FROM THE SHORTLY TO BE PUBLISHED AND ENDOWED WITH MANY ACCOLADES NOVEL BANGED! ANOTHER IRRESISTIBLE BIRD & BUFFALO ARSE***K LITERARY REVULSION.
Chapter 14a Section 7
Airports. F***ing airports. Can’t escape them. Tedium city. But this was the only way she’d unscramble her head. Once she was safe in the Village, with the Reconfigurator, everything would go back to the way it had been only a few months ago – boring and predictable but somehow far more desirable than this aimless rampage of crime and mind f***s. The Village. Five hours by air, then a short trek in the desert. Flo had often talked about it. Said it would be their little secret. Said if things ever got really f****ed up, she had to make her way there and ask for Viscount Framlingham.
And now there were two hours to kill before the flight that would bring her back to dear old safe sanity in suburbia. How she wished Bo was still around. She fancied a Bo bang. One of those really filthy, disgusting no-holes-barred ones that drained every last juice from her body. She wasn’t so keen on the sheep heads and stuff, but wow, a Bo bang, preferably in a public place, was the one thing that made all the suffering and crazy shit worthwhile.
“Carla, isn’t it?” the guy at the check-in whispered.
She let out a yawn. “Er, yeah. That’s what it says on the passport, right?”
He smiled. “No, no, I mean, well, look it’s Chuck. I used to work with Clifford.”
She looked him up and down. He even looked a little like Clifford. Only slimmer, darker eyes, a better tan, a better odour. “Sorry, uh, Chuck, but I don’t remember you. I never mixed with Clifford’s work stiffs. Oh, and just for your information, Clifford doesn’t live here anymore.”
He shrugged. “Oh, sorry to hear that. Actually, truth be told, he was a bit of a boring jerkoff. So, good for you, sister, striking out on your own. No prizes for settling for second best, huh?”
She knitted her eyebrows. “Hold on, Chuck, let’s just get one thing straight. Clifford wasn’t second best. A jerkoff, yeah, but not second best. And right now, I’ve got a plane to catch so I ain’t got time for no small talk. I’ll see you in the restroom over there in five.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Just cut the bullshit, OK?”
Probably married with two kids. With all the daring of a mouse. Whatever. If he didn’t turn up, she’d manage without him. What a selfish bitch she’d become. Me, me, f***ing me. The sooner she got to the Village, the better.
She splashed some water over her face, dabbed herself with a towel and waited by the first cubicle. She slid a finger down her panties and began to stroke herself lovingly. Her breathing quickened. Slow down, she told herself, this is just the warm-up act. But her finger was joined by another finger and then another and then a really weird thing happened. She felt something emerging from her ****, something fleshy, solid. A gynormous erect Freddy, in fact. She went to the mirror. Facial hair was sprouting up everywhere. A beard and moustache were taking shape, her shoulders were broadening.
“Stop this mind bang right now!” she screamed. “I don’t want to be a man. I’m a woman! I want to stay a woman. Get this Freddy off me! Bo, help!”
Monday, January 28, 2008
Thursday, January 17, 2008
OF LIBRARATORIAL PORKING Q REGGIE CHIVERS
BIRD: You OK, dude?
BUFFALO: Do I sound OK? Of course I'm not OK. I'm fookin' depressed, OK?
BIRD: Not cos they're closing down yer library, like?
BUFFALO: Yes, cuz they're closing down my library. I've spent many a happy hour there. You know what they say about gal librarians with glasses, doncha? Well, it's all true. They go like rockets. Stick a strap on 'em and they could work for NASA.
BIRD: So you're sad that the site of your despicable acts with bespectacled damsel librarians whose names you no longer recall will be reduced to bubble rubble, innit?
BUFFALO: Not just that. I discovered Joyce there. And Henry Miller. And Reggie Chivers for chrissakes.
BIRD: Reggie who?
BUFFALO: Oh, don't give me that shit. Reggie Chivers, author of The Porking Principle.
BIRD: Sorry, dude, you lost me past the greyhound track.
BUFFALO: Oh, come on. It's a seminal work of the taffeta underground.
BIRD: Taffeta wot? Xplain, pliz, Lucy.
BUFFALO: Jeez. The Porking Principle, in a runt shell, is this: when one is porking, one feels a moment of pure joy and well-being, beyond pleasure and pain, longing and queueing. To pork is to know that one is truly in touch with one's personal enmity.
BIRD: I see. So it's a piece of hippy shit, like?
BUFFALO: Yup. Got good illustrations too. Angles you'd never have thought possible.
BIRD: And wot of Chivers now?
BUFFALO: Sadly no longer with us. Porked out at 50.
BIRD: Crikey. So he's the reason for your abject depravity and extreme self-reversion?
BUFFALO: Yup. And boy did I make those angles work, if you get m'drift.
BIRD: But how come his book was in the library? Sounds salacious. Radical even.
BUFFALO: I didn't get his book in the library. I read it in the library then tried out his theories, over in Fiction. And that's when I discovered Joyce and da udders.
BIRD: Right. So Actual Lee, you woz using the library as a porking shop, like?
BUFFALO: Didn't you when you were young and horny?
BIRD: Er, well, just the once. I admit, it gave the intermingling a certain frisson.
BUFFALO: You're right dere, Birdy. Somethin' about being surrounded by all those learned dudes' literary endeavours... gives me the wood just thinkin' 'bout it.
BIRD: Ah, Buffters, you truly are a genuine perv.
BUFFALO: Why, thank you, Birdman. And to that end, I have invited Clare along to the Science Fiction section today for an ickle space-age boffing afore they close the place for good.
BIRD: Nice.
BUFFALO: As da old Chivers used to say...
Pork while you may
Pork night and day
Pork till you drop
Pork underneath or on top
Pork till you stop
Pork, don't flop
BIRD: Porking at eleven?
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
BUFFALO: Do I sound OK? Of course I'm not OK. I'm fookin' depressed, OK?
BIRD: Not cos they're closing down yer library, like?
BUFFALO: Yes, cuz they're closing down my library. I've spent many a happy hour there. You know what they say about gal librarians with glasses, doncha? Well, it's all true. They go like rockets. Stick a strap on 'em and they could work for NASA.
BIRD: So you're sad that the site of your despicable acts with bespectacled damsel librarians whose names you no longer recall will be reduced to bubble rubble, innit?
BUFFALO: Not just that. I discovered Joyce there. And Henry Miller. And Reggie Chivers for chrissakes.
BIRD: Reggie who?
BUFFALO: Oh, don't give me that shit. Reggie Chivers, author of The Porking Principle.
BIRD: Sorry, dude, you lost me past the greyhound track.
BUFFALO: Oh, come on. It's a seminal work of the taffeta underground.
BIRD: Taffeta wot? Xplain, pliz, Lucy.
BUFFALO: Jeez. The Porking Principle, in a runt shell, is this: when one is porking, one feels a moment of pure joy and well-being, beyond pleasure and pain, longing and queueing. To pork is to know that one is truly in touch with one's personal enmity.
BIRD: I see. So it's a piece of hippy shit, like?
BUFFALO: Yup. Got good illustrations too. Angles you'd never have thought possible.
BIRD: And wot of Chivers now?
BUFFALO: Sadly no longer with us. Porked out at 50.
BIRD: Crikey. So he's the reason for your abject depravity and extreme self-reversion?
BUFFALO: Yup. And boy did I make those angles work, if you get m'drift.
BIRD: But how come his book was in the library? Sounds salacious. Radical even.
BUFFALO: I didn't get his book in the library. I read it in the library then tried out his theories, over in Fiction. And that's when I discovered Joyce and da udders.
BIRD: Right. So Actual Lee, you woz using the library as a porking shop, like?
BUFFALO: Didn't you when you were young and horny?
BIRD: Er, well, just the once. I admit, it gave the intermingling a certain frisson.
BUFFALO: You're right dere, Birdy. Somethin' about being surrounded by all those learned dudes' literary endeavours... gives me the wood just thinkin' 'bout it.
BIRD: Ah, Buffters, you truly are a genuine perv.
BUFFALO: Why, thank you, Birdman. And to that end, I have invited Clare along to the Science Fiction section today for an ickle space-age boffing afore they close the place for good.
BIRD: Nice.
BUFFALO: As da old Chivers used to say...
Pork while you may
Pork night and day
Pork till you drop
Pork underneath or on top
Pork till you stop
Pork, don't flop
BIRD: Porking at eleven?
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
Sunday, January 06, 2008
MOVE ALONG, FOLKS, THERE'S NOTHING TO SEE HERE
AND THE WINNER OF THE PUT BOUVET ISLAND ON THE MAP BEFORE IT GETS NUKED OR COLONISED BY GIANT UDDERS SELF ASSESSING RETURNABLE VERSE GOES TO...
MOVE ALONG, FOLKS, THERE'S NOTHING TO SEE HERE
Where to now?
she said
Mind the hole
he said
I'm already in
Thursday, January 03, 2008
ODE TO CELERY Q SAVE OUR VEGGIES
An Ode to Celery
Oh, thou supreme
stalked
useful
vegetable.
I do
desire
thee
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