Wednesday, November 30, 2016

They already think I’m weird enough without showing them pictures I’ve drawn of Nazi Dinosaurs and Half-Naked Girls in the Pee Dungeon…

Socially Awkward Guy Who Makes No Eye Contact says:

It is easy to stay by yourself a lot when no one likes you very much. In High School I was friends with a Japanese exchange student for awhile, but then his English got better and he could talk with other people; soon, he stopped talking to me at all…

He had a big thing for Bukkake Porn. It wasn’t really my taste — I don’t like things that get too sticky — but I really liked the Japanese schoolgirls in knee-high socks. I once thought that if I went to Japan maybe people there wouldn’t think I was such a loser, but I don’t like seafood and my Great Uncle fought in the Pacific during World War Two…

Sometimes I just stay home for days at a time and make drawings; I don’t show them to anybody, because they already think I’m weird enough without showing them pictures I’ve drawn of Nazi Dinosaurs and Half-Naked Girls in the Pee Dungeon…

I think girls, when they first meet me, get the vibe that I want to pee on them. I don’t know how they know this, but I’m pretty sure they do.  Maybe Japanese Girls would be different — maybe some would even like that — but there is no way I could learn their language: I had enough trouble trying to learn German, and they even use our same alphabet...

So I draw Nazi Dinosaurs and Half-Naked Girls in the Pee Dungeon and hide the pictures under my bed, with my masturbation sock. It’s lonely being alone, but it’s better than being out with people that think you’re a creep…

Like no one else thinks these things.

I hope the Girl with the Blue Hair is working at McDonalds today.



I am Laslo.


Tuesday, November 29, 2016

Same with the guys looking for girls fucking in fuzzy animal costumes: you want teddy-bear or rainbow unicorn?

Sketchy Guy Who Works at the Adult Bookstore says:

Occasionally you get the guys in the Store who want to pretend to themselves that they are not watching porn: they want flower-crowned girls in dreamy soft-focus style, blossoming in their sexuality. You know: 'Art'…

They will then watch these films freeze-frame by freeze-frame, sweaty thumb on the remote, vainly searching for a tantalizingly clear glimpse of nipple or pubic hair that isn't blurred into sun-saturated cotton candy. They will watch again and again, convinced they had to have seen something that that they know was never really there: they will finally resign themselves to the idea that seeing the young girl in white panties through the nimbus of yellow flowers was enough…

Shit like this was popular in the Seventies, and I think the bygone-era aspect adds to these guys' fantasies: the girls seemed more innocent then, as opposed to what passes for 'innocence' now. They can pretend that the young sun-bleached blonde girl from the Seventies has never heard of a blow-job, or never seen a monster cock on the internet: THEY can be the one to show them this new world, THEY will be The Teacher, THEIRS is the first cock her wide blue eyes will ever see…

When I see these guys I know one of two things will happen after their purchase: I will never see them in the Store again, or they will be back within six months and perusing the hardcore "Lollipops and Lolitas" section, where the pretense of Innocence ain't worth shit but the picture is clear, the girls are legal, and you finally see the blow-jobs…

So: fifteen-year-old-girls on the cusp of eighteen have been replaced by eighteen-year-olds girls in the charade of fourteen. I had a guy who came in asking if we had any videos of transsexuals posing as schoolgirls; the answer is "of course we do." Same with the guys looking for girls fucking in fuzzy animal costumes: you want teddy-bear or rainbow unicorn? Maybe that is the New Innocence, I don't know: I just work here…

I am Laslo.



https://althouse.blogspot.com/2016/11/nudity-and-purity-sensuality-and.html

Sure, tell everyone you fly on Don Henley’s jet — join THAT asshole’s band for all I care…

Lindsey Buckingham Has Something to Share With You.

That is just one of the many problems with being in a Band: you think you have everyone rowing the same direction — make the album, tour, shake some hands — and then a Band Member goes Rogue…

Sometimes they go Rogue in an interview, talking about how they feel they are not properly appreciated in the band or they  gush about the new guy they are fucking and he is so wonderful and has his own plane, ignoring that you were the one who put up with all her candles and shit in a tourbus for so many years: sure, tell everyone you fly on Don Henley’s jet — join THAT asshole’s band for all I care…

Or they go Rogue by deciding they need to make a Solo Album. The Band isn’t big enough to display all your Growth as an Artist: by Growth I assume you mean writing the same damned song over and over — which is a song I fucking wrote in the first place. Yeah, go ahead and ’spread your wings’ — you’ve spread just about everything else, I’ve noticed…

There is a reason most bands don’t have a Chick in them: Chicks are NOT Team Players. Given a little attention and they need to be The Star, then they resent the Man who got them there. Like I’m just some guitarist or something. I know the Game you are playing. Just be ready for when I say “Checkmate”, bitch…


By the way: I fucked Stevie Nicks.

When she was Hot.




I am Laslo.


Monday, November 28, 2016

Gave some bullshit about the importance of line and composition. Got a blow-job. Eh: average.

Diary of a NYT Reporter…

Monday: Had lunch with a Democratic operative “off the record”. He bought lunch — nice restaurant, I had the most expensive item on the menu! He gave me a list of points about the article I was writing: with his notes it practically writes itself!

Tuesday: Met with editor. Told me to change “unnamed source” to “an expert who spoke on the condition of anonymity”. Damn that really did make a difference!

Wednesday: Student loan payment is due. Money is tight: need to hit up some sources for more free lunches to get by. Probably a good time to pad the expense account: I have a source that is good for me picking up the tab, then reimbursing me in cash: Ka-ching!

Thursday: Met girl at bar: told her I was a reporter for The New York Times. She told me that’s cool, she LOVES “The New Yorker” — especially the cartoons. I didn’t correct her, but told her I did some of the cartoons myself, it was just one of my talents that comes effortlessly. Gave some bullshit about the importance of line and composition. Got a blow-job. Eh: average.

Friday: Rent is due. For everything I do for this country I should be making a lot more money. I SHAPE OPINION, dammit. I'd ask for a raise, but there are a hundred people behind me that would gladly take my job. Capitalism sucks.

Saturday: Editor calls me at home. Says I need to shift to the passive voice when describing bad things happening to those on “our Side.” I’ll get the hang of this yet. 

Sunday: Bill collector keeps calling. For everything I do for this country I should be making a LOT more money. Maybe it is not my place to say, but I think the paper should’ve pushed for Bernie Sanders, not Hillary: it would’ve been cool to get my student loan forgiven. Still, I figure the Powers-That-Be they know what they’re doing.


I am Laslo.


If that Eye offends us then PLUCK IT OUT, motherfuckers…

I'm Renfro Jeffries. Nazi And Proud Of It!. 

The Government-Media-Cosmopolitan Complex will always choose Chaos over its own Replacement: in choosing Chaos it will attempt to direct the Chaos to its own Ends, for if it cannot have complacency it will gladly accept confusion and fear…

By accepting their Rules as Law you are accepting their Rule. They believe they are the Eye of our Society, to which I say: if that Eye offends us then PLUCK IT OUT, motherfuckers… 

Those who foment Chaos believe it will never turn on them — and it never will, except at gunpoint. The Only Choice is the Gun or the Boot. Remember: if you're in my foxhole, and we're shooting at the same guys, I'll make room for you...

You are on the wrong side of the barbed wire, friends. Helter Skelter is coming, and it's coming with Cattle Cars: don't say I didn't tell you.

I'm Renfro Jeffries, Nazi And Proud Of It!



I am Laslo.


https://althouse.blogspot.com/2016/11/its-almost-as-if-jill-stein-regular-on.html

Look up: that is the Ass of the Government-Media-Cosmopolitan Complex above you, and I see you ain’t moving.

I'm Renfro Jeffries. Nazi And Proud Of It!. 

I get tired of the Government-Media-Cosmopolitan Complex giving Leni Riefenstahl a bad name. You can’t be All Things to All People. She showed the beauty of what can happen when a People come united and move with purpose. Does a documentarian have to film their subject taking a shit just to give a more complete picture..?

The Government-Media-Cosmopolitan Complex makes its own propaganda, it’s called the News. It is just that when they film their subjects ‘taking a shit’ — rioting and looting in the streets, say — they try to make it heroic…

Every Society shits. It is up to the Citizen to decide if they want to be the ones shit upon. Look up: that is the Ass of the Government-Media-Cosmopolitan Complex above you, and I see you ain’t moving. Don’t cry to me when it ain’t rain that falls from that sky…

You are on the wrong side of the barbed wire, friends. Helter Skelter is coming, and it's coming with Cattle Cars: don't say I didn't tell you.


I'm Renfro Jeffries, Nazi And Proud Of It!


I am Laslo.


Sunday, November 27, 2016

“Dangerous? I’m the one who is dangerous, mang. I’m-a explode with danger! I got danger in my BALLS!”

“Scarface 2: The Vengeance of Marco”

“Marco, how you doing’? Long time, no see.”

“How I’m doing?” How the fuck you think I’m doing’, mang? I was gonna be President, and that puta Trump, he fucked it all up. How the fuck you think I’m doing’?”

“Marco, shit happens. You’ll get another chance.”

“Shit happens? I shit on ’shit happens’, mang.  It was MY time, and that orange fucker, he took it from me! If he comes to Miami he is a dead man!”

“Marco, you can’t kill a President…”

“What the fuck you talkin’ about? I’m Cuban, mang — no one tells me what I can’t do. I know people, they kill him for a fish taco.”

“Marco, I worry about you talking like this — it’s dangerous…”

“Dangerous? I’m the one who is dangerous, mang. I’m-a explode with danger! I got danger in my BALLS!”

“Maybe you should drink some water…”

“Drink water? Drink water, mang? You fuckin’ with me? Everyone makes fun of Marco for drinking water on TV, and now you start in on it? You better be careful with me, I got people who’ll chop you into little pieces, mang, I turn you into Ropa Vieja and feed you to the elderly.”

“I meant no offense, Marco. You just have to wait four years, that’s all…”

“Four years is a long time, mang. I’m Cuban, I ain’t got time for four years. Orange Boy, he got something comin’, you hear me? I got a dwarf who’ll take care of this, no problem. He’s small but he knows how to get shit done.”

“A dwarf?”

“Yeah, no one expects it coming from a dwarf, mang. Here, I’ll introduce you: say hello to my little friend…”



I am Laslo.


Saturday, November 26, 2016

And at the Starbucks counter is NOT the place to have the fascinating discussion of why the blow-job was only that one time, sorry…

The Girl at Starbucks That Hates You:

My co-worker Marcy is one of those baristas that make it miserable for other baristas. She’s not mean or anything — it’s just the opposite; she flirts relentlessly with the male customers, and then these guys expect all the other girls to be the same way — gross…

She’s actually written her phone number on the paper cups of guys she liked, and everyone at the store knows she has hooked up with several of them in the past. Great: let’s encourage our male customers to think of us as potential sluts, it makes the work day just that much more special…

One regular customer came in crying and creating an embarrassing scene, begging Marcy to tell him why she wouldn’t return his calls anymore; big thanks for letting us share this kind of magic, Marcy. And dude: crying like a baby at Starbucks? That is SO pussy, really…

It is obvious the problem with dating customers: they know where you work. Duh. Give a guy a one-time blow-job and he’ll be at the store every day thereafter, you’ll never get rid of him. And at the Starbucks counter is NOT the place to have the fascinating discussion of why the blow-job was only that one time, sorry…

Rumor at the store has it that Marcy even gave a blow-job to a customer in the bathroom while on her break, but I don’t really believe that: the bathroom is gross, people, and Marcy is squeamish about germs. Come on: no one in their right mind would get on their knees on THAT floor…

So I get customers asking me if Marcy is working today, when is her next shift, that kind of thing: guys, if you’re going to be a stalker you better figure it out yourself, I’m not gonna help you with that shit. Have I mentioned that I have to put up with this shit for barely a buck over minimum wage…?

Yeah, yeah: No Whip.



I am Laslo.


Hey, I just work at Starbucks, it’s not like I’m some fucking ninja…

The Girl at Starbucks That Hates You:

The slouchy guy who buys the small drip coffee and sits at a table with his laptop for four or five hours was in again today: it’s bad enough that he occupies prime space for so long over a single small purchase, but the guy is a total seat-smeller, it’s gross…

When a woman leaves the sitting area he ‘accidentally’ drops a pen by her vacated seat, then when he kneels down to retrieve the pen he takes a whiff of her chair. Like he thinks it isn’t obvious: dude, you dropped the same pen eight times today, you’re a freak…

Today was even worse than normal: a mother and her cute blonde young daughter drank their beverages — don’t get me going on giving children whipped-cream-topped caffeine, I Am Only Following Orders — and, when they left, the guy went and smelled the young girl’s seat. Eww…

Our Manager says there is nothing we can do, that it isn’t a real crime or anything. The situation totally sucks: the guy will make eye contact with you, and it is so obvious that he knows we know — it is like it is some power control thing that helps him get off, I think. Yeah, I have to put up with this shit for barely a buck over minimum wage…

Marcy was talking about filming him sniff seats with her phone and posting it on the internet, but I told her the idea made me nervous: if he found out he’d know it was us, and who knows what kind of sick crap the guy might be capable of —  I don’t want some freak, like, killing my cat to get at me, you know…?

So I watch the guy sniff women’s seats and then tap away at his laptop: I’d hate to see the porn he must have on that thing, I bet it’s twisted shit, like serial-killer shit. Maybe this is how it feels to be one of those people who find out the guy they always saw turned out to be a creepy strangler or something: people would then ask you why you didn’t do anything, and it’s like — Hey, I just work at Starbucks, it’s not like I’m some fucking ninja…

Yeah, yeah: No Whip.



I am Laslo.


For you fans of the South American girls — and who isn’t? — this is the Deal you’ve been waiting for!

Bob of Bob's Used Girls' Bicycle Seat Emporium says:

People, has Bob got a special deal for YOU! Bob's Used Girls' Bicycle Seat Emporium has just received a HUGE shipment of Used Girls' Bicycle Seats from Venezuela! The price was practically a steal, and Bob is going to pass the Bargain on to you, my loyal customers…

For you fans of the South American girls — and who isn’t? — this is the Deal you’ve been waiting for! Quality so good you can almost see their bronzed inner thighs, lightly coated in sweat from the Caracas sun! Remember: most of these girls have never experienced air-conditioning, so these Used Girls' Bicycle Seats are rich in exotic humid sensuality…

Some dealers on the internet try to pass off cheap Mexican Used Girls' Bicycle Seats as South American: don’t be fooled! Only Bob is giving you The Real Thing! When you think of Venezuela, think of Venezuelan Used Girls' Bicycle Seats — and when you think of Used Girls' Bicycle Seats you should ALWAYS think of Bob…!

I know What You want, and I Got It or I'll Get It: THAT is my Promise to You...

I am Laslo.



https://althouse.blogspot.com/2016/11/im-nervous-im-leaving-with-nothing-but.html

Friday, November 25, 2016

No family to be with, maybe a frozen turkey dinner or chicken pot pie with a beer, and an evening of masturbating to transsexuals with giant boobs and giant cocks.


Sketchy Guy Who Works at the Adult Bookstore says:
Don't know the reason, but we sold more transsexual porn than normal on Thanksgiving: the "Chicks With Dicks" aisle was certainly bustling as we played Christmas music for the start of the Holiday Season...
A lot of the men were fairly well attired and groomed: divorced fathers without their children for the day, I'm thinking. No family to be with, maybe a frozen turkey dinner or chicken pot pie with a beer, and an evening of masturbating to transsexuals with giant boobs and giant cocks. Or even small cocks: there is a whole Tranny sub-genre where the smaller the cock is the better, like a gateway drug to the harder stuff...
Maybe the Holidays makes some people more transgressive in their tastes as a push-back against society-enforced cheer: I don't know, it was just something I thought about while ringing up sales of films from the "Tranny Hoes in Panty Hose" and "Transsexual Babysitters" series... 
At least the store didn't make the mistake it made last year, when it ordered large quantities of Thanksgiving-themed porn. No one buys that shit: it was in the bargain bin before the weekend ended. A guy dressed like a grade-school play Pilgrim fucking a girl with a feather in her hair to symbolize her being an Indian, in front of a folding table with a paper tablecloth and a cheap plastic cornucopia on it: like anyone is going to watch THAT again two days later, unless the anal is REALLY good..
One guy DID ask me if the little market down the street sold Cool Whip, so maybe he DID have someplace festive to be, or maybe he just liked to masturbate with Cool Whip: questions like that I don't bother to ask...

I am Laslo.

"Benjamin, I am afraid that I am too emotionally tired to open my mouth that wide."

Excerpt from "Black Blood, Black Seed":

"Hello, Benjamin."

"Miss Christina! It's Thanksgiving! Shouldn't you be with your family, rather than talking to a black man here in the Town Square?"

"What does it matter? My shame is too large to fit within my family's festive dining room. Ever since our moment together my life has been lived under a dark, dark shadow. I know what the Good People are saying about me now, in whispered tones and smug smiles..."

"Yeah, it's a bitch, ain't it? I get a lot of the white girls comin' back to me and sayin' the same damn thing."

"You mean I was not the only one for you, Benjamin? I was not your only white woman? I did not think it possible to be sadder than being alone on Thanksgiving, but I now find that I was so very wrong."

"Sorry, Miss Christina. It's just that a lot of you fancy Southern white girls like to suck on the black man's man-root."

"It's a broken world, Benjamin."

"If it makes you feel any better Miss Christina, you were the only white girl who ever swallowed."

"I am not sure how that makes me feel."

"Miss Christina, it was powers beyond your control. The Lord done gave us black men a cold hard road, but for whatever reason he made our man-roots irresistible to white women. Us black men call this power the boogedy-boogedy."

"The boogedy-boogedy, Benjamin?"

"Oh, yeah. We black men just have to get a bit of that sweaty sheen on our skin and the white women come a-runnin."

"I am just another fallen white woman of good lineage: I see that now."

"Yeah, it's a funny world, all right. Being that you're now fallen and all, would you like some more boogedy-boogedy, Miss Christina?"

"Benjamin, I am afraid that I am too emotionally tired to open my mouth that wide."

"I understand, Miss Christina. You have a good day now, you hear?"

"Thank you, Benjamin. I hope today brings you more boogedy-boogedy, if that is what you desire."

"Aw, Miss Christina: I'm going home and eating a big plate of turkey with the cranberries and the watermelon. You want to come along?"

"That is a kind and generous offer, Benjamin, but I prefer to stay here alone and wallow in my despair. It is all I have now."

"You know -- no disrespect -- I just don't understand you white people sometimes."

"No disrespect taken, Benjamin. God has given us fallen Southern white women an especially heavy cross to bear."

"I guess so, him surrounding you with all these strong virile black men and all."

"Something like that, Benjamin: something like that..."



I am Laslo. 



http://althouse.blogspot.com/2016/11/i-saw-fewer-articles-than-usual-on.html

"What does the Character tell you, Bobbie? Let the character speak to you, and you will know."

Scorsese to DeNiro, while directing "Taxi Driver":

"I don't know... I don't think I can do it, Marty."

"Bobbie, the anal sex scene is essential to understanding the torment of your character.Without it you're just a run-of-the-mill taxi driver with anger issues."

"But Marty: if the scene is so important why wasn't it in the script I was given?"

"Bobbie, Bobbie. You know if I put that scene in the script the Studio would have me take it out. What is important is that I knew it was in the script."

"You ARE an artist, Marty..."

"So are YOU, Bobbie: so are YOU. You gotta trust me on this one. And don't worry: I'll film it in a gritty yet sensitive style, I assure you."

"So, Marty, am I... uh... giving, or receiving?"

"What does the Character tell you, Bobbie? Let the character speak to you, and you will know."

"I guess I'm giving?"

"Bobbie: TRUST the Character. Reach deeper, Bobbie: reach deeper..."

"So I'm... receiving?"

"THAT'S the Bobbie I know! The Actor, True and Fearless."

"I just never pictured Travis Bickle, you know, being rammed in the ass, that's all..."

"After Kietel fucks you in the ass the audience will feel even more of a connection when you kill him at the end."

"I don't know: me and Harvey go back, you know? I can't quite see me bent over with him behind me. Can't we use a stunt double?"

"Stunt double, Bobbie? Stunt Double? We're making ART here, Bobbie: we're making ART!"

"I'm just having a hard time with this, Marty..."

"Bobbie, True Art requires a Hard Time. You don't want me to have to get Travolta for this part, do you?"

"Travolta?"

"Yeah. His people reached out to me. He said he'd blow Harvey on-screen if that was what it took to get the role..."

"Wow: I didn't know that Travolta was THAT much of an Artist."

"The kid's got talent, Bobbie. He's not just "Welcome Back, Kotter."

"Okay, Marty, I'll do it. But can I keep my shirt on?"

"Bobbie: remember -- Trust the Character. Would he REALLY get banged in the asshole while wearing a shirt?"

"You got a point, Marty."

"Good, Bobbie, good! Now let's go Make Some ART...!"



I am Laslo.



 http://althouse.blogspot.com/2016/11/this-is-progressive-disease-and-i.html

"I don't know... I don't think I can do it, Marty."

Scorsese to DeNiro, while directing "Mean Streets":

"I don't know... I don't think I can do it, Marty."

"Bobbie, the anal sex scene is essential to understanding the torment of your character.Without it you're just a run-of-the-mill hoodlum with anger issues."


Scorsese to DeNiro, while directing "Taxi Driver":

"I don't know... I don't think I can do it, Marty."

"Bobbie, the anal sex scene is essential to understanding the torment of your character.Without it you're just a run-of-the-mill taxi driver with anger issues."


Scorsese to DeNiro, while directing "Raging Bull":

"I don't know... I don't think I can do it, Marty."

"Bobbie, the anal sex scene is essential to understanding the torment of your character.Without it you're just a run-of-the-mill boxer with anger issues."


Scorsese to DiCaprio, while directing "The Aviator":

"I don't know... I don't think I can do it, Marty."

"Leo, the anal sex scene is essential to understanding the torment of your character.Without it you're just a run-of-the-mill rich guy with germ issues."


Scorsese to DiCaprio, while directing "The Wolf of Wall Street":

"I don't know... I don't think I can do it, Marty."

"Leo, the anal sex scene is essential to understanding the torment of your character.Without it you're just a run-of-the-mill rich guy with morality issues."


Scorsese to Dafoe, while directing "The Last Temptation of Christ":

"I don't know... I don't think I can do it, Marty."

"Willie, the anal sex scene is essential to understanding the torment of your character.Without it you're just a run-of-the-mill savior with messiah issues."

Of course the Film Studios made Scorcese cut the scenes, the bastards. Now they only exist on a Special Reel in Scorcese's Home Theater, where Marty watches them alone, with his Special Towel of Memories...

I am Laslo.



http://althouse.blogspot.com/2016/11/this-is-progressive-disease-and-i.html 

Monday, November 21, 2016

Dude, I was in prison for NORMAL crimes, not THAT fucked-up shit...


Sketchy Guy Who Works at the Adult Bookstore says:
I finished my shift at the Store and went to my neighborhood dive bar for a drink or five, just to shake off the existential dread of my last customer. The guy looked in his fifties, but a hard life can make people older quicker, and what was left of his voice didn't come from less than three packs of smokes a day...
He told me he was Having Problems Down There, which I really appreciated him sharing, because I am sincerely interested in the lives of the depressed and disheveled people coming in to buy porn. Please, tell me more about how That Bitch Was A Whore And Stole Your Money, Shoes, And Dental Bridge. Tell me more about The Tiny Snails You Are Now Finding In Your Freshly-Ejaculated Semen...
So the Guy Having Problems Down There sees the prison tattoos on my neck, and tells me he was in prison, too. He was Innocent, of course: that eight-year-old girl lied about him, and if he had known that she was going to lie about him he would've been better off strangling her in the woods when he had the chance, ha ha. Making this worse was that he looked at me like he believed I would totally sympathize with what he was saying: dude, I was in prison for NORMAL crimes, not THAT fucked-up shit...
He then asks me if we have any porn where there are legal-age eighteen-year-old girls who REALLY, REALLY look like they are seven or eight. I told him he can go check out the 'Lolitas and Lollipops' section, but I knew he was going to be disappointed: anything legal is NOT going to rub that spot he so wants rubbed...
Of course, he comes back empty-handed, and I knew what he was thinking: I was in prison, and now I work at a seedy Porn Shop -- of COURSE I must know where to score some real raw underage porn. So I told him that, shhhhh, I DO have some secret stash you'll really like, just follow me to the back, where I then pushed him out on his ass into the alley and kicked the living shit out of him by the dumpster.
Except I didn't do that: I just shook my head and he left the store with the same buzzing insects in his head that he came in with. A crime isn't a crime until it's a crime: that's something one of my defense attorneys had told me, right before I lost my case and went to prison. Maybe that's wisdom, maybe that's not: I think my defense attorney was drunk at the time...

I am Laslo.


Doggy-style, reverse-cowgirl -- the stock meat and potatoes...


Sketchy Guy Who Works at the Adult Bookstore says:
Something you might not realize: you can tell the election is over by the porn people purchase...
In the anxiety-frenzy of the weeks before an election the porn selections get more aggressive and extreme: people now need to see grandmas anally punished by big black men, young girls with tears and mascara running down their faces as a cock is brutally shoved deep into their lipstick-smeared mouth...
After the election is over and the dust begins to settle, most people's tastes ease back to the easy comfort food of big boobs and basic fucking: doggy-style, reverse-cowgirl -- the stock meat and potatoes...
Don't get me wrong -- there are always the guys who want the anally brutalized grannies and cock-tortured teens and fat girls getting fat-fucked while someone forces Twinkie after Twinkie into their mouths, creme filling smeared upon their chubby faces: those guys don't go away, they are consistent in their appetites...
It is just that one needs to know these things to keep a proper inventory: you don't want to be left with stacks of the extreme stuff when the Nation mellows...
By the way: I knew Trump was going to win by my customers' porn selections; perhaps I'll explain that at a later date...

I am Laslo.

Saturday, November 19, 2016

"She has no pity, sir, and absolutely not an inkling of remorse. She is quite callous and fully devoid of feelings for others, I assure you."


"Monsieur Devereaux, your dominatrix is ready."

"Thank you, Philip.  ...Philip?"

"Yes sir, Monsieur Devereau?"

"Is this dominatrix... a goddess?"

"Yes, Monsieur Devereau, this dominatrix is quite the goddess."

"Is the heart of this goddess cold?"

"The temperature of her heart is very cold indeed, sir."

"Is this goddess without pity or remorse?"

"She has no pity, sir, and absolutely not an inkling of remorse. She is quite callous and fully devoid of feelings for others, I assure you."

"You understand, Philip, that I require ALL of my goddesses to be without pity and remorse?"

"I understand your requirements, Monsieur Devereaux. The goddess is quite satisfactory in her absence of those weaknesses."

"You DO remember that time when the goddess showed the slightest pity and remorse?"

"Oh yes, Monsieur Devereaux, I do." 

"And do you remember what happened when the the goddess showed the slightest pity and remorse?"

"You made me suck upon your balls if I recall, Monsieur Devereaux."

"Yes: yes I did. So I ask you again: is this goddess without pity and remorse?"

"Indeed, sir. I shant be sucking upon your balls today, Monsieur Devereaux."

"Perfect, Philip. Now take this goddess down to Room Three."

"Room Three, sir?"

"Yes, Philip: Room Three."

"Um... are you sure, Mr. Devereaux? Room Three?"

"Are you questioning my Judgment, Philip?"

"I would never do such a thing, sir, not in a million years. It is just that Mr. Miles is in Room Three. He is still quite paralyzed from the neck down."

"Exactly, Philip. There are few things more exquisite than watching a woman without pity and remorse vainly try to abuse a man who cannot feel a thing."

"Yes sir, Mr. Devereaux."

"And Philip?"

"Yes, Mr. Devereaux?"

"Have all of my meals sent there. I expect this will go on for days..."


I am Laslo.


"I'm gonna leave this lousy podunk town and go to the Big City, where I can be as fabulously gay as I want to be!"


Socially Awkward Guy Who Makes No Eye Contact says:

I was in a play in High School: I thought I might find people like me in Drama Class, but even the Drama Kids found me creepy. What was even worse was that Mr. Jenkins, the Drama teacher, hit on all the boys in class except for me. It sucks being a kid when even the gay pedophiles don't want you...

Still, I was excited about being in the play. Sure, it was a small part -- only one line -- but I was a Part of Something Big, and I practiced and practiced. Even my Mom seemed somewhat supportive, for once: she said I'd probably do all right as long as I didn't pee myself...

The teacher wrote the play himself, and he seemed pleased with how I delivered my line: "I'm gonna leave this lousy podunk town and go to the Big City, where I can be as fabulously gay as I want to be!" This came at the end of the scene where the other kids beat me up for being gay: it was supposed to be just acting, but some of those boys still hit and kicked me real hard...

Well, the big moment came, and I stood in the lights and delivered my line perfectly. I was SO nervous, but I didn't pee myself, not even a drop. Instead, I farted...

The crowd laughed, and the other actors laughed, and I just stood there, frozen, realizing that not only did I fart but I also shit my pants a little...

After the play was -- thankfully -- over, my teacher shook his head and said only one thing to me: "REAL gay men don't fart in public..."

I remember the long drive home with my mother, trying not to squirm in my seat with my soiled pants. The only thing she said during the entire ride was "roll down the window, you're making my eyes water..."

I watched the headlights on the other side of the road and imagined us getting into a head-on collision and my mother getting paralyzed from the neck down: let's talk about shitting NOW, Mom...

Like no one else thinks these things.

I hope the Girl with the Blue Hair is working at McDonalds today.


I am Laslo.