Print Story Mist Fades Into Grey Words
Diary
By Clipper Ship (Tue Nov 04, 2008 at 04:49:51 AM EST) (all tags)
So me and the massa we in the Upperbaboon'sasshole on a mission to go back in time use cut word lines and dream lines and go back in time thorough using drugs and the massa he a good massa he sometimes make me roll around in the dust and piss myself fer his sick amusement but mostly he love me and treat me right.


We travel through the brush and come to a clearing near the river sick river full of black dolphins and candiru crawl right up your member and camp out there don't even try pulling that thing out it's all symbiotic with you and your cock now - we come to this clearing and there's this tribe of diseases gibbons crying out in pain, all running sores and suppurating wounds make you sick to even see it a dense foul smell like a miasma creeping all through that little clearing and the gibbons engaging in a kinda silly sex-acts make you sick to see it - the air so foul and dense like a yellow mist smells like metal gone rotten and the sound of these crying gibbons like the wailing ol' Jesus predicted on the mount of olives and grapes or wherever he told them jew-boys about the end of all good thing -

these poor little bastards are green and black, wounds of all sorts running everywhere and there is a pregnant one over in the corner fending off the pulsing cocks of randy males, make you sick just to see it - she gives birth in a terrible burst of blood and foul shit all a mess and the monkey child is crying and screaming and the massa he run over and sweep up the child put it in a bag - 'Ah, Beebo, now we have our specimen, quite a fine one if I do say so. The gentlemen of the Royal Society will be most pleased to find that we have captured yet another cross-over to the days of our present evolutionary line' - and I ignore his whining and moaning on about the royal fellows nameless assholes he hates them all and we only go on these little hehe trips ion time to show them up at the dinner club where wear our dinner jackets and make like civilized apes eating with forks and knives and wiping our asses with delicate poetry culled from the Queen's own collection -

this little gibbon is slightly less hairy than the rest of them and it has long fingers, long nails ripping at its mother's flesh and we throw it into a cage and get back in the canoe and head for the supper club time to eat and drink and maybe engage in some lewd acts in front of the Centipede God for his own sick entertainment make you all squirmy and sick inside just to see it
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So, by Breaker (4.00 / 1) #1 Tue Nov 04, 2008 at 06:17:28 AM EST
Was there any point to this stream of consciousness ramble, or have you written the literary equivalent of the Twat-O-Tron?


Yes. by Clipper Ship (4.00 / 1) #2 Tue Nov 04, 2008 at 06:30:17 AM EST
I think you're missing the point, though.

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Destroy All Planets

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