Scene:
(Playing in the background: Aretha Franklin, "Baby I love you")
If you want my lovin
If you really do
Don't be afra-aid bab-ay
Just ask me
Ya know I'm gonna give it to you...
I'm in a dark room somewhere in the holding cells of Guantananmo. It's dark, hot and moist. Both my feet and hands are handcuffed to the floor. I am naked and my ass is pointed towards the door. She enters with a couple of well muscled Secret Service agents. The agents laugh. She takes off her long coat, revealing a leather corset and high heel leather boots. She approves what she sees with a snort and picks up a whip from the nearby table. It looks like my mistress knows what she wants to do with me. The agents tie a strap-on dildo on her hips. It is 8" long, black and thick. It's nothing like any dick I've taken up my ass before. I shiver in fear. She lubes the dildo and gives me the "Ya know I'm gonna give it to you" grin.
She walks closer. I love the way her wide hips move. Jesus that hurt! She just hit me.... but now I know what's in store for me. And I love it.
As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a Eurofag. He was lying on his bony, as it were effeminate, back and when he lifted his head a little he could see that he was wearing designer silk Prada G-string underwear which was slippery due to the fact that he was covered in K-Y jelly and Baby Oil, and was so uncomfortable that he was about to slide off the bed completely.
What has happened to me? he thought. It was no dream. His early-20th-century Central European bedroom was authentically minimalist, perhaps too much so. Above the simple minimalist table on which a collection of cloth samples was unpacked and spread out -- Samsa was a commercial traveler -- hung the picture of a lady with a fur cap on.
"Fur is murder!" Gregor heard himself blurt out, but he did not even understand its meaning. And again: "Fur is beautiful on animals but ugly on humans!" and "Would you wear your dog?" and "Give fur the cold shoulder!" The voice was his, as were the thoughts -- only the meaning escaped him.
Gregor's eyes turned next to the window, and the overcast sky -- one could hear rain drops beating on the window gutter -- made him think only of getting back to southern Portugal, or to Greece, or to Majorca, all beach vacation destinations which Gregor had no immediate recollection of ever visiting, precisely because he had never been to any of them. And yet the urge to "return" to the beach, and to "catch up on his tan" so that his body would attain the color of burnt pork knuckle, was overpowering, and this cast him into a gloom. "I'm so pale," he heard himself moan.
What about sleeping a little longer and forgetting all this nonsense, he thought, but it could not be done, for he was accustomed to sleeping in his nightgown and in his present costume, wearing only a tight silk Prada G-string, sexually aroused and imagining, to his own horror, what a joy it would be if a gypsy man were to urinate into his mouth, Gregor simply could not relax. However violently he forced himself towards his right side he always felt the pinch of his G-string and the slipperiness from the lubricants, and he rolled onto his back again. He tried it at least a dozen times, shutting his eyes to keep from seeing his shaven white legs, and only desisted when he began to feel a faint sense of irritation and depression which he had never experienced before, along with twitching in his spine, and a sore sinus and a sore nose with dried blood. He was terribly thirsty, and at the same time he felt fatigue and a profound sense of angst.
Oh God, he thought, what an exhausting job I've picked! Traveling about day in, day out. Although it's better than being stuck in an office, which is so alienating and oppressive, with its bourgeois dictatorial rules and spatial techno-totalitarianism. At least as a traveling salesman he was able to constantly move, take the train, see the beautiful countryside, meet so many interesting people, including students, activists, artists, and minorities.
He felt a slight itching on his pubic area; slowly lifted his head so that he could see more easily; identified the itching place, which came as a result of shaving all of his pubic hair, including his scrotum and the tuft which usually lined his anus, and he made to touch it with a hand, but he drew the hand back immediately, for the contact made him want to visit Thailand, where there are many friendly young boys.
He slid down again into his former position. This getting up early, he thought, makes one quite queer. A man needs his sleep. Otherwise I will look awful when I meet my clients, and who knows what interesting, unique Europeans I will meet along the way. Besides, the union I belong to has won concessions reducing the workweek to only 35 hours, while our pay was increased, so what's the point of waking up early? In fact, I am tired of working. It's only because of my overbearing parents that I continue this job. If it wasn't for my respect for their authority and my i
The explosion reminds us that we must fear
on
Gates on Google
·
· Score: -1, Offtopic
An "explosion" the size of a small fireworks rocket at 3 am. Nobody gets hurt, but now the neo-con infiltrated right wing media can again whip up the fear and militant patriotism.
I was already expecting something like this. GWBs approval rate is at all time low, the Abu Ghraib incident is back in public, the Iraqi insurgents have not been defeated, WMDs have not been found and Osama bin Laden is still at large.
It was about time that the government must remind us of the Enemy - that we must fear and stop whining about the erosion of our civil rights and rampart cronyism in the Bush cabinet and just bend over for all the excesses.
Mmm... I just had a delicious kebab with fries and cool ice water. Now I'm going to grind some coffee beans and brew top-notch coffee and enjoy it with a bit of tasty chocolate. Later this evening I'm going out for a beer with friends.
With the sole exception of geeks whose reproductive cycle still remains a mystery to science. So far the scientists can say that this intriguing subgroup of the human race is mostly unable to attract the female of the species and thus must reproduce asexually. What exactly this process entails is shrouded in mystery.
"CBS will not broadcast THE REAGANS on November 16 and 18. This decision is based solely on our reaction to seeing the final film, not the controversy that erupted around a draft of the script.
Although the mini-series features impressive production values and acting performances, and although the producers have sources to verify each scene in the script, we believe it does not present a balanced portrayal of the Reagans for CBS and its audience. Subsequent edits that we considered did not address those concerns.
A free broadcast network, available to all over the public airwaves, has different standards than media the public must pay to view. We do, however, recognize and respect the filmmakers' right to have their voice heard and their film seen. As such, we have reached an agreement to license the exhibition rights for the film to Showtime, a subscriber-based, pay-cable network. We believe this is a solution that benefits everyone involved.
This was not an easy decision to make. CBS does tackle controversial subjects and provide tough assessments of prominent historical figures and events, as we did with films such as 'Jesus,' '9-11' and 'Hitler.' We will continue to do so in the future."
Slashdot Mirror
Scene: (Playing in the background: Aretha Franklin, "Baby I love you")
I'm in a dark room somewhere in the holding cells of Guantananmo. It's dark, hot and moist. Both my feet and hands are handcuffed to the floor. I am naked and my ass is pointed towards the door. She enters with a couple of well muscled Secret Service agents. The agents laugh. She takes off her long coat, revealing a leather corset and high heel leather boots. She approves what she sees with a snort and picks up a whip from the nearby table. It looks like my mistress knows what she wants to do with me. The agents tie a strap-on dildo on her hips. It is 8" long, black and thick. It's nothing like any dick I've taken up my ass before. I shiver in fear. She lubes the dildo and gives me the "Ya know I'm gonna give it to you" grin.
She walks closer. I love the way her wide hips move. Jesus that hurt! She just hit me.... but now I know what's in store for me. And I love it.
Now why would the sex-starved soccer moms be against a tentacle fantasy?
Sick or sexy?
As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a Eurofag. He was lying on his bony, as it were effeminate, back and when he lifted his head a little he could see that he was wearing designer silk Prada G-string underwear which was slippery due to the fact that he was covered in K-Y jelly and Baby Oil, and was so uncomfortable that he was about to slide off the bed completely.
What has happened to me? he thought. It was no dream. His early-20th-century Central European bedroom was authentically minimalist, perhaps too much so. Above the simple minimalist table on which a collection of cloth samples was unpacked and spread out -- Samsa was a commercial traveler -- hung the picture of a lady with a fur cap on.
"Fur is murder!" Gregor heard himself blurt out, but he did not even understand its meaning. And again: "Fur is beautiful on animals but ugly on humans!" and "Would you wear your dog?" and "Give fur the cold shoulder!" The voice was his, as were the thoughts -- only the meaning escaped him.
Gregor's eyes turned next to the window, and the overcast sky -- one could hear rain drops beating on the window gutter -- made him think only of getting back to southern Portugal, or to Greece, or to Majorca, all beach vacation destinations which Gregor had no immediate recollection of ever visiting, precisely because he had never been to any of them. And yet the urge to "return" to the beach, and to "catch up on his tan" so that his body would attain the color of burnt pork knuckle, was overpowering, and this cast him into a gloom. "I'm so pale," he heard himself moan.
What about sleeping a little longer and forgetting all this nonsense, he thought, but it could not be done, for he was accustomed to sleeping in his nightgown and in his present costume, wearing only a tight silk Prada G-string, sexually aroused and imagining, to his own horror, what a joy it would be if a gypsy man were to urinate into his mouth, Gregor simply could not relax. However violently he forced himself towards his right side he always felt the pinch of his G-string and the slipperiness from the lubricants, and he rolled onto his back again. He tried it at least a dozen times, shutting his eyes to keep from seeing his shaven white legs, and only desisted when he began to feel a faint sense of irritation and depression which he had never experienced before, along with twitching in his spine, and a sore sinus and a sore nose with dried blood. He was terribly thirsty, and at the same time he felt fatigue and a profound sense of angst.
Oh God, he thought, what an exhausting job I've picked! Traveling about day in, day out. Although it's better than being stuck in an office, which is so alienating and oppressive, with its bourgeois dictatorial rules and spatial techno-totalitarianism. At least as a traveling salesman he was able to constantly move, take the train, see the beautiful countryside, meet so many interesting people, including students, activists, artists, and minorities.
He felt a slight itching on his pubic area; slowly lifted his head so that he could see more easily; identified the itching place, which came as a result of shaving all of his pubic hair, including his scrotum and the tuft which usually lined his anus, and he made to touch it with a hand, but he drew the hand back immediately, for the contact made him want to visit Thailand, where there are many friendly young boys.
He slid down again into his former position. This getting up early, he thought, makes one quite queer. A man needs his sleep. Otherwise I will look awful when I meet my clients, and who knows what interesting, unique Europeans I will meet along the way. Besides, the union I belong to has won concessions reducing the workweek to only 35 hours, while our pay was increased, so what's the point of waking up early? In fact, I am tired of working. It's only because of my overbearing parents that I continue this job. If it wasn't for my respect for their authority and my i
I was already expecting something like this. GWBs approval rate is at all time low, the Abu Ghraib incident is back in public, the Iraqi insurgents have not been defeated, WMDs have not been found and Osama bin Laden is still at large.
It was about time that the government must remind us of the Enemy - that we must fear and stop whining about the erosion of our civil rights and rampart cronyism in the Bush cabinet and just bend over for all the excesses.
Captain Tripps has always given us captains a bad name.
The registration is there for a purpose, you know!
Some of us don't have the time or interest to hang around /. all day and read every story. This is a very interesting article and I missed it earlier.
Thanks for posting it!
I'm sickened by all the lynching mentality around his case!
Supporters of the Georgian opposition storm into the country's parliament building following a demonstration.
Life is good.
With the sole exception of geeks whose reproductive cycle still remains a mystery to science. So far the scientists can say that this intriguing subgroup of the human race is mostly unable to attract the female of the species and thus must reproduce asexually. What exactly this process entails is shrouded in mystery.
Hey, leave the man alone. Shame on you for picking on someone because of his name...
Hear, hear! Drop it on the France!
I read somewhere that the telescopes on Earth can already beat Hubble by using adaptive optics.
I thought they were going to crash it into Jupiter to avoid contaminating Earth with its plutonium core? I'm quite sure I read it somewhere.
"CBS will not broadcast THE REAGANS on November 16 and 18. This decision is based solely on our reaction to seeing the final film, not the controversy that erupted around a draft of the script.
Although the mini-series features impressive production values and acting performances, and although the producers have sources to verify each scene in the script, we believe it does not present a balanced portrayal of the Reagans for CBS and its audience. Subsequent edits that we considered did not address those concerns.
A free broadcast network, available to all over the public airwaves, has different standards than media the public must pay to view. We do, however, recognize and respect the filmmakers' right to have their voice heard and their film seen. As such, we have reached an agreement to license the exhibition rights for the film to Showtime, a subscriber-based, pay-cable network. We believe this is a solution that benefits everyone involved.
This was not an easy decision to make. CBS does tackle controversial subjects and provide tough assessments of prominent historical figures and events, as we did with films such as 'Jesus,' '9-11' and 'Hitler.' We will continue to do so in the future."
Eat what, my friend? I am confused.
But does she do Dallas?