Just 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)
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.
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?”
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.
FOR EVEN MORE ROMANTIC MONDAYS VISIT:
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-
FOR MORE REAPERS VISIT:
TO BE PART OF A GLOBAL PROJECT AND GOOD CAUSE VISIT:
People, I am disillusioned. No, I am more than that- I am traumatized. Because my innocent little British Sweetie Pie just wrote the raunchiest retelling of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves that I’ve ever read. Hang on to your caps chaps, because I bring you Snow White and the Seven Strippers??
“I am leaving tonight!” thought Snow as she packed her bags cautiously. All her step mother cared about was her father’s money and she got it when he passed away. Snow knew the woman was jealous but banning her from going to university, this was a whole new low! Any boy Snow brought home her step mother convinced her they didn’t like her and Snow had never had a proper relationship. Leaving was the only way she could live her life how she wanted.
As Snow stormed past the beautiful ruby Red Mercedes Mclaren SLR her father had bought her for her seventeenth birthday, she backtracked for a moment. It was hard to leave when you had everything but she couldn’t stay for luxuries. Snow tapped the car and forced herself to leave. Marching down the street Snow bumped into a street advertiser who offered her a leaflet. It read ‘New VIP Bar Opening Tonight, All Drinks £1” she thought for a moment. Her step-mother had never let her go clubbing. Snow was going to do it; she was going to get smashed!!
Snow walked up to the new bar and walked through the doors; she stormed straight to the bar and asked the bartender for a double vodka and cola because that is what her step-mother ordered when she wanted to get drunk. She took the drink and gulped it down in one. She smiled; she had never felt this free before.
A friend from University was sitting across the bar, Snow couldn’t remember her name but she ordered another drink, downed it and walked over to her friend “WANT TO DANCE,” she shouted but the girl couldn’t hear her, then Snow remembered her name was Zoe, Snow walked closer to her and said “Zoe, do you wanna dance?” Zoe smiled and said “Yes actually, I have been stood up and could do with a friend,” Snow led her to the dance floor and they started dancing. They were shortly joined by a very good looking man who passed them a leaflet “I would love you girls to join us later,” he said before winking and walked over to another crowd of girls. The man had jet black hair and beautiful blue eyes; he had stubble on his face and walked around the club with a cheeky smile. The leaflet said “TIME OF YOUR LIFE, a club with a difference,” Zoe looked at Snow and pointed at the opening times “It doesn’t open till eleven,” Snow looked at her diamond incrusted watch and it was only nine but she was determined to have a good time “Let’s get plenty to drink before then,” she said pulling Zoe back towards the bar. At 11:30, Snow and Zoe stumbled to ‘time of your life’. Snow looked at the man at the booth at the door and said “How much do you want?” the man laughed and said “The shows has already started but if you still wanna go in its £15 each,” Snow passed the man £100 and said “Keep the change,” Zoe giggle as they walked into the club barely holding each other up. They were both shocked when they walked into a revamped theatre; they took a seat at the back near the bar and waited for the next part of the show to start.
A tall, gorgeous lady walked onto the stage and said “I hope you ladies enjoyed the first act but now onto the second, you all know this guy, give it up for Friendly!!” The women around them screamed in anticipation. A woman next to Snow had a huge stack of five pound notes on the table in front of her so Snow presumed she knew what was going on. Suddenly a beautiful man’s voice sang “You know I know how, to make them stop and share as I zone out,” he slowly danced onto the stage in a suit and took his jacket off “The club can’t even handle me right now,” as he stopped singing the women went wild. Snow had never seen anything like this but she was captured by what she was seeing.
“Watch you, watching me I go all out,” he sang as he sat on the edge of the stage and the women closest to him stroked his muscly chest and abs. “The club can’t even handle me right now,” he finished singing and the music started. He started dancing but really dancing, he was amazing. His shagging blond hair was dancing with him and his muscle rippled as he delivered every move with passion and precision. He slid across the stage and jumped onto a girls lap, he was dancing on her and she was gridding on him. He jumped onto the table and ripped his pants off. Snows jaw dropped as he used his hat to cover his dignity. As he left the stage the women came back on and said “Did everyone enjoy that?” Snow was too shocked too scream and she needed another drink. As she sat back in her seat, the most beautiful man she had ever seen stepped onto the stage in a camouflage trousers and a white vest top. The white vest top didn’t leave much to the imagination as all of his muscles protruded through the material. He man danced down the ales of the theatre, pulling girls to their feet and dancing with them. Snow bit her lip as he dance towards her, he was her perfection. He had dark hair and dark eyes. As he danced back towards the stage, women sighed and pleaded for him to dance with them.
Seven acts and nine shot later, Snow was on cloud nine. As the club emptied Snow found a nice comfortable bit of concrete and fell asleep.
“We should really wake her up,” said Flirty as he stared at the beautiful girl asleep on the road. Frisky nodded at him and kicked her. Flirty shot him an angry look but Frisky simply shrugged back. The girl looked around and realised she was asleep on the road outside a strip club. Her hair was stuck up in the air and her clothes were on backwards (Meaning at some point last night she must have taken them off). Flirty looked her up and down, he didn’t know what to say. “Are you alright?” Frisky said as the girl squinted at them both. She looked at him but the only thing she could remember from the night before was running away from home. She was confused but asked “Do you have a place for me to stay?” Flirty and Frisky were taken back, Frisky shook his head “Erm no, no girls allowed,” but Flirty had a different idea. “How long do you want to stay?” Flirty said before Frisky could stop him. The girl fluttered her eyelashes and said “Only till I can find myself a place,” Flirty smiled and added “What is your name?” the girl blushed “Snow White,” she whispered in embarrassment, Flirty smiled “I am Flirty and this is Frisky,” The girl looked at the both before nodding. Frisky pointed down the street and said “Come on then.”
Snow slowly realised she was going home with too strapping young men. She started staring at them and taking in their feathers. Flirty was tall, dark and handsome but Frisky had long brown hair and rough stubble on his face. When they arrived at the block of flats, Snow asked “Which one is yours?” the men turned around and smiled, Frisky answered “All of them, all seven flats,”
“For all seven men,” Flirty added with a big grin on his face. Snow suddenly felt warn inside, seven absolutely gorgeous men in one building, she was glad she ran away from home.
Snow placed the one bag she had with her on the table and sat on the sofa. The flats looked awful from the outside, dull and run down but on the inside they were luxurious. Snow wondered why the men lived here and how they got the money for such expensive things but she didn’t want to be rude and ask. Flirty walked in the room with another man with Blond hair and striking green eyes, he was very muscly and very attractive. He walked over to Snow and said “I am Friendly, please to meet you,” Snow just nodded but she had a feeling she had seen him before. He blushed and sat on the other sofa, Flirty looked at Snow and said “You will have to come to work with us, Fancy doesn’t want you here alone but I think I have a job you can do,” He winked which also seemed familiar to Snow. Flirty got his car keys and encourage the others to show Snow to the car. Snow was in the car with Flirty, Frisky and Friendly but she was told that Funny, Fancy, Funky and Fizzy were in the other car.
When they reached the place they had called work, Snow noticed it was a dance studio. They walked into a huge studio and Snow sighed at her reflection straight away. Her usually neat hair was all over the pace, she combed it with her fingers back into a Black bob it usually was and felt instantly better. As soon as Friendly started dancing, Snows memories from the night before came flooding back “OMG YOU’RE MALE STRIPPERS!” she screamed as the seven men stared at her. The men just laughed “I am guessing you can now remember last night then,” Funny said as he finished laughing “No,” Snow answered and she was mortified. Flirty looked at her and said “You stayed after the show and was drinking with us, you were telling us what you would do to us behind closed doors, and you were being pretty…”
“Erotic,” added Frisky as Flirty struggle to finish his sentence. Snow was shocked; she was not usually like this at all. Flirty looked at her “Our front lady quit last night, I though you could fill in for her,” he whispered as reality suddenly dawned over Snow and she turned to leave. Fancy, one of the wiser of the young men then stepped up and said “Look Snow, you came here looking for something else, you ran away from home and you have nothing to go back too, it’s do or die for you so why don’t you just give it a shot?” Fancy’s word rung in Snows ears. Snow had gone from being a pampered princess to being a widow’s slave, a life which she only ran away from last night and was willing to go back already. She needed to prove to herself that she didn’t need that life, that she could earn money for herself, she turned around and nodded at fancy
“Yes, you’re right,” she said and the men smiled “Welcome to the team,” Fancy stated before handing her over to Funky who was going to teach her the ropes. Funky had short curly ginger hair and lovely blue eyes, he seemed to be shy compared to the other but the man could dance, all the men could dance!
The first thing Funky did was pull out a costume, it was a sexy ringmistress costume and it was lovely. The jacket was blue, the waistcoat was yellow, and it had a white shirt, it also came with black skin tight shorts. When snow tried it on and she felt absolutely amazing. Flirty wolf whistled from the back of the studio as Snow studied herself in the mirror. Funky then went through how the night flows. Funky sat down next to Snow as she watched the men rehears “We open Thursday, Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays, 11:00 till 2 but the show is only 11:15 till 12:45, Ten minutes per set, opening, all seven of our acts and a closing set, go it,” Funky said and Snow nodded, Funky watched as Snow seemed mesmerised by the dancing the men were doing. He looked at her and said “Can you dance Snow?” she shook her head and said “My dad took me out of dance classes when I was younger and pushed me into maths,”
“Did you still want to dance?” Snow turned to look at Funky but didn’t reply. Funky dropped it and continued teaching Snow “So your job is to introduce us and keep the crowd pumped so they give us more tips,” she nodded and Funky went to join the others rehearsing.
Flirty ran over to Snow, pulled her up and said “We are finished now and better go get ready for tonight,” Flirty pulled her really close and Snow could fell his muscles on her body, she didn’t want to admit how aroused Flirty made her feel but he was perfect. Flirty turned and walk away as if he knew she would follow, as if he knew he had her screaming for him on the inside.
Friendly walked out to the car with Snow and she wanted to know more about the man who had fascinated her so much the night before. “You are an amazing dancer,” She said trying to start up a conversation with him “Thank you,” He said before blushing. Snow was amazed by his modesty; she didn’t think he knew how good he was. “As dancers go, I think you are one of the best I have ever seen,” Friendly shook his head “The women don’t come to see me dance, they come to watch me take my clothes off and then they push for me to take them home to fulfil their fantasies,” Friendly said while getting in the car. This filled Snows head with more questions “Do any off you have girlfriends?” the three men in the car shook their heads “Who you want to share your boyfriend with hundreds of other women?” said Frisky with a smiled on his face. Flirty shook his head “Frisky likes to take his fans home and give them what they want, Friendly and I stopped doing that a long time ago,”
“Why did you stop?” Snow asked.
“Because women come home with us, get everything they want, a night of passion and pleasure then in the morning they go back to reality, a family, a husband and a perfect life, they just use us to live on the edge for one night,” Friendly said with heavy heart. “They want more, I give them more, its how I want to live and it keeps me full,” Frisky said, he said those words in a like he was a hunter and women with dull and repetitive sex lives were the pray, he finished his sentence with “I aim to please,” and chuckled all the way back to the flats. The men spent the rest of the afternoon getting costumes ready and packing the car but Flirty took time out too come see Snow who was having a nap ready to stay up most of the night.
Flirty gently knocked on the door and walked into the room topless. His muscles rippled as he moved and this made something inside of Snow sing. Flirty sat on the bed next to Snow and she sat up straight so she was fact to face with him, his gorgeous brown eyes gazed into hers as he said “We are setting off soon, I thought you might want to get ready,” Snow smiled at him but what she really wanted to do was just jump on him. Snow was very caged at home, she had only ever kissed a boy when she was younger and she hadn’t really thought about it since but these men turned her on, they really set her going and she had to think twice about kiss Flirty. Flirty react over Snow to open a draw on the night table. He pulled put a wallet and slowly brushed his hand against Snows legs as he put the wallet in his pocket, if she was going to do it, she was going to have to do it now. Snow lent in really close to Flirty’s lips and bit hers, to do it or not but Flirty took things into his own hands and kissed her. She was shocked at first but as he licked her lips with his tongue she started to relax. Wearing only one of Flirty’s old shirts Snow was already half naked and Flirty took advantage of that rubbing his hands all over her body, teasing and pleasing her until she wanted to beg for him to do it, to just fuck her but he had other ideas. He slowly got up and started walking away “What are you doing?” said Snow disappointing and pining for more “If I just gave it to you, the excitement is lost; I have to keep up the tempo,” he whispered before walking out.
Snow got dress into jeans and a t-shirt ready for the car ride to the Club, when she walked out onto the street she realised an ex-boyfriend shouting her. She walked up to him and asked “What are you doing here?”
“Your step mother wants you to come home,” He replied as he opened the car door. Snow shook her head and walked away “You don’t belong here Snow,” the Ex shouted “You are from a land of millionaires and socialites, this is a few pounds and drop outs,”
“Everyone can change,” Snow shouted back as the Ex got in the car and slammed his door.
Snow washed her face in the toilets before the show; she was really nervous and didn’t want to go out onto the stage. She saw a shadow behind her and she turned around. It was only Flirty, he picked her up and pinned her against the wall, Snow could feel something hard pressing against her legs and it was making her excited. Flirty kissed her and Snow kissed him back, slipping her tongue in and out of his month gently. Flirty was struggling to contain himself and pressed her harder against the wall. He placed his hand on her thigh and slowly stroked her up to the top of her legs, just before he used his fingers to stroke her insides Flirty backed off. He placed her back on the floor and gently kissed her on the forehead “See you after the show Snow,” he said before giving her a cheeky smile and leaving her desperate for him.
Snow leapt onto the stage and shouted to the rowdy audience “Are you ready ladies?” they screams as they knew what was coming. Snow was dazed by all the women, there were hundred and they were all waning one things, these seven men to take their clothes off for them. As the seven men ran onto the stage in their cowboy uniforms, the women screamed even louder and threw money onto the stage. Women stood up from out their seats just to get a touch of the men or an acknowledging wink. All the women wanted to be danced with as the men picked women out the crowd. This was what they paid for. All night the women were throwing money at the seven men and all night Snow had her eyes on her prize, she wanted Flirty and she wanted him bad.
When they finally got back to the flats, some of the men had invited women to come back with them and hurried into their bedrooms. Friend said goodnight and walked into his room alone. Once Flirty and Snow were alone he picked her up and walked into the bedroom with her in his arms. When he got to the bedroom he threw her down on the bed and took his shirt off, his beautiful body was something he used to turn ladies on and it worked at charm with Snow. She lay back on the bed and waited for him to crawl on top of her. He hovered over her and pulled her top off, and then he kissed all the way up to her lips before rest his body on top of hers. Snow smiled with delight as he kissed and nibbled on her neck and pushed his hips against hers. He pressed the hard bulge in his pants against her jeans which she just wanted to rip off. Somehow Flirty seemed to know what Snow wanted and he pulled down her jeans in hast while she unbuckled his belt and threw it to the ground allowing for his jeans to just slide off. At this point Snow was ready to beg for it, which gave her an Idea. She stood him up and got on her knees, now this she had never done before but she was ready to give it a try, she downed his boxers and exposed the only part of Flirty that the women at the club didn’t see. She took it in her hand and slowly paced it into her mouth. When she looked up, Flirty had the biggest grin on his face. This was what made men happy. The fact that snow was completely naked and giving a man a blow job that she had only met two days ago didn’t embarrass her, it excited her! She could defiantly get used to this new life. As Flirty started to find it hard to hold onto his load he pulled her up and kissed her quickly, he pushed her onto the bed and stroked her with his fingers. She didn’t know what to do, she wanted to scream and just before she did Flirty filled her mouth with his tongue and gave her something to concentrate on other than the pleasure she was feeling. As she felt the pleasure growing inside her Flirty placed himself inside her, just a little bit at first, he trusted slowly and gently but when he felt Snows muscles relax he got faster and harder. Snow felt the pleasure bubble over inside and she let out a little whimper. Flirty smiled before dropping onto the bed next to her. Snow rolled over and hugged him, they fell to sleep and Snow was happy for once.
The next morning Snow woke up but the men were gone. Flirty had left her a note on his mirror “Make yourself at home, we will be back after rehearsal” Snow sat in the living area and turned on the TV. Suddenly there was a buzz from the door. Snow walked up to the intercom and asked who it was “Snow it’s me, we need to talk,” The sound of her step-mothers voice tore through Snow like a hurricane but she knew she had to let her in, so she did.
Snows step mother sat across from her and said “I will make us some coffee,” Snow just let her do it because she knew she wasn’t going to go home with her. Snow took a sip from the drink her step mother had given her and immediately felt funny, before she knew it Snow blacked out.
When the men got home they found the door open and they ran inside. They found Snow on the floor and instantly took her to the hospital. The doctor told the Seven Strippers that Snow White had been drugged and she might never wake up. The other men left Flirty to watch over her while they piece together what had happened at the flats. While Snow was unconscious, the seven men pieced together what had happened and her step-mother was arrested. After 3 months the doctors discussed how unethical it was too keep Snow White on life support and decided to turn it off. Flirty walked in the room and said goodbye to Snow. “I hope you can hear me Snow because I want you to wake up, I was to talk to you again, I want to watch you dance and I want to make your life better, please just wake up,” Flirty kissed her on the lips and walked to excite the room. Unexpectedly with a cough, Snow uttered the words “I am awake,” Flirty spun around filled with joy. The doctors ran into the room followed by the other six strippers. The doctors looked at each other “This has never happened before,” they mumbled between themselves.
When Snow was finally allowed home, she couldn’t feel anymore content with going home with the seven strippers.
Snow and Flirty lived happily for around two weeks before a new act joined the group called Prince Charming and Snow fell madly in love with him. It turns out that Prince Charming was happy to share and Snow got the best of both worlds.
She was a very happy girl!!
WEDNESDAY! WEDNESDAY! WEDNESDAY!
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! WITNESS THE SPECTACLE THAT IS DESTINED TO BE KNOWN AS THE DUEL OF THE CENTURY! WATCH IN AMAZEMENT AS BLOGWORLDS’ OWN LILY-LADEN LOTHARIO EDWARD HOTSPUR MATCHES WITS WITH THE ENIGMATIC CLOWN PRINCE HIMSELF- LE CLOWN IN A DUEL SO INTENSE IT’S SURE TO MAKE HAMILTON AND BURR LOOK LIKE A SLAP FIGHT!
BUT WAIT…THERE’S MORE!!!
WATCH AS TEAM EDWARD’S OWN LOVELY AND TALENTED GINGERSNAAP OF OHMYGODJUSTDOWHATISAY FAME, FLANKED BY THE VERY HANDSOME EL GUAPO FACE-OFF AGAINST LE CLOWN’S OWN WORDSMITH EXTRODINAIRES MADAME WEEBLES AND SPEAKER 7.
The winning topics:
- Furries (fetish), suggested by Carrie Rubin (16 votes);
- Group Sex in Retirement Adult Community, suggested by Rutabaga (10 votes);
- Protection Identities, suggested by The Ringmistress (9 votes).
The face-offs will be as follow:
- September 19 – Furries: Ginger Snaap VS Speaker7;
- September 20 – Protection Identities: El Guapo VS Madame Weebles;
- September 21 – Group Sex in Retirement Community: Edward VS Le Clown.
All posts written by Team Iron Gonads of Iron Fire will be published on Le Clown‘s blog; posts from Team Dachshund will be published on Edward‘s blog. Winners will be crowned by the amount of LIKES each post will get. So you, readers, will have the final say as to who’s this blogosphere’s force to be reckoned with.
TICKETS AVAILABLE FOR THE EPIC BATTLE ROYALE AT THE DOOR FOR A LIMITED TIME ONLY!!!
THEY’LL SELL YOU A SEAT BUT YOU’LL ONLY NEED THE EDGE….
F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES is a compilation project for bloggers who wish to take up the challenge of writing their own spin on a classic fairy tale. Bloggers are invited to choose one of the tales below and leave their choice in the comments. Only one tale per blogger, please. I will update the list as soon as the choices roll in. Tales are assigned on a first come, first choose basis.
Each tale is to be no more than 5000 words in length, and can be as funny, sick, twisted, erotic or vanilla as you wish. Once your tale is finished feel free to email it back to me where I will run it in a feature post as well add it to the page above. When all the tales are complete, I will work with a publishing company who is volunteering to publish the compilation of works in both ebook and paperback formats. All proceeds from the compiled works will be donated to a participating charity, with sales records made available to contributors annually.
UPDATE – ALL TALES ARE ASSIGNED. IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO PARTICIPATE AND HAVE NOT RECEIVED A TALE, LEAVE AN IDEA IN THE COMMENTS AND I’LL ADD IT TO THE LIST.
FAMINE: You assume I left, ha, that’s… that’s funny. I haven’t gotten away from Earth in what seems like eons. Just when I think I might get away, some jack-hole gets me involved in another bunch of crap that I can’t delegate out and I can’t pass on higher up the chain. Story of my fucking life… uh, death… existence.
HE: What confounds you most about mortals?
FAMINE: Toy dogs. Fucking ‘Toy’ dog breeds. The women and gay guys carrying these things around are the same ones freaking out and jumping up on chairs when they see rats and mice. What the hell, man? And cocaine. Why the hell would anyone want to do ANYTHING faster and with more sweating?
HE: Where is your favorite place to reap?
FAMINE: Depends, easiest or most fun? Easiest: L.A. Just ask a broad if she’s expecting or if she just had a baby, *BAM*, job is done for you! Not only will she stop eating, she’ll puke up Thanksgiving dinner from three years ago! Most fun? Suburbs of Atlanta. Have you ever watched a 350 pound guy looking at a plate of ribs or chicken and waffles and suddenly realize he isn’t hungry? Funny as shit! They get mad. Rumplestiltskin mad. I could do that all day!
HE: If you were mortal, what job would you want to have?
FAMINE: Sales associate at Abercrombie. Every time some skinny bitch walked out of the dressing room I could say, “Uhm, Honey, you want me to get you the next size up?” I think I could be pretty happy with that.
HE: Has a mortal ever escaped you?
FAMINE: Victoria Beckham. But the game ain’t over yet.
HE: What’s the most negative aspect of wearing a meat suit?
FAMINE: Grooming. I mean, the showering, the cleaning, the de-stinking. Really a lot of work.
HE: Is it hard working for God?
FAMINE: A boss is a boss is a boss, you know? They give you bottom lines and you’re just supposed to run with them. My budget barely not-feeds the westernized world! Don’t get me started on trying to juggle maternity leave rotations for those slutty Succubi!
HE: Is Lucifer as bad as they say?
FAMINE: No. We get each other. He’s got a job to do, he’s got to get it done on time and under budget just like the rest of us.
HE: What do you have to say about the Mayans?
FAMINE: Fucking nutty. I mean, I like a good party, but, to quote a well known space cowboy, “Eating people alive? Where’s that get fun?”
HE: Your dream date is?
FAMINE: Tina Majorino. Freaking adorable, I love her. She’d finally notice me, in the bushes, with the camera and be all like, “Hey! Are you the one sending me those letters? You wanna hit the Olive Garden with me?”. And I’d be like, “Olive Garden? Really?”. And there would be this split second of us looking at each other and we’d both screech out “UNLIMITED BREAD STICKS, SUCKER!” It would be awesome, you know? Magic…
HE: Beatles or Elvis?
FAMINE: Uhg. Uhm, Elvis, if I had to choose. If I got to pick, Cheap Trick. I’ll take Elvis because Zander kicked ass on Don’t Be Cruel. Why always Beatles or Elvis? Beatles or Stones? What about The Clash or Abba? Iron Maiden or Prince?
HE: Favorite sports team?
FAMINE: The Eagles.
HE: Where do you see yourself in five years?
FAMINE: Probably doing the same fucking job, but with a three and a half percent increase in pay, those cheap mother-fuckers…
HE: What would mortals be most surprised to learn about you?
FAMINE: Hmm. Not sure… Oh! Okay, I got one! No one ever believes me, but I had nothing to do with Karen Carpenter. Seriously, that was all just fucked up psyche and shit. Hell, do you have any idea what I went through over that? Jesus loved her. I swear, that’s the reason I haven’t even been considered for a promotion! Hell! I was sending her fruitcakes and candy grams just to save my own ass! And I do I ever get the credit for Mama Cass?
That concludes our interview with the Horsemen known as Famine. Tune in tomorrow when we sit down with Creeping Death himself, Pestilence, followed by War on Thursday and a special mystery guest on Friday. We round out the weekend with back to back interviews with the Big Man himself, God on Saturday and a one on one exclusive with Jesus on Sunday. Stay tuned!
The story behind my Super Secret Project begins like any good story begins; with lobster and beer. Or as they say in Portland, Maine where my good friend and partner in crime Tom Elias lives, “Lobstah and a rack a pounders.”
It was during this fateful drunken weekend spent at his beach house with my best friend Quinn and the infamous HR Nightmare that my latest writing project was born. That project, ladies and gentlemen, is a four novella collaborative series entitled:
YEAR: 2012, mainly
POPULATION: 7 billion Human souls and counting…
From Purgatory –
The Grim Reaper and other three Horsemen of the Apocalypse are stretched to their limits reaping souls, and more drop dead every day. With his department near the breaking point, Grim requests a team of five thousand Lesser Angels to serve as Deputy Reapers.
To Hell –
Lucifer is faced with overcrowded prisons and work camps. He petitions the Board for permission to break ground on the 667th level of Hell.
To Heaven –
Gabriel, president of the Board of Archangels, denies both requests, citing budget restrictions. Grim, determined to get what he wants, goes over the Board to the Office of Heavenly Affairs, otherwise known as God. God denies Grim’s request but assigns a Heavenly Liaison to assist Grim, a liaison with a singular solution to the issues facing both Grim and Lucifer.
And back again –
The liaison’s name: Jesus.
REAPERS WITH ISSUES is the first in a four book novella series that chronicles the Grim Reaper’s struggles in middle-management. Click on Grim at the end of this post to visit our companion blog to learn more about the authors and the sequels to be released over the next few months. Don’t forget to sign Grim’s “Death Book” before leaving.
This series is meant to poke good-natured fun at the topics of Chrisitanity, homosexuality, recreational drug abuse and office politics. If you are at all easily offended, we, the authors, will not be offended if you choose not to read our work. Please do not chuck hate bricks through our windows.
Please to enjoy the following opening of Reapers With Issues:
REAPERS WITH ISSUES
Death killed time rereading God’s memo while he waited for his dealer to show. Semi-baked, he decided, would be the condition necessary to inform his staff that their department would not be receiving the help they so desperately needed and that someone else, an outsider, would be put in place to oversee their operation. As far as Heaven and the Archangels were concerned, the Horsemen were officially on their own.
There had been a time when Death, Grim to those who knew him, could singlehandedly reap his entire department’s quota of souls and still have time left over to indulge in some high quality herbal recreation. The reality of reaping a population closing in on seven billion left Grim no choice but to seek his recreation locally. It didn’t take long for him to discover that local weed, like local Purgatory, was mediocre at best.
Lack of free time and quality pot were merely symptoms of a larger, growing problem. Reaping while short-staffed had robbed his Horsemen of any kind of life outside of the job, and lately Grim had noticed cracks beginning to show.
Pestilence developed a nasty habit of calling in sick with a new exotic illness at least once a week, and an incident over a cage dancer forced War into court-ordered anger management classes. Only Famine had been able to withstand the pressures of the job, although Grim did notice that he’d been shedding copious amounts of hair lately.
It was on behalf of his Horsemen that Grim requisitioned the Archangel Board to reassign five thousand Angels to his department for Reaping duty. A requisition that Gabriel, Head of the Archangel Board, repeatedly denied. Grim’s decision to go over the Board’s head to the office of Heavenly Affairs yielded nothing but a Heavenly Liaison, and God only knew who the Hell that was.
Unable to make sense of God’s decree, Grim stuffed the memo back into his pocket as he scoped out his surroundings which were, at the moment, in the alleyway behind his office building and the home of the Office of Human Death (OHD for short).
Talk about shitting where you eat, Grim thought to himself as he checked for souls milling about. The last thing he needed was for word to get out that the once great Reaper of Death had been reduced to buying sub-par pot behind his office building in the lamest ‘burb of the Universe.
Paranoia getting the better of him, he walked to the end of the alleyway which emptied into Purgatory’s corporate district, a massive office complex comprised of row after row of generic steel buildings, each one an exact replica of the one that came before.
Finding no one, Grim laughed to himself. Total waste of time, he thought. He couldn’t remember the last time anything bad happened in Purgatory. Then again, he couldn’t remember the last time anything good did, either.
Just the same, Grim thought it best to cloak himself in a human disguise, namely the dead body that until an hour ago belonged to the organic hemp farmer that was his latest reaping assignment. “Meat suits,” as the Horsemen liked to call them, were a necessary evil now that the Archangel Board cut the OHD’s travel expense budget, forcing Grim and his staff to reap by bus instead of horse. All it took was one bad road trip on a bus bound for Newark to make him rethink wearing his cloak while on assignment. Mortals, he discovered, were a lot faster and stronger than they looked.
Grim listened as the clock tower in Purgatory Square chimed one o’clock. Pedro, his dealer, was late. Out of both time and patience, Grim walked back to the rear entrance of the OHD just as the door swung open.
“Jesus Christ, Pedro!” Grim shouted. “Scare me to death why don’t you?”
Pedro stepped out into the alleyway, his eyes darting up and down the length of it. “How’d I scare you?” Pedro asked. “You’re the one in the Jesus suit.”
“Jesus? Really?” Grim asked as he smoothed down the late farmer’s long, sandy locks. “I kinda thought he looked like Clapton.”
“Clapton or not that’s some scary shit, man,” Pedro said, looking Grim up and down. “Someone said they saw Jesus walking around here this morning. You know he’d tell my Pops if he caught me dealing again. My old man believes every word that fool says.”
Though he may have been known throughout the Universe as Saint Peter Junior, “Pedro” earned a reputation in underground circles as the prime procurer of black market merchandise. It didn’t hurt that having a Father who manned the Gates of Heaven gave him access to all the best incoming contraband.
“I don’t know what to tell you, kid. Apostles die hard. Now are we going to do this thing or not?” Grim asked, hoping to get back to work before he was missed.
Pedro stepped away from Grim, eying him suspiciously. “First tell me why you’re wearin’ a mortal in Bland Land. You ain’t reaping.”
Grim pointed to his chest and said, “Lungs.”
“Ah…makes sense,” Pedro said, relieved.
Lungs and pockets were two of the three attachments Grim thought made wearing a mortal’s meat suit bearable. The third attachment he hoped to utilize later on that night.
“Are you serious about Jesus being here in Purgatory?” Grim asked, peering over his shoulder. “Because he is the last person I need to deal with right now.”
“Hey man, all I know is what I heard,” Pedro said. “Why? You gonna kick his ass? Let me know now and I’ll give you odds.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’ve had enough run-ins with Skippy Christ to last an eternity,” Grim said, remembering a certain spring day two-thousand years ago that didn’t end well for either of them.
“Skippy Christ,” Pedro chuckled. “I’ll have to remember that one.” Once he was sure they were alone Pedro opened his robe, pulled out a baggie and handed it to Grim. “This stuff’s fresh from Mexico. Lucky for you my old man doesn’t shake down nuns. Mother Superior came in loaded.”
“I guess this is my lucky day after all,” Grim said as he dug the farmer’s wallet out of his back pocket. “How much for the bag?”
“For you? One-fifty. Cash.”
“One-fifty?” Grim asked as he thumbed through the thin wallet. “What can I get for…sixty-five dollars and a condom?”
“Sixty-five’ll get ya’ an ounce.”
“An ounce? That’s it? You do know I’m Death, right?” Grim punctuated his question by slashing the air with an invisible scythe.
Pedro laughed. “Yeah, you keep swinging,” he said. “Everyone knows you work a pen better than a blade now a days.”
“Is that so?” Grim asked, knowing all too well it was.
“Oh yeah it is,” Pedro snickered. “Hey, I got an idea- how ‘bout you write me up? Oh man, I can see it now, ‘Dear God, Pedro wouldn’t cut me a deal on weed, the stingy pendejo. Kisses, Death.’” Pedro doubled over laughing while Grim stood there and seethed.
“Just give me the ounce and shut your piehole,” Grim said, finally.
Struggling to catch his breath, Pedro handed Grim the entire bag. “Throw in the rubber and the bag’s yours. I’m heading down to Lucifer’s club tonight. I’ll put it to good use.”
Grim’s eyes flew open wide. “Are you shitting me? Lucifer’s got a club now?”
“Hell yeah, he does,” Pedro answered.
“Of course…” Grim said in a sigh.
Ever since God in his infinite wisdom promoted Gabriel to President of the Archangel Board, Grim’s budget had been sent to Hell, literally. While he and his Horsemen had to make due with meat suits and bus passes; Lucifer and his crew of demons enjoyed a new office complex with an onsite gym and spa, and apparently now, a club.
Nepotism ad infinitum.
“Hey man, you should come check it out,” Pedro said as pocketed the condom. “Music sucks but the women are hot. Bring a rubber or your pecker’ll burn like Hell for a week.” Pedro dug deep under his robe and scratched.
Grim opened the bag and inhaled. “Kid, if this shit smokes up as good as it smells I’m not going anywhere.”
“Well let’s find out,” Pedro said as he pulled out a lighter and let Grim sample the merchandise.
Grim took a hit and quickly put his lungs to work. In no time the smoke made its way to his brain, filling cracks that had become chasms created by supervisors with agendas and employees with complaints and a Universe dependent on him to hold shit together. Grim took another hit and released the stress of his middle-management Hell along with the sweet smoke he blew out in a slow, steady stream from his lungs. For one perfect moment, Death was happy.
A snapping sound by his ear pulled him back to reality.
“Hey, wake up. You’re vibrating,” Pedro said, pointing to Grim’s hip.
Grim reached down to his pager and saw that he had a message from his secretary. His absence had been noted. Grim paid Pedro in cash as promised, making a mental note to start reaping in more affluent neighborhoods in the future. “Let me know the next time you get another haul like this one,” Grim said, regaining focus.
“Hey no problem. I’ll even cut you a deal if you hook me up with your secretary. That is one fine lookin’ chica.”
“Fran? Sorry kid, but you’re not her type.”
Pedro rubbed his ample belly and asked, “Oh yeah? What’s her type, then?”
Grim stepped through the door and said, “Bony,” just as it closed behind him.
Another urgent page from Fran rolled in as Grim tore down the vacant hallway that led to his basement office. Stopping at the janitor’s closet, Grim pulled the memo from his pocket and then removed his meat suit, swapping it with the cloak he’d stashed there earlier.
Officially in uniform, Grim took a minute to compose himself before he opened the door to his office. Though he knew for a fact he was in Purgatory, Grim couldn’t shake the feeling that he was about to open the door to Hell.
TODAY IS THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY OF MY BLOG! TO COMMEMORATE THIS AUSPICIOUS OCCASION I HAVE DECIDED TO RERUN MY VERY FIRST BLOG POST.
PLEASE TO ENJOY…
So yeah, I wrote a book.
I must have been high when I wrote it because there’s no other explanation I can give for my 120,000 word upper YA novel where the only noun I used more than “boner” was “blood.” It goes without saying that I’m self-published. I didn’t even try to submit it traditionally. Can you just imagine the poor agent who gets my query letter?
“My novel, THE GODS OF ASPHALT is complete at 120,000 words and is the first in a series of five books that for some reason I’ve decided to write out-of-order. Each one is told from the point of view of a teenage male protagonist who has exactly zero supernatural powers (unless you consider perpetual erections a superpower). Oh, and it also has Spanish subtitles.”
On the good side, if you’re like me and are just a little too into music, motorcycles and all around badassery this is the book for you. If you’re not, I’m sure Jodi Picoult’s got a blog somewhere. You can find the opening to chapter one at the top of the page under the tab GOA REVIEWS and you can find my book on line at:
You know you are suffering from writer’s block when you opt to spend twenty minutes sending and resending the same email to yourself over and over just to see how fucked up you can get the email ads to appear on your screen. I forced myself to stop at ten replies. So if my Super Secret Project sucks, you all know that I have Gmail to blame. Too damn distracting.
I woke up this morning to a typical hangover text sent from my best friend, Quin. As usual, there came with it an attached picture that made her laugh at 3am the night before. I will share that pic/text with you all now:
This is a Carvel Ice Cream cake with the caption “It’s What Happy Tastes Like!” Quin, ever the existentialist, begged to ask the question, “What does happiness taste like? Wouldn’t it taste different for different people?” Then she went on to describe her taste of happy, and it looked something like this:
You see, Quin’s “Happy” tastes remarkably like Jared Padalecki. So that got me thinking, what would MY happiness taste like? I can think of quite a few men that I’d like to see wrapped in an ice cream loincloth. But I guess when it comes right down to it, my “Happy” would taste like this:
So, what does YOUR happy taste like?
Valentine’s Day marks the release of PARAMOUR – a new art and prose book penned by friend and fellow blogger, Jonathan Borden. I’ve been intrigued by JB’s raw writing style and fearless approach to topics that are at times both heartfelt and gut wrenching for him to share. He is an artist, poet and musician extraordinaire who has only just begun to show the world his rich, creative soul.
Please to enjoy, PARAMOUR.
SOMETIMES THE ONLY WAY TO COME CLEAN IS TO GET FILTHY
Halifax, N.S .— February 5, 2012 — From the backyard of a church, scandalous poet Jonathan Borden invokes the sacrilegious and opens his new book of porn with a prayer. “Paramour” is part memoir, part smut, and part exorcism, so it is fitting that its first page features the Act of Contrition as a self-described disclaimer. A prayer said by Catholics when making Confession, Borden has chosen it to set the pace for his well-crafted “one-handed book”—one-handed, because your hand will be, uh, preoccupied as the other turns the pages. It is a term once used by the Marquis de Sade to describe his own works and one which Borden gleefully prefers to describe his.
“Paramour” is a glossy art book, tightly-crafted and generous in its use of space and colour. Featuring contemporary gay porn images with revealing personal ads, hustlers’ rates, and quotations superimposed on each, there are thick sections of terse, biting prose vignettes in between, detailing Borden’s extensive and debauched sexual history. There are 175 of these micro-stories, one for each of the guys Borden has been with, and each themed with a type of personality he has encountered along the way. To top it off, each vignette weighs in at exactly 69 words—the entendre is to die for. An experimental short film called “Blue Movie”, directed by Stewart Delo, accompanies the daring project and explores the blurred boundary between sense and sensuality.
“It’s about moving on,” says Borden of the edgy release, “I was trying to fill a void in those days and I tried to do that by sleeping my way across town; this project is my way of waking up.” For Borden, “Paramour” is an opportunity to encourage freedom of speech through its testing of boundaries and sexual liberation through its explicit and openly assertive content, while exorcising his own hang-ups. “All of my heroes are sexually-outspoken, so I think I should be, too,” he says, insisting the book and film are not simply shock pieces. “‘Paramour’ is an urban ‘Kama Sutra’, but what I’m teaching is more than just a hot set of positions for pleasure, I’m teaching people to be comfortable. I’m sharing, not bragging.”
Borden, also a freelance graphic artist, took the time to design the finished product, sure to be pleasing to readers’ eyes. His bold, punk aesthetic suits the catharsis of the collection perfectly. Expect to be shocked, appalled, enthralled, and to encounter the ribald. The book is being released electronically in five parts through Borden’s website, WHORRIBLE, premiering on St. Valentine’s Day this year. “Blue Movie” will be released this spring through video-sharing website Vimeo.
One of the things I love most about blogging is the ability to connect with like minded individuals as well as those who see things from a completely different perspective. I have had the good fortune to meet a blogger who possesses the mind of an intellect, the hand of an artist and the heart of a poet; all in the form of a triple threat named Greg from SUPERVERSITY.
SUPERVERSITY reads like a love letter to graphic novel/comic art and often features artwork from a wide range of talented fellow artists. But make no mistake, this “man behind the blog” is more than just a creative mind at work; Greg’s intellect and grasp of the current state of our nation’s politics rivals any hand shaker or baby kisser I had the misfortune of missing as I backed out of my New Hampshire driveway.
Featured below is a sample of this great man’s mind and heart at work. While I invite you to take a look at his blog, I will ask that first you read the disclaimer included in his “About Me” page after the article below. Prepare to be enlightened.
AN OPEN LETTER TO H.E. ELLIS
Dear H. E.,
It’s great knowing someone has my back. Thank you so much for your very supportive comment.
I can remember how touched I was the first time I got some minor attention for something I wrote on my blog or when someone took the time to tell me my photomanipulations were “awesome” when I thought they weren’t all that good. It is very validating having a stranger recognize your efforts and say they approve.
It must be thrilling having a fan write fiction in response to your own work. What an incredible honor. I always wonder how authors like J. K. Rowling could work against such honors. Can’t they see that when a person expresses such passion for their work it bodes well for them? Who is more likely to invest in more of that author’s work than a dedicated, passionate fan? Aren’t you just alienating your fan base and fucking your own brand? Fortunately, from what I’ve heard of Rowling she was made to see the light and came to her senses. Fans are a gift. Don’t look your gift-fans in the mouth!
My dedicated readers are my fans. There are only a few of you out there but I cherish each one, known or not. Each is a vote of approval that says I should go on doing what I can. I never expected to go viral and am I glad not to. I’m a relatively private person and don’t want any undue attention. But positive comments I love.
The amount of response Anti-SOPA/PIPA forces generated this week is awe inspiring, but the fight continues because these kind of bills tend to morph or get tagged onto other legislation.
This may come to a real head this year. I can well see major boycotts in the future. The entertainment industry including cable, music, and television will be shocked to their foundations when their supposedly mindless and contented-to-shell-out-big-bucks customers decide to take a week off from being abused.
When the entire country was suffering from the recession did any of these huge entertainment material providers suffer, too? Didn’t we notice how their prices went up and movie tickets, DVDs/CDs, etc., remained just as costly as they had always been? Unless we are willing to band together and hit them in their capacious pocketbooks they will continue to screw us for their own gain. It’s time we made them recognize that they serve us, not we serve them.
Our support of their product is a service to them even when it appears to be copyright infringement. When they go after the little guy they alienate all the little guys who helped make them big. Don’t be surprised when someday someone comments about how far the mighty have fallen. Since our support made you, Mr. Corporate Kingpin, our lack of support can break you, too.
When it is all said and done, what the entertainment empire pushes isn’t essential to our survival or even our real happiness. In a contest between supplying our real needs and being soaked for another piece of 3D garbage, guess who’s always gonna lose. We just have to show folks their real power and make them aware that standing in line for 48 hours to get the latest “cool” toy from the big, conscious-free pimp is a pathetic waste of time. Watching people riot to get a pair of pimped-out sneakers first is what we have to work against. The measure of a human being isn’t whether they have the latest junk on their feet or back or in their ears. People need to wake up and shake the damned monkey off their back. Is this what the young go overseas and sacrifice life and limb to protect?
Corporations are not people, but a select few owner-people who work to keep themselves on top of their pyramid schemes. The little worker drones who receive a pittance (at my current level of disability income I could live for 23,000 years off of Mitt Romney’s fortune) are the foundation these elites tower over.
In Fritz Lang’s great science fiction film, “Metropolis” from 1926 this dynamic is brilliantly played out. The elites work with technology to suppress the worker class and ultimately the workers threatened with death rise up against their suppressors. Ironically, the 86-year old film reflects our current struggles as if it were brand new. But it isn’t hard to be prescient when the same dynamic has played out across the entire history of mankind. As long as we allow a few “haves” there have to be teeming masses of “have-nots”. As long as we allow a few to feel totally entitled there have to be masses who are suffering in abject poverty and going without what they need. One right winger pointed out that if people have TV sets and refrigerators what more could they possibly need? If the content of what they’re fed by the broadcast media and the content of the packaged junk they fill their refrigerators with is designed to make the manufacturers and broadcasters alone rich, I would say they need a hell of a lot more. We all need more than the junk being pandered to us.
This is why destroying legislation like the Stop Online Piracy Act is essential to our needs as people. We absolutely need free speech. We absolutely need to communicate freely and support each other in all our creative, artistic, and, yes, business needs. We need to be valued as individuals, not cogs in the greed machine that profits the few at the cost of the many. We all need to recognize our individual power rather than be subjected to the dictates of fat cats in a system so corrupt it can’t function.
And all of this can happen when we support each other rather than fight for the “goods”. If you’ve never experienced real quality, garbage will always look good to you. Why is it the poorest people in Africa are happier than most of the richest in America? Why are our suicide rates alarming compared to theirs? Here is the simple answer to those questions: Africans are so disenfranchised they are ignored. Americans are so brainwashed they have become tools of a machine that offers happiness as a goal and strips of them all reason to live. Americans are addicted to the drug of a constantly promoted free enterprise that is anything but free.
This is what we must work to over come and the freedom of speech allowed to write this open letter is what we have to protect. Stripped of our basic rights and needs we are no more than lambs being led to slaughter.
Thank you for reading this blog, for finding some inspiration and education and for enjoying it, too. It is a real compliment.
“Now that you’ve found your way here you should know what you are about to see: This site is for adult gays. It features mature content relating to whatever I, your host, deem appropriate. If you are bothered by content dealing with gays and mature material please make a hasty exit–NOW! if you are under the age of consent–18–you need to beat it, too.”
CLICK FOR MORE OF SUPERVERSITY.
It’s time time for another round of LOVE LETTERS GONE WRONG! Every Friday I feature a LOVE LETTER GONE WRONG written and submitted by an anonymous blogger. Sunday morning I reveal the secret admirer’s identity with a link to the blogger’s home page. If you’d like to submit some truly heinous love letters please send them to firstname.lastname@example.org.
This week’s love letter was written by one of the featured bloggers who attended THE MEETING OF THE BLOGGER’S ALLIANCE over at Kayjai’s Blog. Check out this post and then return to the comments here to guess who the secret admirer is. The first correct guess wins a free copy of my ebook.
I am your biggest fan. What I mean when I say biggest is that there is no one that adores you more than I do. I print out every blog post that you put up, and I have them put together in a folder with a drawing I’ve done of what I imagine you to look like. I’ve read Gods of Asphalt 17 times, and I can tell by your writing style and the things that you say on your blog that we are meant to be together.
I’m sure that sounds crazy to you, but if you would be willing to let me take you out on a date, I’m sure that you will feel it too. I thought you were a man at first, and that had me questioning my sexuality, because I never thought I was gay before, but your words just SPOKE to me, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. When I found out you were actually a woman, I felt relieved, because now I know that we can be together the way we were meant to be, and I don’t have to worry about taking it up the butt.
I have to tell you something that really bothers me though. It really upsets me when you are flirty with that Glitterbutt girl on your blog. Wait… that’s not right. I meant that Sparklebumps whore. I know that she’s trying to steal you away from me, and what you can’t see is that she’s a manipulative little bitch. When I see how you respond to her in your comments, it makes me soooo upset; I’ve started having panic attacks when I see her comments on your blog. The only way I can feel better is by masturbating with shampoo while imagining you are here with me, caressing me and whispering that everything will be alright. I had to start using salon-grade shampoo though, because Herbal Essences was giving me a weird rash. What I’m saying, H.E., is that I am begging you to stop this relationship you have with that slut, because if you don’t, I’m going to have to take more desperate measures. I don’t like that Savor person either.
I imagine every day what our life will be like together; you will write your books, and I will spend all my time worshiping you the way you deserve. I can help you give your kids cereal in the morning, and I will even be the one to call and order pizzas for them and their friends. When Prince Charming gets married to one of the many girls that adore him, I will hold your head and lick your tears away for you.
I can’t wait until you realize the closeness that we share. I’ve never had anyone make me feel the way that you do. My Aunt says it’s because I live in her basement, and I need to get out and find a nice girl, but I know that you are the only one for me, and so I’m saving myself for you. I know that you will appreciate my dedication, and it will be worth the wait when our love can finally be consummated. Until then, if you would do me a favor and send me a high-definition picture of your boobs for me to hang on the ceiling above my bed, then I can fantasize about what it would be like to have you here with me.
This is the 7th letter that I’ve sent you, and I need to let you know that if you don’t respond promptly to this, my last letter, I will have to ride my scooter to New Hampshire and find you, to show you how much I care. I thought that my letters spoke for themselves, but maybe I am not a great writer like you are, and I will just have to prove myself to you in person. Please, give me a chance, because without you I’m lost.
With all the love in my heart, and all the lust in my drawers,
P.S. I’m serious about the Sparklebumps issue. If you can’t be completely committed to me because of her, I will rid you of her manipulations.
1. Stan over at the Sentence First blog is running a limerick contest until Friday, September 23rd. First prize is a Kindle so put your rhyming hat on and get to work.
2. With Halloween fast approaching you might want to stop by and post some truly gruesome writing at the Vampfest Halloween Fest blog. There are technically no winners or prizes as this is strictly for fun but that won’t keep me from stopping by.
3. Madison Woods and her group, the Friday Fictioneers are posting some really witty flash fiction as we speak. Head on over and check it out.
Now, it’s because of the UPS guy that my mind drew a blank about what to write for the Friday Fictioneers. The woman who lives across the street from me runs a business out of her home and almost daily gets packages delivered by a totally dreamy UPS guy. He’s definitely my type (think Gerard Butler or Jeffrey Dean Morgan or my ex-husband) so ignoring him is out of the question. It must be the idea of being able to count on a man showing up at the same time everyday that sends my heart pounding. It’s gotten so bad that simply the sound of the UPS truck’s brakes is enough to trigger a perverse Pavlovian response. Combine that with an acute case of ADHD and my mind wanders out of the realm of flash fiction and into places I dare not write about.
Or do I?
To be continued…
A trip over to Kayjai’s Blog got me thinking about how frustrating it can be when we, as writers sometimes get stuck on a plot point or some bit of characterization, and how that can lead us to believe we suck ass at everything. Well don’t despair, because I’ve found a cure.
I write my own fan fiction. To be honest, I write my own slash fan fiction. For those of you who don’t know what fan fiction is let me fill you in:
Take your favorite television show or movie or novel and write your own “episode” involving the established characters. Slash fan fiction takes it one step further in that the “episode” would be between two characters, for instance “Romeo/Juliet.” (slash=/), and their interaction is of an “intimate” nature.
Believe it or not this is the fastest way to snap me out of an episode of writer’s block. Your fan fiction doesn’t (and probably shouldn’t) need to have anything to do with your storyline. You just pluck your characters out and insert them into brief situations of a “naughty” nature. I find that by the time you’re halfway through writing the “episode” enough of the characters’ inner complexity will be revealed to you. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever actually finished one of my fan fiction stories. But now that I’ve finished my novel maybe I will…