Erotic Lit Q&A #3.
decades my family has had this little perverted Q&A game we play.
Last week, a few of us tried a variant on it where we take turns
writing fucked up erotic literature, only seeing the sentence before
the one we’re writing. The result was great. Now, every other Friday at
10:00pm at Barnacles on Medlock Bridge Road we will be meeting for
drinks, cigars, food, and insanity as this game makes us laugh more
than the law should allow. Last night was glorious, and over the next
while I’ll be sharing some of the results. It may not work perfectly as
raw text, but trust me when I say that it’s a blast.
Dave Wagner, Kurt Miller, Cesar Montoya, Gray Whitten,
Andrew Sweeney, Nick Nunziata, Andrea Rothe, Carl Cunningham, Micah Robinson, Steve Murphy
We tweaked it a little this time to make it more coherent. We name each page and tell what the genre it so everyone who contributes to it stays a little more on point. Here’s the first few:
#1 What Goes into a Bottle of Sauce (instructional)
The first thing you need for a batch of sauce is a shaved Oriental. The carpet, or rug, should be cut nice and short. Lay it flat and roll a pumpkin over the old rug with buttocks clenched–this is called a Colorado Sampler Platter. Gently rub her tiny breasts until they resemble the face of Andrew Divoff. Once that is accomplished, punch her right in the fucking face. Then mix two gallons of sour mix with harvested neanderthal forehead scraps. Take note of the region of the scraps. Anything above the equator will doom your sauce to be ineffective. Try to find something from deep in the trench if you want maximum sauce potency. You want to look for a nice, rich color too. Something in a bold “raw jackass” hue or maybe the color of hatred. Shake vigorously, then enjoy your frothy, bubbly gauntlet of the destroyed. Now get raped.
#2 The Dame Shat Skulls (Hard-Boiled Crime)
Morning. The city. A knock at my door told me it was time to get out of bed and finish finger fucking Amelia Radurssun. She wasn’t even near finishing, but I could hear Gus beeping his horn. Fuck. I removed the safety, put the metal shaft in her ass, and alternated dick, left index, and right thumb pumps. On the streets this move was called “Ted Remax”, but I didn’t care. Time was against me and I needed to find out where the smoldering Uncles were. Fuck. I had skulls to crack and now. FUck it I had skrulls to crack. Fuck this crime bullshit. I’m Kree o’ life, bitch. I was in a mess and BAD. Luckily, my partner Henry showed up and raped my asshole. Fuck it. I liked it, but I couldn’t tell him for fear of being called a fruit. So I took a deep breath and went back to finding the mysterious Chink Barber. Chink was an Irish boxer/landscaper with a grass jaw. He was only called in when the job really needed done, because he killed with a smog. He was from the family “Lo” and just before he was arrested for puppet bestiality, he was victorious in the ring one last time. Truly he won, Hung Lo.
#3 The Makeshift Priest (Period Piece/Sci-Fi)
1711: There was an oppresive feel to the priesthood on the day the aliens decided to fuck the earth. Our hero was busy standing on his head, having his axis whacked purple by a bicycle chain with lasers. It was still better than using the epi-lady on his tender priest loins. So he revved it up and hoped God Himself wouldn’t hear his orgasm screams. This lawnmower was built to take him straight to glory!! He rode the Papal Spacecraft named Her Mother of Galactic Glory 777, straight to the Zeta Reticulen System. There, he was greeted by Gandolf the Gray. They high-fived even though they only had four. Then they shot outer space in the face. Having completed their task, the pair were officially ordained as ministers. The would now be forced to use a manual transmission. If only that goddamned technology existed. Maaaaaaaaan… that sucks ass. But not as much as the ass of a 12 year old robot boy.
#4 The Roll-Top Desk (Librarian Porn)
Trudence opened up the roll-top desk and smiled at the sight of her 40-year collection of rubber wangs. Her bosom heaved at the sight. She adjusted her garters subconsciously as her area moistened. He lost his catalog card inside her wet snatch. Then he visited the children’s books. His microfische bobbled flaccidly along the way, and the librarian giggled. He took the laughter personally. He lifted up her hips and stacked her onto a library cart. Around the shelves they went! Up and down the aisles, through the stacks, moving forward with each thrust. He leaned in close, his dewey decimal system ready for a “late fine,” or as you call it… some old fashioned dick sucking. He slipped his hand into the deposit slot. It was tight and felt like the goods. Then something moved. It felt like karate. When that kind of magic motion hits your ocean, you don’t just lay there and squirm.. you lean over a stack of Encyclopedia Britannica and you ride the lightning. Ride it to Cometown… Population: YOU.
– Nick Nunziata promises that it’s funnier in real life.
I go, here’s the latest thing I’m adding to the blog. Each day I blog I’ll
have a song, a piece of artwork, a photo, a Mary Worth, or something to
further justify your click and to give the trolls a little more ammo.
Today, Feel Like Smiling, from the next Killing Swarm CD. My Heart’s in Aricebo:
Steve – guitar John – drums