Dreamwords: This person is batshit insane (Must View)

1357913579 Death Cog Machine
edited July 2011 in Spurious Generalities
Everybody, get in here and read this crazy shit, tell me I'm not the only one who's brain is melting.

A friend just sent me this link: http://enslavedmaiden.tumblr.com/

Here's some examples of her writing:

Fucked By A Sandbear
Fucked by a Sandbear
A new chapter has begun.
I was almost there, the forgotten lost pyramid in Giza, forged from the bone of the desert mammoth. In it, stood the lost tomb of womb.
The grave were mother Gaia was buried.
My quest was a simple one, retrieve the black emerald of Long Beach.
The glitter alone would make me rich like Lyle Lovette.

My camel ran out of gas before we crossed the Danube. So I was climbing the dunes on foot.
I was holding in a wicked shit, because I feared them…. It could attract them…
But finally my beaten anus gave way and spilled a puddle of shit onto the sand that would make Exxon Valdez nostalgic.

No sonner had the last drop of frosty poop evaporate on the noon-sun sand did I hear it’s grunt.

The Sand Bear.
before I could pull my panties up to run I saw his shaggy blonde body leap from behind a nearby dune.

He threw me to the sand, a hot trickle of shitwater still dripping down my thigh, I tried to escape…. But I felt his furried clawed paws scratching at my hips.

I felt his hot breath hit my naked back. It smelled like trout and cactus.
His furry dick dangled and brushed against my exposed sex… Oh god! He was going to do it!!

Just like they warned at the embassy, he slid his slick prickles bearcock into me. His growls and grunts grew stronger and more intense. I feltbhim finish, half a gallon of his sauce filled my womb. I took it like a champ.

No guts no glory.
God helps those who help themselves.

The Day I Tongue Fucked Christopher Lloyd’s Asshole
The Day I Tongue Fucked Christopher Lloyd’s Asshole

They called me over.

My Mabeline skills were renown.

I was The Cover Girl.
He cut his chin shaving.

It happens to the best of them.

Easy fix.

A little foundation, an oil based concealer, some powder to kill the shine.

Done.
As I walked towards the trailer door, he called me over.

His voice like gravel in a garbage disposal….

He had an air about him.

Old and wrinkled, his breath smelled of stale coffee.

He cock his brow and smirked.

Made some quip about being over the hill.

I smiled.
He reached down and produced a flaccid penis. It looked like the trunk of a dead elephant. Gray and dry. Wrinkled with age.
I did my duty.
Poorly it seems.

Not a drop was spilled.
“don’t feel bad kiddo.” He said. “let me show you the button that turns me on.”
He bent over and spread the cheeks of his ass. His asshole was puffed and protruded, from years of unwiped shit and suspected stapler insertion.
The area around his anus and in his crack was a deep gray. It smelled of soured milk.
With closed eyes I sucked his shithole.

The bitterness on my tongue grew the deeper I inserted it.

I worried about picking up a parasite….
“GREAT SCOTT!”
A thick yellowed semen poured from his limp meat as a stale fart met my lips.
He slid a 50 from the pocket of his slacks and ruffled my hair.
My work here was done.

Faggot Puncher

Who the fuck do you think you are?
Turn your nose up at this?
You don’t know what you’re missing, faggot.
My milk is the sweetest.
My dessert is pure.
You deny yourself the pleasure.

Begone!

Take your dick!
Go lick an ass. Eventually you’ll come across one that’s not quite so clean.
A small bit of dirty paper stuck in an anus wrinkle, a bitter taste in the nucleus.
I’ve been there, I know.

When I see a faggot acting gay in WalMart I just want to punch him in his faggot face.
As he quivers on the ground, I want to rub my pussy on his nose to mark my territory.
You have a penis, that MAKES YOU MINE!

you want me you’re just too stupid to realize what your missing you stupid queer. WRISTFLAPPER.

Cocks are for pussies

Go back to school and learn it right.


So. Who thinks we should bring her over here and get her to write some good totse stories for us? :cool:

EDIT:
The cicada burrowed its mighty head into Jeff’s sweating cock. He screamed in the tongue of 1000 burning Jews. She watched the lump travel under his dickflesh, working it’s way towards his tender juicy scrotum.

Jeff fell to the floor panting… All was silent.

To be continued in 13 years….

This is internet GOLD.

Comments

  • Gary OakGary Oak Regular
    edited July 2011
    She's pretty funny.
  • MeloncholyMeloncholy Regular
    edited July 2011
    It's like a mentally ill person imitating W.S Burroughs.

    E: in fact, it's just like W.S Burroughs.
  • edited July 2011
    The cicada burrowed its mighty head into Jeff’s sweating cock. He screamed in the tongue of 1000 burning Jews. She watched the lump travel under his dickflesh, working it’s way towards his tender juicy scrotum.

    Jeff fell to the floor panting… All was silent.

    To be continued in 13 years….

    LOL
  • MorningsideMorningside Regular
    edited July 2011
    Meloncholy wrote: »
    It's like a mentally ill person imitating W.S Burroughs.

    E: in fact, it's just like W.S Burroughs.

    I lol'd. As a Burroughs fan I can tell you the content is similar, but the style is not. Either way, I like it.
  • dr rockerdr rocker Regular
    edited July 2011
    I beat her hands down at mental.
    If this is a coming war, I am not going. I would have when I was younger but I have got too much shit to do at the moment. That, and dying in korea does not sound fun. I know a few guys who were in korea the first time around.

    One of the guys I know was in a machine gun crew of four. He was the barrel changer I think. He said they were on a hill in the snow, the machine gun barrel having to be changed frequently as they were getting heated and could jam or warp. He said the gun was going most of the night, as one by one as time went on his crew died.

    He was the only one left, firing that gun, loading it, changing the barrel for quite a while. He said they just kept coming and coming and when the sun rose and they fucked off, the piles of bodies were so deep they had changed how the ground looked.

    He was near frozen and had to be carried out in the position he was in. He could not let go of the gun until warmed up.

    Fuck that. I will stay at home. I will grow melons. People fucking love melons. I heard somewhere that during WW2, people in the UK would pay the equivalent to £65 for a melon. I will make melon pits on a south facing slope and have them as underground trenches covered in glass. I would probably install a water boiler that ran on waste and scrap wood, paper – any old shit I could get my hands on – for spring time to help warm it a little, but it would be such a natural heat trap it would only be in late winter and early spring that it would need heating.

    I could grow a lot of melons – in times of big wars, we have petrol shortages and so more people would use horses for transport so I could fill my melon pits with grade a manure. This rotting alone would help to warm the melon trenches.

    I would grow my melons and they would be as good if not better than you get now in the shops and they would sell for top dollar, except I would want the money in pounds as I live in Britain. With all of my melon pounds I would soon become a wealthy man.

    The king of the melon farms would have nothing to fear for his melons would bring comfort, joy and a nice sweet fruit to enjoy. The king of the melons could sleep safe in his bed knowing there was a was on some where he was not while he was in bed (a very comfortable bed) that was paid for with riches derived from the main occupation of the melon king. FARMING FUCKING MELONS.

    I could take over neighbouring areas and introduce my ways of melon farming. I would let them operate as independent farms, however, I would tell them what to grow and how to grow it and who to sell it too and they would be rejoicing as such:

    “Melon King! Why did you not come to us sooner to show us the true way to produce and market melons. We did not think good of your ways you made us voluntarily try, until they made us melon millionaires.”

    And then, I would show my powers lie not just with melons, but in the science and electronics industry also. As South Korea would be a smoky hole in the ground, who would make cheap plasma screen TV's? I would devise new technologies that use thin slivers of melon to make different areas of colour on the TV screen. By applying different electrical currents to the melon slices, they would reflect different colours, a bit like an LCD TV.

    The slices of melon would be very thin and would have been preserved in melon liqueur so they lasted a while.

    I would branch out into high end lighting systems, next generation disk players and hydrogen cell technology. All the while remaining true to the melons. All of my interests would involve melons. I think once melon production volume had risen to a certain level, it would be economical to produce melon seed oil. This would be processed and sold for a number of applications from a food stuff, to fuel to a vaginal lubricant.

    My business enterprises would be large, and it was all based on the fact that I was the melon king.

    Some days I would become dejected and ask myself if it had all been a big waste, farming melons, you know, sometimes how you can get when melancholy can set in whilst you await challenges new. Those challenges come thick and fast when you are a melon farmer however, that being my primary occupation. Powdery milder, red spider mite, slugs, the list goes on when you are a melon farmer.

    When you are the melon king however, you have to show everyone the right ways to farm melons, with proper melon trench hygiene at all times. Do no bring in any old plants, anything you do bring in make sure it is slug and disease free. Keep the area clean and tidy and free from weeds and trash and keep things in proper repair. This will help with slugs and spider mites. I would go killing slugs in the dark too, when they come out with a pointy stick.

    I would leave these squewered slugs on the stick, only to find in the day light they were gone – some thing eating them in the night. Maybe birds very early in the morning, or hedgehogs – I know we also have a family of foxes living about 250 feet from the garden.

    The foxes and I have an understanding. They stay out of my way and stay away from the melons and in return I don't kill them. It is a pretty sweet deal for the foxes as if they behave they get to live and if a fox gets really sad about shit – like an emo fox, but really srs, they know they can walk by my melons and I will kill them. Its like a Veritas suicide park for foxes. With melons.

    Due to the fact that the foxes and I had an understanding and they suicided, even PETA would be cool with me making nice jackets out of the fox skins. Fuck, even naomi campbell could have one, but she can't as she is friends with charles taylor and robert mugabe.

    See, I bet uma therman is not friends with african tyrannical dictators. She could have a fox skin coat and a melon and she would walk the track herself to the place where I live taking in the peace and tranquillity of the melon pits and the birds chirping and foxes squealing while they died and she would fall in love with place and she would round the corner to the courtyard in front of my house where my expensive sports car I have bought from my melon empire is parked and she would see them.

    The melon men. Three bamboo canes each and a lot of melons, set out to look like a man made from melons. She would shit a brick. She would think it was something from that film that she was in that was called kill bill where she had a sword and she had to chop fuck out of lots of people and she would do a karate style sideways backwards flying jump thing and grab the brush I use to keep my courtyard swept and swing it around like a sword, taking apart melon men until she realised.

    She would realise it was all a joke. I was playing off the colour of her tracksuit she wore in that film with the vibrant skin of a yellow melon and how I was playing this off against a scene that she could link back to a movie she was in and she would turn and say to me “give me one of those coats” and then we would spend the afternoon blowing melons up.

    A tenth shit, renowned lambada?
  • MorningsideMorningside Regular
    edited July 2011
    That was the first time I was ever on tumblr. I signed up aka read my bullshit http://desiccant89.tumblr.com/
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