October 05, 2005
Typewriter Man
Open in a man sitting in an old fashioned rocking chair, his teeth chattering away. He is Typewriter Man.
Typewriter man
Typewriter man
Does whatever a typewriter can
Types a line
Makes a ding
Then you push that lever thing
Look out!
Here comes Typewriter man
Posted by cplyon at 06:39 AM | Comments (1)
February 24, 2005
Nineteen Nineteen Nineteen
Moonlight bled off of the store's old copper roof and trickled down to the filthy streets below. The gutted-out school house style building had a bell tower and was constructed of red brick, but no ringing ever came from the bell, for there wasn't ever one in it. Rationing during the great narcotics war of Nineteen Nineteen Nineteen required all schoolhouse-style buildings with bell towers to submit the bells to be melted down to make new hypo-needles to keep the junkies' veins open and clean. One needs cleanliness in this day and age for the tri-date commission has outlawed all other forms of ritual torture for the young, so showers are all a parent can use to control the soon to be sucking the system dry bell-melting pill-popping degenerate typewriter guys.
The only legal form of self-mutilation was rectal piercing, but since it was in style, the youth of today have had a sudden increase in intestinal rupturing, due to backed-up digestive tracks. What have kids come to nowadays with their suffocating baby teeth locked away in their skulls, feeding solely on soft bananas and rancid pudding? Who can save the Hitler Youth of society, ready to kill not only different and more appealing lifestyles of rich, under-nourished tycoons, but also the rulers of Nineteen Day.
"Ditch all government controllers and live for yourself!" says the boy screamer street kid, too old for his age, has been fucking the government for years and knows much of polity and the workings of the system and he hates it. Got AIDS from his dying mother whose last words were "Do all you can with the life you have." So he decided to fuck all involved government assholes who really deserved the input from a concerned citizen. And so by the time the boy died he will have had the pleasure of knowing there would be a change in the world. One man can make a difference, if he has a gift and puts his whole mind and body to the task. Never lose hope of having perfection in the palm of your hand. There is always enough room for it, and your dick. Safe sex in the Nineteen Nineteen Nineteen's! I even heard of a chap named Louisberg who once fucked seventeen rebels in the great narcotics war, so don't bitch to me about a general lack of morality among suburban youths in this city of insubordinate pre-pubescent world leaders. I just hope to God Almighty we can outdo those damned Euro-Japs at their own game. Social obedience my ass! The only way to prove to the world that casual sex is not only morally correct, but also mandatory. And I mean casual. So casual in fact all you have to do to make love to someone is to shake their hand (amputees need not apply).
Holy shit, these telepersonals are getting me down, man. All they do is tell you that you are in a world where there are tens of thousands of millions of more people like you to be around. I swear all the great minds of are getting together and are going to send all the people that are in telepersonals to the island of Fucking-get-a-lifesville where they can all fuck like mink and raise children who turn out to be plumbers just like them. Or, if you're a girl, you can be the spokesperson for the new government that just talks all day like all good farmers and construction workers do. The offices will consist of a newspaper depot there all the workers can come in and get their morning paper to have something to talk about all day long except for the fact that Thing Island will not have anything actually newsworthy to speak of. Not like there's anything good to read about anyway. This damn world and all its inhabitants need some sort of spiritual reform, maybe even one started by the very narcotics used to destroy it. But Thing Island's inhabitants don't care about reform, only new fucking things to read about. Truth is, they're all illiterate, but try to impress each other by pretending to know how to read and write. It hardly works, but if anyone admits to being illiterate, the whole system comes to a crashing halt. The public doesn't need to be informed, it already knows. On Thing Island, or in the United National Province Land (UNPL) no one even really cares. Their policy is to turn a blind eye while everything goes on behind their backs. What kind of fucking system is that?
Fuck man, I once saw this dame on Valium get it from her doctor right there in the office. He originally prescribed the drug because she had trouble sleeping. Then he saw what effect it had on her and so he gave her three times as much, so she passed out on the examination table. He put her legs in the stirrups, ripped off her panties then squirted her with water. Right inside her, flushing out her box leaving only a clean smelling fold worthy of a doctor's touch. I mean shit like that always used to go on in Doc Brown's office. The nurses knew it, they just loved being blind too much. Don't think the patients didn't realize it either. Doc had scandal written all over his scalpel (well it was his middle name). But the patients could smell it on him like his cheap cologne and deodorant that actually smelled worse than a rhino's b.o. Once, just as the old doctor tried to get his hands on a leper's wilted cock, the leper sprang to life and emptied his bladder onto poor Doc Brown's white coat. Well believe-you-me, that was the lat time Doc Brown brought his work home. But on a sad note, what ever happened to good old gene control? I mean get rid of those stupid rebel doctors once and for all. batch of syntho-doctors and nurses and we no longer have to deal with the notoriously delicious Doctor W. S. Brown, also known as the Malpractice Prince of Tidal Station Managers. End.
Posted by cplyon at 09:24 PM | Comments (0)