching sound as her gut displaced the exhumed contents of my stomach. I reached between her legs and scooped a handful of cooling retch over the tufts and crevice of her backside. Then, after hastily unbuttoning my cotton pants, I climbed on top of her. The stench was damn near erection-withering! Anyway, I nuzzled the muzzle of my member against her sphincter and rubbed in gentle circles to pick up some lube from the bile. It stung a bit, actually. I pushed forward and slid into her rectal tract with too much ease, the kind of ease that says "Hey Boy! This ain't her first time up the shitter!"<br /><br />Basically, there ensued a truly tasteless butt-fuck which doesn't need description as I'm sure you all know. :-) Anyway, it was the withdrawl that really did me in! After I pulled out, I looked down at my exhausted bijja and a opalescent sheen of blood, sweat, bile and the odd skid. To cap it all, there was a soft khaki pinnacle of bugger-mud on the end! I paid the crone Rs. 500/- and bid her farewell.<br /><br />Jim.felch groganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08687085602405987961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2195419232428073444.post-3500765882882877142007-08-28T06:13:00.000-07:002010-10-31T03:20:58.694-07:00King ShitKing Shit (by Checkered Demon 1, circa 1991)<br />
<br />
All these excrement stories are stirring up memories of a fine foul day, some 12 years ago, when my little brother decided to give anal birth to the biggest turd I have ever seen.<br />
<br />
I was raised, in typical appalachian style, as poor white trash without running water. The outhouse is the center of many fond and wondrous memories for me; spiders, the combination of summer heat and the overpowering stench of centuries-old feces and urine allowed to fester, wasps, billions of biting flies, freezing cold winters, and little or no privacy available. But then, I am tasteless. My brother is not.<br />
<br />
To his little-kid brain, the outhouse was a place of great terror and fear. He had been stung, as I remember, one time while trying his first on-my-own poop. He was terrified, and decided that the shitter was a BAD place, and little kids didn't even poop in bad places. So, with that knowledge, he decided. "I am not going to poop anymore."<br />
<br />
My parents and I first noticed his odd behavior four days into his Ironman Sphincterclench Endurance Competition. He seemed to be sick, as he would occasionally get glassy-eyed and stand in deep concentration. Mom was concerned, but didn't say much other than "Are you feeling well? Are you sick?"<br />
<br />
He was fine, he just hadn't shit in four days. And, his little-kid brain had neglected to realize that if you don't want to shit anymore, you must AT LEAST cut down on the amount of food you intake. If anything, he doubled the amount of food he ate, since he was not going to have to poop anymore.<br />
<br />
He tells me now that day four was the worst day. After that, his butt seemed to enjoy the vacation, and didn't mind letting its work pile up, so to speak. Days five and six passed without much difference, but his odd attacks seemed to be more frequent and of a little more intensity than before, but a lot briefer. Mom really began to get worried. She thought he might be epileptic.<br />
<br />
Day seven rolls around with a force that would not be denied much longer. Struggle and strain though he did, my brother decided that it was better to do that than ever have to dump anymore. He tells me that at this point, he had decided to poop again, but was afraid to, because of what might actually come out of his butt. (His brain, most likely). And the final clincher, he has an anal spasm during a vacation bible school meeting, and they bring him home because THEY think he is having an epileptic fit. I would wager that my anus would have puckered up about that time as well. Also, I'll bet that several of them thought he was going to speak in tongues, and kiss a rattlesnake, or somethinglike that.<br />
<br />
Mom would not let him talk his way out of this; the truth had to come out. He confessed his crime against nature, and said he would start shitting again if Mom swore she wouldn't punish him, and that she would take him to the doctor if anything... unusual happened to him while he was excreting. She agreed, under the condition that he use a potty chair in the house, so that we could run to his side and laugh hysterically if something happened. That last bit wasn't strictly a part of the negotiations, but that is what happened.<br />
<br />
By God's grace, I happened to be in earshot when the ThunderFudge(tm) decided to part company with my brother. The actual sounds went something like; "<fart> oh. Oh. <fart,>OH. <fart,> ow. Ow. OWWWWWWWWWW! OWWWWWWWWW!OWWWWWWWW! OWWWWWWWW!!!"<br />
<br />
</fart,></fart,></fart><a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_xlDyfqzQHjY/RuuPm1pHi4I/AAAAAAAAAA0/gkPRsZQYaxU/s1600-h/shit.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5110336099579300738" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_xlDyfqzQHjY/RuuPm1pHi4I/AAAAAAAAAA0/gkPRsZQYaxU/s320/shit.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><br />
<fart><fart,><fart,><br />
Oh, the humanity of it all.<br />
<br />
I knew that he could hear me if I snickered, so I tried to suppress the urge, which, as we have seen in the last few paragraphs or so, urge suppression does not run in my genes.<br />
<br />
I laughed out loud.<br />
<br />
Repeatedly.<br />
<br />
Louder each time.<br />
<br />
He was pissed, but then, I wasn't the one who had decided to pinch a loaf for the rest of my life.<br />
<br />
He and Mom then left to apply some medication to the area, leaving me wondering if I ever had children, would I ever have the inner strength to cope with a son as brain-dead as this one?<br />
<br />
I snuck a peek into the storage room they had been in. What I saw astounded me. The butt-monster had run the length of the pot, a good seven inches, and then formed an L-shape and continued upwards for another solid (heh) foot. Towards the end of the process, my brother must have stood, to be able to fully excrete this DungO'Death (tm). It was smooth-surfaced, and looked like it was about five inches around. It was about the same color as mahogany.<br />
<br />
It was taken to the outhouse, and laid to rest 15 feet below the surface of the seat. It didn't even break when it impacted with the mound; instead, it just sank in, like the King Shit that it truly was, ruling over all the other worthless pieces of shit around it. Nobility suited it well.<br />
<br />
My brother recovered, eventually developed something similar to intelligence, and later on we both moved out of the house. That particular outhouse was abandoned, and another was constructed. But I still think of King Shit, covered now by many others, still the greatest one of all time.</fart,></fart,></fart>felch groganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08687085602405987961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2195419232428073444.post-91698290241922951632007-08-25T19:39:00.000-07:002007-09-15T01:16:38.070-07:00A herpetological horrorSubject: A herpetological horror<br />From: ksm@abb-sc.abb-sc.com (Ashley)<br />Date: 25 Jun 93 19:39:50 GMT<br />Organization: Kaos Laboratories<br />Keywords: venomous lizard, penis, hemotoxic venom.<br />Lines: 56<br /><br /><br />As a result of the little kitchen knife incident, a friend of mine and I where discussing interesting ways to loose your penis. He mentioned a person who got snipped by a snapping turtle while pissing in a river. Then I remembered something I read about in a herpetological journal some<br />time ago. Thought it might be appreciated here.<br /><br /><br />>> Haven't heard of one of those yet. I did hear of a fellow who somehow<br />>> got bitten by a gilla monster on the schlong though....<br />><br />>Aren't they those black and red poisonous things?<br /><br /> Big, fat, ugly, slow, venomous lizards. Black and pink nocturnal desert dwellers in the american south west. Hemotoxic poison. Somehow some joker got bit on the dick by one. Haven't any idea how, but I suppose the gilla monster probably crawled inside his sleeping bag just before sunrise. When the wake-up woodie appeared, the lizard saw it and bit.<br /><br /> Now to understand what must have happened to this guy, we need to know a bit about the poisons in reptile venom. There are two kinds, neurotoxic and hemotoxic. The gilla monster has a hemotoxic venom. Hemotoxic venom destroys blood, prevents oxygen from reaching the cells,<br />the tissue dies, huge blood blisters form, the nerves in the area die causing local loss of motor function control. If the venom gets to the heart in high enough concentrations, the heart tissues and muscles deteriorate and the heart fails. Nausea, delerium, immobilty, vomiting, hallucinations. That's the effect of a viper bite. It's usually survivable, although it can<br />cost you a limb.<br /><br /> Now imagine a big lizard with a hematoxic venom biting someone's dick. Instead of the clean, long, hypodermic like fangs like a viper, the gilla monster has poison sacks in his gums and grooves in the teeth. He bites, clamps on, and begins working his jaws. He does not let go. So he<br />*grinds* the poison in. Slowly. You usually have to kill a gilla monster to get them off you if you get bit. And they don't die easily, nor do they let go when they are dead. The jaw muscles lock.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_xlDyfqzQHjY/RuuUNVpHi5I/AAAAAAAAAA8/8Ld2nLDzWOU/s1600-h/img_case_march_archive_1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_xlDyfqzQHjY/RuuUNVpHi5I/AAAAAAAAAA8/8Ld2nLDzWOU/s320/img_case_march_archive_1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5110341159050775442" border="0" /></a><br /> Now imagine the effects of the hematoxic venom on this guy's penis. The amount of blood in a penis is pretty big, so the blood blister would be huge and it would come quickly since the swelling would prevent blood from leaving at the normal rate. It would continue to swell until the blister burst. No oxygen to any of the cells in the spongeotum, so you'd have necrotic rot in a matter of hours, and the blood that did leave the penis would go straight up to the heart. Dying in terror, nausea and delerium with a big lzard chomping on your dick, while your dick swells up with discolored blood, oozes, explodes and rots.<br /><br /><br /> Gilla Monsters. The ultimate blow-job.<br /><br />________________________________________________________________________<br />Ashley, a psychotic, depraved and reprehensibly morbid individual.<br /> "My sex life is defined by the thin line between a love<br />ksm@abb-sc.com tap and murder with a blunt instrument."<br />------------------------------------------------------------------------felch groganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08687085602405987961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2195419232428073444.post-75945579612487455652007-08-25T19:13:00.000-07:002007-09-15T01:41:16.979-07:00Cunt-ragFrom: cunt@cc.tut.fi (Lauhanen Rauli)<br />Subject: Cunt-rag<br />Date: 31 Jan 1995 17:31:03 GMT<br />Summary: Why not Kleenex ?<br />Keywords: Cunt`s, Their rags, Their smell, Punishment, Bible, Anal thunder.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_xlDyfqzQHjY/RuuZ7VpHi6I/AAAAAAAAABE/7CjQvsV-31g/s1600-h/vaginal_steam_bath.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_xlDyfqzQHjY/RuuZ7VpHi6I/AAAAAAAAABE/7CjQvsV-31g/s320/vaginal_steam_bath.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5110347446882896802" border="0" /></a><br /> I wonder how usual is this habit around world. The thing I'm talking about is "vittu-ratti". It's popular here in Finland especially among women in countryside. Vittu-ratti is used to clean cunt after their twat has been washed or processed any other way. I was quite impressed to saw one in my friends SO's bathroom last weekend. And that cunt was _so_ raunchy that she even haven`t tried to hide it by any means. Stupid cunt. Anyway, that rag gave me the best wank for months, not to mention her increased probability to get pregnant now. What ever will happen, I'm proud and happy I did that, because if somebody is _this_ stupid she deserves to be surprised in a most humidiating way.<br /><br /> Now, are only finnish women this tasteless, or is this maybe a global habit, exposing that almost every woman in this planet is a stupid cunt in a need of a violent spanking ? I'm interested about this phenomena only among white race. Dagos, spics and niggers can wipe their cunt anyway they like.<br /><br /> Rauli ?<br />--<br />Rauli Lauhanenfelch groganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08687085602405987961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2195419232428073444.post-5271747502220539832007-08-18T05:51:00.001-07:002007-09-15T02:32:23.399-07:00A spot of the old ultra-violence...From: misc061@csc.somewhere.ac.nz<br />Subject: A spot of the old ultra-violence...<br />Date: 16 Sep 94 23:14:17 +1200<br />Lines: 114<br /><br />A spot of the old ultra-violence<br />--------------------------------<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.db.co.nz/"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_xlDyfqzQHjY/Ruulk1pHi7I/AAAAAAAAABM/zdjxDurcDDM/s320/brand_draught.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5110360254475373490" border="0" /></a><br />Last weekend I lost and maimed a friend--but that's OK, because I learnt a moronic beer trick in the process. It's the kind of thing that you see oily twentysomething boys doing in cheap night clubs while they work on their nascent beer-guts. Lots of fun.<br /><br />What you do is this: grasp your stubbie (Australasian for 12oz beer bottle) firmly by the middle, wait until your friend is deeply in the midst of a pick-up speech (this is an important point of etiquette), listen for some particularly witty line (that is, wait until the pompous git squeezes out something that obviously needs deflation), and smack the top of his stubbie, hard, with the bottom of yours. This should be done with a minimum of arm movement and a blank lookon the face; ideally the woman shouldn't notice. Your victim's beer will "cum" vigorously all over his delicate proceedings. Repeat often during larger promotions.<br /><br />The best way to save face when this happens to you is to jam the bottle firmly in your mouth, suck hard, and hope your eyes stay in your head. This is especially effective if you can keep a straight face while sinking vast quantities of warm, foamy beer, but does tend to come unstuck a little if you blow chunks all over the person you're trying to pick up.<br /><br />John, the friend I mentioned at the beginning, taught me this in a bar. It was near the end of the night... we (John, me and a few friends) had been drinking for eight hours. Our faces were red and glistening with sweat, we were talking too loud and had somehow formed the idea that we were the funniest people on the planet. We had been smacking each others beers incessantly, so our shirt fronts, and the surrounding floor, were soaked. The bouncers had started to edge closer, trying to pick the delicate point at which we would be costing them more than they were making out of us--or maybe they just wanted to pound seven shades of shit out of us. One of them looked pretty excited; had a hard-on, even.<br /><br />Being a keen spotter, and veteran cause, of the sort of bad craziness that involves large quantities of alcohol and huge bouncers, I went to negotiate peace with the doormen. As I'm a spotty little gimp, my usual negotiation technique involves lying on my back and pissing<br />myself like a crippled dog. However, eight hours of drinking will bestow a little courage on even the lowliest little shit, and so I begged time for another round. Regrettably.<br /><br />By this stage of the evening we had given up all pretensions to normal drinking etiquette (no pointing, no showing of teeth, no use of consonants... that sort of pratty crap) and had started to lunge and flail wildly whenever we saw an unprotected bottle. John barely got his last beer off the bar before I hit it. He was expecting this, though, and immediately stuffed the stubbie in his mouth. Fair rammed it home, he did. Which was unfortunate, because the top had busted<br />off.<br /><br />His eyes went wide as the glass slit through his top and bottom lip, and sank into his tongue. He fell to his knees, trying to hold the bottle still, but the foaming beer forced its way into his wind-pipe and he coughed explosively, spraying us with a fine mist of blood. He dropped the bottle and clamped his hands to his mouth, letting out a loud, low wail. The whole bar went silent. Even the arsehole bouncers were staring white faced at the mess. He was bleeding rivers. In about fifteen seconds his hands had been covered in slick red gloves, and the front of his shirt, once a cheerful shade of larger, had turned a violent crimson. He just knelt there, staring at me with enormous yellow eyes, making pathetic mewling noises and letting out small coughs whenever blood ran down the back of his throat. Blood was dripping off his elbows.<br /><br />Two of us picked him up and hauled him out the door, pulled him into the back seat of his car and drove to Accident and Emergency. On the way there he went into deep shock. The bits of his face that weren't dark red were white. His fingernails were showing dark blue through<br />the coagulating blood, he was shivering uncontrollably. By the time we got to the hospital he couldn't walk, so we carried him inside.<br /><br />Saturday night in A&E is one of New Zealand's national institutions; drinking and fighting is one of our national sports. When you walk through the doors of a hospital's emergency department in the weekend you're greeted by the smell of freshly processed alcohol; the cloying funk of acetone and vomit. The lobby is generally crammed with groaning rednecks and blue, spew-choked corpses. Still, John received attention fairly promptly, probably because of his cute injury.<br /><br />The attending doctor soon worked out that he wasn't in a life threatening condition, but was concerned about giving him anaesthetic because he was so pissed. She did give him a few injections, but he still started whimpering and shaking when she began to stitch him up.<br />She started mumbling a few platitudes to encourage him to stay still, but hadn't got far when, Quite abruptly, he stopped shivering and his eyes lost their focus. He burped. A weird, hollow, relaxed burp. The doctor went all quiet and stared at John, her nostrils flaring slightly with fear. Suddenly John's entire lower body convulsed, unloading a couple of litres of warm beer and clotted blood down the young doctor's front. She jumped backwards, swearing, and leaving the<br />needle dangling from the suture in John's lip.<br /><br />A few litres later, John heaved himself upright, blowing vomit out his nose to clear his airway. He gawped at me accusingly before his eyes rolled back into his head and he fainted, rolling sideways off the gurney. His head hit the ground with a sickening squeak, the sound of skull plates sliding against each other, and his arm folded under his body unnaturally. Rather than stunning him, this seemed to bring him out of his faint. He rolled his head around to look at me<br />and vomited again. His cuts had reopened; the sutures had torn out. After a few rough breaths he fixed me with his best "fuck off and die" stare, and started to spit black blood and ill-formed words: "I'll 'ill 'ou, 'ou 'uck. 'Ou 'ick 'uck. 'Ou 'uck. 'Ou 'uck. 'Ou 'uck..."<br /><br />I left.<br /><br />--Will (w.hoyle@csc.somewhere.ac.nz)felch groganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08687085602405987961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2195419232428073444.post-52155252721065634162007-08-18T04:42:00.000-07:002007-09-15T05:45:25.309-07:00Pyrotechnic schoolboy prankSubject: Pyrotechnic schoolboy prank<br />From: David.Cockburn@somewhere.edu (David Cockburn)<br />Date: 2 Aug 1994 03:52:19 -0500<br />Lines: 78<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_xlDyfqzQHjY/RuvRy1pHi8I/AAAAAAAAABU/skkXB_zH3mE/s1600-h/ExplodingToilet.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_xlDyfqzQHjY/RuvRy1pHi8I/AAAAAAAAABU/skkXB_zH3mE/s320/ExplodingToilet.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5110408873505164226" border="0" /></a>Story starts in a Chemistry lesson, with Teacher demonstrating that when you bubble acetylene gas through some standard lab reagent (can't remember what I'm afraid! - maybe I'll x-post this to the rec.pyrotechnics mob for comment) you get a black precipitate of god-knows-what, which when dried out, forms an exceedingly unstable powder which explodes with a helluva crack at the slightest provocation. Not surprisingly, Rick the class boffin leaves the lesson at the end with a bottle of said reagent and a bag of calcium carbide (+ water = acetylene, y'know) in his school-bag.<br /><br />So Rick shortly goes into production of this stuff in a big way, and is soon to discover that for optimum effect it can be detonated by packing it v-e-r-y gently around a short length of eureta wire, and hooking this up to a 9-volt battery via a nice long cable (battery heats up eureta wire,<br />causing detonation). Much mirth is then had by hiding tiny packets of the magic powder along the road and rendering innocent passers-by almost airborne by remote control from behind a nearby wall or wherever.<br /><br />But this isn't enough to fulfil Rick's creative urges. Final refinement of the technique comes with the realization that by tightly wrapping the powder and wire with cling-film (saran-wrap in 'Merkan-speak?) it can probably be rendered waterproof, and then...<br /><br />But unfortunately supplies of raw materials are by this stage running pretty low, so there is no opportunity to test the theory before putting it into practice. Rick therefore packs his entire remaining stash around the detonator, and tightly wraps the whole lot in clingfilm.<br /><br />The stunt was to be staged in the school crapper after lunch one day, when an unsuspecting kiddie could be predicted to arrive promptly to plant a post-prandial pooh with a reasonable degree of certainty. Rick locks himself in a cubicle with his kit, and carefully sets his charge inside the porcelain, well below the water-line. The very thin cable is led up<br />the side, under the seat and through to the adjacent cubicle. Removal of all the light bulbs in the area ensures that illumination is low enough for the trap to be invisible to a cursory inspection. Rick shuts all the cubicle doors except the booby-trapped one, installs himself on the adjacent crapper, and waits...<br /><br />The rest of us wait outside, watching from an overlooking balcony. Sure enough, not long to wait before some kid saunters in for a nice relaxing dump. So picture if you will Rick sitting there on the next bog with a wire in each hand, with a half-crazed expression on his face like Anthony<br />Hopkins in 'Juggernaut', waiting for precisely the optimum moment...<br /><br />Door shuts... lock clicks home. Belt undone... trousers down... buttock touchdown... bladder voids... sphincter dilation commences... CONTACT!!! Rick touches his wires together. For just a second, nothing happens. Rats - the stuff must have got wet. Then K-A-B-O-O-M!! there's the most almighty explosion... and then: complete, utter, total silence.<br /><br />Pretty shocked by what's just happened, Rick hops down from his perch and makes rapidly for the exit. What now? We all heard the bang and were all now more than a little worried as to the potential consequences... "Oh shit..." "Well it was *your* idea..." "I *told* you there was too much charge there..." etc etc. In retrospect, God knows why nobody went in to administer first aid or whatever, but no one did: we just hung about ouside nervously biting fingernails. But eventually the youth totters out of the lavvy, and amidst much relief, everyone crowds round to find out what had happened.<br /><br />Apparently the poor kid had just sat down and 'opened up' when the thing detonated. Subsequent examination of the crimescene revealed what had happened. The porcelain was covered in soot from the rim to the waterline - not that there was the slightest trace of any water left in the bowl. The cubicle walls were soaked to about waist-height, but most notable was the wet line which ran from straight up the door almost top the top - resulting from the piss-stream still emerging from the lad's flapping tool as he went flying into the air upon detonation.<br /><br />Mercifully and miraculously, it turned out that no damage had been done to the boy or his wedding tackle. He hadn't had a clue what had happened to him - he'd thought there'd been some sort of explosion in the sewers. Afterwards he'd just sat there quaking in terror, unable to move himself, let alone his bowels. In fact the word was that the poor little sod was<br />constipated for a fortnight afterwards... funny, that.<br /><br /><br />David Cockburn (who *always* checks before sitting down)felch groganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08687085602405987961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2195419232428073444.post-60796552418171485002007-08-11T05:50:00.000-07:002007-09-15T06:05:04.434-07:00My favorite dog story (true!)Subject: My favorite dog story (true!)<br />From: dehall@hellcat.somewhere.edu (David Hall)<br />Date: 2 Aug 1994 03:30:52 GMT<br />Summary: kilt a dog!Lines: 237<br /><br /><br /><br /> A fews days ago, while finishing up a private flame to some PC minded asswipe lawyer (not Canter or Siegal), I realized that it had been a *long* time since I had posted to our illustrious<br />group. Had nothing tasteless happened to me in recent months? Not that I could think of. I hadn't been sick. Nobody I knew had been sick. I couldn't even claim a good road kill (I ride a motorcycle, hitting a skunk would probably kill me too!). But then the great god of AT posts blessed me: my grandmother died.<br /><br /> So I bet you all are thinking that this post is filled with some tasteless details of her death and or her funeral. Nope, sorry. There wasn't anything good to report about them. BUT!!! During the long drive to Misery (Missouri?) I had time to ponder my childhood and came up with a classic adventure from my youth.....<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_xlDyfqzQHjY/RuvXw1pHi9I/AAAAAAAAABc/izCAUeM_GJ0/s1600-h/dog.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_xlDyfqzQHjY/RuvXw1pHi9I/AAAAAAAAABc/izCAUeM_GJ0/s320/dog.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5110415436215192530" border="0" /></a>When I was about 16 years old, my uncle's neighbors owned a piece of shit poodle that they routinely let run loose in the neighborhood. This little rat (not big enough to really be a dog....<br />it was nothing more than a curly haired, overgrown rodent) would run around, shitting in everybody else's front yard and barking incessantly. The cops had been called about the dog several times but the results never lasted more than a couple of nights (the results being the owners putting the dog in their back yard).<br /><br /> Well, it seems that our favorite neighbors decided to go on a one week vacation one summer and mind you, I *hated* that dog. So, with said hatred in my blood (and a sadistic streak down my spine) I decided that I would use the time alloted to me by our neighbors to take care of<br />the "problem."<br /><br /> My uncle was all for it, of course, and let me spend the week over at his place. After all, I was 16 and it was summer, did I have anything better to do than kill rodents? Not likely. And besides, this wasn't murder, or even cruelty to animals. No, this was to be a public service.<br /><br /><br />DAY ONE: RECON<br /><br /> The first night I decided that the best course of action was to see just what exactly I could get away with in regards to noise and neighborhood response. I spent the night pseudo chasing the dog around the neighborhood. The dog barked for *hours*. And yet, not a single light came on. Everybody was so used to the fuzzy fuck that it's barking didn't seem to cause even one raised eyebrow. "Perfect." I thought. The odds of getting caught doing whatever devious deed I should choose were small at worst.<br /><br /><br />DAY TWO: CAPTURE<br /><br /> Based upon the assumption that prying eyes would not be a problem, I decided that the best course of action would be to capture the shit dog, drive it out into the middle of nowhere, and then kill it in the most twisted, yet entertaining method I could think of. The mission would have three phases: capture, transport, and disposal.<br /><br /> Transport would not be a problem. My uncle had a plastic "instrumentation" case that was about 2 feet on a side with heavy duty latches. All I had to do was throw the box into the back of my truck (with the dog inside it, of course) and proceed to the sticks. Then I could dispose of it in the privacy of 10,000,000 acres of open desert. But how *should* I dispose of it?<br /><br /> My mind reeled at the possibilities. Burned alive, buried alive, bludgeoning, dismemberment, and poisoning. Yes, all were likely candidates, but I chose strangulation for it's simplicity. Oh, and the fact that I would get to look into the pooch's eyes as it died.<br /><br /> Unfortunately, capture was still a problem. Searching my uncle's house for something appropriate, about the only thing I found that would be of use was a 20 foot long piece of nylon rope and a pair of heavy leather gloves. They would have to do.<br /><br /> After fashioning a lasso out of the rope, I began the hunt in ernest. I figured that I would corner the dog with a fence or something, play cowboy (lasso the dog), pick the dog up and away we would go.<br /><br /> No such luck. The moment I would try to approach the dog it would run like a bat out of hell and hide under the nearest car. Have you ever tried to throw a rope over something that is hiding under a Toyota?<br /><br /> It was back to the drawing board...<br /><br /><br />DAY THREE: BLUDGEONING<br /><br /> After the previous night's fiasco, I decided to beat the dog to death. The plan was based on the assumption that I could run just as fast as any shit poodle (9 years of track, baby!). So when the rodent made it's break for the nearest car I would catch it and crack it's skull *before* it made it to the safety of the Toyota.<br /><br /> But what instrument of destruction should I use? My uncle didn't golf, nor did he play softball. So golf clubs and baseball bats were out. I searched the house for something appropriate. In the garage I found a choice instrument: a 1/2 inch diameter rod of solid aluminum about three feet long. It should do nicely.<br /><br /> That night I stalked the beast as best I could. I watched the dog from a distance of 50 or so yards for the better part of an hour waiting for it to do something stupid. My prayers were answered. The shit decided to take a shit. While the dog squatted in some poor sap's front lawn, I moved in for the kill.<br /><br /> The dog didn't hear me coming until I was about 10 feet away. By then it was too late to avoid my attack. I swung the rod as hard as I could as I ran past him. *WUMP!* I hit the dog sqarely behind his right shoulder. I could see his (hell, I never checked, it might have been a her) body deform around the rod as it transferred it's energy into his rib cage. Feefee was knocked about three feet sideways by the blow (interestingly enough, the dog never yelped). I didn't know how much damage (if any) I had done, but I was sure that I had the dog's *full* attention now.<br /><br /> Bringing myself to a stop about 10 yards past the ratfuck, I turned around to make another pass. But he was on the move, too. As he ran towards the nearest car I could tell my initial assumption was correct: I *could* run faster than he could. Unfortunately, he had a lead on me and it wasn't too far to cover. DAMN! He made it to some pickup truck before I could hit him again. And try as I might, I couldn't seem to get him under there.<br /><br /> It was time to rethink things (again).<br /><br /><br />DAY FOUR: BLOW GUNS<br /><br /> The previous two nights failures told me that whatever method of destruction I should choose, it *had* to be effective underneath a vehicle. To me, this said that it needed to be a projectile of some sort. Guns were out for two reasons: noise, and consequences of a chance meeting with Mr. Policeman while running around the neighborhood at 4am with a gun. Checking my resources I found three possibilities. The first, and probably most effective was the old bow and arrow set that I had played with as a kid in my uncle's back yard (OK, he spoiled me rotten!). But this too was ruled out as it was identifiable as a weapon from a block away. I didn't want to push my luck. The second, was a slingshot. While accurate and powerful, the balls shot by it lacked the ability to penetrate (or so I reasoned). This left my third option, my trusty home made blow gun.<br /><br /> Feeling like a ninja, I searched for my prey yet again. I found him sniffing a mound of dog shit (probably his) about a block away. He saw me approaching, and, apparently growing lery of me ran for the nearest parked car.<br /><br /> "No problemo," I said to myself as I walked up to the car. Crouching down I loaded up the blow gun. The dog just sat there as I pumped the first dart into his chest. *THWACK!*<br /><br /> I reloaded.<br /><br /> The second shot I aimed at the bastard's throat. *THWACK!*<br /><br />This time he yelped loudly and ran from underneath the car. Smelling victory, I chased him down the street. He hid under another car.<br /><br /> And I hit him again. This time I hit him in what I hoped would be his intestinal cavity. He yelped and ran again.<br /><br /> And so the night continued. *THWACK!* *YELP!* *THWACK!* *YELP!* In all, I put about 20 darts into him that night. But as my supply of ammo began to dwindle, I realized that despite all the festivities, the dog did not appear to be *hurt*. Perhaps what I was doing was no worse<br />than letting a vet pump 20 needles into him? I regrouped a third time.<br /><br /><br />DAY FIVE: POISON<br /><br /> Despite the apparent lack of results from the previous night, I was encouraged by my ability to hit the dog at will. This being so, I decided to learn the lessons taught by jungle bunnies everywhere: I would use poisoned darts. But how would I get poison from the dart into the<br />animal? Scientists use hypodermic needles to do it. I didn't have hypos. Natives soaked their darts in poison, mine were steel and thus wouldn't absorb jack shit. But where there is a will there is a way!<br /><br /> I took two of my remaining darts and used a file to create serrations along the entire length to the dart (except the cone). Now all I needed was a poison that would cling to the serrations well enough to withstand handling, flight, and impact with the animal. This requirement implied that the poison needed to be a paste of some sort.<br /><br /> But what sort of poison is a paste? After eliminating all available *poisons* I began searching the garage for something, anything, that was both a paste and had a "HARMFUL OR FATAL IF SWALLOWED" warning on the side. I found something (I think it was some *old* paint) and promptly coated my darts with it.<br /><br /> Finding the dog proved to be easy and right on que he hid underneath the nearest car. Taking my time, I loaded up a poison dart and aimed for the heart/lung region on the hellhound. Since this dart was important, I blew has hard as I possibly could. *WACK!* It sounded a lot like a<br />single hand clap. 30 seconds later the second poison dart joined the first.<br /><br /> My work done, I called it a night.<br /><br /><br />DAY SIX: ARROWS FROM SLINGSHOTS<br /><br /> When I awoke to the bark of *the* dog the next afternoon it suprised the hell out of me. But even more, it inspired me to *really* take care of business that night.<br /><br /> I surmised that the poison darts had been just as ineffective as the unpoisoned darts, but the ease of weapons delivery kept me clinging to the concept of projectiles as the weapon of choice. Using spearguns for inspiration, I wondered if I could use my slingshot to shoot arrows. Such<br />a configuration would eliminate the high visibility of a bow while providing excellent penetration. After some tinkering and minor modifications to my slingshot, I found that such a set up could indeed work.<br /><br /> But that night, the dog was nowhere to be found. DAMN!<br /><br /><br />DAY SEVEN: MIA<br /><br /> The absence of the dog the previous night had me hopeful that the poison had, after all, done it's job. But alas, I was not so lucky. That afternoon I spotted the shit dog lying in the shade on his master's front porch looking quite alive (and terrified of me :).<br /><br /> That night was my last chance. The neighbors would return from God knows where sometime the next afternoon. Searching the neighborhood, I spotted our favorite dog about a block away underneath a street light. It was moving much slower than it had in the past. Perhaps a sign that our little get togethers were taking their toll on Fido.<br /><br /> Slingshot and arrows in hand, I walked calmly down to the corner where I had seen the beast and looked around. The dog had vanished into the night. After several more hours of searching, I aborted the mission.<br /><br /> Ashamed of my failure, I awaited the return of *the* neighbors and the continued reign of terror that the mutt had inflicted upon the land.<br /><br /><br />EPILOGUE:<br /><br /> I never saw the dog again. Sometime later I found out that the dog had died a full *week* after the return of the neighbors. It seems that upon returning home they had found their poor pooch sicker than a dog (no pun intended) and had promptly taken it to the vet's office for<br />emergency care. The dog then spent it's last six days on earth in a small 2 foot by 2 foot cage, unable to roam it's territory, slowly dying of liver failure induced by an "unknown toxin."<br /><br /> And so, I can look myself in the mirror and know that I caused a poor excuse for an animal die a miserable death drawn out over the course of *TEN DAYS*. Yes, revenge was mine. And for that, I will forever smile upon the memory.<br /><br /> But I wonder, did the neighbors find any darts in him?<br /><br /><br />OBDogs: I actually love dogs. But my definition of a dog is a bit different than most. My definition basically says, "If the thought of that animal attacking you does not strike fear into your heart, then it is not a dog, but an overgrown rodent. *DOGS* can rip you to<br />pieces."felch groganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08687085602405987961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2195419232428073444.post-26862880506315547842007-08-04T06:13:00.001-07:002007-09-15T06:40:29.242-07:00HospitalFrom: st.ool@diku.dk<br />Subject: hospital<br />Summary: mommy, I've started throwing up the sedatives.<br />Keywords: long, boring to some<br />Date: Thu, 5 Dec 91 12:04:01 GMT<br />Lines: 122<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_xlDyfqzQHjY/RuvgUVpHi-I/AAAAAAAAABk/eUYfFaw2tl0/s1600-h/geriatric.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_xlDyfqzQHjY/RuvgUVpHi-I/AAAAAAAAABk/eUYfFaw2tl0/s320/geriatric.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5110424842193570786" border="0" /></a>I've always been very fond of hospitals. Not only have I seen most of my family die there in nice, sterile surroundings, deprived of any pride or human similarity they may have had, but the sheer joy of all the sorrow and despair makes my own life a seem little bit lighter. Where other people can do with the odd I'm-a-cripple-but-very-happy-and-believe-in-God stories that mainstream media is cluttered with, I myself find it hard to get that lovely oh-god-thats-horrible-thrill just by reading about it, so once in a while I put the rescue 911 tapes back in the shelf, zip my pants and go for some genuine excitement.<br /><br />In the beginning it was enough for me to peek through half open doors, seeing the screaming people fight the syringes, gastroscopes and whatever else the medical staff cured them with. I distinctly remember an old man sitting up in his bed, sorrounded by whitecoats hoarsly yelling out 'No, get lost, you're not taking my (spit) vocal chords (hrk) no get away from me, noo' whilst spitting and coughing up blood. After this precious outburst he looked down, blood running from his open mouth, and started to sob. They let him cry for about 3 min. (inwardly smirking, I'm sure) before they started on the second part of the routine, saying 'Ah, we got a little excited there, didn't we' 'Oh, it's all right, let it all out' and 'I think you should apologise to the<br />nurses, you know they're just doing their job to help you.'.<br /><br />'Yes' the geriatric sobbed 'I'm sorry'.<br /><br />'You want to be well again, don't you' the nice doctor went on. A barely audible 'yes' escaped the mans mouth along with some more brownish blood 'There just doesn't seem to be any hope..'<br /><br />'Now now!' a nurse interupted him 'A little sting and the next thing you'll know, you'll have a nice new throat mike lying beside your bed, instead of that nasty tumor'.<br /><br />'Noooo' the man from marlboro country began, but was tenderly given some morfin, after which he fell back, and concentrated on soiling the pillow with his blood.<br /><br />That night my apartment resounded with cheers and horrays, as I played out the scene with tomatosauce in my mouth and flour in my hair, wanking till my balls ached so much I couldn't do much other than lean back giggeling, oblivious to anything but my joy.<br /><br />But mere peeking couldn't satisfy me in the long run, and I felt that I somehow had to take part in the action to get a longer lasting sense of well being.<br /><br />I started by stealing the sick peoples clothes, preferably the elderlys, as they had less control of their bowels and urination. Normally, would put on a white coat, enter the room and look sternly over the rim of my glasses. The geriatric would then normally respond with a 'Is anything the matter, doctor?', sometimes almost incomprehensive as their voices shivered violently, and several of them stuttered during this dreadful question.<br /><br />'It's cancer..' I'd say, and wait for the sobs and flatus expulsion that normally followed this statement. If they could, and some could, control their bowels I'd follow it up with a 'WE'VE GOT TO OPERATE!', this dead sure to make them piss in their pants, and scream out in agony. Next step was then to scold them for being childish, removing their clothes and bring them back home where I would put them on my naked body and let the piss and caca caress my body.<br /><br />But the sight of their shivering naked bodies, was sometimes just too much and I had to fall to my knees, and lick them vigourisly in the crotch or round their rectal opening. I was good at this, and did it to a lot. One of the geriatrics even recognised me on the street one day, and told me how happy she was that I had scared her by telling her about the extraordinarily painful pancreas operation that soon would transform her life into an inferno of dread and unbeliveable pain. Apparently the real doctors message about her not having cancer but only a harmless infection, had lifted her from the deepest level of sadness to a heaven of bliss, in which she was alive and could do all the things she'd ever wanted to do. She even asked me to come to her home and lick her genitals once more, but I thanked no, telling her that I was a one-dog man now, and wouldn't cheat on Pumpkin. Fate would it that I met her 2 years later.<br /><br />I was as usual creeping round the corridors of the titcancer department on the lookout for a glimpse of female flesh. Nothing is more pure, more sincere than a fat, heavily madeup bitch crying as if whipped, clutching one of her fat tits, whimpering 'NOOOooo, I don't want to...Isn't there any other way?'.<br /><br />There never is.<br /><br />Today had provided me with the sight of an overweight 50 something cleaning lady, who wouldn't stop sobbing and screaming about her tits. For Gods sake! Was she going to use them for cleaning? No! What the fuck was she complaining about then? She could maybe even squeeze some funny cleaning fluids out the tit while she still had it. And I have never heard of any cleaning companies that sack people because they've lost a tit or two. But such people always have to exaggerate. Anyway, the doctor had just escorted the gasping bitch to his office and was now busy trying to call up her daughter, apparently the only one they could think of when it came to finding a person who'd pick her up in this state. 'Good', I thought, 'That will show this daughter what's in store for her' and slid into the operating theatre. Then, just as I was busily licking the acrylic plate on which her cauliflower like thingy had rested, my old flame entered only wearing ninja turtle slippers.<br /><br />'Oh doctor, my doctor' She exclaimed 'Cannot thou tell me who hast put these stones in my left breast'. She raised her arms toward the cieling as if expecting applause. She was most surely completely senile and couldn't recognize me. How she had found the right department was a mystery to me, but well, these old bitches sort of start to home when they have been hospitalized a certain number of times. She turned, then bent over and spread her buttocks as far as she could, giving me a clear view of her still functional sphincter.<br /><br />'Look. I'm constipated' she said looking at me from between her varicosed legs.<br /><br />On the brink of sticking my finger up her naughty hole, I remembered the reason for her visit and told her to stand up, which she did with a cheeky smile on her face.<br /><br />She was a real mammography pearl, around 70 and with large bumpy breasts. 'Please place your left breast on this acrylic plate' I ordered her, and she did so. A beauty. It looked mostly like a big yellow testicle, only a bit more hairy. I started to lower the other acrylic plate that would soon hold the breast oh so tight and ready for the best X ray tumor shot ever taken. But then just as her breast was beginning to look like a big red lumpy thing, the apparatus decided to get stuck.<br /><br />'AAAHR, your squeezing my tit!' She yelled in pain.<br /><br />'Look!' I told her taking off my glasses 'It's necessary that your breast is as flat as possible when I take the picture, otherwise the tumor will look blurred and veritalum coelum et assum, crux in gorgustico!'.<br /><br />'Yes, doctor' she sobbed, obviously impressed and awed by my proffesionalism. 'Uhhg' she whimpered when I managed to get the plate an inch further. 'Well, mrs. Anderson' I remarked slightly annoyed 'As all of you who survived the war knows: It has to do baddy to do goody!'.<br /><br />Hearing this her face lit up and she said 'Yes, that's right! I wish some of them beatniks would understand that and get a life'. I nodded to her in acknowledgement, and tried to get the plate further down, but to no avail. 'Aw stuck' I muttered. 'Let's take the picture now' she begged. 'In just a minute mrs. Anderson' I said and put one of my feet on the uppermost plate. As I trod down on it, she let out a horribly prolonged scream, and a milky stream shot out her festering nipple and soiled my trousers just below the zipper.<br /><br />'Now look what you have done!' I yelled 'WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, CUNT?'. 'Wraaaeeeeee' she started and tried to get away from me, but her tit was stuck, and there was no escape. I grabbed her around the neck and staring balefully at her I whispered 'Now people will think that I've been wanking'. I tried to brush it off, but only succeeded in smearing it out further. 'That's a big milky spot on my honour' I told her.<br /><br />'But doctor' she began 'I never meant to...'.<br /><br />'BITCH!' 'YOU BITCH YOU BITCH YOU BITCH!' I bellowed, hammering her in the face 'YOU FUCKING STUPID DIRTY CUNT! LOUSY BITCH STOOL SHIT FUCK CUNT KRRRRHRRRAAAGH'. Foam flying from my mouth, I leaned back and then smashed my forehead down on her nose. A last scream left her. Her legs collapsed under her, and I left her hanging unconciously in her tit, blood trickling out the nipple.<br /><br />Would she ever feel the same shame as I?<br /><br />-Stevenfelch groganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08687085602405987961noreply@blogger.com0