For about a year, Mark Allen, a gay man living in New York, conducted an online relationship with a man living in Austin, Texas. But as the relationship matured, Allen realized it wasn't his cyberboyfriend he was falling in love with, it was his PowerMac G3.
Sweating and farting nervously on the verge of mental meltdown, ELQ reloads each of her precious OSNews pages, making sure all is well. Fifty Internet Explorer windows are open in Windows XP, it's gridning the hard drive to death. ELQ's cable modem and NIC activity LEDs are nearly solid from the raw frenzy of almost constant browser reloading. Eugenia's eyes twitch rapidly from window to window with Mercurial speed to make sure that any rogue comments do not escape her attention, always hitting her refresh buttons with pinpoint accuracy. No logical order for checking, purely random and impulse driven by raw Mediterranean temper, stopping for the occasional savage bite from a pork loin still affixed to the bone, Eugenia's eyes never leave the monitor.
"N-n-n-n NO! No TIME for Dance Dance Revolution, oh but it's been so long! I cannot allow the BASTARD flooders' comments to be seen. MY DOMAIN IS SACRED!"
Hair is frizzled and days unwashed, asscrack just barely half wiped in a frenzy to return to her monitor, having taken a large shit earlier. No time to flush! Her armpits are over-ridden with pubic hair, her fat flaps reek of B.O. and yeast from days of neglect and hour upon hour of sweating. Relentless sweating.
"Cannot to be keeps up this pace! I may be need to go to hospital for exhaustions" she pants in desperation, wiping the sweat from a matted hair lock with her week-old t-shirt offering.
The hour of judgement approaches! Comment number 45 in thread 374 is clearly of anti-Greek sentiment! It reads "Eugenia continues to post yet another story that's simply ripped off from other websites. How much longer can this continue? It's my opinion that she has poor editorial skills. I think they should be revoked."
"YOU BASTARD FUCK!", Eugenia erupts in raw hatred, simultaneously ripping a 120 decibel-at-1-meter fart into the back of her chair. "Nobody is to be attack my site!" Eugenia blasts away at 10 words per minute in a barely-coherant broken English. She's on a mission. After several hours, the words on the screen are completely shattered and in disarray, they make no sense. Eugenia is impressed with her English progress and submits her lousy retort. Relaxing only for several seconds to savor the rush, she continues her patrol, sleepless into the night.
Attitude, you got some fucking attitude
I can't believe what you said to me
You got some attitude
Inside your feeble brain there's probably a hole
If you don't shut your mouth you're gonna feel a blow
Attitude, the one you got, oh baby
Attitude, the one you got, oh baby
Attitude, attitude inside your feeble brain
There's probably a hole if you don't shut
Your mouth you're gonna feel a blow
Attitude, you got some fucking attitude
(attitude) I can't believe what you said to
me
You got some attitude
Attitude, you got some fucking attitude (attitude)
I can't believe what you said to me you got some
attitude
A few years ago, while browsing around the library downtown, I
had to take a piss. As I entered the john a big beautiful
all-American football hero type, about twenty-five, came out of one
of the booths. I stood at the urinal looking at him out of the
corner of my eye as he washed his hands. He didn't once look at me.
He was "straight" and married -- and in any case I was sure I
wouldn't have a chance with him.
As soon as he left I darted into the booth he'd vacated, hoping
there might be a lingering smell of shit and even a seat still warm
from his sturdy young ass. I found not only the smell but the shit
itself. He'd forgotten to flush. And what a treasure he had left
behind. Three or four beautiful specimens floated in the bowl. It
apparently had been a fairly dry, constipated shit, for all were
fat, stiff, and ruggedly textured. The real prize was a great feast
of turd -- a nine inch gastrointestinal triumph as thick as a man's
wrist.
I knelt before the bowl, inhaling the rich brown fragrance and
wondered if I should obey the impulse building up inside me. I'd
always been a heavy rimmer and had lapped up more than one little
clump of shit, but that had been just an inevitable part of eating
ass and not an end in itself. Of course I'd had jerkoff fantasies of
devouring great loads of it (what rimmer hasn't), but I had never
done it. Now, here I was, confronted with the most beautiful
five-pound turd I'd ever feasted my eyes on, a sausage fit to star
in any fantasy and one I knew to have been hatched from the asshole
of the world's handsomest young stud.
Why not? I plucked it from the bowl, holding it with both
hands to keep it from breaking. I lifted it to my nose. It smelled
like rich, ripe limburger (horrid, but thrilling), yet had the
consistency of cheddar. What is cheese anyway but milk turning to
shit without the benefit of a digestive tract?
I gave it a lick and found that it tasted better then it
smelled. I've found since then that shit nearly almost does.
I hesitated no longer. I shoved the fucking thing as far into
my mouth as I could get it and sucked on it like a big brown cock,
beating my meat like a madman. I wanted to completely engulf it and
bit off a large chunk, flooding my mouth with the intense,
bittersweet flavor. To my delight I found that while the water in
the bowl had chilled the outside of the turd, it was still warm
inside. As I chewed I discovered that it was filled with hard
little bits of something I soon identified as peanuts. He hadn't
chewed them carefully and they'd passed through his body virtually
unchanged. I ate it greedily, sending lump after peanutty lump
sliding scratchily down my throat. My only regret was the donor of
this feast wasn't there to wash it down with his piss.
I soon reached a terrific climax. I caught my cum in the
cupped palm of my hand and drank it down. Believe me, there is no
more delightful combination of flavors than the hot sweetness of cum
with the rich bitterness of shit.
Afterwards I was sorry that I hadn't made it last longer. But
then I realized that I still had a lot of fun in store for me.
There was still a clutch of virile turds left in the bowl. I
tenderly fished them out, rolled them into my handkerchief, and
stashed them in my briefcase. In the week to come I found all kinds
of ways to eat the shit without bolting it right down. Once eaten
it's gone forever unless you want to filch it third hand out of your
own asshole. Not an unreasonable recourse in moments of desperation
or simple boredom.
I stored the turds in the refrigerator when I was not using
them but within a week they were all gone. The last one I held in
my mouth without chewing, letting it slowly dissolve. I had liquid
shit trickling down my throat for nearly four hours. I must have
had six orgasms in the process.
I often think of that lovely young guy dropping solid gold out
of his sweet, pink asshole every day, never knowing what joy it
could, and at least once did, bring to a grateful shiteater.
A few years ago, while browsing around the library downtown, I had to take a piss. As I entered the john a big beautiful all-American football hero type, about twenty-five, came out of one of the booths. I stood at the urinal looking at him out of the corner of my eye as he washed his hands. He didn't once look at me. He was "straight" and married -- and in any case I was sure I wouldn't have a chance with him.
As soon as he left I darted into the booth he'd vacated, hoping there might be a lingering smell of shit and even a seat still warm from his sturdy young ass. I found not only the smell but the shit itself. He'd forgotten to flush. And what a treasure he had left behind. Three or four beautiful specimens floated in the bowl. It apparently had been a fairly dry, constipated shit, for all were fat, stiff, and ruggedly textured. The real prize was a great feast of turd -- a nine inch gastrointestinal triumph as thick as a man's wrist.
I knelt before the bowl, inhaling the rich brown fragrance and wondered if I should obey the impulse building up inside me. I'd always been a heavy rimmer and had lapped up more than one little clump of shit, but that had been just an inevitable part of eating ass and not an end in itself. Of course I'd had jerkoff fantasies of devouring great loads of it (what rimmer hasn't), but I had never done it. Now, here I was, confronted with the most beautiful five-pound turd I'd ever feasted my eyes on, a sausage fit to star in any fantasy and one I knew to have been hatched from the asshole of the world's handsomest young stud.
Why not? I plucked it from the bowl, holding it with both hands to keep it from breaking. I lifted it to my nose. It smelled like rich, ripe limburger (horrid, but thrilling), yet had the consistency of cheddar. What is cheese anyway but milk turning to shit without the benefit of a digestive tract?
I gave it a lick and found that it tasted better then it smelled. I've found since then that shit nearly almost does.
I hesitated no longer. I shoved the fucking thing as far into my mouth as I could get it and sucked on it like a big brown cock, beating my meat like a madman. I wanted to completely engulf it and bit off a large chunk, flooding my mouth with the intense, bittersweet flavor. To my delight I found that while the water in the bowl had chilled the outside of the turd, it was still warm inside. As I chewed I discovered that it was filled with hard little bits of something I soon identified as peanuts. He hadn't chewed them carefully and they'd passed through his body virtually unchanged. I ate it greedily, sending lump after peanutty lump sliding scratchily down my throat. My only regret was the donor of this feast wasn't there to wash it down with his piss.
I soon reached a terrific climax. I caught my cum in the cupped palm of my hand and drank it down. Believe me, there is no more delightful combination of flavors than the hot sweetness of cum with the rich bitterness of shit.
Afterwards I was sorry that I hadn't made it last longer. But then I realized that I still had a lot of fun in store for me. There was still a clutch of virile turds left in the bowl. I tenderly fished them out, rolled them into my handkerchief, and stashed them in my briefcase. In the week to come I found all kinds of ways to eat the shit without bolting it right down. Once eaten it's gone forever unless you want to filch it third hand out of your own asshole. Not an unreasonable recourse in moments of desperation or simple boredom.
I stored the turds in the refrigerator when I was not using them but within a week they were all gone. The last one I held in my mouth without chewing, letting it slowly dissolve. I had liquid shit trickling down my throat for nearly four hours. I must have had six orgasms in the process.
I often think of that lovely young guy dropping solid gold out of his sweet, pink asshole every day, never knowing what joy it could, and at least once did, bring to a grateful shiteater.
Sweating and farting nervously on the verge of mental meltdown, ELQ reloads each of her precious OSNews pages, making sure all is well. Fifty Internet Explorer windows are open in Windows XP, it's gridning the hard drive to death. ELQ's cable modem and NIC activity LEDs are nearly solid from the raw frenzy of almost constant browser reloading. Eugenia's eyes twitch rapidly from window to window with Mercurial speed to make sure that any rogue comments do not escape her attention, always hitting her refresh buttons with pinpoint accuracy. No logical order for checking, purely random and impulse driven by raw Mediterranean temper, stopping for the occasional savage bite from a pork loin still affixed to the bone, Eugenia's eyes never leave the monitor.
"N-n-n-n NO! No TIME for Dance Dance Revolution, oh but it's been so long! I cannot allow the BASTARD flooders' comments to be seen. MY DOMAIN IS SACRED!"
Hair is frizzled and days unwashed, asscrack just barely half wiped in a frenzy to return to her monitor, having taken a large shit earlier. No time to flush! Her armpits are over-ridden with pubic hair, her fat flaps reek of B.O. and yeast from days of neglect and hour upon hour of sweating. Relentless sweating.
"Cannot to be keeps up this pace! I may be need to go to hospital for exhaustions" she pants in desperation, wiping the sweat from a matted hair lock with her week-old t-shirt offering.
The hour of judgement approaches! Comment number 45 in thread 374 is clearly of anti-Greek sentiment! It reads "Eugenia continues to post yet another story that's simply ripped off from other websites. How much longer can this continue? It's my opinion that she has poor editorial skills. I think they should be revoked."
"YOU BASTARD FUCK!", Eugenia erupts in raw hatred, simultaneously ripping a 120 decibel-at-1-meter fart into the back of her chair. "Nobody is to be attack my site!" Eugenia blasts away at 10 words per minute in a barely-coherant broken English. She's on a mission. After several hours, the words on the screen are completely shattered and in disarray, they make no sense. Eugenia is impressed with her English progress and submits her lousy retort. Relaxing only for several seconds to savor the rush, she continues her patrol, sleepless into the night.
Encounter with the Mystery Flute Man
on
KOffice 1.1.1 Ships
·
· Score: -1, Troll
I routinely commute between Bangore, Maine and Washington D.C. once every week for work. The drive is long and uneventful usually, yes I know, but the scratch is decent. To keep myself from going insane, I'll usually catch some tunes on the radio stations that I like along the way or even listen to something out of my CD collection if I'm really bored. I-95 gets pretty dull once you're several hours into the drive, so I like to stop every four hours or so to strech my legs, fill the car up with gas, and grab a bite to eat. I'm particularly fond of Friendly's, and stop there quite often as my company picks up the tab for all travel related expenses, plus compensation.
I decided to stop there one evening on the way back up to Bangor. The patty melt is ususally pretty good and I mostly get that combo platter, but this time I decided to try the pastrami melt. It was generally satisfying. However, an hour into my resumed trip, I entered the Boston area and started to get a bit of rumbling in the bowels. I broke wind several times, but the gastro-intestinal rumbling was getting so unbearable along with the stench, that I had to pull over at a Buck Horn Truck Stop. It was so bad,that I was barely able to hold the runny shit inside my bowels before I took down my boxers and let loose. The first wave of semi-solid feces was forced out by an explosive firehose of runny turds and wattery diarreah, and I screamed in agony; butthole stinging from the festering shit water that was splashing back up onto my ass.
I recovered after several minutes of dabbing at my asshole with that crapy cheap non-quilted toilet paper, and eased my ass back into my pants as to buy some pepto bismol from the gift shop. The beast in my lower abdomen needed to be calmed before I got on the road again.
It's common for me to leave unflushed shit in the toilets that I use, as to make the life of whatever minimum wage loser that has to clean it up that much worse. This was a special occasion! The toilet was nearly ready to spill over. Perfection had been achieved, or so I thought.
Mere seconds after my retreat from the stinking commode, a rather stalky man with a huge beer gut barged into the bathroom like some drunken vagrant, stinking almost as badly as my unflushed Cosby Kids. Sporting a rather unkept greasy beard, he butted his half-smoked joint onto the piss soaked floor and crept up behind me while I was washing my hands. I did not get a decent look at what he had contained in his other hand, but no sooner did he rush up behind me and jammed what felt like the barrel of a pistol into the lower of my back. "Don't move unless I tell you to." he blurted out messily. "I'll kill you if you move, now drop your pants." "Look, man, you can have my wallet, I don't care. I won't report you, just don't kill me," I replied. The stalky man responded in a gruff "That ain't gonna cut it, drop your pants now." So I did as he asked. "Now take down the boxers too," he remarked.
"Oh god!" I thought to myself "I'm going to get raped in the ass at a fucking truck stop" and I did just as he asked. He prodded my already tender and sore asshole several times with the object he had jammed into my back, presumably the barrel of a pistol. I winced in pain, but dared not make noise. "Bend over, you're gonna take it hard like Linus does. Right in the sweet buttery cornhole. You're going to take it from me! The great RMS! AHAHAHAHAH!!!!!"
"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit" I thought over and over again while I proceeded to bend over the sink, when I finally caught a glimpse of my assailant in the sink mirror. The son of a bitch was jamming the mouthpiece end of a fucking flute into my back and asshole. A FUCKING FLUTE! I quickly pulled my pants back up, and shoved the greasy fuck away from me. I quickly pulled my 4.5" serrated Gerber lockback knife out of my right pocket while the madman tooted away on the mouthpiece end of the defiled flute. Quickly dashing at him, I was able to subdue the rapist son of a bitch and grip him firmly by his long hippie scalp.
I held the knife to his throat and yelled "You fuck! It's time to eat shit!" I forced his fat head and person into the stall, down into the shit I had left in the commode miniutes earlier. I recall the warmth of the shitbath being about lukewarm as I plunged his head multiple times into the crapper. "Nobody fucks with me on my fucking commute, you piece of shit!" I screamed at him as I kept dunking his head into the spoiled chunks and bacteria and finally applied a hefty blow to the base of his skull; leaving him passed out face down in my feces.
I left the truck stop after calmly purchasing a travel size bottle of pepto, downed the sucker, and eventually made it home in time to watch the conclusion of CHiPS.
If you have any further information on my assailant, I've included an artist's rendering of him here
Check out Betips.net on how to boot it under Windows ME, fucking slashbot too. Typical. Doesn't bother to do any research before bitching about asenine problems.
Slashdot Mirror
For about a year, Mark Allen, a gay man living in New York, conducted an online relationship
with a man living in Austin, Texas. But as the relationship matured, Allen realized it wasn't
his cyberboyfriend he was falling in love with, it was his PowerMac G3.
He's a public figure and therefore parodies are fair game, stupid douchebag.
Rob Malda: Sexual Harrasser
he's too fucking yeasty an filthy, even by timothy standards. If chrisd isn't feeling too flaming, CowboiKneel gets some sloppy seconds.
Sweating and farting nervously on the verge of mental meltdown, ELQ reloads each of her precious OSNews pages, making sure all is well. Fifty Internet Explorer windows are open in Windows XP, it's gridning the hard drive to death. ELQ's cable modem and NIC activity LEDs are nearly solid from the raw frenzy of almost constant browser reloading. Eugenia's eyes twitch rapidly from window to window with Mercurial speed to make sure that any rogue comments do not escape her attention, always hitting her refresh buttons with pinpoint accuracy. No logical order for checking, purely random and impulse driven by raw Mediterranean temper, stopping for the occasional savage bite from a pork loin still affixed to the bone, Eugenia's eyes never leave the monitor.
"N-n-n-n NO! No TIME for Dance Dance Revolution, oh but it's been so long! I cannot allow the BASTARD flooders' comments to be seen. MY DOMAIN IS SACRED!"
Hair is frizzled and days unwashed, asscrack just barely half wiped in a frenzy to return to her monitor, having taken a large shit earlier. No time to flush! Her armpits are over-ridden with pubic hair, her fat flaps reek of B.O. and yeast from days of neglect and hour upon hour of sweating. Relentless sweating.
"Cannot to be keeps up this pace! I may be need to go to hospital for exhaustions" she pants in desperation, wiping the sweat from a matted hair lock with her week-old t-shirt offering.
The hour of judgement approaches! Comment number 45 in thread 374 is clearly of anti-Greek sentiment! It reads "Eugenia continues to post yet another story that's simply ripped off from other websites. How much longer can this continue? It's my opinion that she has poor editorial skills. I think they should be revoked."
"YOU BASTARD FUCK!", Eugenia erupts in raw hatred, simultaneously ripping a 120 decibel-at-1-meter fart into the back of her chair. "Nobody is to be attack my site!" Eugenia blasts away at 10 words per minute in a barely-coherant broken English. She's on a mission. After several hours, the words on the screen are completely shattered and in disarray, they make no sense. Eugenia is impressed with her English progress and submits her lousy retort. Relaxing only for several seconds to savor the rush, she continues her patrol, sleepless into the night.
Attitude, you got some fucking attitude
I can't believe what you said to me
You got some attitude
Inside your feeble brain there's probably a hole
If you don't shut your mouth you're gonna feel a blow
Attitude, the one you got, oh baby
Attitude, the one you got, oh baby
Attitude, attitude inside your feeble brain
There's probably a hole if you don't shut
Your mouth you're gonna feel a blow
Attitude, you got some fucking attitude
(attitude) I can't believe what you said to me
You got some attitude
Attitude, you got some fucking attitude (attitude)
I can't believe what you said to me you got some attitude
A few years ago, while browsing around the library downtown, I had to take a piss. As I entered the john a big beautiful all-American football hero type, about twenty-five, came out of one of the booths. I stood at the urinal looking at him out of the corner of my eye as he washed his hands. He didn't once look at me. He was "straight" and married -- and in any case I was sure I wouldn't have a chance with him.
As soon as he left I darted into the booth he'd vacated, hoping there might be a lingering smell of shit and even a seat still warm from his sturdy young ass. I found not only the smell but the shit itself. He'd forgotten to flush. And what a treasure he had left behind. Three or four beautiful specimens floated in the bowl. It apparently had been a fairly dry, constipated shit, for all were fat, stiff, and ruggedly textured. The real prize was a great feast of turd -- a nine inch gastrointestinal triumph as thick as a man's wrist.
I knelt before the bowl, inhaling the rich brown fragrance and wondered if I should obey the impulse building up inside me. I'd always been a heavy rimmer and had lapped up more than one little clump of shit, but that had been just an inevitable part of eating ass and not an end in itself. Of course I'd had jerkoff fantasies of devouring great loads of it (what rimmer hasn't), but I had never done it. Now, here I was, confronted with the most beautiful five-pound turd I'd ever feasted my eyes on, a sausage fit to star in any fantasy and one I knew to have been hatched from the asshole of the world's handsomest young stud.
Why not? I plucked it from the bowl, holding it with both hands to keep it from breaking. I lifted it to my nose. It smelled like rich, ripe limburger (horrid, but thrilling), yet had the consistency of cheddar. What is cheese anyway but milk turning to shit without the benefit of a digestive tract?
I gave it a lick and found that it tasted better then it smelled. I've found since then that shit nearly almost does.
I hesitated no longer. I shoved the fucking thing as far into my mouth as I could get it and sucked on it like a big brown cock, beating my meat like a madman. I wanted to completely engulf it and bit off a large chunk, flooding my mouth with the intense, bittersweet flavor. To my delight I found that while the water in the bowl had chilled the outside of the turd, it was still warm inside. As I chewed I discovered that it was filled with hard little bits of something I soon identified as peanuts. He hadn't chewed them carefully and they'd passed through his body virtually unchanged. I ate it greedily, sending lump after peanutty lump sliding scratchily down my throat. My only regret was the donor of this feast wasn't there to wash it down with his piss.
I soon reached a terrific climax. I caught my cum in the cupped palm of my hand and drank it down. Believe me, there is no more delightful combination of flavors than the hot sweetness of cum with the rich bitterness of shit.
Afterwards I was sorry that I hadn't made it last longer. But then I realized that I still had a lot of fun in store for me. There was still a clutch of virile turds left in the bowl. I tenderly fished them out, rolled them into my handkerchief, and stashed them in my briefcase. In the week to come I found all kinds of ways to eat the shit without bolting it right down. Once eaten it's gone forever unless you want to filch it third hand out of your own asshole. Not an unreasonable recourse in moments of desperation or simple boredom.
I stored the turds in the refrigerator when I was not using them but within a week they were all gone. The last one I held in my mouth without chewing, letting it slowly dissolve. I had liquid shit trickling down my throat for nearly four hours. I must have had six orgasms in the process.
I often think of that lovely young guy dropping solid gold out of his sweet, pink asshole every day, never knowing what joy it could, and at least once did, bring to a grateful shiteater.
A few years ago, while browsing around the library downtown, I
had to take a piss. As I entered the john a big beautiful
all-American football hero type, about twenty-five, came out of one
of the booths. I stood at the urinal looking at him out of the
corner of my eye as he washed his hands. He didn't once look at me.
He was "straight" and married -- and in any case I was sure I
wouldn't have a chance with him.
As soon as he left I darted into the booth he'd vacated, hoping
there might be a lingering smell of shit and even a seat still warm
from his sturdy young ass. I found not only the smell but the shit
itself. He'd forgotten to flush. And what a treasure he had left
behind. Three or four beautiful specimens floated in the bowl. It
apparently had been a fairly dry, constipated shit, for all were
fat, stiff, and ruggedly textured. The real prize was a great feast
of turd -- a nine inch gastrointestinal triumph as thick as a man's
wrist.
I knelt before the bowl, inhaling the rich brown fragrance and
wondered if I should obey the impulse building up inside me. I'd
always been a heavy rimmer and had lapped up more than one little
clump of shit, but that had been just an inevitable part of eating
ass and not an end in itself. Of course I'd had jerkoff fantasies of
devouring great loads of it (what rimmer hasn't), but I had never
done it. Now, here I was, confronted with the most beautiful
five-pound turd I'd ever feasted my eyes on, a sausage fit to star
in any fantasy and one I knew to have been hatched from the asshole
of the world's handsomest young stud.
Why not? I plucked it from the bowl, holding it with both
hands to keep it from breaking. I lifted it to my nose. It smelled
like rich, ripe limburger (horrid, but thrilling), yet had the
consistency of cheddar. What is cheese anyway but milk turning to
shit without the benefit of a digestive tract?
I gave it a lick and found that it tasted better then it
smelled. I've found since then that shit nearly almost does.
I hesitated no longer. I shoved the fucking thing as far into
my mouth as I could get it and sucked on it like a big brown cock,
beating my meat like a madman. I wanted to completely engulf it and
bit off a large chunk, flooding my mouth with the intense,
bittersweet flavor. To my delight I found that while the water in
the bowl had chilled the outside of the turd, it was still warm
inside. As I chewed I discovered that it was filled with hard
little bits of something I soon identified as peanuts. He hadn't
chewed them carefully and they'd passed through his body virtually
unchanged. I ate it greedily, sending lump after peanutty lump
sliding scratchily down my throat. My only regret was the donor of
this feast wasn't there to wash it down with his piss.
I soon reached a terrific climax. I caught my cum in the
cupped palm of my hand and drank it down. Believe me, there is no
more delightful combination of flavors than the hot sweetness of cum
with the rich bitterness of shit.
Afterwards I was sorry that I hadn't made it last longer. But
then I realized that I still had a lot of fun in store for me.
There was still a clutch of virile turds left in the bowl. I
tenderly fished them out, rolled them into my handkerchief, and
stashed them in my briefcase. In the week to come I found all kinds
of ways to eat the shit without bolting it right down. Once eaten
it's gone forever unless you want to filch it third hand out of your
own asshole. Not an unreasonable recourse in moments of desperation
or simple boredom.
I stored the turds in the refrigerator when I was not using
them but within a week they were all gone. The last one I held in
my mouth without chewing, letting it slowly dissolve. I had liquid
shit trickling down my throat for nearly four hours. I must have
had six orgasms in the process.
I often think of that lovely young guy dropping solid gold out
of his sweet, pink asshole every day, never knowing what joy it
could, and at least once did, bring to a grateful shiteater.
methinks I'll pick up some Jger, a couple hamburgers and the latest Playgirl and play 'ESR' all night.
You'd have to be a stupid motherfucker to need a beer stein that goes "meep meep, I need to be refilled dumbfuck!"
Sweating and farting nervously on the verge of mental meltdown, ELQ reloads each of her precious OSNews pages, making sure all is well. Fifty Internet Explorer windows are open in Windows XP, it's gridning the hard drive to death. ELQ's cable modem and NIC activity LEDs are nearly solid from the raw frenzy of almost constant browser reloading. Eugenia's eyes twitch rapidly from window to window with Mercurial speed to make sure that any rogue comments do not escape her attention, always hitting her refresh buttons with pinpoint accuracy. No logical order for checking, purely random and impulse driven by raw Mediterranean temper, stopping for the occasional savage bite from a pork loin still affixed to the bone, Eugenia's eyes never leave the monitor.
"N-n-n-n NO! No TIME for Dance Dance Revolution, oh but it's been so long! I cannot allow the BASTARD flooders' comments to be seen. MY DOMAIN IS SACRED!"
Hair is frizzled and days unwashed, asscrack just barely half wiped in a frenzy to return to her monitor, having taken a large shit earlier. No time to flush! Her armpits are over-ridden with pubic hair, her fat flaps reek of B.O. and yeast from days of neglect and hour upon hour of sweating. Relentless sweating.
"Cannot to be keeps up this pace! I may be need to go to hospital for exhaustions" she pants in desperation, wiping the sweat from a matted hair lock with her week-old t-shirt offering.
The hour of judgement approaches! Comment number 45 in thread 374 is clearly of anti-Greek sentiment! It reads "Eugenia continues to post yet another story that's simply ripped off from other websites. How much longer can this continue? It's my opinion that she has poor editorial skills. I think they should be revoked."
"YOU BASTARD FUCK!", Eugenia erupts in raw hatred, simultaneously ripping a 120 decibel-at-1-meter fart into the back of her chair. "Nobody is to be attack my site!" Eugenia blasts away at 10 words per minute in a barely-coherant broken English. She's on a mission. After several hours, the words on the screen are completely shattered and in disarray, they make no sense. Eugenia is impressed with her English progress and submits her lousy retort. Relaxing only for several seconds to savor the rush, she continues her patrol, sleepless into the night.
last post!?
I routinely commute between Bangore, Maine and Washington D.C. once every week for work. The drive is long and uneventful usually, yes I know, but the scratch is decent. To keep myself from going insane, I'll usually catch some tunes on the radio stations that I like along the way or even listen to something out of my CD collection if I'm really bored. I-95 gets pretty dull once you're several hours into the drive, so I like to stop every four hours or so to strech my legs, fill the car up with gas, and grab a bite to eat. I'm particularly fond of Friendly's, and stop there quite often as my company picks up the tab for all travel related expenses, plus compensation.
I decided to stop there one evening on the way back up to Bangor. The patty melt is ususally pretty good and I mostly get that combo platter, but this time I decided to try the pastrami melt. It was generally satisfying. However, an hour into my resumed trip, I entered the Boston area and started to get a bit of rumbling in the bowels. I broke wind several times, but the gastro-intestinal rumbling was getting so unbearable along with the stench, that I had to pull over at a Buck Horn Truck Stop. It was so bad,that I was barely able to hold the runny shit inside my bowels before I took down my boxers and let loose. The first wave of semi-solid feces was forced out by an explosive firehose of runny turds and wattery diarreah, and I screamed in agony; butthole stinging from the festering shit water that was splashing back up onto my ass.
I recovered after several minutes of dabbing at my asshole with that crapy cheap non-quilted toilet paper, and eased my ass back into my pants as to buy some pepto bismol from the gift shop. The beast in my lower abdomen needed to be calmed before I got on the road again.
It's common for me to leave unflushed shit in the toilets that I use, as to make the life of whatever minimum wage loser that has to clean it up that much worse. This was a special occasion! The toilet was nearly ready to spill over. Perfection had been achieved, or so I thought.
Mere seconds after my retreat from the stinking commode, a rather stalky man with a huge beer gut barged into the bathroom like some drunken vagrant, stinking almost as badly as my unflushed Cosby Kids. Sporting a rather unkept greasy beard, he butted his half-smoked joint onto the piss soaked floor and crept up behind me while I was washing my hands. I did not get a decent look at what he had contained in his other hand, but no sooner did he rush up behind me and jammed what felt like the barrel of a pistol into the lower of my back. "Don't move unless I tell you to." he blurted out messily. "I'll kill you if you move, now drop your pants." "Look, man, you can have my wallet, I don't care. I won't report you, just don't kill me," I replied. The stalky man responded in a gruff "That ain't gonna cut it, drop your pants now." So I did as he asked. "Now take down the boxers too," he remarked.
"Oh god!" I thought to myself "I'm going to get raped in the ass at a fucking truck stop" and I did just as he asked. He prodded my already tender and sore asshole several times with the object he had jammed into my back, presumably the barrel of a pistol. I winced in pain, but dared not make noise. "Bend over, you're gonna take it hard like Linus does. Right in the sweet buttery cornhole. You're going to take it from me! The great RMS! AHAHAHAHAH!!!!!"
"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit" I thought over and over again while I proceeded to bend over the sink, when I finally caught a glimpse of my assailant in the sink mirror. The son of a bitch was jamming the mouthpiece end of a fucking flute into my back and asshole. A FUCKING FLUTE! I quickly pulled my pants back up, and shoved the greasy fuck away from me. I quickly pulled my 4.5" serrated Gerber lockback knife out of my right pocket while the madman tooted away on the mouthpiece end of the defiled flute. Quickly dashing at him, I was able to subdue the rapist son of a bitch and grip him firmly by his long hippie scalp.
I held the knife to his throat and yelled "You fuck! It's time to eat shit!" I forced his fat head and person into the stall, down into the shit I had left in the commode miniutes earlier. I recall the warmth of the shitbath being about lukewarm as I plunged his head multiple times into the crapper. "Nobody fucks with me on my fucking commute, you piece of shit!" I screamed at him as I kept dunking his head into the spoiled chunks and bacteria and finally applied a hefty blow to the base of his skull; leaving him passed out face down in my feces.
I left the truck stop after calmly purchasing a travel size bottle of pepto, downed the sucker, and eventually made it home in time to watch the conclusion of CHiPS.
If you have any further information on my assailant, I've included an artist's rendering of him here
Check out Betips.net on how to boot it under Windows ME, fucking slashbot too. Typical. Doesn't bother to do any research before bitching about asenine problems.
Hey, tell me. If it was the right choice to buy NeXT, why did they spend upwards of four years to launch the sucker?