NO ONE CARes AbOUT Yr SHiT ToWN summer ‘09
cover photo by kirsten o’neal table of contents (yr reading it!) pg 1 a preface by stu pg 2 a manifesto by gaarg festgina pg 3-5 ryan hatton hates the world pg 6-8 the mummiﬁed remains of the rebellion by stu pg 9-12 punk’s beginnings by warsau joe pg 13-20 my shit life by rex pg 21-27 monologue pt1 by lukamunga pg 28 redneck chester by seebus & lukamunga pg 29 -30 rudy’s rants pg 31 the party by nicole f pg 32-34 duskwood by joemanthium pg 35-36 excerpts from a horrid bigot pg 37-40 hue bakar by gaarg festgina pg 41-44 adam cooley content inside cover acknowledgements back cover photo of nicole ﬂynn random photos/drawings by noah, stu, gaarg & kirsten
a preface, before we begin... what you are holding in your hand is an act of sedition & libel, not designed to offend, but unafraid of doing so. the swarming hordes of teenagers, intent on murder, will pile high their loot and we are simply here for archival purposes. our footprints are too small to see with a telescope. it's true. collected here are musings and ravings from people who all too often find themselves seated at the kids' table while the grownups are busy having their fancy pants party. the crossroads of america? where mellencamp shone his brilliance for a brief moment to illuminate the crowded theater whose stage he could not remember standing on. well, we've bled there. we have lobbed water balloons at the future rock stars of nowhere, who refused to play first cuz there weren't enough people there to see their first show. down in flames. we talk a mean game about what the scene needs and how we need more shows and people willing to put in the time & effort to make something special around here. this isn't propaganda for scene unity. this is just us telling you how we feel. if you agree, then submit stuff and it will show up next time. email DEADDEERGUTS@GMAIL.COM and besides, no one cares about yr shit town.
I am Aghori Devourer of corruption Ingester of refuse I swallow death So that I may taste life I am Aghori Do you curse the wheel that forces our faces into the soil? But it is its next go round that it hurls us into the heavens! I am Aghori Do you claim to know god? Have you seen the maggots feast?
Ryan Hatton hates the World (and here is why) I decided to review the local bike co-op that has been working to get started for a year now. They haven’t given up. I’ve hassled them for a bike for over a year now. Mine had been stolen last summer which is not an uncommon thing to happen in this town. Just recently I went down there and pieced together one. That’s the idea of the place itself. Build your own. I was expecting a hand out because I really need a bike, but I just needed to go down there and spend an hour of my time to get one. They’ve m oved out of the garage to well a bigger garage. They recently had a lot of bike donations and that is what I picked my bike from. Hopefully they can continue to get donations from people because that is what enables people to get free bikes. Everyone there was very helpful and willing to work with me because I
know very little about bikes. While I was there several people came in wanting to change things on their bikes, wanting to fix things on their bikes, and wanting to build bikes. All of these people were extremely nice and helpful. I built a ridiculously awesome bike I call the pilot recliner. Everyone took turns riding it and had a great time. At the end of my session I asked how much I owed and was declined to give any money. I gave them $20 anyways to help them pay their rent. While they are trying to do everything they can for free they still have to make rent for the new garage. They really arenâ€™t trying to make a profit here at all, but not everything they do can be for free. As of now the hours of operation for the Columbus Bike Co-op are: Mondays and Wednesdays 6pm to 9pm. Sundays 12pm-3pm. They are located on 1207 Washington Street right behind the Schwinn Bicycle Shop.
They also organize a big group bike ride on Thursday nights at 6pm. Iâ€™ve yet to go to one of these because of my job, but basically I get the idea. They are trying their own little critical mass which is stupid. All that does is make people pissed. Itâ€™s also dangerous. If they want this town to be more bike friendly just get hit by a car or something. Thatâ€™s basically what they are asking for. They also organize bike polo Sunday evenings. I have yet to go to one of these, but I just might one day. It sounds like my more kind of dangerous, dangerous to other people and not me. So if you are in need of a bike or bike service I highly recommend the bike co-op. They are good people and their hearts are in the right place. We need more of that in this town and in the world.
Punk's Beginnings by Warsau Joe Editors Note:
The following story details events as I remember them. These events are told from my point of view and from what my aging memory can recall. Part I
You know it just as well as anyone else: Cultural changes or
even simply fads will come and go long before anyone in the Midwest, especially Columbus Indiana will have ever heard of some-
thing. Well, perhaps this statement was a lot more accurate in the days before the Internet. In 1981 there was certainly no Internet. But we did have the very beginnings of Punk. Sure, Punk
music and fashion had been around for years in New York City and Los Angeles but here it was just getting started.
But how the first the facts about the first Punk bands and the first Punk fans in the â€œAthens of the Prairieâ€?may just surprise you.
The first Punk band was The Pattern. Its members consisted
of Scott Colburn (bass) Chris Tatlock (vocals), Andy Totten (guitar) and Jennifer Laymer (drums).
But while the UK Punk movement was born from out of
work and financially struggling young people, the kids of the Pattern were just the opposite. Colburnâ€™s dad owned an architectural
business for example. The other band member’s
families were, at the very
least, upper-middle class. The bands gear didn’t
come from a pawn shop,
bur rather was more than likely purchased brand new from either Tom Picketts.
Nor were the fans of the
band hurting for money. When you went to a “punk party,”what we call a basement show today, the kids there were offspring of
doctors, lawyers and even a prominent chef. The band wore nice
clothes including thin ties. Perhaps what made them Punk was the spiked hair and wearing safety pins.
One other major difference between the local punks and the rest of the world was there was no drinking, smoking or drug use. But I
wouldn’t consider this the beginnings of straight edge, but probably born out of promises to parents. But at the time, if you were a punk
rocker, you dressed with a tie, you didn’t drink or smoke pot and you kept the company that made Dippity-Do in business. But, I digress.
The Pattern played covers from The Sex Pistols,The Clash and
David Bowie. But the Pattern did start something no other band at the time did do-they wrote their own music. I haven’t heard these
songs for decades now but I do recall my favorite song was “She’s All Talk and No Action.” In fact, with the songs usage of “oh oh’s”this may be the first
pop punk song I had ever heard.
The members of the band, much
like the Sex Pistols, weren’t
incredible musicians. In fact, at
one show, Laymer had to tune
Totten’s guitar for
him. But what the
kids lacked in talent they made up for
with attitude. Tatlock had a very sharp sense of
humor and if heckled, could easily come back with an insult that would make The Insult Dog blush. The second thing they had going for them was drive-mostly from Colburn, the band’s leader.
December 1981. Somehow, someone was convinced to have a
winter dance at East High School. The two bands were The Pattern
and the Teirs. I won’t go into a lot of detail about the Teirs except to say they were the local Rock-n-Roll favorite. The Pattern played first and
most of the crowd didn’t really grasp what was happening. All the kids were dancing and slamming into each other. We were dressed in our thin ties and safety pins. We received a lot of strange looks and
in-between songs you
could hear people yelling “punk sucks!” Being
Punk at that time meant
so the taunts only re-enforced what we stood for was right. But this
concert will prove to be a pivotal point in Columbus Punk history that we will discuss later.
My Shit Life By Rex I had just been dumped right before my Spring Break.
Typically, Spring Break meant nothing to me than more hours at work, except that now I was student teaching and not working and actually had the entire thing to enjoy for once.The problem was that I was planning on spending my Spring Break at my girlfriend’s apartment in Bloomington with her, but like I said...dumped right before. But, by good luck and great decision-making, she decided to drop out of college and spend that time frame with her new dude!!! So I still stayed at her place and hung out with her roommate and friend of mine, Scritney.Scritney and I decided to hit the Vid, the best dive bar in all of Bloomington, for $5 pitchers and slutty punk rock girls; the cure to all heart break. We'd been there for a short period of time when one of the most beautiful girls I'd ever seen sat across from me at a table. She looked at me and asked;"Has anyone ever told you that you
look like Mark Wahlberg?"Scritney started laughing and I stated that I had, in fact, heard that said a time or two. It had become a running gag by this point and I was sick of hearing it. "So, is it a good thing or a bad thing that I look like Marky Mark?""Well, Marky Mark is a really attractive man, so......."And with that, my boner was raging to worlds it had never seen before. I sat around talking to this broad the rest of the night. She was a college professor, was working on her doctorate in history, she had been roommates with multiple people from my hometown, etc. She was just fucking perfect. I mean, we discussed the First and Second Continental Congress at length. If there is one thing that gives me a boner, it's the Continental Congresses. And vaginas. AND SHE WAS PRODUCING BOTH!!!!!The night ran on and she told us that she was going to head to another bar and we should join her. We played it cool like we might show up, then she left and we giggled our way over there almost immediately, where she bought us beer after beer, before leaving us and telling me, specifically, that she would be back out the next night and we should hang out again. I went back to the apartment and fell asleep, dreaming about this girl. Of all the luck, I found my dream girl the same week I got dumped. Just perfect. Everything was going my way.................Scritney and myself woke up a bit earlier
than we should have after our previous night because it was goddamn March Madness and the Indiana Hoosiers were playing fairly early. We showered up, threw on our finest shitty clothes, and headed back to the Vid, ready to see where the night took us.Almost immediately after the game started, we noticed this girl sitting across from us. She wasn't very pretty, but she had enormous breasts just exploding out of her top like a mushroom cloud of love. She was sitting all alone and we commented on how bizarre it was that she didn't have anyone with her.The game progressed along and I couldn't even begin to tell you how the Hoosiers did because we were each three pitchers in. We were living the dream of every frat boy at IU. It was somewhat sad, but I'd just got dumped and had no coping skills at this point in my life. I was, and remain to this day, incapable of handling rejection. Boo Hoo. As we're watching the game, just obliterated, the booby monster stumbles over and sits down across from us."Hey, do you guys mind if I watch the game with you? My friends are laming out and haven't shown up yet.""Oh, feel free. I would feel like a jerk if you didn't join us now! Any friend of Indiana basketball is a friend of ours!"I would come to find out that she didn't even know Indiana was playing, and that a basketball was the last form of ball she ever cared about, but I digress....We started talking with this girl and she introduced herself.Her name
GHOULIA: The basic story was that she was really into horror punk, she had a bunch of AFI tattoos, and she fucked every member of Blitzkid. In addition, she did roller derby, so she decided to name herself Ghoulia. We had no idea in the world what her real name actually was. All we knew was that she blew a dude name Ghoulsby, had enormous, beautiful breasts, and loved to talk to drunk, nearly incoherent dudes.We downed another pitcher she bought for us and she asked if either myself or Scritney would go outside and smoke with her. Scritney declined, but I said I would, since I'm a total gentlemen, especially when I'm four pitchers of beer deep. We ventured outside, to the alley behind the bar, and she started smoking. I asked for a cigarette too, even though I hate smoking, and we lit it up. I finished mine quickly and she uttered those words that still shake me to my core. The three words that just crushed every single fiber of my being and led me straight down the path to the shit exis-
tence I now live:"Wanna make out?"And with that, we started groping and fondling relentlessly in that alley. Our bodies couldn't remember where one began and the other ended. It was just a mess of awful and gross and sadness. The drunkest guy in the world rubbing and tugging on GHOULIA. Just soul crushingly depressing…At this point, it was decided that we were going to have sex immediately. So, we went back into the bar so I could let Scritney know that I was going to have sex with this lady. But we had a code.Oh, did we have a code!The night before, Scritney and myself had decided we were going to try to get girls to come back to the apartment and drink more booze and have sex with us by convincing them that they should play Mario Kart 64 with us. In our lunacy, we assumed that any girl we could possibly meet would be way into going back to an apartment with two creepy, drunk guys at 4 in the morning to play Mario Kart. After all, it WAS the N64 version. So, our code for sexing ladies became "Playing Mario Kart."We stumbled back up the steps to the bar and I found Scritney, sitting alone, awaiting my return;"Hey man, me and her are gonna go play Mario Kart in my van right now. We'll be back."And, with a wink and a nod to him, we started our trek to my van and, similarly, so started the sorrow. My van was directly across the street from the Vid, in a free parking garage in the busiest part of Bloomington. We continued
groping, fondling, and grossing all the way across the street, until we made it to my van.I opened the sliding door on the passenger's side and garbage just started falling out. The back seat area of my van was just full of anything and everything and it couldn't be contained. I started just throwing it all out on the ground, making even the smallest amount of space for the two of us to enter.This should have been my sign. I should have known that any girl that would still be anxious to fuck me after I just threw a landfill's worth of fast food trash out of a seat probably isn't the world's best decision, but I was literally brain dead from Pabst Blue Ribbon at this point.We jumped in and threw our pants off as fast as two people in the back seat of a mini-van possibly can and I realized it then:I could not get hard.Alcohol causes such problems to the penis, and I had drank enough of it for the entire IU Hoosiers basketball team, so even Scarlett Johannson would have left me flaccid and limp, just like Stephen Hawking’s legs. .I still tried to get it hard and put it in her, but it wasn't happening. So, I did the best thing I could in this situation.I STARTED LAUGHING MANIACALLY IN HER FACE!Just picture this: There's a semi-attractive female with enormous breasts lying spread eagle in the back seat of a shitty maroon Nissan Quest mini-van, right in the first level of a parking garage in one of the biggest cities in Indiana, in the heart of its downtown area where all of it's late night bars
and eateries are located. On top of her is a half naked male, just completely awkward in general, but he has four pitchers of beer in him. His nude extremities are just frowning with disapproval, much like her face, as he just erupts with laughter inches from her head.It was that awesome.She decides to try to utilize her oral skills to bring me to life, but she fails to understand that I had just got out of a relationship with a girl that gave the most perfect blowjobs in the world, so it felt like she was simply trying to suck a thick milkshake through a very thin straw. Essentially, she wasn't very good. After a while, we gave up hope and just headed back to the bar.And as soon as we stumbled back up those steps, I saw it. The moment I realized my life was a piece of shit nightmare and that nothing was ever supposed to go right for me at any point.Scritney was talking to Miss Perfect from the night before.I walked up to them and said hello. "Oh, I heard you went off with some girl. I'm surprised to see you back."Scritney had fucking sold me out. Of all the things in the WORLD he could have said for me in this instance, he told her I had left the bar with some girl and he didn't know if I would be returning to the bar. He may as well told her that I had no penis, lived in a crab shell, and molested young boys under the name of "Mister Fister." It was bad.I didn't know what to say to her, so I just stammered and stuttered something really stupid, which is want to happen when you have
drank four pitchers of beer and humped on a girl named Ghoulia in the back seat of your shit van.Understandably, she was disgusted with me and I never saw that girl again.But, I did hear from ol' Ghoulia again!!! See, Scritney gave her the phone number for his apartment, where I was staying again!Â And it just happened to be the next day that my now ex came back to her apartment!!!! And it just happened that lunatic Ghoulia called me at least ten times while I was sleeping, so I got to wake up to a really fun conversation!!!!! I am a complete success as a human being! And, with that, so ends part 1 of the 10,000 part story that is My Shit Life.
NOW I LOVE DUDES!!
Monologue by lukamunga PART ONE I was fourteen when it all began...my new life that is. I have stories of love, psychosis, and most importantly, murder. I know this is starting off like some sort of shitty novel; maybe about a love affair filled with lies and deception. Well, it’s nothing like that. This is about me and the alterations my mind made on it’s own-- horrifying changes which I had no choice but to follow. For you to understand me completely I have to rewind to my childhood… I wasn’t ever really a good boy. I never obeyed the rules my father taught me. Later I realized it was mainly because I didn’t respect him. It’s really hard to respect a drunken, abusive crack head. My father was always a hard worker but always quite the hot-head, he went from job to job because of insubordination. I recall countless times that my father would be yelling or throwing things at people. He was intimidating because of his brute strength. Sometimes, my dad boxed in illegal basement matches. Our town was small but corrupt, from the cops busting people just to confiscate and smoke their weed, to the scandal tape of the judge smoking crack with a hooker in the Super 8. Hell, I even overheard my dad bragging to his friends about selling the judge the crack. It also so happened that our family was banned from the local grocery store. This came about because my dad threw a small jar of pickles at the bagger. The kid picked up my dad's paper sack (which he requested), and the bottom busted out, shattering a jar of mayonnaise and splattering it all over Dad's jeans. I watched his rugged, Clint Eastwood face turn cold. I just knew the kid was going to be injured in some way because I had a two day old slash on the back of my thigh from leaving my bike in the driveway, and that was the exact look I got before it happened. I sure was right, he didn’t hesitate, picked up the first thing he could grab (the jar of pickles,) and chucked at the bagger with all his strength. The pickle jar flew at the poor pimple-headed bag boy in slow motion. It seemed my mind slowed everything down just to analyze the whole gruesome event. I watched the boy's face turn from
disbelief into a contorted vision of pure terror. I watched every shard of glass ricochet and penetrate his flesh. I saw every drop and wave of pickle juice, the way it fell, the amount of time it took for it to soak into his clothes. I found great delight in the comical way the pickles bounced off his face and around the store...even the faces of the dumbfounded shoppers in the express lane excited me. I watched all these things, and I studied and recorded every piece of information in my mind. That was just the beginning of my new found powers. I sound so cliché right now but I’m not, I’m just a different breed of killer. For this little episode, my dad spent two days in jail and the cops kicked his ass the whole time until the judge finally let him out. As for my mom, there’s not really much I can say there...she died when I was seven in an 'accident.' According to my father, he had just finished mowing the lawn and it just rained the day before. She slipped on the wet grass, cracking her head on the three foot cement angel she had in the front yard. And that was it. Lights out. I still have the angel to this day, the faded blood still visible between her gritty stone tresses. Don’t think I have fond memories of her either; she was just as bad as ol’ Dad. She liked drugs and fucking my dad's friends, and most of the time Dad let her do it. If he had a debt to one of his dealers (which he more than often did), he’d let them fuck my mom as payment. One time I saw her go into the back room with
four greasy guys and two very dirty, slutty bitches that were inspecting each others tonsils before they even got in the room. Even as young as I was, I knew what was happening behind that door. So yeah....my mom was a whore. Now that you're up to speed, letâ€™s get back to age 14. This is when my new life began. It was at this age where I began to experience the insanity of puberty; I've been told this is kind of late for a boy. My friends had already gone through their voice change and all the other awkward symptoms of puberty around 12 or 13, so I was definitely a late bloomer. I was three months away of being fifteen when I started noticing....things. In a short amount of time, a huge rush of hormones shoved me from a small, skinny boy into someone bigger than all the boys in my town. That Fourth of July is a day which I will always be able to describe, right down to the last detail. The noisy neighborhood party, the humid Indiana summer heat. 97 degrees and it felt like 200. God, Indiana is awful for humidity. It could be 73 degrees and after walking down to the mailbox and coming back in, your shirt would be spotted with sweat. Personally, my favorite part of the Fourth of July has always been the smell of sulfur. I love nothing more than walking outside of the house right when the sun is going down and taking the biggest breath of air I can...just breathing in until my lungs feel like they are going to burst. All the while looking to sky to watch the neighborhood fireworks all the happy families were shooting off, hoping that the aliens in the far away skies mistake them for signals. Then, they would come and pick up the chosen ones; I have such faith that I will be one of these chosen. I would sit outside all the time with three different flashlights signaling them with a code I wrote myself. All the while, my dad sat in the house, paranoid as fuck because he just got done smoking a huge load of crack and thought the fireworks were police assault rifles. So, after the excitement was all over and the sky was no longer a kaleidescope of gun powder beauty, I went to my room. I hungrily devoured a burnt hot dog I had stolen from the neighbor dog because it was the only food I could manage to get that night. Sometimes I wish they could make a big bag of food for humans. Maybe my dad would actually buy that and give me a bowl
on the floor so I could at least eat something. The usual routine involved him going to McDonald's and returning to devour Big Macs while I waited and watched, unfed, until he went to bed. Then I would dig the bag out of the trash and eat the fries out of the bottom. God, the family dog had it better than I did. Like I said before, my dad had been smoking crack all day and was really paranoid that night. My dog Chuck was in his pen out back, constantly howling from all the commotion earlier. My dad came barreling through the door, knocking the old wooden screen door off its hinges. I grimaced at the sight of the disgusting prick; I studied him grimly with his greasy hands, chapped lips, dirty clothes, and that fucking blank look in his saucer eyes. “God damn it! That dog is going to shut the fuck up right now!” He walked right by me (I was surprised at this...maybe I was going to get it after the dog.) He slammed the cage open, and grabbed old Chuck by the neck, holding him in the air over his head. “Your fucking worthless stupid dog has howled for the last fucking time. It will be real hard for him to howl when he has no throat left,” he growled. Seeing my old German Shepherd in the air, helpless and waiting for a death he did not deserve, I was terrified. Then, it happened. I could feel it rushing through my veins and my mind said it first, then my mouth followed. “Do it,” I said coldly. My father turned abruptly, still dangling Chuck like a dead rabbit. “What the fuck did you say you little shit stain?” His face turned frighteningly flush. “I said, 'do it!!!'” I yelled at the top of my lungs. Strangely enough, it was at that heated moment that puberty kicked in and my voice cracked. My dad just looked at me in shock, his mouth agape; this was the first time I ever stood up to him. He held Chuck, who was whimpering and squirming, with one hand and suddenly threw him at me. Again, I watched in slow motion-- from the time his arm drew back to the time when the dog hit me from twenty feet away. Chuck came right at me and past my face, his back paw slicing a cut in my cheek about three
inches long. This left me permanently scarred and to this day, it makes my face hard to hide....if my secrets were ever to be uncovered. The dog hit the house with such force the siding dented with the force. My dad stared at me, then began laughing so hard that he was doubled over and having trouble breathing. Suddenly, he began walking towards me, his laugh truncated and replaced by that familiar blank look. It was the exact deadpan glare that I had on my face. Amazingly, it was that moment that Irony became my friend. My dad tripped on the water hose I hadn't put away. As he fell, his eyes came alive with delightful fear as his face slammed right into the same cement angel my mom died on. I never said whose blood was on it. I looked down on him silently, blood dripping from the gash on my face and falling onto the back of his head. He was badly injured, the oozing wound beginning to saturate his greasy hair with blood. Well, didn’t my day just get better! Fortunately for me, he wasn’t dead; although labored, heavy and sporadic, he was still breathing. With disgust, I used my foot to turn him onto his back and observe him. I studied every drop of blood running onto his face. He watched me closely, his eyes growing hazy, trying desperately to remain conscious. I felt the corners of my mouth turn up slightly as I could tell how desperately he was grasping for a hold on his life. I continued to stare down at him, thinking how much I wished for the aliens to help me. I guess instead of taking me with them, they decided to help me this way. He looked at me, rasping through the blood gurgling in his throat. “What are you gonna do boy? You gonna do it, you gonna finish me off?” Oh I sure as fuck was. Why would I let this opportunity pass? I’ve only dreamed of it forever. He started to try and sit up but it was a futile attempt, and I wasn't worried. It appeared that the injury to his brain may have caused paralysis. Even better. I reach for my most favorite of my flashlights, a heavyMag-Light, and started signaling the aliens to thank them. I was flailing around my trophy. “I killed your fucking whore mom right here boy,” he managed to gurgle. I replied with a very smug, “So? She was a worthless whore.” He coughed up blood, laughing, as I kept walking around
him and signaling with my flashlight. “You're just like me...you know that right?” “Oh no. I will NEVER be you. I don’t think you understand who I am at all,” I snarled at him. At this point, my mind resurfaced from the depths and I began to feel cold and empty. I knew then and know now what alone is and I am just that. I screamed to the sky “I am alone!!” then, looking down at my father, I spoke calmly. “I am many things and you are nothing. They will come to save me soon just like they did tonight. They gave me a name and are giving me a new life...one which has no room for you.” He simply stared at me through bleary eyes. My mind began to race and my heart pounded; I became increasingly agitated. “I am the wrong force to be reckoned with!!! You were my beginning and I am your end. I AM YOUR END!!! I AM YOUR END!!! I AM MONOLOGUE!!!” I stop pacing, every muscle in my body feeling electrified. Signaling immediately in front of him with my flashlight, I raised it to the sky and then brought it down, slamming it into his face. Again, everything happened in slow motion. I watched his blood fly towards my face and tasted it in my mouth. I saw the bits of skull and brain scatter across the moonlit grass. Regardless of the humidity and heat outside, blood at the temperature of 98.6 degrees feels hot on the tongue and feels like sweet drops of victory dissolving in my mouth. I love the Fourth of July. *************************
think you can handle it??
story by Lukamunga, art by Seebus, yâ€™all!
Rudy's Rants Employers Have to be More Open-Minded if They Want to Truly Succeed in Business Before I go on with my spiel, I must tell you this: I am a 32-year old male diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome, a “mild” form of Autism. The condition is known to make it difficult, if not impossible, to conduct social relations with others, among other problematic situations. Well, from living and working after all these years, I've learned how to adapt to the everyday goings-on in today's society with relative (and in a lot of other peoples' opinions, remarkable) ease. A lot of the issues I've had weren't necessarily products of my condition. To my surprise. I would find out over the years I was capable of performing tasks beyond what is known as “grunt work.” I don't mind cleaning and doing simple, mapped-out routine things (like a lot of people with my condition do in the labor force), as long as that's just a facet of the job. I'd do grunt work if it were the only work that I could fine, but I must tell you, it's not very fulfilling. One time, when I was hotel in housekeeping, they had “designed” a job for me which involved picking up dirty linens from the housekeepers' carts, reloading carts with sundries like soap and t.p. and custodian supplies, among other things. I shared my angst with a co-worker a few days before starting my new job at the Road Runner Steakhouse. I said to him, “I hate to not have put in a two-weeks notice, but I have to bail. I 'm tired of running about like friggin' R2D2!” Right now I am working in the fast food industry, at two places. My primary job is at (prepare for a thinly-veiled reference to a well-known submarine sandwich shop) Six Train Subs. For the two years I've been there, I've come a long way. Almost a year ago, I was given closing duties. Grueling at times, but I am doggone proud! At my other job (Prepare for another reference), Nacho Average. Take-Out Taco, I work as a cashier. Before too long, they'll start training me to be a food stuffer there. I 'm wanting to move on to something meatier and with more pay and eventually go back to college, but right now I am more or less content. I am happy so far with the climate change in the labor force, although it's merely marginally noticeable. There are employers out there who meditate on the strengths of poten-
tial employees (when interviewing them) and will give them a chance in the ring if the payroll and roster allows. However, on the downside, I am quite disappointed that this attitude isn't widespread. It rimes my rhubarb very, very much. Employers have to open their minds and hearts a dickens of a lot more if they want to succeed. They must de-construct the anal paradigm that's that's Gorilla Glue'd to the back of their crainies to the point where underdogs of various sorts can have at least a chance to put on the lab coats and whip it Devo style. Do I hear an amen! Oh, yeah, Reverend Rude Dog's in the house! I have ex-cor-ciiiized the deeeemonsss! Sure, some employers out there do have to kowtow to corporate guidelines, but they'd best take a good gander at the labor law poster (doubling as a fierce place-mat on the office desk) as well. Wipe the coffee spills and special sauce off that thing and give it a total gleaning! And after doing so, stop being a proverbial dog in the manger and tape it on the wall for all employees to see, post haste! All that being said, I must tell you a little story about an electronics outlet that just kicked its feet up, Transistor Town. I had applied there twice-- once when it opened, and another two years later. I knew in my heart of hearts they weren't going to hire me. I could tell by the interviewer's body language, among other things. Four years after it opened up here in Columbus, the company closed shop, due to bankruptcy. Too bad. Didn't care for their service anyway. And should I tell you how steamed I was when I saw a teenage clerk texting on his cellphone. Steamed enough for a passerby looking at my face and exclaim, “That's it! I'll have crab for lunch today at the Crimson Crustacean!” (No, really.) Boy, did I give that snot-nosed teenybopper clerk the evil eye for a good three minutes. Heh!
“How can we lose when we are so sincere? ---- Charlie Brown, on his baseball team.
DUSKWOOD It was early August when the lights ﬂickered brieﬂy. My guitar lay dead and useless in my lap, the last note cut, murdered and buried somewhere hidden, secret. Eyes closed, I rode the descending wave of darkness on miscarried notes; high on the smell of saltwater and afterbirth. Opening my eyes the apartment is shadow, still moonlight through the window framing the door. Everything looks sterile. Chimes ﬁll the silence, drifting into the room on a breeze to lay damp and cool against my skin. I resist the urge to blink, wanting to live in this momentary womb forever. Then, and all at once, birthed screaming into the world. Blood-covered and naked, tasting the light like a newborn, tiny ﬁsts shaking at the god that exiled me from Eden. I close my eyes against the invading light and harsh noise, guitar feedback. The broken chimes devoured, only the indigestible pieces left for scavengers to pick clean. I writhe as I too am skinned, heart devoured. My stomach a delicacy, bowels left to gather ﬂies while tiny mouths suck the marrow from my bones. The howls of pack animals hunting me, chasing me further into the darkness. Sometime later my body feels tight and my ﬁngers ache as I extract a cigarette out of the pack pulled from my pocket. Lighting a match I get lost in the ﬂame and have to use a second to light the cigarette, singeing my ﬁngers again with the guttering ﬂame. On my back in the dark I blow smoke rings into the silver threads of the moon coming through my window. Finally on my feet I cross the room to the kitchen, designated by the seven square feet of dirty checkerboard tile instead of the warped hardwood ﬂoor of the rest of the apartment, peeling my damp shirt like a second skin from my body, the brief smell of fear and sweat as it falls to the ﬂoor. I watch it, leaning against the stove taking small sips from the milk carton, waiting for it to confess its devils. What could it want? Has it been feasting on my soul, or blood, draining me? How could such malignance exist in the world? A trusted asset born with venom in its veins, gifted with the providence of my earthly demise. It was as I drank and searched for something to lift the poisonous thing with every intention to burn it in the oven, that the chimes again took wing on the wind, riding the silver twilight through my window, a fragile voice calling out to me.
Drawn to the window I held my breath and gave the crumpled Judas on the ﬂoor a wide birth to then have my breath robbed from me and carried to her on the same wind that brought her tinkling voice to me. She was a blur of dancing ﬂesh and spinning ﬁre, nude and cast in ivory by the moon. Lithe and graceful she moved like liquid across the roof, muscle writhing beneath the surface of her skin as she twists to the soothing cacophony of a hundred wind chimes in a gentle breeze. A goddess in bloom, dancing to the elder gods, sacriﬁcing herself to save her people; to keep the evils in the dark restrained. Glistening sweat covers her body as she thrashes before an indifferent moon, her life running down the inside of her legs. With child-like enjoyment on her face she steps through a midnight ballet haunted by the ghost of some ethereal dancer. Wild green eyes ﬁnd mine through the distance and darkness. Bracing myself against the window frame, I feel my heart stutter and maybe she hesitates as a cosmic shift occurs, cowering at the moment when everything is set in motion. Even she cowed by the enormity of her fate. It’s almost religious. She disappears behind a chimney to step out the other side covered by an oversized white shirt falling to her bloody thighs, somehow innocent looking and then gone through a door into the dark heart of the building. Gone from my sight until my eyelids grow heavy and I am cast into visions of her crooked steps. How can you sleep on the ﬂoor? Duncan’s voice but invisible in the dark, Where have you been? Here. You’ve been lying there for two days? Two days? Things like that really happen? The scrape of metal and a ﬂame illuminates Duncan’s grinning face above me. You look like shit. Do I have a beard? What? Nothing. Why would you have a beard? Just call me Rip I say, or think. My eyes already ﬁxed on the open window, visions of her inky Rorschach tests on my cornea. That one looks like a dirty skull covered in a swarm of ladybugs. That one a knife held tightly behind a back. This is some serious shit man. Duncan stands, looking out the window lighting a joint. The power has been out all over town since the night before last. I went walking around today, nobody knows anything. The air is alive, thick and electric. You can just feel it in the air.
What? Waiting, it’s a powder keg looking for a spark. Duncan taps the ash from the joint with care, like he was burping a child, his eyes intent on something outside. Her perhaps. Am I to share her, my Venus in ﬂames communal? I still don’t get why you’d have a beard. With that he turns from the window and disappears into shadow, leaving the room silent except for the faint click of a door closing. I stand on unsteady legs and approach the window, once again bracing myself against the glass while blood ﬂowed painfully back into my legs. Picking up the joint left burning on the window ledge I wait ﬁve, then ten, minutes before she appears in a green sundress. * * * She closes her eyes and breathes the crisp night air in deep even breaths. Pulling the pea green sundress off over her head she stands for a moment with her hands raised in the moonlight, like a star on stage she ﬂaunts her body to the sky then begins to spin around in slow circles under the stars, taking them in with her eyes, worshiping at the alter of the sky, offering her body nightly for secrets too great for man, greedy in her naked revelry. Her thighs once again growing slick with her blood wiped away by her ﬁngers and offered too, another unborn child given to the earth. From the window of a nearby building came the wavering sounds of a guitar playing a sweet melody that ﬂows over her skin, causing goosebumps to break out over her body. The strings licking at her ﬂesh, a slave to her femininity. Shrieking with laughter she paints herself in menstruation, and as the guitar plays faster so she moves faster with it, slithering around the roof, the ﬂame of her hair alive, cloaked in a spider web of silver. The blood she spreads over her skin warms her, the metallic scent of blood bringing with it the memory of a childhood over too soon, an education in ﬂesh. Faster she spins trying desperately to throw loose those memories best forgotten. In the windows of the surrounding buildings she sees the leering faces of a hundred. Men, women, and children spellbound and hungry for her; somewhere her father waits for her to return to bed. Overcome she retrieves her dress, clutching it to her body as she steps into the building, squatting on her haunches just inside the door, crying silently in the dark. * * *
HELLO? i need a place to masturbate. izzit okay if i do it here?
oh yeah, this is the good stuff you can watch if you want to, mouse. it’s cool
hey! you fuckin disgusting bum! you can’t wank it here anymore, you got that?? DO YOU?!?
oh my word, the lotion is gone! and so is the master’s cognac!
i think i have a problem...
i tell you, there is nothing finer than the feeling of a man’s insides firmly constricted about my male member. perhaps killing an endangered species..
i say, have you ever rogered a young boy, Jenkins? it is quite delightful. you know, if you want to see something truly remarkable, you should come to the master bedroom once we arrive
well, there was that one time with the Maharaja in his palace....
why good sir! i had been hoping to try out my new moustache for weeks! oh i am so glad to hear he found Jesus
are you quite well spent, then, sir? shall i call the chambermaid to clean you up?
oh, dear! it is as if a scrambled egg were dropped into your lap!
but.. the seed is everywhere, Jenkins! how will i ever be clean again? i.. i was hoping you would, Jenkins...
now i will never get the stain out! my clothes and sheets are ruined!
and it is all YOUR FAULT!!
BURN IT!!! BURN EVERYTHING THAT IS UNCLEAN!!!! AARGH! my loins are aflame!! if.. if i could only get a little... you need your rest, sir. it is best that you quit grabbing at my breasts.
my insatiable lust has finally gotten the best of me! because he does not want you to be THAT happy. look it up, IDIOT!! Lord Haversham, Jesus loves you, and wants you to be happy. then why is libido bringing me so close to death?
to be continued....
Hue Bakar- A short story
Hue Bakar awoke to the same terrible scent he had slowly become accustomed to these past weeks. The television buzzed on about Salt Lake City as it did now every day. He rose with care from this evening's bed, a particularly odorous coach, minding the aching stiffness of his neck and back. He groaned as he inhaled the sun warmed sour air of the ﬁlthy room. He gagged, but just a bit. After regaining his composure, he turned his attention towards the television set. A middle aged man, in a bad suit, face lined with worry and urgency informs Hue once again that he must go to Salt Lake City for salvation. Hue would have laughed at this had he not seen the message every day for nearly a month. He had gotten passed an appreciation of the irony of it, to a place of mild disgust, and ﬁnally it had passed into the background of Hues senses. Tiring of the television, Hue switched it off and walked towards the outside window. The sun shone down a bit too brightly for his eyes and he had to put his hand above his brow to shield himself. As he did this he got a waft of his own odor, and nearly gagged again. Outside in the next door neighbor's yard, he saw three ﬁgures shambling about. The two larger ones were tossing about a circular object, careful to keep it out of the reach of the smaller middle one. The one closest to the window caught the object, and the smaller ﬁgure stumbled over towards him, waving his arms wildly as he did. He held the object high in air, and as the sun illuminated it, Hue realized exactly what was going on. The sun cast a golden glow on the matted bloodied hair of the severed human head held just out of reach of the desperately clawing ﬁgure. The ﬁgure, Hue realized now, was not shorter than the other two for simple lack of height, it was only that he lacked a head upon his shoulders that he had seemed so. Shaking his head in disgust and mumbling insults about the undead things lack of intelligence under his breath, he walked away from the window and towards the dilapidated book shelf across the hall. As he stepped over to the shelf he had to hold the sleeve of his black hoody over his nose. The foul smell in this area belonged to the half eaten former owner of this house; he sat as the head of the household, with a look of confused pride on his face, against the wall near the bookcase. His head lay wide
open like some meaty coconut, and in his hand he held a worn copy of the Book of Mormon. There wasn't much left of his body but what remained went to great effort to announce its presence about the whole house. Hue gazed at the book and back up to the empty skull and said to no one in particular," They really didn't take anything very important to you after all, did they Bring'em Young?" Hue looked over the bookcase, guffawing at the various books in the case, and those strewn on the ﬂoor. Those which he found particularly humorous were books by various religious ﬁgures, celebrity biographies, and pulp westerns. Finally he found a paperback copy of Steppenwolf lying on the ﬂoor across the room under some shrink rapped old magazines. Hue knew it didn't belong here, and he didn't care, he was just thankful for some good reading. Some of the living left in the city had taken up residence in the town library, and his last journey there had left him with a cracked rib and buckshot in his back. So this was a rare treat indeed for Hue. With a rising sense of joy he took the book into his hands and opened up the ﬁrst page. "Page 53…." he said to himself quietly. If his tear ducts still worked they would have showered the incomplete book. Instead in frustration Hue threw the book at the corpse at the other end of the room, he missed widely and even further angered by this he stormed out of the house. The creatures in the neighbors yard upon seeing Hue leaving the house, lumbered over towards him. The thing with the severed head came over, offering its gory prize to him enthusiastically. "Get that shit out of my face!" shouted Hue pushing him over and onto the ground. He turned away and headed down the street mumbling insults at the confused creatures. They looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders, and then continued on with the game. Hue walked for a long time, careful to avoid the area around the library. He
passed by the former townspeople as they carried on in their new life. He looked upon them with absolute disgust, and he wondered why he was so different. Why he was so much better than those around him. His thoughts began to take him far away from his home, and the sun began to be obscured by great silvery storm clouds. He was pleased that the weather would go to so much effort to compliment his mood. As he was amusing himself with this thought he saw a girl in the distance. He straitened his posture and sniffed his armpits; nearly gagging. He mourned his old ﬂesh and his inability to do anything about its slow decay. He nervously walked up to the girl. The silvery clouds outlined her pale skin, and the bit of sun that shone through them made the cracks in her broken glasses gleam. She sat quietly contemplating nothing on an old park bench starring off in the distance. Hue sat down softly beside her. "Hi, yuh, uh my name is Hue…um how do you do?" As the words dribbled from his mouth his mind recoiled. If there was enough blood left in him to blush he would have done so. At his words she jumped slightly, and then turned towards him. Her left eye was a beautiful jade that shone brilliantly in contrast to the darkening sky. The right eye was merely an open socket surrounded by hanging dark meat in a fairly advanced state of decay. Her lips were soft and looked as if they were covered in scarlet lipstick. Hue knew better. "So uh hey what are you into?" He meekly asked. She smiled at him; it was a genuine sweet smile, its warmth shone brightly in her good eye. Hue was ecstatic. "Brains…"she moaned softly. Disgust washed over Hue penetrating every inch of his decayed skin. He jerked himself from his seat. "I just can't take this shit anymore!" He shouted back at her and he stormed off. He thought long and hard about his situation, and the bitter loneliness it imposed. He would not let himself become like those around him. Their life was base,
ignorant, and completely devoid of any meaning. He just needed to ﬁnd someone else like him. How could he though? His country men were completely devoid of intellect, and the living would kill him on sight. It was then that a brilliant idea occurred to him…makeup. It was so simple, all he had to do was throw some makeup on and he could pass. His face didn't look that bad, he thought, beyond its deathly shade. So he set off towards the general store. After Experimenting for an hour or so he ﬁnally felt he had it right. He took the time to carefully apply the makeup to each and every part of his visible body. When he was conﬁdent that he looked alive again he made his way towards the town library. He pulled his hood up over his face so as not to be spotted by the other undead that ﬁlled most of the city. He ran as fast as he could, thinking about his salvation. He thought of intelligent conversation, of a diet that didn't consist of raw human ﬂesh, and maybe of a lover who didn't have rigor mortis. As he got closer he ran faster and faster, not noticing that the storm clouds where beginning to look ﬁercer with each step. As he reached the library the sky began to open up. He was too focused on the task at hand to really think about the implications of this and so he pushed on. He began to shout," Help! Help! Let me in their after me, please help! He cupped his hands to his mouth as to increase the volume of his voice, and as he pulled them away he noticed that the make up had run completely off of them. He then looked down to see the makeup all over his hoody, but he couldn't remember when he had put on crimson makeup. He noticed another odd thing as well. He had became the centrifuge on which the whole world spun, and then as the ground rushed up to meet him everything became so quiet. His eye opened and he was sitting upright on a broken down old bed. The familiar scents of stale air permeated the air. He struggled to ﬁgure out what had happened when he noticed a presence. It was the girl from the park. She beamed down on him with her one good eye. She smiled a sweet smile which left Hue awash in embarrassed guilt. She understood and simply patted his forehead, and quickly turned around to grab something. She returned with a severed human head, the top of which was missing, exposing the still warm grey matter within. "Brains…." She cooed at him. "Yes thank you," He replied genuinely," but how about a spoon?"
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need quickies, longies, fast, slow, hard, soft, gentle, rough, in the car, on the couch, everywhere. Would like the squirting sweet kind so I can always let you do me to completion with it and I can feel it oozing out of all my holes swallowing on command from you often too. Longterm thing wanted. I will even wear panties or hose or stockings for you a garterbelt too. Whatever you like or want! Come do me and do me often baby!!!30 yo submissive cocksucker hooded and waiting for you in Hobby area motel. Come in, drop trou, get sucked and swallowed, and leave. No bs, drama, or need for conversation or reciprocation. Also into spit and piss. I'm clean, discrete, muscular, masculine and ready for anon service. Please be discrete, DISEASE FREE, and ready. Pic is what you see when you walk in the door. if you're clean, DISEASE free, please confirm and email for motel and room number. Looking for a couple to partake in a "robbery" pin-up bondage fantasy. - mw4mw - 25 (Financial District)She is a 5'6" blonde professional and puts up a fun fight and is commanding enough to be enjoyable to put a gag in her mouth. I am 6'1" experienced bondage fan who is a professional photographer and artist. If you are interested in helping us out with our little fantasy, drop us a line and we'll discuss a when, where and how...Any Str8/Bi/Gay looking for rim jobt? Have a seat m4m - 39 (Howell Mill & I 75)Reply to: firstname.lastname@example.org [Errors when replying to ads?]Date: 2009-02-22, 2:49AM ESTWM, 39, six foot, one hundred ninety lbs, masc & in-shape looking for horned up Str8/Bi/Gay into getting rimmed and deep tongue cleaning . . . rim chair is in place, porn is playing (gay or straight), sit back & relax while I slurp on your hole . . . gotta piss . . . no problem . . . sweaty, musky, ripe, whatever . . . bring â€˜em own. Nutt on my face, in my mouth or hit my hole. Private warehouse space . . . ANON scenes cool .Head Swap. I host - m4m - 33 (Holcomb Br /400)Reply to: email@example.com[Errors when replying to ads?]Date: 2009-02-22, 2:44AM ESTThe wife is out of town and I am on a cocksucking spree. I love sucking cock, playing with balls and sometimes eating squeaky clean ass. I am a vers top, w/m six foot, two thirty five, brown/blue, thick build. I have a thick cock with a big head and huge balls. I am disease/hiv free and 420/popper friendly. There's nothing hotter than dominating a hot guy with your cock in his ass. Send pir or no reply. No racial hangups, in fact black and Latino encouraged. No pic no way.Feb 22, 2:27am. SExy DicK-SuCKing BLoND with a VErY weird fetish - w4t - 21 (Cobb-Area-Can HoSt)Reply to: firstname.lastname@example.org [Errors when replying to ads?]Date: 2009-02-22, 2:36AM ESTHELLo Â I'm a very attractive, freaky white female with a really strange fetish. I am looking for a husky guy who's able to push his stomach out extremeley far. My ex boyfriend use to do this all of the time and it became a really big turn on for me. I love giving head to a guy while he expands his belly out as far as he can and pushes it into my face. I'm 5/6, 125, in shape, Nice legs, Blond hair, Hazel eyes, deep throat with very good oral skills. SeXually I enjoy giving head, love 2 swallow and I also love having my hair pulled and ass smacked. I am mostly attracted to white guys but I can be open to other races it just depends. Please be able to push your stomach out far that is why I'm posting. Serious only, looking for now.Tie my hands...rape my mouth - 23 (atlanta)Reply to: email@example.com [Errors when replying to ads?]Date: 2009-03-02, 1:59AM ESTjust do it..quit being lame and man up and get your dick off...no mercy face fucking..your chance to get rough...verbal, boots, and smoking are a plus..NEED TO UNLOAD!! - m4w - 24 (GRESHAM)Sup, blk sane, low key dude here just chillin at home having a drink.|No meeting after 2 min chats.|Must have pics or web cam.|Prefer Blk.|Please be Masculine, and discreet and Decent shaped.|No B.S|I like nut on me(anywhere) and I like to nut on you. Old DOM Couple Seek SUB Boy Toy Sex Slave - mw4m (RI/MA/CT)Reply to: firstname.lastname@example.org [?]Date: 2009-02-05, 12:15PM ESTAre you a super young (18+) that dreams of being a submissive to mommy 50/s 300 BBW, daddy 60/s 200 chubbyHave you ever dreamed of incest roleplay
with mommy and daddy to teach you all about sex Large cock a plus, but any size cock okay You will be stripped, your whole body inspected, given a bath, and your body wiped and oil applied to you all over At times your arms will be tied above your head Your nipples will be played with, sucked, and hot wax on them, then pins in them and clothespins pins on them You will be spanked Your ass will be inspected, played with, lubed and explored with fingers, butt plugs, vibrators and strapons At times your legs will be tied spreag eagle above your body Your cock and balls will be played with tied , sucked and stretched, making you harder than you ever did before and making you cum more than than you ever have before You will be trained to suck cock, swallow the cum and suck the cock dry You will be trained to eat pussy, swallow the climax and suck the pussy dry You will perform with another boy toy, making out, sucking each others cock, and fucking each other in the ass You will take golden showers A safe word will be used You will not have to do anything you do not want to do If you have a female to join, that is a plus Let us know about you, age, size cock, how thick, what you have done with males and females and what you want to explore with us Ask any questions"To the person who I made eye contact with on the 9am bus to Dorchester, I think we had a connection and I have been watching you for 3 weeks" [from missed connections]Reply to: email@example.com [?]Date: 2009-02-17, 12:45PM ESTCome service my cock while I watch the game! - 33 (NE)so i'm kicking back on the couch watchin the game today. u come over and pull down my pants and service my cock while I watch. just kickin back enjoying your hot mouth. never know what else might happen but this is really all im lookin forgood looking guy here. slender athletic 6.5" cut dick. not too interested in anyone over 40. and you MUST send a picture or dont count on a responcea super bowl shaving my cock and balls - 41 (hillsboro/portland)hey guys after game you like to come over to shave my balls and cock anybody have a razor. I m a white guy 5'7 161 grey hair brown eyes 6.5 cock Super Bowl Suinday, entertain my buddies at half-time - 42 (East side, close in)Got five bi/gay buddies coming here for the big game tomorrow, ages range from 29 to 46. Now I'm lookin for a cocksucker willing to provide half time entertainment -- doesn't mean singing and dancing, means kneeling and serving. I know u cum sluts are out there cause we've done this before. Be 25 - 40, hwp, any race, clean and ddf, hungry for a group feeding. Provide full stats, pic, contact info and state any limits upfront. Replies without pics get no respoFOOTBALL N FUCKN... - m4m (Gwinnett area)Reply to: firstname.lastname@example.org [?]Date: 2009-02-01, 4:38PM ESTthis is what i want,,,, some good big blk dick, the bigger the better, cum fuck me. ur stats/pics will get mine. tonite...lets fuck around antyime send ur stats n pic, i will returnLove erotic mails and anal play - w4m - 33Reply to: email@example.com [?]Date: 2008-12-23, 11:58PM ESTHi Dears I am Anna. I am a woman who enjoys erotic lines. I enjoy rubbing my clits and squeezing my tits while reading those mails. You can call this "cheap thrills" but I simply love it. Can anyone fulfil my desires?Also love to be fucked hard in all my holes, specially my tight anal.Love to see men cum and I swallowâ€¦I have once been with a girl and I love the feel of another woman's skin against mine, just as much as I do a man's.I?m very wet and love to be licked in both my pussy and ass. Oral sex is great to give and recive..I love guys and women who are very imaginative and creative. One who can tell me his most ultimate desires.One who is willing to share his or hers most intimate thoughts.Only answer mail with photo.[JERKIN WHILE WORKIN]Reply to: firstname.lastname@example.org [?]Date: 2009-01-17, 9:17PM CSTMarried bi guy for use. Experienced at giving head, virgin ass but willing to lose virginity. very curious about water sport. 5'10", 195 lbs, broad firm build. Cannot host but can get a room.I WANT A Load - m4m - 24 (Houston)Reply to: email@example.com [?]Date: 2009-01-17, 9:03PM CSTDo you squirt a big messy jizz blast?Cum pig wants it.A hot throat to work it up and out.Prefer you jerking it out when you're ready -- got thrust to get it deep into my open mouth?Hung, big
low hangers, shroom head, veins, days stored up in your balls, and leaking precum -- all pluses.I'm tall, good looks, masculine, brn/grn, HIV- for sameCan hosthello, i am laying down for the night thinking about how i would lick the inside of ur thighs coming up to your pussy i would split ur pussy lips with my tongue as i push it inside of u, u feel me dragging it up and down while pushing it inside deeper... coming up to ur clit sucking ont it pulling it back inside my mouth rolling my tongue around ur clit while ur sucking mine..can i get a killer bj - m4w - 37im in the mood is thare any one that wants to swallow. and i love to eat pussy and you need to hostYou have to see this one to believe it! Very Special Pics!Panty Play at ABS Glory Hole - m4m - 40 (glory hole)Going to ABS in the early am on Thursday morning wearing sexy panties and stockings. I want to play with someone ( male/ female or a couple that is into wearing sexy lingerie too. I always play safe and I will bring lube. IF YOU DON'T WEAR LINGERIE, DON'T BOTHER. Get back to me and we can work out a time to meet in the morning.Actually love me to death - m4w - 24I am looking for a creative female with a delightful personality to spend an evening with me indulging in narcotics, making love, and smothering me to death with her breasts. Fart while I rim you! - 20 (Sw Portland)Reply to: firstname.lastname@example.org [?]Date: 2009-01-14, 2:21AM PSTSeeking serious guy who is up for farting while I rim him, or packing a big shit load in his ass while I rim him... Any dudes up for something nasty like that?heres a contribution just checking boston's casuals for 30 seconds.. I always check m4m.... dudes for dudes know how to post a sex ad.. You MUST send cock pic.... MUST.Me,25 years old cute petite asian but have tits and ass for an asian. looking for a well endow guy i mean really really big . it be a plus if your tall 6 feet and over 200 lbs. never been with a really big guy before and I don;t want to come out like a slut for asking that is why I want it to be discreet and NSA. just someone to have fun with,hopefully it can lead to ... OTHER THINGS I JUST WANT TO WATCH Looking for a good Jack Off Session tonight!etc.send all inquiries to: email@example.com
This is a story I wrote a while back called "Cock N Hole":Isabnormal conformal anomalies. The diluvial. I conformed until the isogeotherms of our eyes bled bloody ass blood. It was so egalitarianistic, but you know, now I know that we can, in fact, blow each other up and still be connected to the fideism of fatalism and hedonism. Sacramentarian solitary confinements and sleep deprivation patterns: we came together on that day for an eleemosynary hour of "I'm going to get up in a minute". It was beautiful. Then, cherry "swimming trunks" acolouthic and guitar aerobics from an acrobatic's aeropleustic anal-retentive assacre/ass explosion of self. Despite my ixiodic and interstitial instincts, I was proven lamiaceous and.. well, that's how it is: Intercrural!And so begins another vespertinal trek on the scarabaeans of ebay, looking for some kind of existential or neo-mystical enlightenment. Well, fuck. The pascual adventure meant I snagged an old vinyl record, punk as nostalgic art I guess. Sexy black vinyl, mmmm. So what?Â Patibulary rations and rational realizations aside, I guess you can say that life is okay. Job? Sucks. Sex life? Great. Music? Medium-rare. Video games? Mystagogical. Taste? Absinthe. Leonine sign. Leone signs, too, if you catch my drift (well-framed shots, beautiful landscapes, that familiar Morricone guitar strum....). Can't find that margaritomancy old crust patches for xenomancy crust pants but oh well. There is nothing more embarrassing than watching a nearly 70 year old man prance around onstage at halftime of perhaps the biggest event of the year. Prick Jagger.I'm feeling somewhat oestrogenic today. Pyogenic and such. This week was fun. My friend doesn't like rock n roll. How spodogenous is that? I know he governs a monarchy, but come on, I love you and all, how can you do this to me? "Smoke on the Water". Pigmentocracies aside, I can't complain. The end.-ac
NO ONE CARes AbOUT Yr SHiT ToWN
volume 1, SUMMER 2009. designed & compiled by stUart J AttiC, contributions by friends that i LoVE dearly. weâ€™ve been talking talking talking talking about this for a while, and it seems all too possible that this thing can at least be a quarterly, if not bi-monthly. i encourage any and everyone to contribute anything they feel is relevant to our world/town/scene/whatever. just email stuff to DEADDEERGUTS@gmail.com!!! if you are holding should have gotten form of a cd-r. if form, then someone
a paper copy of this, you a musical component in the you are reading this in pdf should have given you a link to the zip file for the compilation. each issue will have a corresponding comp which will hopefully be assembled by a different person each time. artists included should be LOCAL and ECLECTIC, contemporary as well as ancient, and EVERY TRACK SHOULD BE USED WITH PERMISSION FROM THE ARTIST. if you would like to be a part of this, lemme know gang. --Stu
What CAKE?! DO SOMETHIN’!