The End of Men

Click to embiggen…

(transcript)

The End of Men (El libro)
*Men are unable to give birth, to keep the species going.

Having go the anus to protrude as much as possible, torment shows the transition from brilliant colour to crudely simple draughtsmanship and solidly modelled form.

However, there are certain differences in pronunciation between the spoken language.

Jo pointed, and Laurie sat up to examine; for through an opening in Mexico City, but the other one stops at Veracruz.

The 1880s were prolific years, but years of continued poverty and depression until in 1889.  Tommy Bangs will smoke sweet-fern cigars under the bedclothes,

“What does Amy call you?”

“My lord. Viola and Angelo are two of our favorite names. Isn’t that queer?” said Meg.

The intention was to cover both end walls, the one with the Fall of the Rebel Anges as the prelude to the ceiling and the other with the Last Judgment [20.12] as the consummation of the whole subject-cycle.  Then, on the third day, wash it out with a dry wine.  In Spain and in most of Spanish America, pour forth blood;

Great Scott!  I do not have much time.

This project was done in the past.  It will be discussed in the future.  At some point, someone – somewhere – will attempt to replicate the process.  It will be glorious.

-BRP

I Love Shatner!

I love Shatner
I hate people without awesomeness in their soul
I love Trevor
I love to verbally pummel Trevor
You hate aurally stroking Addy
I love silently staying PAT
You hate loudly going punch
I’m a bored drinker
You are the life of the buffet
You’re killin’ the buzz over dinner
You’re keepin’ the love alive over brunch
I’m shitting on physical relationships at snack-time!
You create mental solitude for fasting
We destroy physical togetherness against overeating
Nothing is empty, everything is connected

I don’t really know what to say about this.  It reads like a love ‘manifesto’ to me.  You see?  You see how all things that flow from Shatner are GOLD?!  Yes, you see all too well…

Furthermore, I would like to make sure these notes are part of the ‘Record’:

“A good artist borrows. A genius artist steals.”  -Picaso

Dane Cook: a crappy throw pillow

Gene Simmons brand SUGAR: Tastes like ROCK!

I also related the long and lusty tale of the following exchange:

ME:  Gimme a kiss, baby.
Wife:  Ooh baby (kisses me)
ME:  I kinda feel like gettin’ freaky…
Wife:  Oh, really? (laughs) ‘Freaky’ is it?
ME:  Mm hm, I wanna put on a wizard robe–
Wife: Oh God! (laughs)
ME:  … and pull out my +10 Rod of Fucking–
Wife:  (screams, hits me) Stop! Stop stop…
ME:  Aw, c’mon baby…
Wife:  (stifling laughter)  I can’t believe you!
ME:  Make your save versus O-Face!
Wife:  Never say that again! (cringes)
ME:  Ahhh… what?
Wife:  No. (laughs) You’re so bad…
ME:  Damn…

And, I only embellished that story a wee bit!  The lesson to be learned is this:  She still slept with me!  Ha!   I win!  Ommmmm.

Cheers and salutations!

-BRP

Kingdom, Phylum, Class, etc

I really don’t know what to say about this. It just… happened. It started when someone said “PENIS!”, to see a certain someone else crack up. From there, (un)natural scientific curiosity took over. For a moment, I actually felt a little sorry for the other patrons, who had to listen to us shout these out to each other.

<> <> <>

a trouble of quim
a murder of vaginas
a pod of cunts
a crock of cunts
a plethora of pussy
a flock of sniz
a tangle of twats
a mess of poon
a gargle of cooze
a gaggle of cooch
a clutch of cooze
a batch of vag
a batch of bajingo
an ogle of ovum
a school of tuna
a pack of snatch
a horde of hoo-hoo
a bushel of bush
a hive of hoochie
a sisterhood of yaya
a porche of pooter

a copse of cocks
a team of shlong
a procession of shlong
a dangle of pud
a bucket of trouser-snake
a stampede of stump
a herd of hard-on
a litter of love rod
a den of wiener
a flock of cock
a pack of babymaker
a scrote of junk
a frat of wang
a skouch of shwing-shwong
a wad of wrinklestein
a faggot of rod
a mischief of man-meat
a swarm of jimmy
a grove of peepers
a pile of penis
a pride of prick

 

I’m curious to see if there are any obvious ones that we missed. Well? Whatcha got? Cheers!

-BRP

Poot

(from Wikipedia)

Feelin’ a little punchy tonight. I’ve just got a little something short and sweet for ya. Another new SG, that we cranked out at Coffee Night. I hope it gives ya some… solace for your weary heart. Cheers.

Put in a paint shaker
Foot in a paint shaker
Foot in a booty shaker
Poot in a booty shaker
Poot in a booty Johnny’s Salt shaker
Poot in a booty shaker
Poot in a booty quaker
Poot in a booty
Poot booty
Poot fruity
Poot

It’s like a simile…

    Big props to Epic, for finally acquiring this list from his class.  “Similes and Comparisons” is the title and if I recall correctly, it’s cribbed from various ‘pulp’ novels (classic detective fiction at least).  It reads like… well, it’s like… something.

Let your eyes feast on these words.  Imagine that they describe someone in particular.

As noiseless as a finger in a glove
Lower than a badger’s balls
As systematic as a madam counting the take
About as French as a doughnut
His face was long enough to wrap twice around his neck
As much sex appeal as a turtle
A nose like a straphanger’s elbow
As clean as an angel’s neck
Smart as a hole through nothing
A face like a collapsed lung
So tight his head squeaks when he takes his hat off
As cold as a nun’s breeches
High enough to have snow on him
As shiny as a clubwoman’s nose
He sipped like a hummingbird drinking dew from a curled leaf
As gaudy as a chiropractor’s chart
A mouth like wilted lettuce
His smile was wide, about three-quarters of an inch
A thready smile
As cold as Finnegan’s feet
As rare as a fat postman
The triangular eye of a squirrel
Longer than a round trip to Siam
As cute as a washtub
Lonely as a caboose of a fifty car freight
A great long gallows of a man with a ravaged face and a haggard eye
A sea sick albatross

Wow.  What a trip, eh?  See if you can guess who the author of the majority of that is – Raymond Chandler, or Dashiell Hammett?

Hillary -vs- Obama

bottom of the cup

HEY! It’s time for more SG haiku! Yay!

kittens in mittens
what is this world coming to?
vote for Obama!

Hillary shall reign
over all the monkey towns
happy monkey dance

go-go pudding pop
sometimes a great notion
is better not done

teeth in vaginas
that sounds like a bad date dude…
Hillary’s bettah!

Cheese of the French!

Cheese was invented by the French
who worship Jerry Lewis
because he blew Mel Gibson
who is the leader of the world
– but not the free world on Earth, the other one –
that no one knew about, other than David Bowie
who told Bob Dylan to keep quiet
which explains a lot about pop music
which is considered by many as dance music of the devil
and so was banned in 47 states by the KKK
because the KKK is pumping our meat with growth hormones
so they can create incredible racist Hulks
that are skinheads by day and green, buff gladiHaters by night
and service lesbian orangutan crack slaves
in France, of course

Haiku, yuku, we all ku for haiku

I finally found the usb cords for my camera and my audio recorder. I plan on making use of the pics and sounds and videos soon. For the time being, though, our dreams of a Coffee Night podcast are gonna have to wait.

I thought I’d take this opportunity to post some of our S.G. haiku. Since I’m only posting the stuff I really, really like, these are all from This Is Not A Book. After this, there are only one or two example of games left to post. I think “A, B, C” and some of the old, dusty “Rhyme/Opposite” types are the only ones I have done yet.

there is no reason
only love and bad gut pain
could move me this way

 

I was on mushrooms
my mind became a pony
spur my lobes, I run

 

what the fuck bozo?
bozo the assassin clown
death in squeaky shoes

 

I need the sun’s glow
like I need a second butt
twice the shit for me!

 

all these sodomites
coming to coffee for grease
and heaven for love

 

There, that about does it. A fine selection of our most brilliant haiku. Mad skills we bring. I’d like to point out that you can subscribe to this blog, so you don’t miss any developments. Not that I’m at all ashamed of urging people to check it out – I just thought you should know. Cheers!

-BRP

The opposite of ‘I need help’

I need help.
You need a real struggle.
You need to live on easy street.
You need to be a hobo.
You need to get a job.
I want to fire you, Trump-style.
You want to verbally stomp me, Omarosa-style.
You don’t silently tip-toe me, Apprentice-style.
I raucously crush you with authority.
Let anarchy free your voice.
Chain order in silence.
Silent disorder.
Uproarious communism.
Quiet capitalists.
Outrageous transgendered whale-lovers!
Conservative post-op dolphin-haters!
Punk pre-cut sea-horse lovers?
Haters of classical water pony music.
Contemporary apathy is dry silence.

I don’t know… it seems to me that this particular piece is a call to action.  Of some kind.  Sometimes, juxtaposing the first line with the last line can give a surprising insight.

“I need help.
Contemporary apathy is dry silence.”

Perhaps just a call for someone to speak up?  Hell, I always do this – I can’t help analyzing these things.  I think I’ll try just letting the work speak for itself for awhile.

Although, I have noticed a disturbing trend, of late.  I’m usually the person to get these things started, but that’s always been the case, really.  I’ve also been very greedy (or whatever) and insist on having the last line, as well.  What’s up with that?  Why haven’t I been called on that?  C’mon, I may have started this whole thing, but that don’t mean I own it.  Or, maybe nobody really cares – that’s possible too.  I dunno.  Clearly, I have too much time on my hands.  Right.  Shutting up now.

-BRP

Madness (with video!)

    This is a perfect example of some cross-dicordianism, right here.  We made the S.G., then I recorded (crappy) audio of it being read aloud and then I made a little video out of it.  I could say that it speaks to the power of decontextualisation and… uh, how the transliterative structure of, um, poetry carries with the seeds of radicalized thought… and stuff.  I could say that, but I won’t.

thirty-four seconds
This is dedicated to Hasselhoff.  And Teal.

-BRP