Friday, October 17, 2008

Originally Posted
Friday, February 2, 2007
for “Pallid Boomer.”

XXX – an identifier for pornography, especially pornographic movies

“The father warned his children not to look in the folder labeled “XXX” or else he and their mother would get divorced and punch them.”

The X’s in “XXX” originally meant the same as the X’s in the phrase “XOXO,” which means “kiss, hug, kiss, hug,” as one might put at the end of an informal letter to one’s mother or priest. Up through the late 1950’s, it was considered indecent to have a man kiss a woman more than three times in a motion picture, and those that surpassed this limit were labeled as “XXX” or “kiss, kiss, kiss” and were thus deemed unsuitable for anyone under the age of thirty-five. Standards have since changed and today the X’s refer to the amount of penises inside a single orifice.

(Photo courtesy of the Portsmouth Island Smut Society)

~ Dr. James Grape

Friday, October 10, 2008

Originally Posted
Wednesday, January 3, 2007
for “Knowledge Zoomer.”

Hi there. This is something you perhaps didn’t know about me, but I just happen to have a huge penis. It’s worth getting out of the way. It’s the first thing you’d notice if we met. It’s just, I mean, I am packing. It is big. The ladies, they always have something to say about my guy, and the fellas, well, I often catch them trying to sneak a peak too. Who could blame them? So, today I thought I’d treat the world to a window into what it’s like… to have a huge, huge penis.

Well, first of all, the penis is approximately four and a half feet long. Wait, hold on, I have the official Guinness measurements right here… uh, ah yes. 137.22 centimeters length and 98.41 centimeters girth. Yep. I would have the record, but apparently there’s a man in India… and y’know.

I have to wear special pants. They’re poly-blend with a double-reinforced inseam and they have a… like a nylon pouch, almost, which houses the phallus and attaches to the left leg with Velcro. I’ve only got one pair — navy blue — because they cost eight hundred dollars to make and my health insurance doesn’t cover it. Because there is no precedent. Y’know, sometimes… I have to do without.

It’s not fun, you see. My penis drags along the ground because it’s longer than my leg. I would have to be over eight feet tall to properly accommodate it. The good news is that apparently there is a loophole in the local indecent exposure laws, so if something peeks from the duct tape apparatus inside my XXXL sweatpants, there’s no hassle, not that anyone would know what it is anymore if they saw it. The tip is kind of gray and lumpy… it gets infected so easily. Some days I come home and there’s just an enormous, pus-filled blister that wasn’t there during that morning’s smeg hunt. Yeah, you see I have to clean the secretions out of my rather large foreskin every morning. I was never circumcised. I could never be circumcised.

No, I can’t have erections. If I ever were to become erect, the blood loss would surely kill me, or at least drop me into a severe coma. I have to take special pills to prevent becoming erect. When I first saw the doctor, I had her check to see if it was, perhaps, a tumor that could be removed, but no, turns out it’s all meat. Also, it seems that my kidneys have descended into the shaft and if I did have my penis surgically reduced, they would fail and I’d have to be on dialysis for the rest of my life.

There was this one doctor who had a theory that perhaps my member was an epigastric parasite, a conjoined twin that failed in the womb, only placed in my groin, and so it masqueraded as a penis. The other doctors don’t agree with him, but I kind of like to. Y’know, in the mornings, when I’m lifting my penis up in the harness above my toilet to urinate out of the hole the doctors put to facilitate my bladder, I like to think, “At least I’m not him.”

My urethra is quite large. I’ve never had any problems with evacuating kidney stones. That’s a blessing. But once, I did have a family of mice living in there for a while…

My balls? Oh, they’re mostly normal. Tucked away. Although, my left testicle is a bit oversized and my right is splintered into what my urologist has deemed a “teste cluster,” which is incredibly rare. I guess I’m just lucky.

Do I have a name for it? What, like, Mr. Happy or something? Yeah, sure. How ‘bout Mr. Horrible? Scratchy, Lumpy Beast-Shlong. Leaky STD Boat. The Ironic Virginator. Constant, Agonizing Burden In The Unending Shitshow That Is My Life. How about those? Because that’s what it is! Jealous?

~ Justin Gogglesmith

Friday, October 3, 2008

Originally Posted
Monday, January 8, 2007
for “Olive Tumor.”

• Say “in bed!” after you read your fortune. Giggle desperately at how the new phrase may or may not comment on your sexual prowess.

• Say “monkey secretary!” after you read your fortune. Giggle desperately at the novelty of a monkey attempting to use a phone.

• Sneak your fortune into your neighbor’s wonton soup. Say, “Hey, you got a fortune wonton soup!” Sheepishly pay for new soup and avoid eye contact.

• Challenge your date to remove the fortune from the cookie without breaking it using only their tongue. If they accomplish this, propose marriage.

• If the fortune isn’t about the future, or even necessarily about you, complain bitterly about this. When you eat the cookie, redouble your disgust at the poor quality of the dessert. When the last scrap of good will drains from your party, you win.

• If the text of the fortune contains the letter “L,” pronounce it as “R.” Next, squint your eyes and protrude your front teeth. Walk over to a nearby table and peepee in someone’s Coke. Why not attempt some kung fu? The proprietors of the restaurant will find this charming, as it is their custom.

• Run over the proprietor of the restaurant with a tank, as it is their custom.

• If the fortune is the variety that contains “Lucky Numbers,” drag your family to the nearest casino and play Keno until dawn.

• Read the fortune as “You will expose yourself before a crowd in the near future.” Swallow the paper and disrobe slowly while screaming, “It’s fate! FATE!”

• Skip the cookie and sit silently under the black cloud of China’s rapid development into a formidable world power.

~ Jamaal G’nmkukd

Friday, September 26, 2008

Originally Posted
Monday, January 22, 2007
for “Collie Groomer.”

• Explorers in certain parts of the Amazon have to wear condoms if they are in the water because of a fish called the candirú. This fish is able — and willing in most cases — to swim into the human urethra as it is similar to the gills of the fish it usually attaches itself to. The candirú will then extend its needle-like spine and begin to feed off the blood of the host until it is removed… by surgery!

• In parts of India, live insects are often used as medicine. If you suffer from urine retention, a healer will gladly insert a Cimex lectularius — or bed bug — into your urethra, where it will siphon blood until the affliction is gone… and probably beyond that too!

• In secluded regions of the American northwest and Canada there lives a majestic bird with an curiously specialized beak. The brown-spotted peckerpecker has evolved the ability search for grubs inside the human urethra, where of course there are none, as some unfortunate loggers have found out. The peckerpecker was once endangered because of its foolish habits… but as of 2005 they number in the thousands!

• A deviously industrious species of crab is the Baja dick crab, named for its prevalence in the Baja region of California. The dick crab will spend weeks establishing a territory, but also expertly fashioning small hook-like objects out of calcium deposits and seaweed. Marine biologists were stupefied by this behavior until a hapless surfer wandered into dick crab country. An encroached-upon crab sprang into action and stealthily attached a hook to the victim’s urethra, and then scuttled back down to fasten the rope-like fibers of the other end to a nearby stone. Seconds later there was a powerful scream and the beach bum was down. Further studies have shown that the dick crab does this in order to harvest puka beads from human necklaces… or because it’s a dick.

• The Amorist squid, named for the late Dr. Amorist who discovered it, is truly the master of camouflage. On moonlit nights during the Amorist’s mating season, which happens to be from February until August, the squid beaches itself on land near the seaports and dockyards of America and Europe’s cities. Then, by positioning its tentacles just so, the Amorist can perfectly mimic the image of a high-class prostitute who’s had a long night and is willing to give a suckjob for just ten dollars (eight Euro) if anyone’s interested. Once a victim is ensnared, the Amorist wastes no time in filling the poor soul’s urethra beyond capacity with eggs. Months later, young Amorists explode from the corpse’s rotting kidneys… and are put on welfare.

~ John Grandiloquent

Friday, September 19, 2008

Originally Posted
Monday, January 22, 2007
for “Torrid Fumer.”

Day ONE:
This stuff looks like carbonated piss and it’s three bucks a can. Who would willingly drink this? I don’t know what Taurine is, but a friend of mine once told me it’s extracted from bull testicles. That probably isn’t true, but still this stuff is lousy with it, and that has me worried. Of course you don’t actually get wings like the all-too-literal commercials, but I don’t want little bull-babies either. I’m going to take my first sip now.

Wow, this stuff tastes like carbonated piss. And, like, from a guy who eats way too much grapefruit. Yuck. I don’t feel any different after one can. I can’t think of anything really. It’s in my brain already. Nah, just kidding. This is boring. I kind of want to eat something—anything—to get this taste out of my mouth but I can’t. I have to only drink Red Bull for a week. Why? Because someone has to. I guess.

…

Day TWO:
I slept maybe one hour last night. I was still in my clothes. And driving. I had bright red nightmares. I woke up in Bridgeport, Connecticut. I think I got in a fight. My hands are bleeding. It feels like my muscles are running on sawdust, but running they are.

Sometimes I can’t find my heartbeat, but when I can it’s like it’s punching me back. Did I mention I’m punching myself in the chest? Every two minutes. I believe it’s some kind of aggravated nervous tic. I feel energized. My tongue is coated and yellow, and every one of my teeth feels like it’s dancing. It sounds like I broke my ankle somewhere but I can’t feel it. I’m invincible. I God.

Wait, no. My feet are just wading in Red Bull cans. Crushed ones. Some are twisted and I think I tried to eat one. I’m so hungry…

I just remembered I don’t own a car.

…

Day THREE:
The car is gone, man. I threw it away. Literally, threw it. Into a tree. OK, that’s a lie, but is anything really a lie, you know? I mean, on different planes of reality all lies become forms of truth just like all thoughts are actually manifest in the distant outstretches of the universe.

And I realize that Red Bull never actually tasted bad bad bad, but rather is the only true thing of Taste. It is Taste. I know this. It’s like what does your tongue taste like? You know what some other people’s tongues taste like—I made out with a raccoon this morning—but what does my tongue taste like? Sister Forest didn’t tell me.

Red Bull is the nectar of the gods, OK? Or it was or it will be because time is cylindrical, you see. I have shared a bed with Hermes, but I don’t sleep anymore and I only drink Red Bull. My urine is carbonated and I drink that too. My penis is now the perfect size to fit into a can of Red Bull. Perfect Size. Cylindrical. Cylllllindricalllll.

…

Day FOUR:
Last night I was constructing a suit of armor out of used spent exhausted cans of REDBULL. my virtue-goodlabor protected me from the darkness. now it can be said that I myself am a can of REDBULL. drink me. that I am filled with its golden wisdom. drink me. there are battles to be fought, many and moony battles. drink me. I must separate the mighty from the willing. I found people in a township today and then I drank more REDBULL. theirs was all the sweeter for it was stolen. rescued. I suffered many cuts and bruises on and indeed from my armor-metallic and I invited a starving babe to drink of my blood for it is REDBULL. milk of the breast of the true earthmother. the mother makes a screaming sound which echoes in my metal body. there was conflict and now I am with gun. I possess the strength to tear the meager hand of a pensioner like a phone book. I know this now. so much to know, so much to do. drink me.

…

Day 5IVE:
Someone need s to tell me my name .. I have transcend ed my name u see.. There are other name s to know now how ever .. The CREST .. on the can of redbull that is all can s of redbull .. The LEFT bull is name d Evrecius and the RIGHT bull is name d kevalT ..

kevalT spoke to me last night .. Dont remember where I was .. Out side.. fIRe .. kevalT say s I am the YelloW CirclE with in The CREST ..

YelloW CirclE walk ed to where the edge of reality turn s .. there are ferocious ochre snake s and lizard s swimm ing in my eye s but I am YelloW CirclE and I alone wield the strengthpower of the RREEDDBBUULLLL .. I speak its-his name and kevalT is my RIGHT hand with which I will smite the un believer s .. Evrecius farm s the ash es .. plants of BLOOD .. YelloW BBLLOOOODD ..

…

Day MARIA:
where-are-my-wings?-i-have-done-all-you
-have-asked.-unspeakable-things.-why-ha
ve-you-forsaken-me?-i-have-no-legs.-I-am
-hollow.-you-have-taken-so-much.-in-harri
sburg.-in-harrisburg-you-told-me-to-cut-my
-face-off-and-when-i-failed-i-tried-to-drink-
you-through-my-new-second-mouth-and-it
-burned.-you-punish-me-so-much.-I-have-
no-legs.-and-yet-you-grant-me-no-wings.-
now-it’s-dark.-the-money’s-gone.-no-more-
cans-to-buy.-the-covenant-is-complete.-in-
delaware-i-disobeyed-and-ate-some-swee
t-dung-off-the-earth.-is-this-why-you-have-
left-me?-left.-perhaps-evrecius-was-right-b
ut-was-that-not-kevalt?-where-are-my-win
gs?-my-legs?-my-eyes?-you-have-taken-everything-and-i-hate-you-so-much.

…

Day EIGHTEEN:
I rise up in a pasture somewhere outside Baltimore. Baltimore, Ireland. When I open my eyes it hurts, but it hurts again to close them. I’m wearing trousers made of leather. I think I made them myself. There’s still blood on them. Some is mine. My mouth feels like I tried to eat the Kool-Aid Man. I have no stomach lining left. They eat tripe here…

I never got my wings. I’m being sarcastic now. It feels like there’s something on my back, though. Maybe I do have some kind of wings. Nope. I just asked a guy in a truck, and apparently I have a tattoo of a big yellow circle on my back. Great. I can’t be buried in a Jewish cemetery now. For this.

I’m going to go find some Guinness and probably die from shock, but hey, it’s over! That’s pretty neat. It’s pretty great. It’s a goddamn festival.

Hey, I can drop a six-foot loogie!

~ Yishai Aurum
Illustration by J. Maxwell Kelly