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Posts tagged “porn

It’s….CUPID!!!

As Valentine’s Day approaches I thought it only appropriate to interview the most wanted man, uh…boy in the world. I’m talking about the one, the only….CUPID.

CUPID – Pleasure to be here. Despite this being my busy time of year, I can always find time for you H.E., you helped my blog become what it is today and for that my heart is ever at your service…..You know, if you wanted I could set you up with somebody? I still feel bad about your last relationship. In my defense though, you were the one who fucked that up. Cupid’s arrow is rarely wrong and sometimes you got to give a little to get a little if you know what I mean….

***** So tell the readers, what is the hardest part being the God of Desire?

CUPID – The hardest part? My cock.

* silence *

Nah, I’m just fucking with you. Nothing like a little dirty humor to lighten the mood. Seriously though, the hardest part has got to be humanity. Fifty years ago this would not have been my answer, I mean, fifty years ago people knew how to make a commitment to one another. Now everyone is so needy and expects so much from the person they are with, no one knows how to stay in anything longer than a few years. Its sad really. I blame the hippie generation for this. All that free love fucked up real love for the rest of you. Well, that and women’s lib. Give me the days where I just shot a guy with love and never had to worry about what the woman wanted, because if she didn’t go with the guy I shot then he would just take her. It sounds bad but god-damn it made my job easier.

***** What’s with the bow and arrow?

CUPID – Are you serious? They’re fucking magic, that’s what! It brings forth love and happiness and shit to all that the arrows pierce….Whats with the….Look, if you find a magic shotgun for sale then I’ll buy it, but since there is no such thing, I’ll stick to my bow and arrow thank you very much..

***** How does love in the twenty-first century differ from say, the Renaissance period?

CUPID – Two words, E- Harmony. Them and all those other find love web sites that have popped up since the internet began. Back in the good ole days you didn’t have to fill out a twenty questions exam to get shacked up with somebody, you trusted my arrow to make the right connection. Now though, since these computer cupids have shown up, love is down, STDs are up and the murder rate in Juarez, Mexico has skyrocketed.

That last one has nothing to do with what we are talking about, I just got done reading a book about Juarez and that crap just keeps slipping out, sorry. You get my…..shit….what was my point…….Oh yeah, the Renaissance! It was different.

***** Have you ever missed an intended target? 

CUPID(long pause) On the record, no. Off the record, fuck yeah.

Look, it’s not easy, this job I mean. Its a ton of pressure for one God,you people are so fucking needy, especially you women. From now on, why not just say what it is you’re really looking for in a guy. First off, sense of humor is not that fucking important to you, so stop saying it first. It would make my job and your connection to your true love so much easier to make.That being said, I’ve fucked up here and there throughout time….Do I regret doing it? No, I rack it up to learning experiences…….I do feel bad about Whitney Houston though, I never should have introduced her to Bobby. That was my bad and for that I apologize.

Otherwise, mistakes or no mistakes, once that arrow hits you it’s no longer my problem. Love can happen anywhere, but I can only do so much, it’s up to you to make it work. Here’s an example, that teacher that slept with her student a few years back. You remember, right? She slept with him, got pregnant, got busted, got fired, got jail time, had the baby, got out of jail and then, got back together with him. That’s dedication people. It’s also a tale of love through the toughest of obstacles. What she did was wrong, there’s no doubt about it, I messed that one up, but in the end the love prevailed. All you humans see are the bad things in the people that I hook you up with, somehow you stop seeing the good after being with someone awhile. I never understood this, because the second you break it off, suddenly all you remember are the good qualities, the things that were always there but you would look past. Everyone fights, everyone has issues, it’s up to you to work past them and make it last. Not me.

***** Mythology tells us you inherited this job from your mother, Venus. Tell me, how did it feel growing up with the original MILF as your mom?

CUPID- My mother only talked to me when she wanted something from me. She is a vain, manipulative, alcoholic and I hated growing up with her as a mom. Did you ever see the movie Mommy Dearest? Imagine that but in God form, that’s how my childhood was. I’ve got so many issues because of her I had to cancel my subscription. We haven’t seen each other in years.

***** The identity of your father has never been made public, although Mars has been a popular suspect throughout history. How true are the rumors that you are scheduled to appear on an episode of THE MAURY POVICH SHOW with the intent to confront him with a paternity test?

CUPID- What? Where did you hear that? Of course it’s not true! There’s no need. I found out years ago who my real father was and it certainly wasn’t Mars. No, no, my father lives in Florida, his name is Dale Gibbons and he’s a retired nightclub owner from Miami. Cool guy actually.

***** Was it difficult growing up as an obese child with obvious bladder control problems?

CUPID – All those paintings and sculptures were taken when I was going through a growth stage of my life. Look at me now! Fit, tan and with 12 pack abs. Do I look anything like those pictures? No. I worked hard to get past those looks. Jenny Craig helped of course, but it was mostly me and my dedication to get fit that did it.

And as far as the bladder control goes, I don’t know where that got started. I never wore a diaper, I always went in the nude back then. Censorship is a bitch. Some people can’t handle the male nude form so you got to cover it up, that’s where the diaper comes in.

***** Fill us in on your unfortunate accident where you accidentally shot yourself and fell in love with Psyche?

CUPID – You’re getting these questions from Wikipedia, right? See, that’s why you don’t trust a user controlled reference site, they get it all wrong usually. Okay, you want the real story between me and Psyche? Here goes…

My mom comes to me one day complaining about this chick, saying she’s taking all her worshipers and shit. So mom asks me to go over to this girls place and make her fall in love with the most vile thing I could think of. High as a kite and pissed off because I was in the middle of a game when I was summoned, Saints Row 3 I think, we get all the games before humans do, its one of the perks of being a God, I grabbed my bow and arrows and flew over to her house.

As I’m sneaking into her room I’m trying my best to be extra quiet, but you know how when you’re trying to be quiet every sound is amplified, like, a thousand times? Well that’s what was happening in that room. Every step seemed to cascade through the whole house, and me being high certainly didn’t help.

Finally I get real close to her and start to pull out an arrow, as I’m doing this, her little Min Pin comes running up, yapping the whole way. It scared the shit out of me and I dropped the arrow. I hated that dog. Twinkles was his name. Can you believe that? The dog was totally gay too, he used to try and hump one of the guards dogs, a big German Shepard named KrissKross, it was hilarious.

Anyway, I dropped my arrow and it scraped her foot. Not me like Wikipedia would have you believe, but hers. She wakes up, bing, bang, boom, she sees me, falls in love and hasn’t left me alone since.

In the beginning it was cool. I would sneak over for some late night tail and scurry off again, but after a while it started to get a little stale. I think she saw how I was feeling and figured that the only way to keep me around was to get pregnant.  When I found out I was pissed! I totally wasn’t ready to be a dad, I’m still not but it is what it is. In the end we are all responsible for our actions and so I had a kid with her. If you’re looking for morals that’s about as good as it gets. Wrap that shit unless you want a world of shit. Either that or stick to stickin’ the back door, if you get my drift.

***** So, is the God of Desire dating anyone at the moment?

CUPID – Jen Aniston. Six months now. It’s nice I guess.

 


CAPRICORN – The Insipid Wanker of the Blogosphere

capricorn

12zodiacsigns.wordpress.com

In honor of the New Year and for all the impending January birthdays around blogworld (including my own) I’ve decided to draw a parallel between various bloggers and their coordinating astrological signs. I plan on doing one of these at the beginning of every month for each sign, so stick around and see just how close I get to yours.

Today I begin with my own sign which is:

Capricorn

Here is a brief overview of Capricorns in all their glory:

  • They tend to lecture other people about life and how to survive it.
  • They are hard-workers and status seekers.
  • Often mistakenly viewed as “elitists.”
  • Capricorns treat their friends very well and, in some cases, even prefer they company to that of anyone else.
  • Capricorns are deep, mysterious and full of intrigue and there always seems to be something going on in their minds.

Ah, yes…Capricorn. The answer to the question nobody asked.

We’re the bloggers who always have something witty and insightful to say, whether you wanted to hear it or not. We’ve asked all the right questions, know all the right answers and have little time or patience for your opinion on the matter (although secretly we love when you leave comments that allow us to show off our verbal acuity). 

Most of us are ambitious enough to write at least one blog post a day, sometimes more, but never on the same topic. We wax poetic about everything. We enjoy mocking the status quo more than regurgitating it because really, where is the challenge in that? And speaking of challenges, we are all about winning- even in blogworld. We Capricorns believe WordPress should have a little box dedicated just to us and our blog posts. I mean, come on? Who is better at writing anything than we are? Am I right? Am I?

Alright, let’s move on to love and relationships. Here’s what the interwebs have to say about Capricorn men:

“While a Capricorn male might display what could be termed as an aggressive behavior when it comes to getting what he wants, beneath that façade is a shy and introverted guy. Don’t misinterpret his shyness as being disinterested. He just doesn’t know how to express his emotions without feeling self-conscious in the process.”

Apparently the Universe has decided that all date-rapists are to be born between December and January. Not being one to judge, let’s hear what the interwebs have got to say about us Capricorn women:

“You want to love and be loved, but when the feeling starts to blossom, something always seems to stop you from acknowledging it and pursuing it.”

I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE ALL THINKING AND YOU’RE WRONG! THEY’RE TALKING ABOUT LOVE, I’M TELLING YOU! LOVE!

Perverts.

It is widely accepted in astrological circles that the best mate for any particular zodiac sign is to be paired with one of his or her own kind. That being said, astrologists everywhere are in agreement that the WORST romantic pairing for a Capricorn is…

Oh…crap.

So in conclusion, I’ll sum up my evaluation of the Blogger Capricorn with this synopsis of our sign:

“Capricorn has a certain exclusive side to its nature, often preferring to associate itself with people it deems worthy.”

In other words, we know we’re the shit, but we think you are too.

Stay tuned next month for AQUARIUS – THE REBEL WITHOUT A CLUE.


Let’s Play…Guess the Twisted Fictioneer

bsThe author of this particular piece is tomorrow’s featured Twisted Fictioneer. Can you guess who it is?

Good morning!  I have landed an exclusive with a personality not often featured in the stories concerning Santa Claus and the ongoing drama surrounding him.  Today, I am interviewing Lashonda Jefferson, otherwise known as Brown Shugga.  Good morning La… uhm, Ms. Shugga.

B.S.: You can call me, Shugga honey.  Everybody does.

H.E.: I have to ask up front, what got you into this life, and why did you pick a corner in the North Pole?

B.S.: Baby, that’s one hell of a long story involving wayward elves and their love of…well, let’s just say they like them some brown shugga, you know what I’m sayin’ honey?  Anyways, it’s damn cold on up in here if you don’t have nothin’ to keep you warm at night, and that Mrs. Claus, well she’s just plain crazy, you feel me?  One of them elves just decided that Santa needed some good ol’ fashioned TLC if you get my drift, and he dragged my ass up and I’ve been here ever since.  Can’t seem to get nobody to take me back and I can’t say I evah want to leave.

H.E.: Can you relate to the audience how the night of Mr. Claus’ arrest went down?

B.S.: I know that Kris is pissed at Brown Shugga, but I never set nobody up to take no fall!  He was out, ya know lookin’ to score some Shugga *wink* and some coke.  Of course, Shugga always takes care of her clients…especially them ‘high profile’ ones…Some bitch who was lookin’ to take over ma territory and ma man come outta nowhere and offered Kris her stuff!!  Can you imagine?!! Well, I ain’t dealin’ with that bitch and I beat her ass.  She tryin’ to hustle poor Kris into thinkin’ that she…that…that….HO!  Fuckin’ whitey she was…she was a plant, a fuckin’ cop, I know it!  I can smell a pig…anyways, next thing ya know me and Santa Baby in cuffs and bein’ dragged down to the station like common criminals! He was downright mean and nasty after that!  Whew, baby you ain’t seen nobody with a temper like that fucker…

H.E.: I see.  And you were then released with charges dropped in exchange for your information, true?

B.S.: Baby, Brown Shugga ain’t been charged with nothin’ and ain’t gonna be charged with nothin’.  I was simply providin’ a service.  Good ol’ fashioned satisfyin’ the demands of the area, if ya get ma drift.  As for white bitch, she got what was comin’ to her…I got yo information right here, baby! (clutches her crotch) Hehehe..no, really. I gots lots of information and it’s all written down in ma – well, let’s just say Shugga is well protected.

H.E.: I have sources that also maintain that you and a certain D.A. have an ongoing ‘special relationship.’  Can you comment on that?

B.S.: Oh, ya mean…well, we been friends for years.  He and I have an understandin’….he lets me live ma life and I give him some well-deserved R&R if you feel me…he certainly does…hehehe…hey.  You hungry?  You little on the thin side…want some of my tuna salad?  I made it this mornin’ while I was takin’ a break…

H.E.:  Oh… no.  I just do not like tuna, thanks.  Moving on, what is the nature of your relationship to LeMonjello Otis?

B.S.:  Oh, dear LeMon he been tailin’ ma ass for years. He can’t hurt nobody, fucked up little fool.  He talks big and all, but he’s really small in the, ya know, dick department.  Shugga knows how to make him feel more like a man, but fuck, he’s really sm-

H.E.: Are the rumors of you launching a daytime talk show on the Oprah Network true?

B.S.: Oprah?!  Baby, me and Oprah are like THAT (crosses fingers) Sista knows how to talk and Shugga is more than willin’ to let her all the way to Shugga’s bank account….anywho, it’s just talk right now.  We’ll see how things go, ya know with Kris and his problems an’ all…crazy bitch wife ain’t makin’ easy on ‘im though…fucker needs some good lawyerin’ up…

H.E.:  One last question – just how big is Santa’s – er, sleigh?

B.S.: Honey, Shugga don’t kiss an’ tell…but I can say he ain’t no magical elf for nothin’…hehehe…

STAY TUNED FOR OUR NEXT INSTALLMENT OF THE SANTA SHAME SPIRAL WHERE WE SIT DOWN WITH NONE OTHER THAN RUDOLPH THE RED-NOSED REINDEER!

SANTA SPAM ONE

SANTA SPAM TWO

SANTA SPAM THREE

INTERVIEW WITH FROSTY THE SNOWMAN

INTERVIEW WITH LEMONJELLO OTIS


Interview with Santa Claus – Part Two

santaspam2

 


Interview With Santa Claus – Part One

I recently had the privilege of sitting down to an interview with a man who’s known world wide; a man whose public persona is larger than life, but whose private world is shrouded in a centuries old mystery. In this three part series we will discuss his career, his home life, his influence and ultimately his legacy. This is by far the most in-depth post I’ve ever done that I believe you’ll find both eye-opening as well as entertaining. Today I sit down with none other than…

SANTA CLAUS

Part one of our interview takes place in Santa’s private quarters at his North Pole command center. Haggard and spent from last night’s epic trip around the world, he nurses what the elves tell me is his “tonic,” prompting me to open questions quickly and dive right into the meat of his story:

santaspam1


Iconic Interviews – The Book!

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iicoverartebookFor those of you who just can’t get enough of the holiday spirit, consider purchasing the Bloggers’ Compilation Project offering: ICONIC INTERVIEWS.

The world’s most beloved holiday icons presented in a collection of irreverent interviews that take on the backstory of their imagined existences.

Some of the best bloggers from around the ‘Sphere are interviewed as iconic holiday characters, each one zanier than the next. Click on the bloggers below for more good stuff!

Iconic Interviews can be purchased here:

AVAILABLE IN EBOOK FORMAT THROUGH SMASHWORDS

AVAILABLE IN EBOOK FORMAT THROUGH AMAZON

AVAILABLE IN PAPERBACK THROUGH AMAZON

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I’D LIKE TO THANK THE FOLLOWING BLOGGERS FOR THEIR GENEROUS CONTRIBUTION:

It’s Groundhog Day!

Joseph Wakefield as the Groundhog

It’s Cupid!

Talker96 as Cupid

Inaugural Spam

Joseph Wakefield as President Roosevelt

Michael Wakefield as President Jefferson

H.R. Nightmare as President Washington

H.E. Ellis as President Lincoln

Interview with the King of the Leprechauns

Michael Wakefield as Fergus O’Malley

I Prank You Not

H.R. Nightmare as Loki the Trickster

It’s the Easter Bunn- er, Wallaby?

Megan Stephenson as the Easter Wallaby

Earth Day Interview with Gaia

Sandylikeabeach as Gaia

It’s Flagulous!

Sparklebumps as Betsy Ross

It’s Time For Father Time!

Trask Avenue as Father Time

SciFi Face Off!

Sightsnbytes as Captain James T. Kirk

Dayton Ward as Captain Jean Luc Picard

Andiamo Columbus!

Viva Italia as Christopher Columbus

Interview With The Werewolf

S. Quinn Shaw as the Werewolf

Turkey Incognito

Edward Hotspur as Tom Turkey

Interview with Frosty the Snowman

Archon’s Den as Frosty the Snowman

Interview with LeMonjello Otis

TrailerTrashDeluxe as LeMonjello Otis

Interview with Brown Shugga

KayJai as Brown Shugga

Interview with Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer

PouringMyArtOut as Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer

Santa’s Shame Spiral Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

BrainRants as Santa Claus, Mrs. Claus and Lipschitz the Elf

Want to be a part of the next Bloggers’ Compilation Project?

Check out F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES and leave your choice in the comments. All profits from the sale of Iconic Interviews and FUFT are donated to charity.


It’s Time For Father Time

Father’s Day is upon us and with it an interview from the ultimate patriarch, Father Time.

*Good Afternoon, uh…is there such a thing as a time reference like “afternoon” in your reality?

Why wouldn’t there be? I’m just like you, missy. Minus the white beard. But don’t worry. It’s nothing a little electrolysis can’t help you with. (Bursts out laughing and slaps his knee). Man, I slay me! See what I did there?

*Yes.

I took the white beard reference and applied it to you! Since this is a print interview, people will think you have a white beard! Haha!

*Yes, I got it. Hilarious.

I know, right? I missed my calling, but relatively speaking stand-up comedy is a new thing. What would I have done before what you people call the 20th century? Wear a jester’s hat? No way. I have my pride. Plus, have you ever seen a comedian with such impressive biceps?

*So…

What? You want me to flex?

*No, thanks. Do time references like “afternoon” exist in your reality?

Oh, that. No offense, sweetie, but that’s dumb question. I mean I’m sitting here with you, aren’t I? In the afternoon. I would think the answer is obvious.

*It’s not afternoon everywhere.

Hey, don’t get all smart-ass and technical. Although I am everywhere I can’t be everywhere. I have to be somewhere, even if I am everywhere. So wherever I am, which doesn’t mean everywhere, is where I am. And when I am there, like I am here, I follow the clock like everyone else. By the way, do you know why clocks die?

*Why?

Because their time is up! Haha! Get it? You see when people die other people say their time was up. So when you apply that to clocks it takes on a whole new double meaning!

*That begs for your thoughts on how we measure time.

You mean how I taught you to measure time. The truth is you people need structure and organization. Have you looked in your closets? So I gave it to you. However, to be fair, precision rocks my world. Without some sort of time structure your life would be chaotic, but mine would be completely different. I wouldn’t be a celebrity, for one. I’d only be that guy with the amazing bod and killer sense of humor. No one would call me Father Time which would be tragic since my given name is Vivien. Hey, wanna see my pecs?

*Since you’ve been around forever you must have witnessed some amazing moments in history. Can you tell us which event was your favorite?

Been around forever? Is that some sort of age crack?

*Of course not. All I’m saying is you are a man of experience.

That’s true. I am. I get a little sensitive when people start talking about age because it is saddled with all these pre-conceived notions. So what if I have a few trillion miles under my belt? I’m still sharper than a Ginsu knife. Not only that, I have quads to die for.

*I’m sure you do. Now back to your favorite moment in history. When was it?

Right now, baby. (winks)

*Which event did history get wrong?

It would be easier to answer which event history got right.

*Okay, which event did history get right?

What? Do I look like some sort of history expert? (Doubles over in laughter.) Sucker! You fell right into that one! Am I killing it or what? Dane Cook couldn’t touch me on his best day! Haha!

*Is there a special lady friend in your life?

Look at me. What do you think? This magic doesn’t just happen. It takes hard work and let me tell you, the ladies appreciate it. One peek at my lats will convince you.

*I’m flattered, but let’s keep this professional.

Oh I’ll keep it professional alright, sugar.

*I have no idea what that means. Do you have any inside information on the Mayans and their world-end predictions?

They were a fun-loving group, the Mayans. Did a bit too much peyote, which is never a good thing. I’ll tell you this much though. Even when the world ends, time will continue. Which means – cha-ching! – I have nothing to worry about.

*What is the one thing most people get wrong about you?

That I’m a “father”. I’m not. I challenge anyone to produce a paternity test that says otherwise. And if they do show me a test it better be multiple choice. Haha!

 

This bit of Father’s Day diversion brought to you by the mad genius of John at Trask Avenue. For more holiday fun read Iconic Interviews- some of the best bloggers around the ‘sphere coming together for a good cause and a lot of laughs. Pick up a copy today.


REVIEW: Harem Master

HAREM MASTER  by R.B. Hatch

When I first chose to review HAREM MASTER I was concerned I’d find nothing more than a glorified Penthouse Forum article. Yes, it does involve a middle-aged man who is “entertained” by a self-appointed harem of females ranging from employees to contemporaries to nymphets. And yes, it is at times raunchy and raw and sexually charged. But R.B. Hatch’s development of the narrator, a man simply known as “John,” is well written and highly entertaining.

As a reader I found myself simultaneously repulsed by and sympathetic toward John’s actions that form the relationship between him and his “harem.” In “John” Hatch has created an “everyman” whose wit, intelligence and sense of mystery utterly charm the women around him into willingly becoming his objects of desire. It’s Hatch’s ability to endear John to the reader that helps to create a world that is not only plausible, but downright believable.

More than just erotica, HAREM MASTER is a plot-driven novel that delves into the mind and motives of its protagonist and speaks with a voice that will please its readers.


F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES Update!

Fairy Tales

For a larger image – click at your own risk

Hellis here, taking a quick break from the grind to remind you it’s almost time for the release of the Blogger Compilation Project, F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES! If you’ve signed on to contribute please submit your story as soon as possible. The moment I have all contributions in I’ll release your book! All contributions should be sent to heellisgoa (at) gmail (dot) com

Our two newest contributions are offered by the sweet but sassy Sandylikeabeach as well as the never bland VanillaMom. Check these two ladies out for some inspiration for your own Fairy Tale!

For more of the Blogger Compilation Project read the novella,

ICONIC INTERVIEWS

- The world’s most beloved holiday icons presented in a collection of irreverent interviews that take on the backstory of their imagined existences.

 


Three Gruff Sisters and the Troll

6509017527_6f7b0d05b5_zHold on to your garters people, today is another spicy contribution to the F*cked Up Fairy Tales project from the never bland blogger better known as VanillaMom. I decided to post her spin on the classic THREE BILLY GOATS GRUFF on a Sunday, because just reading it will send you to confession. Lock the doors and draw the blinds as I bring you THREE GRUFF SISTERS AND THE TROLL.

by, VanillaMom

The day dawned sunny and bright. After a solid week of too much to do, the Gruff sisters decided it was time to head up to the meadows. All three girls were looking forward to a day of leisure, soaking up the sun, weaving garlands of flowers for their hair, gathering berries, chasing butterflies. Whatever they chose to do, they would. It was a day for fun and relaxation. Back at home, there would always be chores – the sort of things that never, ever were “done”. They had decided last night that they all needed a little break. Besides, the littlest sister, Andi, pointed out, they’d have berries for breakfast for the rest of the week.

Pacing around the parlor,  Andi was full of impatience and a goodly amount of impudence. After watching her sisters fuss over their clothing for far too long, she decided to venture off on her own. Eventually they would catch up to her. She didn’t exactly leave stealthily, though she did close the door very quietly on the sound of her sisters voices.  Which corset, indeed! She, clad in a simple cotton skirt and blouse, almost skipped for joy as she left their home behind, and climbed the narrow road heading up to the rolling foothills. She enjoyed the breeze full of verdant scents. Closing her eyes for a moment, and tipping her head up for the kiss of the sun on her cheeks, she smiled for the first time in days. Sweet, this taste of freedom!

Singing a naughty little tune under her breath, she came to the heavy-timbered bridge. Here she paused nervously. There had been rumors that a troll had taken up residence under the bridge. Looking up and down the long riverbed,  the silver ribbon of the river was low, sparkling in the sunshine on its path down the mountains. It was entirely reasonable that there could be a troll down there, hiding just out of view in the shadow of the bridge. She’d heard other things about trolls, too. Things that made her nervously excited.

Her heart thumping hard in her chest, the littlest Gruff sister decided to run, run, fast as she could, across the wooden trestle. It was really more of a skip, however, with an occasional pause to peer down at the river below. Of the rumored troll there was no sign, much to her disappointment.

Yet, before she reached the end of the bride, a large, hairy, and incredibly fearful-looking troll leapt in front of her, blocking her way.

“Who dares to cross my bridge?” He shouted at her, his voice a ferocious growl. A waft of fetid air came from his mouth and she shivered and turned her head away.

“Tis only me, Sir Troll, the littlest Gruff sister. I am on my way to yonder meadow to pick daisies…” pausing, she reached into her pocket. “Breath mint?” She handed him a wad of honied mint. “I made it myself. And really, Sir, you very much need it.”

He, waving a meaty hand in the air, paused to stare at the wee lass standing before him, offering a treat. Perplexed, he snatched it up, tossing it into his mouth. He frowned down at her, while attempting to gobble it quickly. Once it hit his mouth, however, it melted into a sticky goo, taking him several minutes of chewing and mouthing the thing to get it down. All the time, the little wench stood, head tilted, watching him with a small smile on her face.

“You…should be SCARED of Troll,” he growled at her.

“Oh, that’s much better. Your breath I mean. And I’m very scared.” She smiled up at him innocently and batted her lashes.

“As I was saying, Sir Troll, I’m headed up to yon meadow to gather yummy tasting blackberries, which I will gladly share with you on my return, kind Sir.” She finished speaking, then moved, gently brushing her breasts against his arm, as if trying to edge past him.

He grabbed her arm, stopping her. With his other hand, he pulled apart the lower part of his pants. An engorged cock burst free, startling the poor girl. She stared at him, at it, aghast, waving her hand in front of her face.

“NO BERRIES! This  is the only thing you’ll  be tasting today,” he said, shaking her a bit.

“I’m afraid that part of you is just as…aromatic as your breath was, Sir Troll. I can see that you’re not much for bathing, are you? And yet, there’s that lovely stream just below. Why, I imagine that if you ran down there quickly, washed that impressive…I mean…frightening…part of you carefully, and rushed back, I wouldn’t even have time to finish crossing the bridge before you returned, and had your wicked way with me.”

Once more she tilted her head at him, aimed that innocent smile at him. He frowned, took a step back, then bolted for the side of the bridge. From underneath came the sound of crashing underbrush, the furious splashing, a faint curse as cold water came in contact with warm flesh. In moments, it seemed, he was back.

He strode to her, grasping her hair, and pulled her to her knees. In moments the large purple head brushed her against her closed mouth. Yet, at that first touch of his cock,  her lips parted. As he jutted his hips forward, he sank deeply into the wet, succulent heat of her mouth.

She gagged, a bit.  He moaned as she tried to keep her breakfast in her belly. As he moved, sawing his giant shaft into and out of her mouth, she found a rhythm to breathing and relaxing her throat. After all, it wasn’t everyday a girl had a cock this huge thrust into her mouth! She felt an answering thud to her racing heart between her thighs. She had dreamt of such wicked things, ever since she had accidentally spied the Widow Morris licking the cock of her stableman as if it were a delightful length of taffy. She had often remembered that scene, wondering at the taste and texture of a man’s shaft, while touching her own folds. And now, it was happening to her!

Her lips were stretched wide, her eyes were squeezed shut, as he continued pumping in and out of her mouth. She tried to suck it back each time he withdrew, and curled her tongue around it each time the massive length slid deeply into her throat. She could feel him quiver, and hear his gasps. If her lips hadn’t been stretched so, she would have smiled. At long last, and far too soon,  he grunted, and a hot, salty fluid filled her mouth. She’d never tasted such a thing before, and there was so much of it! It was like over-salted cream, she thought, runnels of the stuff leaking out the corners of her lips, as she licked and suckled the softening length of him.

With a pop, he pulled out, and tucked his rod away.

“Go,” he ordered roughly, and without hesitation, the littlest Gruff girl rose on shaking knees and ran the rest of the way across the bridge and up and up until she reached the meadow, where she fell back into the soft cushioning grasses, and slipped her fingers between her legs, licking her lips for one more taste of the Troll, until she shivered and quaked her way to the most incredible release she’d ever had.

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

Fiona looked around the house. It quickly became apparent that Andi had taken off on her own again. With a sigh, she looked at the dishes in the sink. They kept piling up, like magic. Evil magic, she mused, frowning at them. She could use the time while she waited for their eldest sister to finish her preparations (though for goodness sake they were only going to the meadow, not a grand ball!) by attacking the pile in the sink. She really should, she mused, as she eyed the back door with longing.

No!

With a burst of energy, she strode across the kitchen and out the door before she could interrupt their leisure day. Somehow, it never felt like she got that break. There was always something that needed attention. Laundry or mucking the stable, gathering eggs, or patching their garments- always there was a longer list of things to be attended to then there were hours in the day. Yet, she knew  that the dishes would still be there when they returned this evening. She hoped, wished, dreamed, that someday she’d find a handsome prince, who would have a fine castle and hundreds of servants to do all the dishes.

She smiled at her folly, as there were no princes anywhere around here, just magical creatures. Really, she would even settle for one of the fae. How lovely it would be to have someone to help around the house. Even better, to have someone to snuggle with in her lonely bed. She kept a tattered book hidden under her feather bed, with exotic pictures of men and women entwined together. She’d studied them all, especially the page with a certain tantalizing picture of woman’s ankles,  up and over the man’s shoulders, his penis poised at the entrance hidden between her thighs. His arms were bulging with muscles, as were his thighs. His erect shaft rose from a thatch of thick hair. She had spent many a long evening tracing it with her fingertips.

She wanted to see one. She mouthed the words as she walked. Penis. Cock. She shivered at the naughtiness of saying it aloud.  She ached to touch one. Yearned to feel it press into her, to fill her belly with its firm length.  There were many stories she had spun about that, as she touched herself in the deep dark night. Many nights  she had to bite her lips to keep from crying out as her mystery lover brought her to the peak, as her body wept copious amounts of love juice.

The sun shone brightly as she moved up the pathway, lost in thought. She often wondered if her sisters ever thought about men in the way she did. She was constantly dreaming of them and their hard bodies.  Her slow steps eventually brought her to the heavy wooden bridge. She kept walking, her feet moving automatically, her mind tangled in images of her deepest longing.

“Who dares to cross my bridge?”

With a shriek, she took a step back, catching one foot on the other,  falling. She landed on her backside, legs sprawled, head spinning. It was a troll. He was tall, with a thick beard and hair like a dark halo around his head.  He was impressively ugly, yet he smelled like Andi’s  mouth mints.

Wasn’t that curious?

All the warning tales about sightings of a troll at the Meadow Bridge ran through her head. She’d discounted them as foolish stories meant to scare people-after all, there hadn’t been a troll on this side of the mountains in decades! Yet here she was, and there, most definitely, stood a troll.

He seemed enormously tall; then again, she was laying on her back and looking up at him. His scowl was ferocious.  Or perhaps it was a smile? His teeth and mouth were huge, and as he approached her, looming over her where she lay, she wondered if this nasty beast would eat her! She wished she’d paid more attention to how to be rid of one.

“You were crossing my bridge. You must pay a toll.”

“I…I haven’t any coin with me. I was just on my way to the meadow. I can give you berries on my return, Mister Troll. Would that be a fair toll?”

“Berries? Berries? What is it with you girls and berries?” The troll shook his head, setting his scraggled hair to dancing. Fiona lay looking up at him, thinking that he wouldn’t be quite so fearsome if his clothing fit better and was clean. She was very handy with a needle.

“You aren’t all that terrible looking, Mr. Troll. Why, with a proper haircut, you’d be passing handsome!”

Fiona wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised by that little pearl of wisdom as it popped from her mind to her lips.

“Troll is NOT handsome,” He growled, hands on his hips. He glared down at her, yet she sensed a longing in him. Being a troll under a bridge must be a lonely thing, after all.

“Troll will take his toll. NO more talk of berries.”

In seconds, his pants were tugged aside and the most amazing penis popped out. Being of a somewhat analytical nature, Fiona looked at it intently, comparing it to the pictures she’d seen in her book. It was a lot bigger. ‘One might even term it massive,’ she thought in awe..It had thick veins, and a swollen purple head. Two heavy, meaty balls hung below it, each as big as her fist!

He stepped between her sprawled open ankles, then dropped to his knees. She swore she felt the bridge tremble under her. His hands grasped the hem of her skirt and it suddenly dawned on her exactly what sort of toll he was going to take from her.

Excitement mixed with fear. It was, she could see, so much larger than the wooden cock she kept with that book under her bed. She wondered for a moment if such a huge thing could even fit inside her own, much smaller body.

“Mr. Troll?” she bit her lip. It wasn’t everyday that fantasy came to life and she didn’t want to blow this opportunity.

“I-.”  She paused again. How did one address the issue of “fitting” with a troll?

He looked at her, brows furrowed. “What you want, girl?”

“Well, Mr. Troll, your….cock,” and she blushed profusely to say that word aloud to him. “it seems very large. I wonder if it will….fit?” Her voice trailed off. The head of his cock dripped a pearly bead of fluid. She licked her lips, watching as a second drop gathered, then fell in slow motion to the ground between their legs.

He laughed, the sound like metal scraping against metal. It was not a pretty sound.

“My cock is biggest Troll cock in these mountains.” He gestured expansively.

‘Likely the only troll cock in these mountains,’ thought Fiona, though she held her tongue.

He grasped the base of his cock, shaking it at her, making another thick droplet fall to the ground.

“I make it fit.”

Suiting words to actions, he leaned forward, pressing his enormous penis against her cleft. He slid it up and down her slit, making her arch and moan when he hit the sensitive place at the top. He pressed forward. She spread her legs wider.

“Please?” she whimpered, then taking the initiative from him, lifted her hips until the head of his cock was virtually sucked into her tight channel.

Her eyes nearly rolled up in her head;  it was like nothing she’d imagined. She rose higher, taking him deeper. His cock stretched her, making her ache in a delightful way. She opened one eye, staring up at the troll. He was staring down at where their bodies were joined. She could see confusion on his face.

“Well?” she growled up at him. “Get on with raping me, will you?”

He blinked, obviously unused to being ordered around in this fashion. He started to sit back on his haunches to think about this, but she wrapped her legs around his thick torso.

“Now…” she snarled at him, “rape me now!”

Tightening her legs, she impaled herself deeper on his thickness. Nature took over at that point, and he pressed the rest of the way into her.  As he pulled back, she tightened her ankles, trying to hold him in; she felt so delightfully full!

He moved to lay atop her, and she moaned. Oh the delight of being pinned helplessly in this way. He bit her nipple, making her arch against his mouth. In moments she was screaming, coming hard, her pussy  clenching and massaging the length of him. He fucked, she came again. He fucked, and fucked and fucked. After a long, long while, he stiffened.

She was in somewhat of a stupor, having had orgasm after orgasm, yet his fingers found her clit, his mouth all but inhaling her breast, as his cock grew impossibly thicker, and began to pulse. She came with a roar, her fingers twining into his hair, pushing his head onto her breast, back arching, legs tightening, pulling him as deep as possible inside of her.

He was coming. Pressed hard against her insides, with no room to spare, every ounce of his  juice filled her. Her back arched, her body taking more, as much more as she could get. Never before had she felt this wanton. Never before had she ever imagined that one of the pages of her hidden Matings book would come to life. Never before had she felt so good. It was the stuff of fantasy, come to life.

She lay, flaccid, as he rolled away.

“Wait,” she whispered, her hand outstretched in longing. But he had already vanished below the bridge. At long last, she rose, her body glowing, and walked onward to the meadow, with their juices tracing down her thighs.

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

Sue tugged once more on the laces of her corset. She did like them tight, and damnit, her sisters had likely already left, as she’d called to them twice and gotten no response. Doing herself up the best way she could, she adjusted her leather pants, straightened her boots, and gathered up her implements. Her sisters were definitely of the “girlish” variety; she herself was made of sterner stuff.

It wasn’t that she was cruel to them, but they needed tasks to help keep them happy. A long time ago Sue had noted that most people fell into two distinct catagories- those that like the doing for others, and those that liked receiving such doings. Her sisters were the former while she was very much the latter.

She liked going to the mountain meadow well enough, but she would be hunting game for dinner. The younger two would braid flowers or some such frittery, while she would get on with the business of supplying them with meat.

As if they could live on daisies, she snorted to herself. Taking up her hunting sack, she slung it over her shoulder, and headed up the road.

At the bridge she paused. The locals had spoken, just last week when she was in town, of the possible presence of a troll. While she’d seen nothing of the kind herself, she left naught to chance. Unslinging her whip and club, she walked steadily across the bridge, taking note of a puddle in the center. Bending, she pressed a finger into it. Warm. Sniffing it, she frowned.

Cum?

In the middle of the bridge where her sisters had been? Now, wasn’t that passing strange? She rose to her feet, weapons at the ready, but nothing untoward occurred, and she continued on to the hills. She found one sister picking berries near the trailhead.

“Hie, Fiona!” She called. Fiona’s head popped up, startled. She turned away from her sister, just a bit, enough to make her curious.

“What ails you?”

“Nothing. Just …picking berries.”

“Fiona, I can tell you are…what the hell is that?” Sue pointed at the stain on the front of her sister’s dress. It was dark with the drying spittle of the troll.

Her sister cast her eyes to the ground, lower lip trembling.

“I …I couldn’t stop it. Truth? I…I didn’t want to. He was so big, Sue. His arms were like logs, his legs like marble. And oooh how huge  his cock, Susan!  Merciful goddess, his cock was a work of art!”

She paused, hand to her breast, remembering. She smiled, smitten.

“He needed a haircut, a shave, and some tailoring, but he was so ruggedly handsome.”

Sue looked at her sister in disbelief. What the hell had she been drinking up here? Last years mead?

A trilling call and rippling grasses presaged their younger sisters arrival. Her hands were full of daisy crowns, and she plunged into the scene with happy cheer.

She moved to pass out the crowns, but caught onto the tension.

“What…what..?” she asked, confused.

“I think our sister has fucked a troll.” Sue spoke flatly, hands on hips.

“I didn’t mean to, and it was just my mouth…” Andi’s eyes fell to her feet. Looking up, she saw the disbelief on both sisters faces.

“Wait…he got you, too?” squeaked Fiona.

After a few minutes of cacophony, of catcalling  “you slut, you whore” Sue had had enough. The volume and shrillness rose until she dropped her hands on her hips and whistled as if to dogs.

Both girls stopped, clapping hands over their ears. She had a fearsome whistle!

“Enough. It appears that we have a resident troll, who fucked you,” and she pointed at Fiona, “and used your mouth,” she continued, speaking to Andi. They nodded, still mutinous.

“And I didn’t see him at all, so he was likely totally fatigued by having both you juicy pieces in such a short time. Very well, I’ll just see to that. Give me an hour before you return.”

Both girls nodded somberly.

“Sue?” Fiona asked, her voice a bit sad. “Please…don’t hurt him too much. I…I kind of liked what he did. A lot.”

“A lot, but kind of? Silly girl. Pleasured by a stinky troll? There are better ways…”

“Like there’s anything hung like that in town,” muttered Andi under her breath.

Sue shook her head, torn between bewilderment and annoyance. She pointed to each of her sisters, her tone brooking no argument.

“Stay. Here.”

A chorus of “yes Ma’am”‘s followed her as she left the meadow at a near trot.

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

She came to the bridge in short order, her long strides and impressive annoyance eating up the miles.

“Yo, Troll!” She shouted.

In a few moments, he clambered up the bank, looking more than a bit exhausted.

“What you doin’ on my bridge,”  he tried to thunder, but really, it had been a long, long time since he’d had an orgasm, let alone two in an hour. He was exhausted and just wanted to sleep.

She took a step forward.

He took a step back.

She backed him across the bridge, step by step. Once his contact with the water and bridge was broken, as he stood on the road, his power was broken.

In moments, Sue had looped her whip around his neck, collared him, and led him back to the house. He trudged along behind her, thinking fondle of napping. In the backyard was the old trough where they watered their mare.

“Get those clothes off. Hard to say which smells more…you or those rags. Get in there and wash.”

He grumbled. She pointed, first with her finger, then with her short crop. She swatted his backside as he reluctantly clambered into the water.

“Stay there.”

Striding into the house, she found one of the bars of lavender soap that her sister made, and tossed that at him. Before he could bite it, she stopped him.

“NO! Wash yourself–every INCH of yourself–you stinking creature.”

It took a while, and many buckets of water, until Sue was satisfied that he was de-stunk enough to enter the house.  His clothing stayed in the trough, he could come out later and wash them.

She walked around him as he stood in the kitchen. Her sisters were right. A bath, and later, some grooming, and he would be more than passing presentable.  Stopping in front of him, she looked at the giant cock between his hairy legs. Interesting. She smiled. Directing him to her room, she bid him to sit on the floor and to not move.

In moments she was back, with a strange ring in her hands.

“This used to be part of our mares tack. I’m going to put it on your cock. . . because it is my cock now, understand?”

He was slow to answer. As punishment, she swatted his upper legs, catching the hanging cock, making him yelp. He may have been big, but he still felt pain.

“Yes. Your cock.” He answered a bit reluctantly at first, then continued hopefully,  “I like your cock.  Troll want to put your cock in your cockhole.”

“Later, perhaps,” she purred at him. She slid the silver ring over his balls, then slipped his flaccid cock through. He frowned, moved a bit. She grabbed his testicles, squeezing firmly.

“Enough wiggling. Be a good boy and stay still.”

His hairy brows beetled down, his expression confused.  He watched her cross the room, tugging down her man-pants. He’d never seen a girl wear pants like that before. Yet she had all the right girl parts.

“Come here and taste me. I’ve always wanted someone to lick me. You have a big tongue. I want you to use it on me. Lick me good and I might let you fuck my sister again.”

The troll went to work, having never tasted pussy before, he found it delightful, his mouth and lips working to devour every drop of fluid, stroking over her button, making her writhe and moan and leak more honey onto his tongue. He pressed his tongue into her cockhole, and found it to be hot, and clenching on him. Fucking her with his tongue was delightful for both of them.

She had never ever felt the like! To have an enormous tongue lapping and stabbing into her nether regions? Amazing.

“My ass…you must lick me there, too…my crack, my hole..all of it.”

Being a troll of small brains, he wasn’t worried about that. He’d eaten worse, actually. His tongue slid up her back cleft as readily as the front, then pierced into her ass with abandon.He actually smacked his lips between slurpy suctioning of her ass and cockhole!

Finally she pushed him away. She was light-headed from so many orgasms. She heard her sisters come in, the sound of their nervous whisperings.

“Fiona! Andi! Come in here!”

She stood, bare-bottomed, the troll laying at her feet.

The two girls stopped, amazed at the sight.

“I believe we found the answer to our needs…our pet troll will help with all our chores, won’t you, Troll?”

He nodded, though he wasn’t altogether sure what a ‘chore’ was. He wondered if it tasted like the snack he had just enjoyed. He smacked his lips.

Sue looked to her sisters. “And we shall take turns with him, so that everyone gets to enjoy our new pet. Agreed?”

They nodded assent eagerly.

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

“Your tea, Madam.”

His accent was perfect, thought Sue. It hadn’t taken too many beatings to whip him into shape. His suit and tie fit impeccably, he was well-groomed, and he only tended to slobber after the guests had been served high tea. She’d allowed that-as long as he was in the kitchen or stables, and out of his livery. A troll, after all, is still very much a troll under the fine clothing.

She also didn’t mind the gruntings and foul language when he was occupied with one of her sisters, and certainly enjoyed his controlled attentions herself.

Yes, the Gruff sisters, had done well in civilizing their new pet. And although he would sometimes frown and stomp around the house, all it took was a raised eyebrow, and the suggestive tapping of her crop against her boot to end any thought of stomping away.

No, he was their troll now, and he was never found under the bridge again.

The End

 


It’s….CUPID!!!

As Valentine’s Day approaches I thought it only appropriate to interview the most wanted man, uh…boy in the world. I’m talking about the one, the only….CUPID.

CUPID – Pleasure to be here. Despite this being my busy time of year, I can always find time for you H.E., you helped my blog become what it is today and for that my heart is ever at your service…..You know, if you wanted I could set you up with somebody? I still feel bad about your last relationship. In my defense though, you were the one who fucked that up. Cupid’s arrow is rarely wrong and sometimes you got to give a little to get a little if you know what I mean….

***** So tell the readers, what is the hardest part being the God of Desire?

CUPID – The hardest part? My cock.

* silence *

Nah, I’m just fucking with you. Nothing like a little dirty humor to lighten the mood. Seriously though, the hardest part has got to be humanity. Fifty years ago this would not have been my answer, I mean, fifty years ago people knew how to make a commitment to one another. Now everyone is so needy and expects so much from the person they are with, no one knows how to stay in anything longer than a few years. Its sad really. I blame the hippie generation for this. All that free love fucked up real love for the rest of you. Well, that and women’s lib. Give me the days where I just shot a guy with love and never had to worry about what the woman wanted, because if she didn’t go with the guy I shot then he would just take her. It sounds bad but god-damn it made my job easier.

***** What’s with the bow and arrow?

CUPID – Are you serious? They’re fucking magic, that’s what! It brings forth love and happiness and shit to all that the arrows pierce….Whats with the….Look, if you find a magic shotgun for sale then I’ll buy it, but since there is no such thing, I’ll stick to my bow and arrow thank you very much..

***** How does love in the twenty-first century differ from say, the Renaissance period?

CUPID – Two words, E- Harmony. Them and all those other find love web sites that have popped up since the internet began. Back in the good ole days you didn’t have to fill out a twenty questions exam to get shacked up with somebody, you trusted my arrow to make the right connection. Now though, since these computer cupids have shown up, love is down, STDs are up and the murder rate in Juarez, Mexico has skyrocketed.

That last one has nothing to do with what we are talking about, I just got done reading a book about Juarez and that crap just keeps slipping out, sorry. You get my…..shit….what was my point…….Oh yeah, the Renaissance! It was different.

***** Have you ever missed an intended target? 

CUPID(long pause) On the record, no. Off the record, fuck yeah.

Look, it’s not easy, this job I mean. Its a ton of pressure for one God,you people are so fucking needy, especially you women. From now on, why not just say what it is you’re really looking for in a guy. First off, sense of humor is not that fucking important to you, so stop saying it first. It would make my job and your connection to your true love so much easier to make.That being said, I’ve fucked up here and there throughout time….Do I regret doing it? No, I rack it up to learning experiences…….I do feel bad about Whitney Houston though, I never should have introduced her to Bobby. That was my bad and for that I apologize.

Otherwise, mistakes or no mistakes, once that arrow hits you it’s no longer my problem. Love can happen anywhere, but I can only do so much, it’s up to you to make it work. Here’s an example, that teacher that slept with her student a few years back. You remember, right? She slept with him, got pregnant, got busted, got fired, got jail time, had the baby, got out of jail and then, got back together with him. That’s dedication people. It’s also a tale of love through the toughest of obstacles. What she did was wrong, there’s no doubt about it, I messed that one up, but in the end the love prevailed. All you humans see are the bad things in the people that I hook you up with, somehow you stop seeing the good after being with someone awhile. I never understood this, because the second you break it off, suddenly all you remember are the good qualities, the things that were always there but you would look past. Everyone fights, everyone has issues, it’s up to you to work past them and make it last. Not me.

***** Mythology tells us you inherited this job from your mother, Venus. Tell me, how did it feel growing up with the original MILF as your mom?

CUPID- My mother only talked to me when she wanted something from me. She is a vain, manipulative, alcoholic and I hated growing up with her as a mom. Did you ever see the movie Mommy Dearest? Imagine that but in God form, that’s how my childhood was. I’ve got so many issues because of her I had to cancel my subscription. We haven’t seen each other in years.

***** The identity of your father has never been made public, although Mars has been a popular suspect throughout history. How true are the rumors that you are scheduled to appear on an episode of THE MAURY POVICH SHOW with the intent to confront him with a paternity test?

CUPID- What? Where did you hear that? Of course it’s not true! There’s no need. I found out years ago who my real father was and it certainly wasn’t Mars. No, no, my father lives in Florida, his name is Dale Gibbons and he’s a retired nightclub owner from Miami. Cool guy actually.

***** Was it difficult growing up as an obese child with obvious bladder control problems?

CUPID – All those paintings and sculptures were taken when I was going through a growth stage of my life. Look at me now! Fit, tan and with 12 pack abs. Do I look anything like those pictures? No. I worked hard to get past those looks. Jenny Craig helped of course, but it was mostly me and my dedication to get fit that did it.

And as far as the bladder control goes, I don’t know where that got started. I never wore a diaper, I always went in the nude back then. Censorship is a bitch. Some people can’t handle the male nude form so you got to cover it up, that’s where the diaper comes in.

***** Fill us in on your unfortunate accident where you accidentally shot yourself and fell in love with Psyche?

CUPID – You’re getting these questions from Wikipedia, right? See, that’s why you don’t trust a user controlled reference site, they get it all wrong usually. Okay, you want the real story between me and Psyche? Here goes…

My mom comes to me one day complaining about this chick, saying she’s taking all her worshipers and shit. So mom asks me to go over to this girls place and make her fall in love with the most vile thing I could think of. High as a kite and pissed off because I was in the middle of a game when I was summoned, Saints Row 3 I think, we get all the games before humans do, its one of the perks of being a God, I grabbed my bow and arrows and flew over to her house.

As I’m sneaking into her room I’m trying my best to be extra quiet, but you know how when you’re trying to be quiet every sound is amplified, like, a thousand times? Well that’s what was happening in that room. Every step seemed to cascade through the whole house, and me being high certainly didn’t help.

Finally I get real close to her and start to pull out an arrow, as I’m doing this, her little Min Pin comes running up, yapping the whole way. It scared the shit out of me and I dropped the arrow. I hated that dog. Twinkles was his name. Can you believe that? The dog was totally gay too, he used to try and hump one of the guards dogs, a big German Shepard named KrissKross, it was hilarious.

Anyway, I dropped my arrow and it scraped her foot. Not me like Wikipedia would have you believe, but hers. She wakes up, bing, bang, boom, she sees me, falls in love and hasn’t left me alone since.

In the beginning it was cool. I would sneak over for some late night tail and scurry off again, but after a while it started to get a little stale. I think she saw how I was feeling and figured that the only way to keep me around was to get pregnant.  When I found out I was pissed! I totally wasn’t ready to be a dad, I’m still not but it is what it is. In the end we are all responsible for our actions and so I had a kid with her. If you’re looking for morals that’s about as good as it gets. Wrap that shit unless you want a world of shit. Either that or stick to stickin’ the back door, if you get my drift.

***** So, is the God of Desire dating anyone at the moment?

CUPID – Jen Aniston. Six months now. It’s nice I guess.

RETURN MONDAY FOR A PRESIDENT’S DAY SPaM AND MY INTERVIEW WITH A MYSTERY GUEST!!!


CAPRICORN – The Insipid Wanker of the Blogosphere

capricorn

12zodiacsigns.wordpress.com

Due to the all the recent January birthdays being celebrated around blogworld (including my own) I’ve decided to draw a parallel between various bloggers (mommy bloggers, sports bloggers) and their coordinating astrological signs. I plan on doing one of these each month for each sign so stick around and see just how close I get to yours.

Today I begin with my own sign which is:

Capricorn

Here is a brief overview of Capricorns in all their glory:

  • They tend to lecture other people about life and how to survive it.
  • They are hard-workers and status seekers.
  • Often mistakenly viewed as “elitists.”
  • Capricorns treat their friends very well and, in some cases, even prefer they company to that of anyone else.
  • Capricorns are deep, mysterious and full of intrigue and there always seems to be something going on in their minds.

Ah, yes…Capricorn. The answer to the question nobody asked.

We’re the bloggers who always have something witty and insightful to say, whether you wanted to hear it or not. We’ve asked all the right questions, know all the right answers and have little time or patience for your opinion on the matter (although secretly we love when you leave comments that allow us to show off our verbal acuity). 

Most of us are ambitious enough to write at least one blog post a day, sometimes more, but never on the same topic. We wax poetic about everything. We enjoy mocking the status quo more than regurgitating it because really, where is the challenge in that? And speaking of challenges, we are all about winning- even in blogworld. We Capricorns believe WordPress should have a little box dedicated just to us and our blog posts. I mean, come on? Who is better at writing anything than we are? Am I right? Am I?

Alright, let’s move on to love and relationships. Here’s what the interwebs have to say about Capricorn men:

“While a Capricorn male might display what could be termed as an aggressive behavior when it comes to getting what he wants, beneath that façade is a shy and introverted guy. Don’t misinterpret his shyness as being disinterested. He just doesn’t know how to express his emotions without feeling self-conscious in the process.”

Apparently the Universe has decided that all date-rapists are to be born between December and January. Not being one to judge, let’s hear what the interwebs have got to say about us Capricorn women:

“You want to love and be loved, but when the feeling starts to blossom, something always seems to stop you from acknowledging it and pursuing it.”

I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE ALL THINKING AND YOU’RE WRONG! THEY’RE TALKING ABOUT LOVE, I’M TELLING YOU! LOVE!

Perverts.

It is widely accepted in astrological circles that the best mate for any particular zodiac sign is to be paired with one of his or her own kind. That being said, astrologists everywhere are in agreement that the WORST romantic pairing for a Capricorn is…

Oh…crap.

So in conclusion, I’ll sum up my evaluation of the Blogger Capricorn with this synopsis of our sign:

“Capricorn has a certain exclusive side to its nature, often preferring to associate itself with people it deems worthy.”

In other words, we know we’re the shit, but we think you are too.

Stay tuned next month for AQUARIUS – THE REBEL WITHOUT A CLUE.


Iconic Interviews – The Book!

iicoverartebook

iicoverartebookFor those of you who just can’t get enough of the holiday spirit, consider purchasing the collaborative blogger eBook:

ICONIC INTERVIEWS - The world’s most beloved holiday icons presented in a collection of irreverent interviews that take on the backstory of their imagined existences.

Your favorite bloggers are interviewed as iconic holiday characters, each one zanier than the next. All proceeds from the purchase of this book are donated to the bloggers collective project known as Wrists Around The World. For a free copy of this eBook as well as additional works from H.E. Ellis visit: www.wristsaroundtheworld.com

AVAILABLE IN EBOOK FORMAT THROUGH SMASHWORDS

AVAILABLE IN EBOOK FORMAT THROUGH AMAZON

AVAILABLE IN PAPERBACK THROUGH AMAZON

tbar

I’D LIKE TO THANK THE FOLLOWING BLOGGERS FOR THEIR GENEROUS CONTRIBUTION:

It’s Groundhog Day!

Joseph Wakefield as the Groundhog

It’s Cupid!

Talker96 as Cupid

Inaugural Spam

Joseph Wakefield as President Roosevelt

Michael Wakefield as President Jefferson

H.R. Nightmare as President Washington

H.E. Ellis as President Lincoln

Interview with the King of the Leprechauns

Michael Wakefield as Fergus O’Malley

I Prank You Not

H.R. Nightmare as Loki the Trickster

It’s the Easter Bunn- er, Wallaby?

Megan Stephenson as the Easter Wallaby

Earth Day Interview with Gaia

Sandylikeabeach as Gaia

It’s Flagulous!

Sparklebumps as Betsy Ross

It’s Time For Father Time!

Trask Avenue as Father Time

SciFi Face Off!

Sightsnbytes as Captain James T. Kirk

Dayton Ward as Captain Jean Luc Picard

Andiamo Columbus!

Viva Italia as Christopher Columbus

Interview With The Werewolf

S. Quinn Shaw as the Werewolf

Turkey Incognito

Edward Hotspur as Tom Turkey

Interview with Frosty the Snowman

Archon’s Den as Frosty the Snowman

Interview with LeMonjello Otis

TrailerTrashDeluxe as LeMonjello Otis

Interview with Brown Shugga

KayJai as Brown Shugga

Interview with Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer

PouringMyArtOut as Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer

Santa’s Shame Spiral Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

BrainRants as Santa Claus, Mrs. Claus and Lipschitz the Elf

THANK YOU ALL AND MERRY CHRISTMAS!


SANTA CLAUS – THE SHOCKING CONCLUSION

Gragas_Santa

Gragas_SantaWell, blogworld, your faithful Hellis here.  We’re coming up on one of my very favorite times of the year.  I do truly love Christmas.  However, many of my readers might be shocked to learn just how totally-

[Insert News Flash Music][Insert the Attention-Grabbing Alert screen]

(Scene cuts in to our Anchorman, Pennis Stone)

Stone: (perfect, jet black feathered hair and smoldering brown eyes) Ladies and Gentlemen, this just in!  North Pole News SkyCam Reporter Chip Swizzle is live with us right now!  Apparently Chip has spotted – all on his eagle-eyed own – the notorious red Impala reported to be connected with multiple escaped Santa sightings. Chip, what can you tell us?

[Visual with helicopter noise: red Impala with two passengers, one in a Santa suit, one a woman in a gown]

Chip: Thanks, Dick! Yeah, we’re here just outside the North Pole capital and spotted what we believe is the fugitive Santa Claus, wanted on multiple drug, prostitution, and a smorgasbord of Federal Code violations related to shady business practices and money laundering.  I’m told police are on the way now, and … yes, yes, here they come.  Our pilot is going to try and fly lower…

Stone:  Heh heh, that’s Pennis, Chip! (winks at camera) Can you describe what you believe the fugitives are doing?  I see what looks like a man in a Santa suit and a woman.  What do you make of it, Chip?

[Shaky aerial visual continues, red hat twirls out over the rear of Impala.  Picture tightens, and a white-haired fat man rocks out with a woman face-down in his lap]

Chip: Holy moly!  I’m not sure what they’re doing down there, but the police are catching up fas… oh wait, two just skidded off the road in the snow.  Anyway, we’re still holding station.

Stone: Chip, it looks like the same thing going on right here under the anchor desk.  How close are the police now?

[Continued aerial shot of car, woman now sitting up, face in hand as fat man attempts to run cop off road Hazzard-style]

Chip: Dick, it looks like a struggle down there, and I can’t tell for certain but the woman appears to be Gloria Allred… oh, man!  Santa just rammed one cop off the road!  And there’s two up the road making a road block!  Are you getting this, man?

Stone: (irritated): We’re getting it fine, Swizzle stick.  This looks like the fugitive Claus is done running.  Swizzle, anything new developing?

[Wide-angle view, red Impala speeding toward two cop cars with lights going]

Chip: Yeah, Dick, you may be correct.  Santa doesn’t appear to be doing any evasive moves, and looks like he’s on a cell phone.  That’ll be another charge against hi… OH HOLY BEJEEZUS!

[Scene jolted wildly out of kilter, sleigh briefly visible in skewed picture, rumbling of afterburners]

Stone: What’s going on, Swizzle?  Talk to us?

[Scene shows Santa sleigh with a burly man in a kilt, a Thai hooker and two black-cloaked passengers swooping down toward the Impala]

Chip: Holy Klingon battle cruisers! We were just nearly blown out of the sky by what looks like a sleigh pulled by reindeer… and … I might need to lay off the rock, but I’d swear there’s a guy with a sword in a kilt and a Thai hooker in his lap… and .. wait… what is this? Halloween on Christmas?  I’d swear the two people in back are both dressed as the Grim Reaper.

Stone: Ha! Yeah, Swizz, you need to cut out that smack.  What’s developing now?

[Scene now stable, showing the sleigh crossing above the Impala while the two Reapers reach down to pull Santa clear, Allred taking the wheel and snapping a u-ey, and the sleigh rocketing out of sight][sonic boom sound]

Chip: Noooo waaaay!  That was totally bitchen!

Stone: Chip! Did Santa just escape?

Chip: (deep inhaling sound)

Stone: Chip? Chip!

WE NOW RETURN YOU TO YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED BLOG…

…and so, after all that heartfelt revelation on my true feelings for Christmas, I wish all of you and yours a truly merry one! (Thanks for the tunes, Frank!)


The SANTA SHAME SPIRAL Continues…Interview With Brown Shugga!

bs

bsH.E.: Good morning!  I have landed an exclusive with a personality not often featured in the stories concerning Santa Claus and the ongoing drama surrounding him.  Today, I am interviewing Lashonda Jefferson, otherwise known as Brown Shugga.  Good morning La… uhm, Ms. Shugga.

B.S.: You can call me, Shugga honey.  Everybody does.

H.E.: I have to ask up front, what got you into this life, and why did you pick a corner in the North Pole?

B.S.: Baby, that’s one hell of a long story involving wayward elves and their love of…well, let’s just say they like them some brown shugga, you know what I’m sayin’ honey?  Anyways, it’s damn cold on up in here if you don’t have nothin’ to keep you warm at night, and that Mrs. Claus, well she’s just plain crazy, you feel me?  One of them elves just decided that Santa needed some good ol’ fashioned TLC if you get my drift, and he dragged my ass up and I’ve been here ever since.  Can’t seem to get nobody to take me back and I can’t say I evah want to leave.

H.E.: Can you relate to the audience how the night of Mr. Claus’ arrest went down?

B.S.: I know that Kris is pissed at Brown Shugga, but I never set nobody up to take no fall!  He was out, ya know lookin’ to score some Shugga *wink* and some coke.  Of course, Shugga always takes care of her clients…especially them ‘high profile’ ones…Some bitch who was lookin’ to take over ma territory and ma man come outta nowhere and offered Kris her stuff!!  Can you imagine?!! Well, I ain’t dealin’ with that bitch and I beat her ass.  She tryin’ to hustle poor Kris into thinkin’ that she…that…that….HO!  Fuckin’ whitey she was…she was a plant, a fuckin’ cop, I know it!  I can smell a pig…anyways, next thing ya know me and Santa Baby in cuffs and bein’ dragged down to the station like common criminals! He was downright mean and nasty after that!  Whew, baby you ain’t seen nobody with a temper like that fucker…

H.E.: I see.  And you were then released with charges dropped in exchange for your information, true?

B.S.: Baby, Brown Shugga ain’t been charged with nothin’ and ain’t gonna be charged with nothin’.  I was simply providin’ a service.  Good ol’ fashioned satisfyin’ the demands of the area, if ya get ma drift.  As for white bitch, she got what was comin’ to her…I got yo information right here, baby! (clutches her crotch) Hehehe..no, really. I gots lots of information and it’s all written down in ma – well, let’s just say Shugga is well protected.

H.E.: I have sources that also maintain that you and a certain D.A. have an ongoing ‘special relationship.’  Can you comment on that?

B.S.: Oh, ya mean…well, we been friends for years.  He and I have an understandin’….he lets me live ma life and I give him some well-deserved R&R if you feel me…he certainly does…hehehe…hey.  You hungry?  You little on the thin side…want some of my tuna salad?  I made it this mornin’ while I was takin’ a break…

H.E.:  Oh… no.  I just do not like tuna, thanks.  Moving on, what is the nature of your relationship to LeMonjello Otis?

B.S.:  Oh, dear LeMon he been tailin’ ma ass for years. He can’t hurt nobody, fucked up little fool.  He talks big and all, but he’s really small in the, ya know, dick department.  Shugga knows how to make him feel more like a man, but fuck, he’s really sm-

H.E.: Are the rumors of you launching a daytime talk show on the Oprah Network true?

B.S.: Oprah?!  Baby, me and Oprah are like THAT (crosses fingers) Sista knows how to talk and Shugga is more than willin’ to let her all the way to Shugga’s bank account….anywho, it’s just talk right now.  We’ll see how things go, ya know with Kris and his problems an’ all…crazy bitch wife ain’t makin’ easy on ‘im though…fucker needs some good lawyerin’ up…

H.E.:  One last question – just how big is Santa’s – er, sleigh?

B.S.: Honey, Shugga don’t kiss an’ tell…but I can say he ain’t no magical elf for nothin’…hehehe…

STAY TUNED FOR OUR NEXT INSTALLMENT OF THE SANTA SHAME SPIRAL WHERE WE SIT DOWN WITH NONE OTHER THAN RUDOLPH THE RED-NOSED REINDEER!

SANTA SPAM ONE

SANTA SPAM TWO

SANTA SPAM THREE

INTERVIEW WITH FROSTY THE SNOWMAN

INTERVIEW WITH LEMONJELLO OTIS


The Emperor’s New Clothes

imagesJust in time for the holiday season comes the latest installment of our F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES courtesy of the one and only Sparklebumps!

The Emperor’s New Clothes (otherwise entitled A Woman Scorned)

by, Sparklebumps

Once upon a time, there lived a very beautiful boy who longed to be king and live in great finery. This would have been all well and good, except for the fact that he was the bastard son of a peasant, and there were no chances for boys such as him. So he grew up always looking in shop windows and coveting the fine silks and satins that were displayed in them.

One day, the boy (who was becoming a young man by this time) was hauling cow dung to the nudey community on the other side of the village, and as he passed the shop window, he looked inside. This time, instead of wishing for the fabulous duds inside, he spied the shopkeeper’s daughter, who was also very beautiful, and fell instantly in love with her because she produced in his pants the same reaction that fine fabric did.

He entered the shop, went right up to the gorgeous girl, and planted a kiss on her berry-colored lips. At first, she was taken aback by the force of his passion (and the fact that he wore d’odour du cow shit)but then she realized what an amazing kisser he was and her knees became weak with want. She kissed him back, and when they were both breathless, she took his hand and led him to the back room of the shop. The young man looked around and saw that he was surrounded by garments of the chicest style and materials. He was so overcome with desire, from the kissing and the clothing both, that he prematurely ejaculated.

“Aaaaahhhhhrrrrgggh,” He groaned as he shivered with pleasure. The shopkeeper’s daughter looked at him curiously.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” She held out her hand to steady the man.

“Um…er. It’s nothing. I just find you so sexy, and I have a passion for fashion, so I’m just overwhelmed.” He flushed bright red and his eyes darted nervously around, as he hoped she wouldn’t notice the wet stain on his pants. Her touch was already making him hard again, so she hadn’t noticed his deflated… ahem, ego. He pressed his body against her once more, and gripped her buttocks so firmly that she cried out, and responded by loosening the ties on his breeches.

They proceeded to fuck each other senseless throughout the night, and the girl only wondered about the wet spot on the man’s pants for a moment before drifting off into a perfectly-sated, sexy-dream filled sleep.

As the sun rose, the gorgeous boy awoke with a start and realized he had never delivered the shit to the nudey community.

He jumped up, and ran out of the shop, to where his wheelbarrow of crap sat, undisturbed. He hurried on his way, never once letting the girl he’s just de-virginized know where he was going, or if he’d be back.

On the way to the nudey community, the boy passed a grand procession, and as he maneuvered his shit out of the way, the Empress inside one of the wagons admired his beauty, and also his ass. She stopped the procession with a slight snap of her fingers,and whispered something to her head man.

“Hey, you! Pretty boy! Stop right there!” The man cried out in authority.

The boy froze, certain he was about to be beheaded for offending royalty with the stench of his cow dung, and turned slowly to face the wagons. He was too afraid to speak.

“The Empress is pleased by you. Come forward.” The boy stepped gingerly toward the ornate carriage, but stopped when he heard a voice like the tinkling of bells.

“Do you long for power? Wealth and finery? Do you dream of having loyal subjects to do your bidding?”

The boy’s jaw dropped, for these were the very things he daydreamed about.

“Yes!” He said vehemently.

There was a giggle, adn then the curtain was drawn back on the wagon and the lovely exotic face of the Empress appeared.

“And what would you do, my sweet boy, to gain all of these things? Would you be willing to be tied up and allow me to paddle that beautiful bottom of yours til it’s pink and sore? Would you allow my teeth to graze your nipples and your innocent member without promise of your own release?” She raised an eyebrow.

The boy contemplated an S and M relationship with an Empress, and couldn’t see any bad angles of the arrangement, so he responded with a confidence he didn’t necessarily possess.

“My queen, my all, I would allow even the largest of your strap-on dildos to invade my anal crevice if you could make me powerful and wealthy.”

The Empress grinned broadly, for she had every intention of doing that very thing to her next submissive. With only a look, the boy was shepherded into the carriage, and the Empress wasted no time in beginning her training. The boy was shackled to the roof of the wagon, and he watched  his wheelbarrow of crap and the shopkeeper’s daughter fade into the distance as the Empress sucked furiously on his cock.

The boy did so well as a submissive, that when the Empress died, she bequeathed to him the whole kingdom, and he became so obsessed with fashion that he would spare no expense to obtain every style that arose.

Because the boy was so beautiful, and so obsessed with his wardrobe, he would spend every moment in his dressing room admiring himself in front of many mirrors, front and back. While in most kingdoms, when someone would ask where the Emperor was, the normal response was, “He is in his statesroom.”, in this kingdom, the servants would say, “He is in his dressing room.” The Emperor was so self-obsessed that he would host fashion week, and insisted on modeling all the newest fashions himself. Masses of horny women and gay men would flock to the kingdom to admire the fine Emperor and his fabulous duds.

Our story truly begins as the Emperor searches high and low for the most daring and creative of clothing designers to feature at fashion week. He shook his head ruefully when his servants suggested such designers as Betsey Johnson and Alexander McQueen. He wanted someone who would shock the masses and make them insanely jealous of his frocks. His servants whispered amongst themselves while the Emperor racked his brain.

“What are you idiots muttering about? Do you realize that fashion week approaches , and I haven’t one designer who’s designs make my prick hard? What are we to do?” The emperor raged.

One brave lad stepped forward. “My lord, there is one who may be just the designer you seek, though there are stories that all who hire her are susceptible to her spell. She has left a string of broken-hearted royalty across many lands.”

“Pshaw,” the Emperor scoffed. “You needn’t be concerned on that front. Do you not know by now that my desire is only for fashion? I think not even a magical pussy would cause my manhood to rise. Find this fabled designer, and bring her to me.”

The servants scurried like mice in every direction then, embarrassed for the Emperor and the fact that no woman could get it up for him.

An envoy was sent out to find the talked of designer, and returned with her in no time.

Now this designer, when presented to the Emperor, DID in fact create a reaction in his pants when he gazed upon her. He found her oddly familiar, yet couldn’t recall where he had seen her before. Years of being tied up and spanked by the Empress had made him forget his first sexual encounter- that with the shopkeeper’s daughter. If he had remembered this, he would have realized she and this lovely designer were one in the same.

After she had been de-virginized and left alone, the shopkeeper’s daughter vowed to shame the boy who had popped her cherry just as he had shamed her. She worked day and night, becoming a well-respected maker of high fashion, fueling her designs with the rage she felt at being abandoned that day.

Her hard work was about to pay off, because she saw that the emperor did not recognize her. She gave him a flirtatious smile and bowed graciously. The Emperor beckoned to her, and insisted at once that she show him her latest designs.

The woman tilted her head and spoke.

“Dear Emperor, I have no designs to show you, for the collection I’ve been working on is very magical indeed. It must be made of the finest cloth, from the richest silk worms in the world. And it must be encrusted with the most shining of gemstones. But once the design is woven, it can only be seen by the man that is worthy of the position he holds. If he cannot see it, it proves that he is indeed an unworthy fool, and must be fired.”

Now any unfoolish person would know that this story sounded like complete poppycock, but the Emperor was so vain that he could not distinguish truth from a lie. So he sent his men to the furthest reaches of the land to procure the finest silks and clearest gemstones to provide the designer with. Upon receiving the goods, the designer would secretly tuck everything into her trunks to save for her real collection, and then she would set to work on her sewing machine without a stitch of thread strung though it. The Emperor’s servants saw her working on the clothes that weren’t there, and became distraught at the idea that they were fools unworthy of their station, and so remained silent.They murmured amongst themselves, until the whole kingdom was murmuring about the invisible clothes. The emperor was so impatient after hearing the rumors, that he insisted on checking out the clothes immediately.

When he entered the sewing chamber, the designer smiled delightfully, so that the Emperor’s manhood grew quite hard.

“Have you come for a fitting, my lord?” She asked innocently.

“Ahem… er, ah, yes. I’m ready to see the fine designs.” The Emperor began to grow nervous, because he was seeing no clothing to try on, and was a bit afraid the servants would notice his raging boner if they couldn’t see the clothing either.

“Here.” The Designer pretended to hold out a piece of clothing, when in actuality she held out nothing at all. “It is a fine tunic, is it not?”

She couldn’t help but admire the tumescent member of the Emperor as he stripped and held out his hand to accept the garment she offered. She scooted closer, and as he slipped the non-existent clothing over his head, she slid her hand down and gently grazed his manhood.

It had been so long since the Emperor had been touched in such a way that he squealed and spurted his hot baby gravy all over the imaginary clothing.

“Now look what you have done!” The designer cried in dismay, though she was laughing inside to herself. “There is no way to clean such dirtiness out of such a garment! This will have to be re-sewn with new fabrics!” She turned away from the Emperor in feigned disgust.

The man was so embarrassed he couldn’t speak, and he covered his face in shame. This was exactly the reaction the designer had hoped for- she wanted him to be degraded as she had been. After many minutes, the Emperor spoke.

“Oh please do not be upset, my dear. I will send for more fabric and more gemstones, only please do not divulge what has happened here to anyone.”

The designer pretended to think on this for a moment before bowing her head in respect.

“As my lord wished. I will work on the other designs while I wait for the things I need.”

The Emperor knew he was being dismissed, and though he normally would not allow someone to treat him thus, he was too afraid she would announce his surprise discharge to the masses, so he said nothing. He left the room in the clothes that weren’t there with his jizz dripping down the front of him. The servants in the halls whispered behind there hands, surprised at the Emperor’s nakedness, and admiring it as well. The emperor went to his chambers and did not come out again until word was sent that the collection was completed.

The Emperor, still being very vain, had decided he would be the only person to walk down the runway during fashion week in the designs made for him. Since it was only twelve hours before the first show, he sent word to the designer telling her this decision. When she heard the news, she smiled to herself, because the Emperor would be walking in the nude down the catwalk in front of the entire kingdom exactly thirty-two times. Finally, her honor would be avenged.

The following morning, the emperor arrived in the dressing room, and was immediately worried because once again he saw none of the fine garments he was supposed to be modeling. The designer entered the room and waved her arm in the direction of the clothes that weren’t there.

“Is it not the finest wardrobe my lord has ever seen? Is he not pleased?” She looked at the Emperor expectantly.

The Emperor was momentarily distracted, because the designer was provocatively dressed in a skin-tight gown that was cut down the front all the way to her navel. Her breasted were perfectly shaped underneath, and the Emperor’s memory was jogged about a similar pair of hooters he had seen long ago. His manhood once again grew to abundant lengths, and his regained memory was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

“Ahh, yes, er… fine indeed. The most splendid I’ve ever laid eyes on.” He fibbed, for his eyes for not laying on anything other than a pair of perfectly shaped bosoms.

The designer seductively smiled and sauntered close to the Emperor. Her breast brushed his arm, and he jumped.

“Now, only payment must be made, and everything shell be yours.” She whispered invitingly.

The Emperor could not resist, and stuck his hand down the front of the designer’s dress. She peeled his clothes away and climbed onto his ridged cock, riding him until she found release. She did so quickly enough that the emperor was left unsatisfied, and with a boner still.

“Mmmm, that was great. Now, you must get ready have the entire kingdom admire all you have to offer.” She dressed so fast he hadn’t a chance to utter one word about his remaining boner, and was suddenly left with many servants trying to look busy and ignore his manhood.

The fashion show began, and the emperor hadn’t even enough time to take care of himself before it started, so he donned the non-existent finery and hoped that no one in the front rows would notice the bulge underneath. Out he went on the catwalk, naked as a jay bird.

The masses oohed and aahed, not because of the grand garments as the Emperor thought, but because they were so surprised at the largeness of his member, and the fact that he was completely naked. Not one of them said a word, but continued to admire the emperor as he strutted back and forth for half of the show. It was not until a child in the audience cried out, “Mama! The Emperor’s peepee is sticking out!” that the Emperor realized he was really and truly naked, and at that point he had already been in front of the audience for so long without clothes, that he thought, “What the hell? I look good,” and continued to strut his stuff. Upon realizing that the Emperor had just spent a good forty-five minutes nude in front of children and adults alike, the police came and arrested him for indecent exposure, and he was sentenced to one year in prison for every count, which ended up being… well, a really long time since there were so many people there. He became the bitch of a burly black man during his stay in the kingdom’s penitentiary and spent the rest of his life getting it up the butt.

What happened  to the designer, you may ask? She road away with her trunks of silk and gemstones in tow, laughing out loud at the Emperor and his insane vanity. She now lives in Aruba and designs red carpet duds for the likes of Angelina and Salma Hayek.

The End


Welcome To My Desktop

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Anyone who knows me knows that I am an extremely restless individual, and that every now and then I’ve got to switch things up. It could be something as easy as driving a different car for a while, or something as epic as painting my bedroom hot pink.

Since I’ve taken on more hours at work, the switching up has been happening at my desk, or more specifically, my desktop, to the amusement of my many co-workers. So for the amusement of you all, I share with you today a gallery of my ever-changing desktop wallpaper.

Ah…yes. The General Lee. My first love.

Mmm…The Metallicar. My present love.

Next we have two pics that are the perfect marriage of humor and music, Tenacious D. and Dethklok. If you don’t know who they are, I suggest hitting the Google immediately. If you don’t like them, well…we can’t be friends.

Now we have the two greatest bands I’ve ever had the good fortune of hanging out with backstage. Lit and Godsmack. Boys and their tattoos. Dreamy.

Why Lemmy? Because Lemmy is God, that’s why.

Next we have two of the greatest influences of my life: Roller Derby and Charles Bukowski. Bukowski touched me deeply on the inside, and Roller Derby smacked the crap out of me on the outside.

Because I can’t download porn.

Next are two pics of my seldom seen daughter, Babygirl. The one above was taken on Halloween when she was two years-old. Her father wanted her to be a princess, but she wanted to be a “basketball boy.” You see who won. (Yes, that is a regulation sized basketball. She was, and still is, very tiny). The one below was taken in our backyard with my nephew. I plan on writing a story just so I can use that pic as a book cover.

Last but not least, for reasons that I cannot begin to comprehend, my all time favorite desktop wallpaper pic ever!!!!!

Doesn’t this pic just say it all?


Invisible Fellatio

chronic-cough-copd-400x400

1. Go to Google.

2. Perform an image search on the word “coughing.”

3. Witness countless people giving the Invisible Man a blowjob.

 


Turkey Incognito

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All across America families are gathered around their tables in celebration of Thanksgiving; a holiday that commemorates the first harvest of 1621 for the Pilgrims of Plymouth, Massachusetts. Here in New England, the birthplace of Thanksgiving, we honor our forebears by keeping with the tradition of serving turkey, an indigenous bird to this part of the country.

While many of us view turkey as festive holiday fare, there are some who consider our gesture of patronage murder. There is one who goes so far as to call it genocide. Today’s holiday interview is like no other that’s come before, because today we are conducting our interview in a secret hide-out free from the tyranny of New England’s native carnivores. Today we interview Pro-foul resistance leader, Tom Turkey.

Hello, Tom. Forgive me for sounding trite, but how are you doing?

Eat me – that’s how I’m doing. Oh, I’m doing really well. Gobble gobble and shit. I’ve been soaking in this hot tub all day – it smells great, sort of spicy or something. It’s making me hungry! GAH! Wait a minute…

Without revealing too much information, can you explain what is involved in engineering and maintaining an underground system of foul relocation?

Ah yes, the Undergrain Railroad. Well first, some wild turkeys are helping out with that by disguising some of us with camouflage and leaves. Those guys are poultry in motion. Secondly, we eat nothing but donuts and burgers and Cheetos to ensure that even if we’re caught, we’re too fatty to be palatable.

From what your lieutenants tell me you’ve been able to successfully move over one thousand turkeys out of New England to a Vegan commune somewhere in rural California. What are the logistics involved in such a massive migration, and were there any bumps along the way?

Besides these red things, you mean? HA HA! GOL! (Ed. note: gobble out loud) One word: trains. This country hates trains, so it’s easy to sneak on like a bunch of hobos and ride them all across the country.  And when we can’t do trains, we ride bears. That’s right, bears! Grizzlies! In return for eating bugs.  They hate bugs.

Have there ever been any close calls?

Yes there have – hunters. Those damned turkey calling things are like a siren song to some of us. Some of us are really fucking stupid, and when they hear one of those things go off, they go running out, and BLAM! Though this one time, one of our boys was able to get someone shot in the face. Hilarious!

And there was that one time when someone got a little smart for her own good, and read a map, and saw this country called… you know. She put the wrong two with the wrong two and got… well, eaten.
 

What would you like to see the Obama administration do in the form of policies that would make hiding out unnecessary?
Useless, Hellis. Useless. It’s already been tried. Over 200 years ago, we started a grassroots whisper campaign to get Benjamin Franklin to make the turkey the national bird. We would have been set FOREVER! But that idiot ran out in a rain storm and got shocked, and he was never the same. We couldn’t even get him on the ballot. Eventually, he went to France. Yeah, France. I know, right! Gobbledammed eagles swooped up and took the bird prize. They’re endangered, of course, but no one is eating them, are they.

More than just winning sovereignty for the Turkey population, you’ve been quoted as stating you’d like to see the Thanksgiving holiday abolished altogether. What in particular about Thanksgiving (other than turkey consumption) do you find distasteful?

Cranberry sauce. Terrible stuff. Oh, and those hand thingies, where human children trace their hands and pretend they’re turkeys? What the hell – those look nothing like us.

What’s your opinion on Turduken?

Well, I’ve stuffed a duck AND a chicken before, if you know what I’m saying, and I’ve seen ducks and chickens having some fun, but… yeah… this is just sick.

Finally, where do you see yourself in the future?

President of Mars, which will be renamed Turkopolis. It will also be renicknamed The Red Thingie Planet.


The Ugly Duckling

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Today’s post features another offering to our collection of F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES! Kat from Grafiklit has taken on the challenge of spinning the classic, THE UGLY DUCKLING. Enjoy!

by Grafiklit

Once upon a time (because this a time-honored way of beginning fairy tales), there was a swan, and she was pregnant. She didn’t want to be, because she wasn’t in love with her swan boyfriend, and the egg made her fat and almost totally ruined her bitchin’ prom dress. So after she laid the egg in the bathroom of the Sheraton that her high school had rented, she scooped it up and snuck outside, making tracks for the hospital a couple blocks away.

She’d managed to fit the egg inside her clutch, so no one at the hospital knew what she carried up to the second floor, the neo-egg unit. She also managed to sneak into the nesting room and stick the egg in one of the cribs. Birds aren’t very good at security.

They’re also not very good at math, because none of the nurses noticed that where once there was one egg, now there were two. Luckily for them, the mother was a duck, which meant that she was stupid.

The mother and father duck went home the next day with their two new additions, and the mother duck sat on the eggs until they hatched. The hatching day was a big deal in the duck household. There was cake, and soda, and balloons, and cousins and uncles. When the eggs cracked open, everyone gathered around the nest to watch. The duck, the real duck, emerged from his egg first.

“Aww, he’s so cute,” said some distant aunt. No one really knew who she was related to. She smelled like moth balls, though.

Next was the swan.

“Holy shit,” said the distant aunt, “He’s fucking ugly!” And even though no one was sure if she was supposed to be there, or if she’d wandered in off the street, everyone agreed with her. That second duckling was fugly. Seriously, have you ever seen a baby swan? Bow-wow City.

The swan grew up thinking he was a duck, and he was constantly tormented. At school, he was pushed into lockers. His lunch money was stolen. His head was dunked in every toilet in the school. Ducks made gagging noises when he walked by. No duck chick would date him.

At home, his parents ignored him and doted on his duck brother. This brother was the duck version of David Beckham. When he entered a room, angels sang. Little old ladies helped him cross the street. Even blind ducks knew how good-looking he was.

In a situation like this, it can go two ways: the ugly duckling (even though we all know he’s a swan, let’s stick with this for the time being, hmm?) can rise above his tormentors and graduate and go to college, where things might not necessarily improve, but maybe he’ll turn out to be a whiz with computers and get wicked rich, or he can go on a shooting spree at his school and make the papers.

It went the third way: the ugly duckling decided to cut off his brother’s face, wear it, and take over his identity.

Did I mention that ducks were stupid? Well, swans are fuckin’ crazy. Like Mexican cartel crazy.

One day, the ugly duckling stole a scalpel from his science class. That night, he slipped some sleeping pills into his brother’s milk and waited until sleepy times. Then he cut off his brother’s face. Bill and all. He spent the rest of the night cleaning up the blood and figuring out a good way to attach it to his own vile mug. There wasn’t one. He ended up stapling it on. Then he dressed in his brother’s clothes and ate breakfast looking like Duck Leatherface and his parents had no clue. Ducks are so stupid.

Fortunately, most of his teachers were geese. Geese are very smart. They let him go to his first period class, then called him to the principal’s office, where the police were waiting. The cops were also geese.

His lawyer was a goose, too, and once he got a look at the duckling’s real face, he knew he was dealing with a swan. He also knew that all he needed to do was file a bunch of legal papers and get the trial delayed a few months. Because, you see, teenage swans are butt-ugly, but young adult swans are like David Beckham times a thousand.

And thusly, once the trial finally started, the judge and jury and all the court people saw this gorgeous swan waddle into the courtroom. The judge (a duck) was confused. He wanted to know where the filthy psychopath was.

The lawyer, not missing a beat, said that the psycho duckling had escaped, and this poor beautiful swan had been imprisoned in his place. Injustice! cried the jury (also ducks). So they let the swan go, and a manhunt (duckhunt?) was launched for the psycho duckling. They never found him, of course. But a lot of unattractive ducks suffered some vigilante justice.

And the swan, meanwhile, started a new life, but because he was a swan, and therefore mentally unstable, it wasn’t too long before he strapped a few homemade bombs to his torso and waddled into his old high school. He blew himself sky-high and died a virgin.

The End.


Romantic Monday – Ode To Erik Estrada

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As a kid growing up I had lots of crushes on boys and sometimes men, most of them actors on television. One of the earliest crushes I had was on a certain Latin actor named Erik Estrada, better known as Officer Francis “Ponch” Poncherello on a little show called CHiPs.

Anyway, what I remember most about that time were my prepubescent fantasies of a chance romantic encounter with Senor Estrada. Seeing that he is Puerto Rican, I had always imagined learning to speak Spanish in order to impress him when we finally met. I envisioned a mall scenario where my bilingual ability would impress him enough to set me apart from all the other adoring fans. Enough for him to invite me into his van (Note to all you youngsters out there- all sexy guys in the 80’s had vans. And mustaches, but that’s another blog post). So for my weekly offering to Romantic Monday I bring you:

AN ODE TO ERIK ESTRADA

I stand in a line that stretches the length of the mall, sipping my Orange Julius, waiting patiently for the Latin object of my preteen desire to sign my copy of Dynamite Magazine. I size up the competition standing between me and my love while I wait. I count ten blonde heads in all.

They must have known someone to get in line in front of me, I tell myself in consolation. I’ve been here since five a.m. goddamn it. No one loves Erik Estrada more than I do.

I do little to hide my glee as I watch girl after eager girl dismissed with an autograph but without a second glance. Little by little I inch closer to the man who I am convinced will someday make me his bride. Anticipating a kiss, I pop a stick of Zebra Stripe gum into my mouth as I wait patiently for him to notice me.

Finally I reach him- sitting behind a table, his glorious dark hair feathered just so. My heart races as I pass him my magazine, intentionally brushing my hand against his as I do. He doesn’t look up as I ask for his autograph, and I can tell he thinks I am just another groupie only interested in the celebrity that surrounds him.

Oh Erik, my love, I am determined to prove you wrong!

He heaves a heavy sigh as he scribbles his name and without looking up says, “Is this it?”

I catch a glimpse of my braces reflected in the lenses of the RayBans a top his head as I smile and say, “Si.”

He slowly raises his eyes to mine. We stare at each other for what seems like forever…the two of us locked in a gaze of pure intimacy.

“You speak Spanish?” he finally asks, clearly impressed with my dedication to learning all that I can about him.

I answer clearly. “Si.”

In an instant he’s up and around the table. He grabs my hand and pulls me quickly through the crowd of jealous teenage rejects to the exit doors that empty into the alley behind the mall. There awaits a van, his van, the site of my soon-to-be epic deflowering.

He slides the door open and hops in, reaching a hand out to pull me inside. Once I’m in he slides the door closed and tells me to make myself comfortable. I lay down on a purple silk bed built into the rear of the van while he twists the cap off a wine cooler and then pushes play on a cassette tape. David Bowie’s China Girl pours out of the speakers as he hands me my Bartles & James and says, “I want you to be my only Chica…”

My voice trembles as I say, “Si.”

He takes the drink from my hand and sets it down before he pulls me in close to him. The intoxicating scent of Aqua Velva mingled with Latin machismo emanates from his skin leaving me dizzy and breathless. He breathes in deep my own scent of Jean Nate and teenage lust as his hands move slowly to my back, working their way under my shirt. My skin is soft to him and smells “delicious.” He asks if he can taste me.

My breasts heave as I say, “Si.”

Sliding his hands up my body, he brings them to my face and then leans in to place sweet, gentle kisses at the corners of my lips, his tongue working its way into my mouth, tasting me as promised. His kiss is passionate and deep and makes me feel like the woman I am desperate to be. He asks if I want more.

Our breath mingles as I pant, “Si.”

I feel the beat of his heart racing with mine and the intensity of his desire through the denim of his Jordache for Men. My hand finds its way to his manhood straining against his jeans. I let my hand linger, teasing him. He begs me to set him free.

I whisper, “Si.”

I let loose the top button just as strong hands stop me, holding me in place. My beautiful Latin lover stares down at me with dark brown eyes and whispers, “You’re eighteen, right?”

I smile as I lie.

“Si.”

FOR EVEN MORE ROMANTIC MONDAYS VISIT:

Edward Hotspur – Bittersweet Perfection

Frederique – Romance

Suzy – Romantic

Hastywords and Hotspur – Your Love Is Like…

Mimsy – Come Drink My Coffee

Sheila – Yes

Suzy – Teaching

Gin and Tulips – Uncurl Me

Running Naked With Scissors – The Drawing

The Cheeky Diva – Woooo Hoooo!!!

Hastywords – A Weekend Romance

Kayjai’s Blog – Sheila And Gilbert

PMAO – A Romantic Song

Benzeknees – Romantic Monday III


The Ant and the Grasshopper

ant-and-grasshopper

Today I’d like to welcome a newbie to our little corner of blogworld, g00dg33kranting with his timely take on the classic THE ANT AND THE GRASSHOPPER. Not only is our new friend a contributor to our F*cked Up Fairy Tale project, but he is also a novelist in his own right. You can pick up a copy of his book, RISE OF THE DRAGONS through a link at the bottom of the post.

by Joshua Smith

KID! Yeah you… get over here. Put that stupid video game down for a few minutes and come listen to me. I have a story to tell you. You and your lazy generation playing video games and texting on your phones and facebooking on everything; it’s SICKENING.

Listen to this story and you will rethink how you act. I’m going to tell you about the Ant and the Grasshopper.

DON’T GIVE ME THAT LOOK! This is more exciting than your Twilights and your Spidermans and your Thors with their actors who are too good looking to be real people.

So you see, there was this Ant and a Grasshopper and they were married as any good Grasshopper will end up married to an Ant at some point in his life. Now the Grasshopper went to work but he mostly slacked off a lot when he was there and then said he was too tired to help out when he got home.

This made his Ant wife very mad since she had to take care of their 437 children all day. Then had to cook dinner, get all 437 children to get their baths before getting them to bed. As you can imagine it is very challenging to get 437 children to bed by 8:30 P.M.

The Grasshopper would drink a lot of beer and watch football. This infuriated the Ant even more. Eventually the weather got cold at the end of the year and the Grasshopper wanted to get intimate with his Ant wife.

But she just ignored him and went to sleep. In the middle of the night she cut off his Grasshopper junk and threw it in a field, leaving the Grasshopper, and took her 437 children to LA and married Matt Damon just to dump him and take half his money.

And I miss your father every day… NOT, now go clean your room or I’ll cut yours off too.

PICK UP A COPY OF HIS BOOK AT AMAZON:

RISE OF THE DRAGONS (The Seth Stories)


Reapers With Fangs

RWFbCover

Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, the day is nearly here when we will unveil Book Two of the four book compilation series called REAPERS WITH FANGS. The sequel to Reapers With Issues follows the Grim Reaper on his journey through middle management Hell.

For those of you who have not read Book One of the series entitled, REAPERS WITH ISSUES but would like to purchase a copy visit www.wristsaroundtheworld.com where every purchase donates 100% of the profit to a great cause that you too can be a part of. Don’t forget to visit the REAPERS WITH ISSUES website and sign Grim’s DEATH BOOK. Now onto a preview of:

 

REAPERS WITH FANGS

 

Death’s bag landed with a thud, dumping its coconut scented contents and nearly a pound of beach sand onto the cold, office floor. “When was someone going to tell me about this?” Grim asked the three Horsemen scrambling to form a line in front of him.

“What ‘this’ are you referring to?” Famine asked, backing away slowly.

Grim stepped forward and shoved a pink, bubble gum scented memo into Famine’s bony hand. “THIS is what I’m referring to. This memo that’s nearly two weeks old. I count on you three to cue me into this kind of thing when I’m gone. I shouldn’t have had to hear this from Lucifer.”

Pestilence flinched at the word “Lucifer,” but said nothing. War looked to Famine who, after returning a stony glare, reluctantly answered. “No one wanted to bother you. We all agreed you needed the break.”

“So you thought waiting until I got back from vacation to walk into this mess was the better idea?” Grim asked as he snatched the memo from Famine’s hand and tossed it atop a monstrous stack of waiting paperwork.

“No, that’s not what we thought at all,” Famine explained. “We agreed we’d do some recon first and get a handle on who this Ashli person was before we decided whether or not you should worry.”

Grim startled. “Worry? Why? Who is she?”

Without saying a word Pestilence slowly lifted Grim’s mug off his desk and then went for coffee just as Famine produced a silver flask from deep inside his cloak.

“That good, huh?” Grim asked, not convinced he wanted to know.

“I’m not sure “good” is the word you want here,” Famine said as he poured a stream of red, viscous liquid into the steaming cup of coffee. Pestilence blew the billowing smoke away before handing the mug to Grim who promptly set it on the desk behind him.

“I’m not a Cherub, Fam. You don’t have to pussy foot around me. Just tell me straight out who this Ashli person is.”

Famine took a quick sip from the flask, steeling his courage before he spoke. “From what we’ve been able to gather Ashli is…well, let’s just say word around the Cloud is that the boss has got himself a new girlfriend.”

Grim stood frozen for a moment before he snatched the flask from Famine’s hand, tipped it back and sucked it dry.

“We’re still not sure what this is, so I see no reason to assume the worst,” Pestilence said in an attempt to put Grim at ease.

“Bunch of bullshit is what it is,” War blasted. “Give me five– no, four thousand real Reapers and we’ll take care of business no problem I guaran-fucking-tee it. We don’t need no Bible bitch tellin’ us how to do our jobs. We–“

Famine backhanded War into silence just as Grim dropped the flask to the floor. “Wait–what’s he talking about?” Grim asked, wide eyed. “What did he mean by, ‘telling us how to do our jobs?’”

Famine hung his head and sighed. “Yeah…I hadn’t gotten to that part yet.”

“So what are you saying?” Grim asked. “That I finally got Skippy and his shih-tzu out of my department and now….now I’ve got the girlfriend setting up shop here? Are you telling me she is actually in command of the OHD??” Grim’s shocked reaction forced his eyeballs to pop out of his skull and roll along the floor.

Famine picked the eyes and his flask up and set them all on the desk. “I’m afraid that’s the way it looks,” he reluctantly replied.

“Well that’s just fucking great,” Grim said as he ripped off his best tanned meat suit, stopping short of revealing a heart-shaped tattoo with the words Fran Forever emblazoned across the bicep. A tattoo that for the life of him Grim could not recall getting. “I need to sort this shit out so give me a few minutes alone, please. Pronto.”

Famine nodded and then led the Horsemen out of the office. As soon as he was alone Grim headed straight to the closet to change into his regular uniform. His official cloak, Grim decided, would put him in the right frame of mind to deal with the fact that once again, God pulled the rug out from under him.

As Grim slid on the heavy, black robe he set to putting this new dilemma into perspective. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, he thought. Anything had to be better than Jesus and his Reaper disaster. After all, the Big Guy never kept a woman for long, and he was sure it would only be a matter of time before this new one grew tired of his continued absence. Running the Universe for an eternity isn’t the nine to five job most women think it is.

Still, there was reason for concern. Even though this wasn’t the first time God took a mate, it was the first time in at least two thousand years he’d been this public about it. As Grim could recall, Lucifer was the reason behind God’s last romantic debacle. Grim wondered just how deep into Ashli’s pie his demon colleague’s fingers were, and just how bad the blowback to the OHD might be if God found out.

His mind racing with new concerns, Grim threw open the office doors and called for his Horsemen. “Have any of you spoken to Lucifer yet?” Grim asked once they arrived. “He’s the one who forwarded the memo. He’s got to know how this happened.”

“We…didn’t think it was such a good idea,” Famine tentatively began. “We didn’t know how much of this action originated from the Southern offices, you know, considering how Jesus’ Reaper solution went down.”

Grim ran a bony hand back and forth along his spinal column. “I do know what you mean, but it seems like a lot of risk, even for Lucifer. This isn’t Jesus and his shih-tzu we’re talking about, this is the Big Man and his woman. Anyone remember Lilith?”

“Come on, Boss,” War interjected around a wad of chew. “You know you can’t trust ol’ whistle britches, especially when there’s a female involved. Don’t matter who she is. He nails ‘em faster than Jesus to a cross.”

Hearing his Horseman echo his thoughts reinforced Grim’s suspicion of Lucifer’s role in Ashli’s sudden appearance at the OHD. Determined to get answers, Grim reached for a phone that rang as he grabbed it. “Hello?”

“Why Grim! You’re back!” Lucifer announced with mock cheerfulness. “What’s the good news?”

“You tell me. I’ve been skull deep in sand for the past two weeks.”

“Hmm…how very odd. I’d have thought your ponies would have alerted you to the magnitude of the situation by now.”

Grim shot his Horsemen a look of death as he spoke. “Never mind all that and just answer a question for me. Did you have something to do with this Ashli bullshit or not?”

“Hold your Horses,” Lucifer snickered. “The answer’s no, I had nothing to do with this. Although I wish I had, because this is more glorious than any plan I could have concocted.”

“Plan? What fucking plan are you talking about?”

A sudden, thunderous crash resonated throughout the office followed by a sulfurous puff of smoke. Lucifer appeared at Grim’s side. “Sorry about the theatrics Grimmie old boy, but I just had to be here when you got the news.”

Grim rubbed his skinless temples in exasperation. “Fuck the news and just get to the plan.”

An expression that was both gleeful and menacing at once took hold of Lucifer’s face as he stared into Grim’s and said, “I can sum up the plan in one word-

Vampires…

FOR MORE REAPERS VISIT:

http://www.reaperswithissues.com

TO BE PART OF A GLOBAL PROJECT AND GOOD CAUSE VISIT:

http://www.wristsaroundtheworld.com


Romantic Monday – Ode To Edward Hotspur

unicorn-twin-streams-romantic-monday-logo

For those of you who may not know, the great Edward Hotspur hosts a weekly blog-wide post-off known as ROMANTIC MONDAY. As someone who isn’t much of a romantic, I wasn’t sure I’d have anything remarkable to post on this topic. But something about the Halloween season inspired me to write the following tale of love and devotion gone wrong. For my first Romantic Monday offering I give you:

ODE TO EDWARD HOTSPUR

How I wish I had the courage to kill you, my darling. Oh, to have the strength to give you what you ask! Alas, my beloved, I am weak. You cannot imagine how it pained me to remove your feet. Surely you understand the sacrifices we must make for our love!

It all started so beautifully, did it not, E.H.? That glorious day when at long last you noticed me! I hardly believed it myself. Oh how you teased me, renaming me “Hellis” and coordinating our blog posts. How did you know the pleasure I would receive, seeing your words intertwined with mine? So why, oh why did it have to end?

Did my novelty wear off after only a year? Did you think I wouldn’t notice you had moved on to another? Did you think I wouldn’t recognize your words on another woman’s blog?

I recognized you. I recognized you because you belong to me.

I do not blame you for straying, my darling. You are just a man, after all, easily swayed by blog stats and sparklines. I forgive you your frailties. But I see now that I have to protect you and our love from the seductive, literary succubi who covet you for themselves.

Please do not cry, my sweet. You shall not miss your hands for long!

Just as you gave yourself to me, I shall become you, E.H. I will sacrifice my own identity and assume yours as a testament to our devotion to one another. I will destroy these usurpers of our love with your own beautiful, words. Oh how it will pain me to mingle my words with theirs. But love is pain my darling, as you well know.

FOR MORE ROMANTIC INTERLUDES VISIT:

Hastywords

Kayjai’s Blog

Edward Hotspur

Daydreamdaisies

Loveandlunchmeat

Bluegirlpoems

Pechorina

Kerryjr

Monarcenciel

Sheilapierson

Thecheekydiva

Asoulswalk

Ohmygawdjustdowhatisay

Pouringmyartout

Benzeknees

 

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