Archive for February, 2016

Tintin In The Land Of The Sodomites.

There! I said it first! I own the creative rights. I own this baby, yeah!

Tintin In The Land Of The Sodomites (a different kind of Soviet for the intrepid reporter to investigate, Catholic readers await…)

Wow, awesome…

Imagine it, please.

And don’t forget: me!

TV Adverts.

Posted: 2016-02-29 in Thoughts For The Day

TV adverts screaming in my ears (twice as loud as the program I *was* trying to watch), telling me what to buy and how.

Prime time slots are expensive. Company should have saved its money – any liking I had for their product is gone, driven out of me by the ad execs’ hubris, clanging cymbals.

This program has been brought to you by… REPULSION.

Preacher says I have dominion in this world.

Yea, I proclaim thus as the winds howl and tear my house apart.

Yeah, dominion.

Life Is Lies.

Posted: 2016-02-28 in Thoughts For The Day

How many lies have you been told today?

How many lies have you believed today?

How many lies have you chosen to believe today?

How many lies have you told today (to yourself and others)?

How many lies can one life take?

(Perhaps lies determine when we die – our will to live can only take so much before it is broken, lost, shattered. Betrayed. And we ourselves lie one last time, in a box…)


Posted: 2016-02-27 in Thoughts For The Day

Internet gone, life is over for millions.

Military intercept and interfere, one foul swoop.

Weapon of mass destruction.

The Man-Child

Posted: 2016-02-26 in Man-child, Uncategorized

Men, I am told, in their 30s or 40s, on the verge of responsibility, often revert to childish, stupid games and behaviors.

Witness the man-child.

She remembered herself.

Posted: 2016-02-26 in DDR

The zipper still worked. Hurrah! After all this time, these years of pain and hurt, it felt like a triumph, something to celebrate – something had survived. She put the jacket on, it still fitted well. She closed her eyes and allowed herself a smile, remembering the good. … Perhaps there was hope, after all.

She remembered the speed skater and the javelin thrower.

She remembered herself.

Talcum powder.

Perineal area?


Pussy or cock.

Lips, scrotum, the gap between your legs, where things rub together.

Good idea?


Though, not ideal for a blow job.



So much for the great European ideal, the freedom of movement.

Countries that charge big for a Visa and make you fill out invasive, inane details (employment history, father’s biography… PLEASE!), do they deserve *any* tourists?

The coarse supine line between keeping out the scum and alienating your would-be friends.

Shut the fuck up, please, I’m busy thinking big ideas.

I’m about to change the world.

Don’t distract, complicate or detract me.

Shut the fuck up, squeeze!

(Girl, why couldn’t you ask your banal questions, engage in conversation, during the commercial breaks? Like, make the most of the shit-time. And when the TV show’s back on, just let it be… And in answer to your question: No. … Sometimes there are no good answers…)

(Okay, okay. Next. Are there any good questions, out there? If you have one, please raise your hand and ask politely…)

Everyone loves a practical joker, right?

Like the house guest, you go the extra mile to make feel at home, to feel special, comfortable, loved even. And he (it could only be a *he*), repays you by shitting in the toilet and choosing not to flush. … Surprise, motherfucker!

Hahaha, when you lift the lid after he’s gone.

The guest that keeps on giving (revulsion).