Sandra's Magnetism

Sandra's magnetic orgasm made her piercings stretch in her skin, and
all the metal stuff in the room hurled towards us.
My watch stopped, although I didn't notice it at the time, and her
high school trophies fell off the bookshelf, the lights fluxed,
I think maybe even the iron in my blood
was caught up in it? (X-Men style) Now I know
why she doesn't keep her computer in her room.
After it was over, Sandra said, “That's nothing.
Last time I used a vibrator,
my grandfather with the titanium hip got stuck against the wall, and
my dad's car crashed into the house. It was a huge scene.”

“Well, in that case I'm glad I'm not the Terminator,” I joked.
It seemed pretty clever to me, until she sighed,
“Every guy makes that joke. Or something like it.
It's always,'hasta la vista baby,” or 'pity the guy with the prince albert' or 'magneto would be proud.' (I was actually thinking that one too, damn.) “It was cute the first few times,” she said. “Now it's just like small talk to me.” She sounded dissapointed.
Small talk. How weird it must be for something like that to become a boring old phrase, the proverbial “How was school today?”
“Is that the price you pay for sleeping around a lot?” I asked, immediately feeling bad, it came out a little too harsh.
“I mean, do you regret
that it's commonplace? That telling people
about the magnetism, and the crazy stuff,
is just another detail?” It's strange to me, at least
that it's not not personal for her. Maybe the first time
that she told someone it was personal. Unless it still is?
“It doesn't bother me,” she said, holding my hand and tracing
her fingers over it; the language of dainty friction. “I'm just
used to it.” She bent down. Way down. I fumbled to adjust angles.

She put an ear up against to me
“Your ass sounds like an airport”
Which part?
“The main one.”
Concourse A?
Funny.
Your ass sounds like a washing machine.
Thanks.
It's bigger than one, anyway.
What kind?
Any kind.
Some models are bigger. They're industrial sized, or made for handling particular types of fabric, or they may be a smaller kind suited for small house with one person, or have energy saver preferences.
Ok.
Noise would also factor in. Between the different kinds of machines. So which one does mine sound like?
The main one.
You need to be specific.
You weren't specific with me
You didn't ask me to be. You made the concourse joke and then changed the subject.
Well would you have elaborated?
On what?
On what “the main part” of the airport is so I could know what it sounds like.
Probably.
Cool.
Now what kind of washing machine is my ass?
It's a Whirlpool. 3200 series.
Fuck you.
That's the only model I know by heart.
Fuck you.
What's for breakfast?
Your translucent dick.
It's translucent now?
Yeah. I cut it off and replaced it with an x-ray fish while you were sleeping.
Wow.
Have fun with it.
I will. I was always kind of curious what that'd be like.
Glad I could help.
How do we have sex now, though?
We don't.
We don't?
That's kind of the point.
I can make money in a freakshow this way.
Yeah you can.
I'm going to.
Get on out there.
I am.
Good night.
.

I can pee out of my eyes.

dHarMa

Slam it on son with you beerslopped appeal
Coppin' the senses for cravin' a feel
Icewicket Baby, bodacious tangle
I too once crooned for the hairy dangle

Ten-Assed Summer

when I was a young'n not yet growed
I had lemonade in my veins err'vy summer
I hadda vortex gullet like a cockpine barber handle
old sludge tits here
took 'em into the dusty mason jar, behind a nostalgia log
burly treesap crustin' gramma
stumbling out from behind the pollenated trellis
arms like windsocks, the flab tethered love worms
“It smells like honeysuckle here,” she crooned
wheezerasped with laughter
a half eaten toblerone sticking out of a shirt pocket
oh shit, diatoms
----
Tenacity, n: The state of possessing ten asses.

Beerthought

Forced compound words involving 'beer' have been amusing to me lately.

Beerscum
Beersmut
Beerdangle
Beergasm
etc.

It seems like fusing the word 'beer' to the beginning of a dirty or potentially raunchy word enhances the raunch factor considerably. I think it has good potential for a drunken stream o' consciousness scene.

Maybe? Maybe?

Ah well, drunken stream o' consciousness has probably been done about 99999 times already.

I've been keeping up with that big ol' Lamination Colony contest, and I must say, the winning piece is pretty rockin'. I'll be looking forward to seeing the rest of the entries, as well as more of Mr. Alter's fresh-ass prose. Congrats to all. I probably should have entered that.

I'm watching one of those game shows right now where they pit one team against the other, and the teams represent two distinct social groups. (You know, like, accountants versus gymnasts, or something.) They need to get more absurd with the topics. Something like. “Chronic Masturbators vs. The French.”

Fuck, dude, I've been assaulted by the Transformers II trailer many times today. I don't want to get desensitized to hyperbolic robot rupturing yet.

I forgot how to write a worthwhile blog post.

Fuck the Cop

I remember one time in third grade I was talking to this kid on the playground about video games. During the conversation, he started telling me about a game he wanted to make some day, entitled "Bloody Shit." The premise of Bloody Shit was that the main character was a cop whose parents neglected him as a child, so much to the point that they didn't name him and allowed him to choose his own name when he was old enough. He named himself Fuck. I don't remember what else the game was about. The kid later grew up to become a redneck, which is weird, because he was pretty unsouthern growing up, and he was reared by staunchly unsouthern parents. Can cultural osmosis be that extreme?

The memory of Bloody Shit and its respective protagonist have gotten me thinking on a tangent: is there a yet unexplored way to use profanity experimentally in writing? Sure, the first person narrator can say "It was fuckin' crazy man," but what about a third person voice? No, I'm being serious. Could one effectively use phrases like "A storm had washed through I-75, and the sky was fucking dark." in the third person? I feel like there is a way in which it could be pulled off, the content would have to fit the voice though, somehow, so it wouldn't just be an interesting but unnecessary detail.

I started writing something this weekend that experiments in this department a little bit, although not with third person. It's a first person narration of a summer cookout, but all the characters' first names are swear words, the narrator is a guy who is pathologically uninvolved and hyperobservant of all social interraction, which ain't all that original. (Doesn't every writer feel they wear the orifice-like badge of social displacement/isolation?) But it's fun. I haven't laughed so hard working on a story since middle school, so who cares, maybe this piece is just for my leisure. Maybe not. Regardless, I hope the damn exploration of profanity in fiction turns out to be fucking worthwhile in some way.

What if I was remembered by that? Famously. "He's the guy who uses swear words in the third person." aw shiiiiiiiiit.

TVOTR/GB at the Tabernacle was sufficiently badass. Grizzly Bear is one of the busiest bands I've ever seen on stage, holy shit, the vocal harmonies and the instrumental multitasking was incredible.

There was also a Taylor Swift concert down the road at The Fox, and the polarity between the different types of fans was awesome. I was craving a gang-war between the polo-and-cowboy-boots UGA soristitutes and the skinny-jeans-and-flannel indietards, but I settled for the mutually awkward stares that communicated, from both demographics, “I'm the one with taste.”

Kyp Malone's hair/beard is the stuff of legend: