Tag: parody

In The Shadow Of The Moon…. Remembering The Dead

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boys

In Loving Memory Of My First Grateful Dead Concert
J.T. Hilltop

Lets not get too technical here, maybe I should call it the potential memory of my first Grateful Dead concert because it was after all over 40 years ago, and I was perceptually challenged in a profound way during that era from the fumes of heated cannabis plants and the ingestion of an array of mind altering substances. But its worth a stumble down memory lane just the same so here to the best of my recollection is my most sincere if somewhat warped and faded reflection. This is my account of the surreal experience of the very first of many Grateful Dead shows.

My best bud Kevin and I went to A&S to the Ticketron booth and chipped in to purchase one general admission ticket to see the Grateful Dead at the Nassau Coliseum on Long Island. Even though it was only $6.50 at the time to us that was a lot of money. Over twelve lunch periods of not eating to stash the fifty cents from Mom. Sounds like no big deal but let me tell you not eating lunch when you’re in high school while studying the effects of smoking biodegradable sativa plants resulting in a case of perpetual munchies is quite a sacrifice. Besides that, we needed whatever money we could store away to buy some good pot and maybe a hit or two of something for enhancement. We were planning to weed and speed throughout the concert.

With only one ticket it was time for us to become resourceful and put our high school education to some good use. We took our one ticket to the school library where they had a copy machine which was free for students. Using our deductive reasoning we hatched a plan to copy the back and front of our one ticket. We then took the two pages to art class where we carefully cut the ticket front and back using what looked like an ancient hand guillotine or torture device from the dark ages for a very precise cut. Two sides of this cloned ticket were duco-cemented together. Using the blue and yellow colored pencils we colored in the bogus ticket to make an exact replica. Now we each had a ticket and could use the cash we saved for some buzz.

Neither of us could drive at night because we only had Jr. operators licenses so on the evening of the show we had to hitch a ride to the Coliseum. I was well seasoned at traveling BMT (By My Thumb) and while I wasn’t quite as prolific as say Sissy Hankshaw I usually fared very well at copping rides. It was a different era and hitch hiking was pretty common. Our first ride came quick but was with an off duty cop which sent shivers of paranoia down our spines. He turned out to be really cool and just lectured us a little on behavior of teens, littering, (or was it loitering?) and mundane teen crap. The second ride took a bit longer than we hoped in snagging but it was a lucky hit. We caught a ride with a van load of Deadheads that brought us all the way to the Coliseum laughing and smoking pot the whole ride. Kevin had brought a dime chunk of Blond Lebanese hash and a pipe but he kept that in his pocket. I had a two finger baggie of Hawaiian Gold weed from which I rolled two fat doobies to share with our hosts. By the time we got to the parking lot we all were pretty buzzed, and that’s when Kevin handed me the surprise hit of blotter acid. We were primed and ready to rock and within an hour we would begin tripping. Thanking our ride we split and surfed the lot in search of any friends that may be at the show so we could share our get high.

Having found no one we smoked a bowl or two of Kevin’s hash and went inside, moving quickly so the attendant had no time to inspect our tickets. Once inside it was time to find a place as close to the stage as possible to hear The New Riders Of The Purple Sage. We didn’t work too hard on positioning yet because that struggle would come later when the Dead played. We lit our weed and our hash sharing it with all around us an got lots to smoke from them in return. N.R.P.S. played a great set and Jerry came on playing steel guitar for a few tunes. It was pretty awesome but that’s not what we came for. As their set came close to its end the LSD began its magic by transporting us to another planet both visually and mentally. When the set finally came to its close we were tripping proper and had some time to kill.

We went out to the corridors around the arena to do some people watching which is normally cool, but has a heightened sense of uber coolness at a Dead show. A group of totally tripped out people were doing a trippers version of interpretive dance, making strange gestures that if done anywhere else most assuredly would have gained them admission to the loony bin. People everywhere with unusually huge smiles stuck on their faces talking, sharing one type of get high or another. Whippets, bongs, chamber pipes, chillums, joints, one or two 12 inch joints rolled in an Esmeralda papers, pills, tabs, or chemical laced paper being put in mouths and swallowed. Conversations involving what the boys would play or what they played the evening before at The Fillmore abounded. A communal sense of intense excitement as we all became as one, one group of collective conscientiousness anticipating the start of the real show, what we all came for. After a half hour of watching and chatting with strangers, and some even stranger strangers, it was time to find our spiritual spot inside.

After fifteen minutes of strategic jostling, finding holes in the crowd and slipping in a shoulder or a leg to fill in a void and get closer to the stage we had our sweet spot. Just about center a bit to the right about 20 head lengths from the stage, great cosmic vibe and situated in between the massive speaker system. We staked claim to our territory by lighting some hash and proceeded to engage in copious amounts of smoking and toking, sharing it with all in our magic circle of Dead fans. As the lights dimmed drum beats broke through the crowd buzz and some guitar riffs filtered through the speakers. We were stoked now and the acid was in full flight. The universe was perfectly balance in that arena and everyone inside knew. The music began and it was a collective aura of Zen emanating from the crowd, nary a soul left unstoked nor untoked. I’m not gonna try and bullshit you about remembering the set list, so for the sake of my memorial account I will allow a collage of concerts speak to me as I generalize.

I was very fortunate to have caught the Dead while Pigpen was still with us and right at the onset he stole the show working us into a frenzy. The sound had a raw country edge to it with an accent of blues, Pigpen making his harmonica cry in emotional distress. The arena was dark with rolling flashes or colored lights, red, blue, yellow, purple all splattered about randomly reaching out into the crowds and moving around in huge oval patterns. The lights changed around us making our minds eyes congeal into a spin art of vision. Beach balls, balloons, Frisbees all hovered or soared overhead before moving on in some sort of cosmic endless search. The speaker system was blaring loud yet precise, I could hear and sense every note from every instrument. By the third or fourth song the mood had taken a slight turn as China Cat Sunflower began. Or maybe it was St. Stephan, either way the very moment Jerry hit the first notes my entire essence was sucked into another world. Of course the acid heightened my senses and I was tripping pretty heavy at that moment but Jerry’s guitar work infiltrated my soul and took over my body. Nothing else in the world existed, nothing but this magic pied pipers guitar solo. Jerry’s strings took on life, began breathing and pulsing, inter-twining its spiritually mesmerizing complexities with my hemoglobin and the music flowed freely through my circulatory being, now a part of my DNA leaving me feeling nothing short of ecstatic. Each note etched deeper and deeper into my soul and filled me with a sense of belonging, of completion as I became a small part of a living breathing concert with The Grateful Dead being the heart, pumping us life. I bobbed and writhed to the music along with thousands of other jubilant fans. I looked at Kevin and he was in his zone, oblivious to anything else, and a quick look around revealed a vast array of transfixed smiling faces all finding their very own space in time. The concert had been elevated from just another rock show to the ultimate rock concert.

They played about two hours and I never knew if we were in the middle of one song or at the end of another, and that was because they played songs within songs flowing back and forth as if in parallel dimensions. I can’t be 100% sure but I believe the last tune they played was the hippie anthem “Dancing In The Streets” with their own twist on it. They left the stage with everyone still pumped up an buzzed half out of our minds. The collective culture that pervaded took over our minds and our instincts kicked in as the entire crowd clapped, roared, whistled, and screamed begging for more more more!!!!! The level of our collective accolades escalated quickly to an almost ear shattering level, when the band returned. The screams of pure and genuine gratitude rumbled through my inner ears tickling the hammer and anvil, pounding on my eardrums, and trickling melodically down into my Eustachian tube forcing a good feeling over my soul and once again the band brought the music to life.

That was the first time I had ever heard the song “Morning Dew” and it was a gift of galactic proportions. What I found out later was the tune is about a post apocalyptic walk in the aftermath of rapture and the boys created the most haunting and mesmerizing sound I have ever encountered. It oozed apocalypse before I knew what the tune was about, again Jerry’s strings grabbing me and lifting me to another plane, an audio astral projection of the third, fourth, and fifth kind. It was followed up with a few more tunes as the band treated us to a lengthy encore fittingly ending with “And We Bid You Good-Night” It was an experience that even the most eloquent and descriptive words could barely hint at. One of the unifying chants of Deadheads is “There Is Nothing Like A Grateful Dead Concert” words to live by and I have chanted those words over and over ever since. I couldn’t possibly tell you which Dead show was my favorite but I can tell you this, after years and years of concert going when asked what my favorite show ever was I reply it’s a Grateful Dead concert, which one I’m not sure but definitely The Dead. I’m not an elitist, I love many other bands and artists, and many memorable shows including Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, The Who, Rolling Stones, and Neil Young, to name a few. I even took my son to some LollaPalooza Tours and a Warped Tour and I have always loved rock and roll and always will. I don’t get to nearly the amount of rock concerts I used to, but I go to as many as I can. Memorable recent shows include the Beach Boys reunion, Waters “The Wall” tour, an Phil Lesh an Friends, but in the end, as anyone who was lucky enough to have been to one Dead concert can attest, “There is nothing like a Grateful Dead concert”…..Peace

da boyz

The House Of The Rising Sons, (the original erector set).

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erectorsets

Another sick bastard bible selection

Sodomy and Go More….ahhhh

A tale of two cities mentioned many times in the Bible, the Torah, and the Quran. The history so deep it even makes a few appearances in the new testament. What makes these two cities so popular in religious documents? Sex sells, and the added stories of Sodomy an Go More, ahhh sold the hell, pardon the irony, out of the bible. Where exactly are these cities? Much like the infamous G spot men have been unable to locate the exact area that filled its occupants with so much passionate joy. But the where is not too important, we can be guided there with a skillful partner so today I am focusing on the what. What’s the sick bastards take on this sexually charged tale of orgies and try-sexuality of the legendary iconic bible selling segment of the scriptures. This is the story of The Rising Sons, (the original erector set).

God began sitting on his laurels after his highly successful pairing of Adam and Eve thanks to his inventing Christian mingle.com. The whole Cain and Abel thing worked itself out and he assumed that his flood had eradicated sinning altogether. But you know what happens when you assume, even if the me is god himself. He heard some stories about thee tow cities plagued with sin. To the North in Go More, ahhh, Mayor Farley-Ford ran his city allowing copious amounts of drugs and alcohol to flow freely in the streets. Why the mayor himself was constantly drunk and messed up on whatever drug he could get his hands on, and flew into drunken rages lashing out at anyone and everyone. The streets of this maple tree lined city were filled with stoned out couples pawing at each other sex organs right out in the open. He had heard that it was like one giant orgy so the big guy sent Abraham out to investigate. Abe, being the almighty’s right hand did a hands on, well pretty much every body part on investigation of the two sinning towns.

He stopped first in Sodomy where instead of ravaging young maidens he was molested by a bunch of horny and hung dudes that really stuck it to him. At first he was repulsed but when he turned to the church for help he ended up shagging the priesthood. The whole lot of them plus Lott as well. In sodomy the sex was all mano a mano or bumper to bumper, which is to say they all adorned their gay apparel if you catch my drift. After waking up after an all nighter with a pounding headache and a knob with no more throb Abraham had enough. Time to report back to the big guy, but first a parting blow from his favorite dude, Vegas. Abraham was not worried because what happened in Vegas, well you get it.

So Abe told the lustless lord all about the sinning ways of Sodomy and Go More, ahhh, leaving out the part about his parts. The G-man knew what had to be done. Destroy the getting of some tail of two cities. Of course, being a drama queen, Mrs. God wanted him to come up with a devious plan, so he scheduled a new show, The Real Housewives of the Fertile Crescent. He sent an angel disguised as a man to punk Lot and expose the homo erectus of Sodomy. When the angel came Lot was required by law to protect his guest who was such a hunk even straight dudes took notice. Hungry homo’s surrounded the house which scared the crap out of Lot. Not literally, just really scared him. He offered his two virgin daughters instead which only pissed everyone off, especially Lot’s wife and kids and they gay crowd huffed and puffed and blew the house down. The angel flipped out and struck all the rioters blind and told Lot and his family to leave town and never look back because it was being destroyed.

As they left they could hear the acid rain coming down and knew the city was getting sulphurized. They could hear the cries of agony as the community of multi-sexual sinners burned alive. Lots wife couldn’t help herself, she needed to take a quick photo for instagram, but as she turned around the high and mighty converted her into salt to season the lip of his margarita glass. Lot and his still virgin girls never looked back. After the brim stoning of Sodomy and Go More, ahhh, no one ever doubted the man upstairs again. Repent or burn was the new catchphrase.

That’s all this sick bastard could glean from the internet about the story of these sin cities, so if you have some more info that has not yet been released please contact me so I can up date the Sick Bastards Bible. Thank you, and please, repent before its to late. You never know when the all loving and caring god can have a bad hair day and turn on us with vengeance.

Don’t Forget To Turn Back Your Biological Clock This Weekend

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DST?OMG?WTF?

I attempted to shake the vodka cloud from my head as I headed towards the bathroom. In an effort to remove the morning mental mist that settles in after on of those nights I rubbed my face and peeked into the mirror. There staring back at me was my Dad. OMFG, who is that? Who am I? The old dude I used to make fun of for having a soft bulging Buddha belly and a head of hair who’s only wave is the one that says good bye looking back at me. I have morphed into my father, and the worst part is its not the young dashing man in my parents wedding photo but the outdated bargain bin model. The grumpy old manchild in the promised land whose pants never seemed to fit right Not the leisure suit wearing try to be hip with the “in crowd” Dad with a comb over in a successful attempt to embarrass me, but the wrinkled and bloated bald dude whose only conversations involve his particular ailment of the day Dad. That’s the one looking back at me. Crows feet around my darkened eyes, wrinkles where my cheekbones used to reside, a fading grey beard, and a forehead that is over two inches higher than I thought it was. I have the face of an old man. I looked at my hands, my stomach. Old. When did this happen? How did time ravage my body so cruelly rearranging everything making everything so wrinkled, so fragile? Why does my skin not seem to fit tight anymore? Everything has gotten soft yet life continues to be hard. I’ve aged ungracefully and feel as though I have been one upped by time. And time snuck up on me like the devious practical joker it is, took away my High Times magazine replacing it with an AARP magazine. And membership card!

What do I know about this time thing, this tricky conniving concept that creeps and slithers around unnoticed until it chooses to rear its timeworn ugly head? This cruel dark spirit that sneaks into you room while you sleep and tugs out your hair, squeezes your bladder, and gives you random smacks so you wake up wondering exactly which part hurts this morning and why. Is time on my side? No it isn’t Mick! Time may allow you moves like Jaeger when you’re young but when you use up too much time you’ll pay for it with osteoporosis, poor eyesight, and a compromised digestive system. Fuck time!

Time and time again I was put in time out. This time, next time, anytime, Time in time out, time zone, time time time. Parsley sage rosemary and time. Sorry, couldn’t resist. Anyway, its that time of the year to change the time of day. Another tricky time maneuver. I have heard it said it was Bennie Franklins idea but I blame time, in another surreptitious plot to mess with our biological clocks, which for some fucked up reasoned I the one clock we can’t set back. Sneaky because that was my fall back on plan, to reset my biological clock back to maybe my thirties or something, but time won’t let me. My fall back is to not spring forward to quickly but that ship has sailed and this body can no longer spring without consequence. Damn you time, you won again, you’re the slinky descending my steps in intense determination unwilling to stop for anything. So time will just seep marching on and moving forward so the only thing left for me to do is look back in the mirror again, look lovingly at my reflection and say, “Love you and miss you Dad, wish we had more time.” Don’t waste it, make the best of your time, spend it with the ones you love. it’s the best investment you’ll ever make

BTW, don’t forget to change your clocks, spring ahead, fall behind…….PEACE

Teenage Punchline, Mischief night, 1970

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mischeif

Being the youngest of five boys I was pretty much predestined to be the practical joker of the family. Sometimes pissing off your big brothers is the only way to get noticed, even if the result is a painful punch in arm. I swear there must have been a target on my upper arm because each one of them wailed on my arm in the exact same spot. But pain aside it was worth the effort to piss them off. Dirty smelly sock in their pillowcases, fake puke on their dressers, fake shit in the bed, fly in the ice cube, dirty soap, stink bombs, I did it all. My cornerstone trick was to place a book atop the lightly opened door so when they came home drunk it would crack them in the head as they walked in That is until the last time I pulled it using my chemistry book my middle brother. He was so pissed when that heavy text book crashed on top of his head he threw it towards my head as I lay in bed giggling odd job style effectively turning the periodic tables on me.

So mischief night was pretty much a challenge to me. TP’ing trees were cool and if trivial history reports can be believed it was when a brown bear first experienced the joy of the softness of Charmin. Shaving cream flowed like silly string and eggs got hurled by the dozens, but everyone did that. Of course a bag of strategically placed dog shit set on fire was popular but using the front stoop was beneath me. It was up to me to raise the mischief stakes.

I choose my victims wisely most of the time. On this particular evening I thought it woul be hilarious to care my steady girlfriend. Her younger brother was enlisted to distract and prepare her with some scary stories. The usual array, maniacs in cemeteries on the loose, strange noises and typical Goosebumps style tales. So my cute little blond high school sweetheart was feeling a bit anxious when I set my plan in motion. I had snuck in her house, into her room and hidden myself in her hamper. I know it seems kinda creepy now but back then I wasn’t a pervert yet. There I waited while her brother warned her about the lunatic seen around the neighborhood the last few nights. Coupled with the twice told tales I was certain she was on edge and when I surprised her she would jump ten feet in the air. It was all I could do to contain my laughter covered in her dirty laundry as I imagined the results.

I heard her enter her room and tried to ascertain exactly where she was so I could get the most benefit. I lifted the top of the hamper up ever so slightly and slowly hoping to get a good view when I noticed her walking directly toward me. As she got into striking distance I jumped up throwing the hamper lid in the air and gave her my best maniacal goblin scream. That night I learned something new I had not even considered. I learned that my cute tiny little blonde bombshell had a right hook that could earn her the golden gloves award.

My head snapped sharply to the right and I could feel my eye socket swelling already. By the time I regained my composure and turned to face her loud scream prepared me for the delivery of the left cross that was to follow. That cute little bundle of fifteen year old sweetness damn near knocked my ass out. I went reeling to the ground and she stood over me like a warrior ninja waiting to finish me off. When she realized it was a lame attempt to scare her and she had just punched the shit out of her boyfriend the mood changed. Huge surprises come in small packages. She hit harder than my brothers.

Now of course there is a silver lining here, my cute little hey babe felt absolutely horrible for having put my lights out and causing my eye and cheek to swell up coaxing her to apply the perfect amount of tender loving care for a sixteen year old impressionable boy. I just never imagined the impression she made would be on my face. After a number of kissing and soothing followed by a hint at possible extreme measures to make me feel better the reality set in. “What the hell were you doing hiding in my laundry trying to scare me?” I rubbed my sore face and decided the prudent thing to do was leave that unchallenged and just apologize. No more mischief for me….PEACE

The Great God Swindle (it is written)

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4th Century AD
“Verily I say to thee have you heard yet the news Donatus? Galerius was found dead!” Donatus paused and rubbed his hairy chin. “No Arius, I have been to Carthage these two weeks. What of his ass-holiness Galerius, in what way did the old boy meet his fate? Foul play think you?” Arius looked at him sheepishly, “Not for mine to ponder Donatus, only what I know of is that Augustine and Ephrem talked of an ailment suffered of severe bowel pain. Perhaps stomach disease is what they speak of.” Donatus smiled, “I see Arius, the old man shit himself to death? No doubt his brains were found in the discharge a as well.” Arius smiled as his mentor continued, “I don’t trust Augustine nor that other asshole Ambrose for that matter. But I know not of Ephrem. Who is this Ephrem?“ Arius was eager to please his liege, “Ephrem is a scribe who writes tome for Constantine. My source claims he is writing the story of the beginning of all time. Well as Constantine and his cronies see it anyway.” Donatus shook his head knowingly, “And just who now shall take the reigns without Galerius in charge?” Arius bowed and chuckled, “ Constantine the lame, the son of Chlorus is looking to bring his fervent brand of Christianity to Rome. He wishes to have the Roman soldiers he fought alongside proclaim him so. If you asked me I believe Galerius was poisoned.” Donatus tightened his face, “Then I ask you. Why do you believe this to be the case?” Arius was gaining confidence, “You see Donatus, Constantine wishes to turn all of Rome into Christians and I have it on good authority that Plebius the physician paid him visits in the dark of night. I wouldn’t put it past Connie to have him fashion a poison to kill Galerius with. It is said Plebius studied under Botchelai the scholar, and is believed to be a follower now of Botchalism Now I hear that Connie wants to put all the stories of his Christian brethren on paper in a bound style.” Arius glanced at Donatus hoping for approval. “Who then is your good authority?” Without hesitation Arius told him it was Basil from the Trentino Province, a strong supporter of Donatus. After some time in deep thought Donatus declared, “Summon Basil, we shall all three dine this evening and speak of this momentous event”

Constantine was in an extremely good mood and had planned a feast and an orgy to celebrate the good news. With his best friends and confidants, Ambrose and Augustine he had successfully trapped The Emperor Diocletian with the lure of an underage maiden, forcing Diocletian into abdication. And now Plebius had taken care of the Emperor Galerius. It would only be a matter of time before he himself was named Emperor and with his cohorts he would spread his Christian faith throughout Rome, maybe the world. He would have his revenge then on the families of the one who killed his father. He would have their ancestry blackened forever by creating demons in their names, armies of the devil. They would be forever linked to Satan and their entire lineage would be damned for all time. The Arioch, Pursin, Dagon, Abbadon, and Balam line as well as many others will be marred. Oh the joy was near overwhelming him. “Thadeus, where is Marin? Am I to understand she has yet to come back from France with some chefs? I want this evenings feast to rival anything before created. Bigger even than Caligula! I have brought in Kumarajiva to translate this Kama Sutra of the Sanskrit. He has traveled far and brought many exotic women. This shall be the party of parties and the perfect time to have me proclaimed ruler of the Roman Empire. Where is Marin?” The faithful Thadeus had the plans well in hand already. “My lord, Marin is in the kitchen. He returned just this morning and has brought twelve cooks from France. They have a feast of food that shall be talked about for years to come. And the orgy room is at the ready as we speak. I promise you my lord, I have everything planned to perfection for the next Emperor of Rome. I would never let you down.” Connie laughed aloud, “Because you worship me or because you don’t want your head removed and added to my collection?” Again Thaddeus bowed, “If that be my fate my lord I would accept it happily. My only wish is to serve you.” Yes, but served how? Skewered on a plate of silver? Time shall tell.

Basil arrived just prior to dinner. Donatus and Arius had already begun sipping the wine. “I am here Donatus, an I have much news.” Donatus wiped the wine that had been settling amongst the thick hair of his beard. The back of his sleeve now red from wine. “Ah Basil, come on we have much to talk about.” Donatus poured a large chalice of wine, “Come on then, you must catch up.” Basil pounded own the devils beverage and held his chalice out for refill. The smile on his face was genuine, despite the rapid enhancement of alcohol. “Donatus this shithead Constantine is certain to be crowned emperor of Rome. He has had Galerius poisoned, forced Diocletian to abdicate and now he plans on writing this book he is calling The Holy Bible or some shit in which he claims God creating man and Satan being the devil. Nary a word of Azazel the all mighty. I have spoken directly to Jerome who is working with this Ephrem the scribe. He plans to create a list of something he is calling demons and wants to include the story of that Christ fellow who wandered around preaching lies until Caesar hung out to dry. He is spinning some story of the guy rising from the dead. It could change everything.” The concern of Basil was real, and he was right to be concerned but Donatus had to know all the details. “So Basil my dear friend, how is it you know so much of this? Surely you aren’t relying solely on the word of Jerome, an out of work storyteller.” All three paused to drink more wine as the first course arrived. Breast of whippoorwill flambé. Basil grabbed the breast hole and bit it in half and spoke while chewing,” Of course not Donatus, not just Jerome. I had Thadeus over the other day and I fed him some absinthe and herb and his tongue got looser than goose shit.” Donatus glared at him and spoke, “I wish you hadn’t said that!” The pause became slightly awkward and both Basil and Arius were frozen. Basil found enough nerve to speak. “It was just a social visit, I never mentioned anything at all to Thadeus.” The two men looked up at Donatus who had stood up, “Oh fuck no, I’m not talking about Thadeus the little shit, I mean I wish you didn’t say goose shit.” Donatus had an impish gleaming smile in his eyes, “ Goose is our entrée tonight.” Through a conclave of laughter Arius claimed, “I should know you by now my liege. I nearly shat a pigeon!” The tone had changed, the mood lightened as the three men enjoyed their dinner with gaiety. The profound discussions would wait to allow the men some mirth. Later the rituals.

The Gospel According To Fluke (another sick bastard bible selection)

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fluke

A disastrous misprint was made in the preface of Fluke when describing his reason for writing it. A typo of biblical proportions has us believing Fluke was writing a historical account when what he actually chiseled onto the slate was a hysterical account. Fluke was the joker of the group, the merry apostle. The disciple class clown always making fart noises when Jesus was preaching, and goosing Mary Magdalene when no one watched. Mary would squeal and turn around never sure if it was Judas “roaming hands” Iscariot, Peter the pedophile, or Fluke The Funny. So when Fluke set out to tell his version of the life of JC it was meant as a comedy.

Flukes version contains the story of John Hobbit The Baptist and is followed with a trilogy of parables about A prodigal son, a good Samaritan, and a gold coin. The true authorship has been in question an many biblical scholars disagree on whether he had a ghost writer named JRR, or if it was written by a team of Jewish writers up in the Catskills. No matter, The existential Baker plans on using his creative license, which doesn’t expire until next year, to re-interpret the important stories in the Gospel According to Fluke.

John the Baptist was a short man with huge feet whose ministry practice was limited to The Shire, a land of god fearing hobbits who were as diminutive in strength as they were in size. John convinced them they were the meek and would one day inherit the earth. He left out the part about it being middle earth, but they’re brains were pretty tiny as well. In fact the only disproportionately large part of them at all aside from their feet was their…. well their hobbit poles. Many believe it was the incessant squealing from the lady hobbits that drew Jesus to the Shire when in fact he heard “Son of god are you coming” when they were screeching “Oh my god I’m coming.” But Jesus did arrive and John the Hobbit was there to baptize him in the wilderness of the Shire.

After dunking Jeez a few times in hobbit water John announced to the crowd watching that this guy JC claims to be the son of god and he believes the story asking them to follow him. On Twitter. Jesus acquired over 200 followers that day and thanked John, who noticed his gold wedding band was missing. He was concerned perhaps the carpenter had snuck this the ring off his finger and pocketed it for himself. Aside from being his wedding band the ring had magical powers.

It seems that during a wild bachelor party hosted by a wizard friend who gets John Hobbit drunk and convinces him to become a burglar to steal a gold ring from a dragon that had stowed away on Noah’s Ark. But John comes across an outcast named Gollum who challenges him to a game of Candy Crush Saga. John Hobbit used his gaming skills to extract the ring which can turn the holder invisible.

John cornered Jesus in a temple bingo room but just as John grabbed him Jesus disappeared one can only assume, using the stolen ring. John would never find out as the last part of Flukes story of John The Hobbit Baptist ended with Johns head rolling around on a platter some Orcs served to King Herod as a present from Sauron.

Having some decent success with his first story of the Shire Fluke sat down to write a trilogy of three parables Jesus had told calling it “The Lord Made Off With The Ring” It would one day become a blockbuster. It is Fluke tale of how Jesus convinced a theater full of people to believe in his god with reverence. The crowd gathered to hear how they themselves could become free of sin in five easy payments, and this is how Jesus accomplished the feat.

He started out so simple, with the fellowship of the sheep. Seems a farmer had 100 sheep and one of the sheep was a sinner, sneaking around an getting into the lady sheep’s woolen love buttons. So ecstatic from the sex was this sheep it got lost. The shepherd asked Jesus why he should chase this one sheep instead of just caring for the other 99. Jeez said, “There is great joy in heaven when a sinner repents. Go to him, forgive him and allow him back in the flock.” The shepherd did as he was told spending hour searching for the lost sheep to find an forgive him. As a reward for doing as he was told, Jesus gave the shepherd a woolen sweater and a case of Woolite for the flock.

The second parable was the Coins in The Tower. A woman was up in her ivory tower counting her coins when she noticed one missing. She called down to her friends and everyone searched. When the woman found the coin Jesus aid to her, “There is great joy in heaven when one rejoices with others in the presence of angels. Call your friends, rejoice with them and make the angels happy.” So the woman called her friends and to help her rejoice invited them to Marini’s Bar, where every time a bell rings an angel gets their wings. The angels got their wings, the woman’s friends got drunk for free, and the woman got Jesus out of her tower so she could go back to her old lifestyle.

The final story the J man told the crowd was “The Return Of The Son”. This was to be Flukes cornerstone parable, the one everyone would remember, maybe even resulting in a few prequels. It seems a father had two sons and the youngest one asked for his inheritance early before the Dad croaks. The father can’t wait to get the long haired lazy boy out of the house so he agrees as long as the kid takes the money and runs. He does just that, blowing all the money, much of it ironically blown on blow, and en up running out of money. He skulks back home but surprisingly the father has had a change of heart. Literally, he had a heart transplant and was now much stronger and virile. He had found a new lover and was into partying himself. The older son was livid and denied his little brother existence. Jesus took the older brother aside and told him, “God is holy and cannot allow sin, but he must leave room in his heart for forgiveness and remain humble. So shut up, be humble, and go have some friggen fun!”

These are the stories Fluke was working on at any rate. Of course this version never made it to the official bible, but it can be found along with many other truthful accounts of ancient times in The Sick Bastards Bible. So stop reading and go have dome friggen fun!!!!! PEACE

The Monarch Of The Universe

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mon of uni

Another never again moment. I’ve had way too many of them, late nights hugging the toilet bowl somehow empting more contents from my stomach than went in. How many times was I thinking I may have just thrown up my liver or pancreas? How may times have I said never again? Well at least this time I’m saying never again not because I’m puking up my internal organs from mixing every alcohol I could get my lips around. Nope not this time, this particular never again moment is because my hallucinations are over the top. Never again will JT take five hits of barrel acid, a favorite tripping substance for LSD users like myself. One is sufficient for a fantastic trip because barrel acid is pretty powerful, two is pushing it a bit closer to the edge and not normally recommended. Taking three hits is unusual and dangerously close to going over that edge but its not unheard of. But five?! That’s just fucking insane man, something that even the most seasoned tripper stacked with frequent flying miles wouldn’t do that on purpose. To be honest clinical insanity was what I feared most.
So how is it that I am laying in bed in a room I share with my brother tripping like McMurtreys cast of loonies in the cuckoos nest? Because in a moment of sheer marijuana driven panic I made an ill advised choice. My Mom came back unexpectedly and I had five hits of premium trip-worthy barrel acid on the table. I was looking longingly at my freshly acquired controlled substance contemplating who I would abuse them with when I heard the door open. In a rush of paranoia I grabbed all five and shoved them quickly in my mouth. Not in my pocket where they would have been safely stowed from sight but in my mouth! I heard her threatening heels clanking closer as she approached the kitchen and I did the only thing I could think of. I swallowed. Mom came in and glared at me, “What are you doing here in the kitchen? What are you up to now young man?” As I swallowed the tabs I nervously responded, “What do you mean up to? I ain’t doing nothing.” Mom believed that parenting was a responsibility in which she was obliged to constantly belittle me and correct my English. She was relentless at making me feel like shit, “You aren’t doing anything JT, and don’t lie to me I can tell when you’re up to something, you look like the cat that swallowed the canary.” I had recently smoked a joint blowing the smoke out my window and I almost chuckled thinking about Tweedy Pie and Sylvester but I needed to keep it together and switch the focus, “Okay, okay I’m not doing anything mother, just looking for a snack. Why are you back so early anyway?” she stared at me in an all too familiar way, deadpan suspicion “Yea well I forgot something and your dad is outside waiting. But if you don’t want to tell me what’s going on maybe I should just stay home.” Jesus Christ no! Just the thought of that made me shiver perceptibly. Time to use my ultimate teen weapon, the disdainful you never trust me sarcasm, “Yea sure Mom, I’m planning an mass murder, I was just in here choosing which of your knives will make the cleanest stab! Why is it you always think I‘m up to something? You never trust me.” I knew I sold it. Mom shook her head in mock disgust and started towards the door, “One of these days JT you’re gonna say something you’ll regret and someone will take you serious. For gods sake grow up. You stay out of trouble and we’ll see about lifting your grounding tomorrow. Go clean your room and then we can talk about trust!” As she walked out the door I sneered while under my breath I spoke bravely, “Yea fucking right, my groundation! What a fucking joke!”
I was pissed off because most everyone else I know is at the Civic Center at the Jethro Tull concert and I’m stuck here because I missed and assignment in social studies. Social Studies, another joke! Anyway this acid is gonna start coming on in a while so I need to prepare. Time to head up into my sanctuary away from this screwed up world. Up to my bedroom which I share with my older brother who just won’t move out so I can have it to myself. 22years old and still living home the damn loser. Not me man as soon as I turn eighteen I’m outta this shithole of a house. Fuck it, at least I will be tripping my brains out tonight. Little did I know how close to literal that would become.

The cid was kicking in so I got settled in. What to do? First things first. I lit some patchouli incense and turned on my blacklight to make my psychedelic posters burst with colors and movement. I pranced over to my cheap stereo to choose an album. Being in a Jimi mood I put on Bold As Love, side A. It starts off with a funny UFO spoof then quickly kicks into a typical Jimi Hendrix guitar explosion. The album was awesome and premium tripping material. I laid back on my bed and began seeing some very strange visions. The ceiling was normally blank but because of the LSD I perceived it to be full of images, most of which were moving like a film strips. Popeye strangling Brutus, Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote running in circles like a dog chasing its tail, and that sort of thing. High def hallucinations. After watching these assorted hallucinations awhile I had to keep reminding myself that they weren’t real. Then I focused on one in particular, Wimpy humping Olive Oyl and he was pumping away to the music. Popeye, Brutus, and an array of cartoon character I don’t remember were all watching and cheering them on. Olive was panting and moaning her skinny and boney legs way up in the air, and Wimpy had lost some weight and was unbelievably in time with the music, thrusting along with the chords. Other characters were clapping, Olive was screaming “Ohhhh Popppppeye!!!“ and Wimpy kept saying “I’ll gladly pay you Tuesday for a good fucking today” still pumping as if dancing. I laughed out loud until I realized something strange. Not that the scene wasn’t already strange enough but this was scary strange. The music Wimpy was humping to was not the album I put on. As a matter of fact it was music I never heard of before, filled with really weird electronic sounds. I jumped up, the hallucinations disappeared and I ran to my stereo. The album was over and I had no clue how long ago it ended.
I shook my head trying to get straight and flip the album over. I stood to reassure myself, “Its just a trip JT, you’re tripping and everything’s okay. Only a trip, it’s the acid, none of this is real.” Feeling only slightly better I headed back to my bed but someone stopped the album. When I looked over it started again, then happened once more. I was certain my asshole brother had come home, knew I was tripping and thought it would be funny to goof on me. “hey cut it out man, that’s not funny!” No response. I looked around. No sign of Robert, no one anywhere, but the music was now playing normal. I turned to get back to my bed when one of my posters, an American Indian chief with tie dye colors all around him began moving. He was breathing and flexing his muscles, holding up a tomahawk. “Holy fuck! This isn’t fucking real man, it can’t be.”
The full force of the five hits of acid were hitting me now. I slinked back into bed and closed my eyes tight but they kept popping open. I had to keep reminding myself I was tripping so I wouldn’t flip out. Can’t sleep, no one to talk to, I gotta see myself through this. But right now I have to take a pee. Off to the bathroom. One of the things about tripping is it intensifies every feeling, whether its making love like never before, hearing music that pulls at your soul, or even pissing. Even better than that pee held in during a long road trip waiting for the next rest top. But there is another oddity when tripping, when you see am image of yourself and its distorted you need to focus and look away before you begin to freak out thinking its how you really look. As I turned from the toilet bowl I was confronted with a full length mirror that had a most frightening and imposing figure staring back at me.
Everything seemed to come to a halt, even time itself. I was staring at a foreboding image of myself painted like a warrior of some sort complete with a bizarre war paint. Split directly down the center of my face and body was a line, on the right side everything yellow except two stripes of dark brown war paint on my forehead angling upwards, a semi circle around my eye, and two more stripes on my cheek in a downward angle. My left side was a dark brown yang to the bright yellow yin. I must say I looked fierce. I stared for a few seconds trying to intellectualize the event and put it into perspective but my perspective had gone out for a walk in the woods and I wasn’t sure it would ever return. The war paint began breathing, or pulsating and changing colors. War paint of dark brown, bright yellow, and dayglo orange were spinning around my face. My cheeks were drooping, my nose twisted and my forehead protruded immensely. I was hideous, a worse image than finding a face full of pimples the day of a date. I issued a long drawn out “Ohhhh My God” and forced myself away from the image. Like I was a Piccaso portrait escaping from a Salvador Dali landscape Nothing was real, I had never come close to hallucinating this hard. I trembled and forced myself to head back to my sanctuary feeling like I was stepping on feathered mattresses repeating “that wasn’t you. That wasn’t you” as my Mantra.
“Shit man, I gotta get a hold of myself here and start enjoying this again. Where the fuck is Popeye and shit?” I thought I was alone but to my surprise I received an answer. “maybe I can help.” I looked about the room, no one here, only me. Oh Jesus now I’m hearing hallucinations. I walked over to the stereo thinking it may have come from the speakers. Nothing. I laid down and tried meditating when a butterfly fluttered in front of me and landed on my chest. I stared in confusion when out of nowhere it began to talk to me. That is to say it communicated to me, it didn’t actually move its lips and speak. It communicated in an unspoken language it called the language of the cosmos.
TBC

The Dinosaurs Revenge

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dino-revenge

The sands of Arabia are the voice of the desert and hold ancient stories of life and love amongst the pebbles of mysterious lands. The mighty Arabian wind picks up fragments of the desert floor and scatters them about to remind the grains of gravel that the songs of the wind are far more powerful than the tales of the sand. The Arabian wind boasts of songs at a time when the desert was merely an ocean floor unable to speak or even hear the songs which were sung in the land of Pangaea when the giant dinosaurs ruled the world. The desert however is unimpressed by such singing for it has mystical tales of hidden treasures, flying carpets, and camels being passed through the eye of a needle. Stories so rich in legend that can be told for a thousand and one nights without repeating a single tale. Being the voice of the desert it speaks directly to the men and women who walk its hot dry paths and explains to them how they should live their lives. That’s power! But the wind speaks only to those who understand the language of the universe and its stories travel far beyond Scheherazade. The wind claims to have been the only entity to have heard the songs and cries of the dinosaur, sad soliloquies of betrayal and deception which ended their world dominion, a song which ends in revenge, for their demise was ushered in to make room for the intelligent future rulers of the earth, humans. Humans who would one day inherit their curse, the curse of fossilized petroleum.
Petroleum responsible for the gallons of blood spilled along the desert carpets in battles to have dominion of the liquid gold, a liquid that would one day be so concentric to human survival millions would die chasing ownership of it. The dinosaurs curse is songs of ships sailing upon mirages and sinking in the sands of time. Men who claimed this cursed oil in the name of their Gods, be it by the scimitar of Mohamed or the sword of Abraham. Death would fell men by the score in an attempt to exchange that blood for oil and the wars would continue to curse humans until they bring about their own mass destruction. Oil, the curse of the dinosaur destroying their eternity.
The dead carcasses of the dinosaurs would ensure the fates of humanity. It was no accident that humans discovered the remains of the giant scaled creatures could be converted into energy that was destiny. Being human accepting it a fate wa not enough, humans had to know everything about the animals. For many years human assumed the dinosaurs to be big dumb clumsy creatures but now scientists and paleontologist believe many dinosaurs to possessed more than a low level of intelligence. Since the resurgence of dino-interest studies have gone much deeper into the social lives of these gargantuan lizards. They have correctly identified the Theropoda bipedal dinosaur to have above average intelligence with the ability to perhaps have evolved human like brains had they not been vanquished. What they haven’t yet discovered is that dinosaurs had a complex system of communication that rivals any human form. They were able to communicate not only with each other, but with the creator of the life on Earth, Gemna. In fact it was Gemna from the planet Lekiel who first planted the message in the DNA strands of all living creatures of the Triassic period. A coded message that has survived billions of years and millions of mutations and still exits in all living things today. Finding and decoding that message may be the only thing that saves us from the Dinosaurs Revenge.

NEXT:
Pangaea, Just Another Day In Paradise

Snow White and The Seven Habits of Highly Ineffective Dwarfs

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snow

Once upon a time, there was a fantastic opening line for storytelling. A brilliant line in which you could use to begin a story and introduce the main character, be it a queen, a prince, a witch, a beautiful young women, or even three little pigs. From there you could then begin adding whatever elements help you to spin your yarn, be it spinning yarn or spinning straw into gold, poisoning apples, candy houses, gingerbread men, or any metaphor for life you use as your icon to express your points. The brothers Grimm were expert at this having woven a plethora of subliminal tales that kept the young ones starry eyed and motionless awaiting the end.
One story in particular has infiltrated our culture assaulting our values having us accept an unmarried young lady living with seven diamond mining miscreant males deep in the woods. If a young lady today admitted to living with seven dwarfs she would likely be telling the story on her reality television show. Come to think of it, the dwarfs somewhat resemble a much tinier version of the crew of Duck Dynasty. Here comes Snowy Boo Boo and the bayou backwoods jokers. Who are these seven dwarfs anyway? The truth is Snow White has a book deal in the works and has officially chosen The Existential Baker to prepare the press release.
Hers is a story of the consummate underdog overcoming all the odds and poor advice to remain atop the world of Fairy Tales. Snow is perhaps the most loved and popular fairy tale heroines of all time. Mary had her little lambs, Belle had her beast, Red had her wolf grandma, Ariel her voice, and Gldilocks had her choice of porridge, but none had to struggle as hard to remain an icon. Quite frankly when it came to giving advice, the little legends sucked.
.Having been given the name Snow White was the real curse. She was forced to live her life giving everyone the impression she is as pure as the driven snow when in fact murky slush is a better description. And worse than that she had to deal with Queen bitch on wheels. The mean queen gazes constantly into her mirror making duck faces and taking selfies when she notices a few new wrinkles one day. The celeb gossip paper, The Daily Mirror posts a story of how much younger and prettier Snow is so she hires a duck hunter to cut out Snows heart. The duck hunter realizes its rabbit season so he fakes her death brining back the heart of an alligator or something and the queen thinks she is back on top of the pretty polls. Discovering the hunters deceptive practice the queen has a fit, kills him then poisons Snow. Snow enters into a coma at the Dwarfs crib ( what happened during those days is an upcoming tell all written by Doc) and stays that way until a full grown dude, a prince or something slips her the tongue effectively waking her from the coma, and the perfect ending, they live happily ever after.
Snow tells a different story, one of bumbling and mistakes that could have been avoided had she not been under the care of the seven ineffective Dwarfs and she is finally ready to expose them not as helpful concerned garden gnomes, but the bumbling mini clods they really are. It’s a self help book designed to assist anyone in need avoid having themselves thrown headfirst into a coma awaiting a necrophiliac prince to come and kiss them. At one point or another each of the dwarfs has a golden opportunity to avoid the painful tribulation. Here’s a synopsis of her story.

Independence

Bashful’s unpopular advice . “Be reactive not proactive Snow, wait until something happens before you get ahead of yourself. Just always have the fan point away from you so when the shit really hits it won’t get all over you. You know the witch has done bad things to others but how can you know what she will do until it happens? Could be in a piece of fruit, could be a dart, or maybe she is just gonna roofie you at the bar. Worrying about it won’t get you anywhere, wait until she makes her move, then we can plan a counter attack. Besides, that way you won’t have to go out into any social situations where you need to meet knew people.”
Dopey’s dope advice. “Begin at the beginning not with the end in mind. Puff a bowl before you do anything so you won’t need a plan or to be organized. Don’t waste your time worrying about the end game, you may never even need it.Just get high and make sure theres lots of munchies around. Being proactive is like a belt made of watches, nothing but a waist of time.
Sleepy’s alarming advice. “No need to assign any priorities to anything. Best thing to do when your worried about stuff is to sleep on it, don’t do anything until you’ve had a good nights sleep and a couple of naps. Sleeping never hurt anyone, you don‘t lose when you snooze you get more when you snore! Just don’t forget to set your false alarm clock.”
Inter-dependence

Grumpy’s begrudging advice. “Who cares about a solution? Win-win? Balderdash, poppycock, bullshit! The only one who should win is me. But do I ever win? No! So the hell with everyone else, just look out for numero uno sister.

Sneezy’s nasal advice. This is my feeling, and its nothing to sneeze at Snow. When she tries to talk don‘t listen to what she has to say, drown out her words with a big sneeze. A few snot droplets does wonders in getting someone’s attention. Then you don’t have to hear them whine or anything. You don’t need to seek to understand, she has nothing to offer, unless she has like a box of tissues.

Happy’s stoner advice. Synergize my ass Snow. You need to like energize with a re bull and a blunt. You want people to work with you and get stuff done get them high and give them some Red Bulls, then they’ll like do whatever you want. They’ll even…..Oh man I forgot what I was saying. Anyway Snow everyone likes some good weed, to get, ah, to get, um, I forget again, but whatever, just light one up and you’ll have everyone on your side and like ready to help or something. Oh yea, and bring pizza man, everyone loves pizza.

Finally Doc gives his professional opinion. “ Let me fill you out a prescription. What do you want some pain killers? I’ll hook you up with some percocet, that should help. Sharpen the saw my dear, you never know when you may need to build stuff.

So you see Snow has quite a tale to tell, a story of what should have been a painless succes free of coma’s and necrophiliac orgies. Because of the habits of her ineffective Dwarfs she dealt with much peril and many hardships. Be sure to look for Snow’s follow up sequel called “Show Me The Monkey”. It promise to be full of salacious tales of the groups secret life in the forest. Also soon to be released is Doc’s new tell all. The Magnificent Seven ride again. High ho high ho its into bed they go. Big things come from men with small packages. …Peace

Sexual In Your Window

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sexendo

“Dad, what does sexual in your window mean?” Not a question I was prepared to answer my four year old because part of me wanted nothing to do with a conversation involving sexual innuendo with my daughter and the other part, that premature, I mean immature part of me wanted to make a joke about sex, stalking, and peeping Toms. But the question was asked and I had to attempt to explain it. Other questions followed as she grew up like the one that nearly caused me to drive off the road after she inquired what “Dad, what does eff you” mean? She even lifted her middle finger to extenuate the inquiry on our way to kindergarten. Or the time a few years later when she wanted to know why everyone was mad at President Clinton for doing oral sex with Lewis Insky. That one took some serious thinking because it was on the news hourly. Anyway, here’s how NOT to explain sexual innuendo to a child.

Sexual innuendo, double entendres or just sex puns. The more you play with it the bigger it gets so think long and hard before entering. Once you rise to the occasion you can go deeper and deeper into it. I try not to use sexual innuendos much because using them incorrectly can make you go down, and then its not easy to get it up again. Just about anything you pull out of your vocabulary can hint at one sexual practice or another. Something as normal as wood becomes a solid morning image and if its not standing tall its hard to beat. We use wood to erect structures and if a woman is looking for it you can give her the lumber and she’ll crack a smile. It can get downright indecent which is to say is if its long enough, hard enough, and deep enough, its in decent.
Maybe its because we have so many nicknames for our sex organs. Penis, dick, prick, cock, wiener, boner, and these are just some the ones that can be ‘slipped in’ a normal conversation. I grabbed the thorn bush and pricked myself. If I fold it over I will be half cocked. I like my wiener on nice soft buns and so do my buddy’s Dick Hertz and Hugh Jerkoff. On one hand you could have the member and in the other the shaft, its stiff competition between the two. Its easy to make a boner.
The vajay jay is no different. Vagina, pussy, snatch, twat, slit, box. The pussy cat slit the box with her claw to snatch the magic prize. The lady garden cream pie has been compared to a beaver, kitty, love pie, love tunnel, and a poon whatever the hell that is. The nether regions get explored with a cave dwelling love stick in search of a happy humping with an exciting climax. With so many slang terms for the various sex acts and the tools used to perform them its near impossible not to cum across an innuendo.
Basically I try not to give a bang to innuendos because on the hole they take a lickin’ and keep on tickin’ but they often slip out and you could get screwed in the end. I can’t put my finger on it but most of us have our minds in the gutter and like it there. A man and woman like to get something straight between them and they can do that by acting on whatever pops up.

Sex is in our face all the time sometime even sitting on it. We use sexual sport analogies, I got to second base then went in for the score. My bat was raised and her glove was open. Touchdown! In food, what she needs is a hot beef injection, maybe I should give her my sausage. I’m so hungry I could eat at the “Y”, maybe have a bearded clam or fur lined taco. Automotive, give her a lube job with my dipstick, that’ll grease my nuts. We are constantly pre-occupied with sex. Even the technical explanation of why we laugh at sex jokes is suggestive. What comes off our tongues is processed in our pre frontal cortex and the laugh cums in and out of the temporal lobe. We love getting it on and from what I hear men think about doing it every sex seconds while it takes a women sixty nine. No wonder everything we hear can relate back to sex.

A common vulgar sexual term is fuck. Popular misconception is it came from Fornication Under Consent of King, or Forced Unlawful Carnal Knowledge, and while an entertaining bit of trivia the truth is it a derivative of some dudes name, John Fukker. But that doesn’t stop us from fucking an sucking our way into a multitude of sneaky ways to get it in a conversation. Getting laid, the old in and out, screwing, humping, banging, poking, shagging, or other acts like going down on, sucking off, polishing the helmet, giving head, eating out, jacking off, and on an on. There must be fifty ways to fuck your lover. We love double in tenders and in your endo’s.
So I will try to keep you abreast of innuendos and entendres without making you feel the boob. I usually put out on the first date because I’m loose. I prefer it tight but I’ll take it anyway I can get it. It will help me if you respond to my explorations because I do have a big ego but I prefer to not stroke my own. I like having it stroked for me. If you’re up for it we can enter a discussion but I suck at them and I get licked in debates. Then I end up with it all over my face. Hope I laid it out for you in a way will stand up in court……..Piece, I mean PEACE