Limerick: The Man From Nantucket

There was a young man from Nantucket

Who gathered his cum in a bucket.

Once filled to the brim,

He mixed in some quim

And gin, and a straw, and then sucked it.

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Dear Piggy,

laughing-pig

I know that you suffer for the sake of our suppers, and I know that by becoming a vegan, I can at least stop contributing to your torture and murder…

But I just love bacon way too fucking much!

cooking-bacon-while-camping

Mmmm… bacon….

So, sorry, Piggy, it’s still bacon for me.

P.S. They say this guy loves you. Maybe you can file a complaint?

Much love (for bacon), P.P. Burger

Continue reading Dear Piggy,

Question #18: Are you holding onto something you need to let go of?

*sigh* I have done this more frequently than I would have wanted, but it can’t be helped… Social norms and inconvenient times and all that…

You know, being in the middle of watching a good movie and not wanting to miss a single moment of it, yet feeling like your bladder is about to burst and cursing yourself for drinking too much soda…

Or being busy dealing with colleagues and clients and trying to secure a new, critical contract, yet feeling like you’re bloated and your stomach is gurgling with the tasty bean burrito you just had an hour earlier, which doesn’t feel so tasty now, does it?

As I’ve often said, the second best feeling in the world is miraculously finding, and finally sitting on, a clean, empty toilet (with a huge roll of soft, clean, 3-ply tissue paper available within an arm’s reach) when you’ve been holding onto diarrhea for so long.

(Inspired by 50 Questions That Will Free Your Mind)

Knowing that life has no inherent purpose has empowered me more than anything.

I was born into a religious family, and I was raised into believing that God’s will preponderates over everything. That whatever happens, no matter how big or how minuscule, is in accordance to God’s will. That if God wants you to succeed, that if God wants you to pass that exam or that job interview, then, no matter what, you will succeed. And that, likewise, if God wants you to fail, then, no matter what you do, no matter what your plans are, you will fail.

That He is the One who knows what’s best for you. That from the moment you were conceived, or even from the beginning of time, He has laid out a plan for you. Every step, every skill, every score, every job, every relationship, God has already decided for you.

That you have a purpose in life. That you were born specifically to fulfill that purpose, whatever that may be.

And that you gotta have faith, that whatever happens to you, is for your own good, and is for the best, because God has planned that for you.

Well, somewhere along the way, I lost that faith, and I stopped believing. How that all happened is a story for another day. But, for now…

Continue reading Knowing that life has no inherent purpose has empowered me more than anything.

The Prank (short story)

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy– Shit!”

The crowd gasped and murmured and tsk-tsked among themselves, while the officiating priest, apparently yet oblivious to his verbal faux pas, tried to wipe with his big white kerchief what looked like bird poo off his face.

Meanwhile, from way behind the crowd, from behind a tree where he thought no one could see him, Frankie strepitously laughed and howled from the depths of his belly until his sides ached and made him cry. Little did he know that throughout all this, from the time he rigged a fake bird’s nest on the branch above the priest’s head, to the time he activated the trap with a remote controlled switch (finally, all those engineering classes, which he had thought pointless and soporific and through which he had breezed through with no more than a C, had proved some worth), setting loose the thick white goo on the fat bald cleric, someone had been watching him, and who finally spoke:

“Thought that was funny, child? What you did to that poor old priest?”

Continue reading The Prank (short story)

Question #41: If you knew that everyone you know was going to die tomorrow, who would you visit today?

Nobody. I’m staying home with the one I love. There may be a lot of people in my life whom I am fond of, but if there are only 24 hours (or less) before everyone I know dies, I’m spending all of that short time with the person who matters to me the most.

(Inspired by 50 Questions That Will Free Your Mind)

Young Forever (short story)

Mrs. Oferween examined her face on the mirror. Every wrinkle, every dimple, every pockmark, every curve and every fold, she scrutinized with as much precision as an expert geologist reconnoitering some terra incognita for its potential for a new development, and she, involuntarily, frowned.

“Damn, not another wrinkle!” she growled in frustration. It takes 47 muscles to frown, she pounded once again into her head. With great effort, and struggling not to make the mistake of scrunching up her skin again, she forced her face back into a blank expression. The resting bitch face. Some reality TV star in her 30s had recommended it as a way of preventing the creation of wrinkles.

But Mrs. Oferween was pushing 60 now, and even with her diligent use of creams and toners and moisturizers laden with Omega-3 fatty acids and Vitamin C and antioxidants with ginseng and gold powder and quantum age nourishment, the natural curse of aging had taken its toll on her face and on her body, and it showed. There was no hiding the little creases here and there, the crow’s feet sprouting quickly from the corners of her eyes, which were now with evidently lighter irises covered in a layer of translucent goo, the beginnings of what could turn out to be cataracts. Her eyebags were saggier now, and so was the skin on her neck, and her breasts, which were round and perky some three decades ago, were also losing their battle with gravity.

Mrs. Oferween closed her eyes. She could no longer recognize the face in the mirror, even though she had examined it last only yesterday. It was as though the image on the mirror was that of a stranger — some older, uglier, more frightening stranger. A monster. It wasn’t her. It wasn’t her at all. In her mind’s eye, she still looked as beautiful as she did three decades ago, back when men chased her and gave in to her every whim. Back when it seemed as though her beauty and her power would last forever.

Continue reading Young Forever (short story)

No, it's not a food blog.

JULIE AMALIA

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