Wednesday, August 26, 2020

Harvey Keitel's Sex Story Sanctuary

(This is an excerpt taken from my interview with Harvey Keitel on June 28th, 2020)


"Yeah, I like fucking chicks. So what? I dig the way my dick feels when I cum. I really like it when the broad is on her period and lets me bust inside. I don't need a fucking baby at my age. How old am I anyway? 
(checks his phone) 
81 years old?! Good lord, fuck my ass... 
What was I talking about? Oh yeah, there's nothing like cumming inside a chick.

One time, I think it was the summer of '72, I'm balling this chick, and I'm very excited because she's foxy as hell. We're fucking in the basement of her dad's building in Queens, I remember it being near the zoo. We were fucking in the basement near the boilers and everything.  Heavy duty bangin' for 20 minutes straight, and I'm getting tired, so I decide to hurry up and cum. I'm doing her doggy style, and I speed up. Just start pounding her really hard and fast and she gets to moaning and I'm jackhammering away at her pussy. I feel my whole body go stiff, and my dick gets real stiff, too. I can't move. My balls feel like somebody is squeezing them, and I get that feeling spreading around my unit like I'm on the verge of unleashing a whole mess of jizz. As I blow my load, time slows down. All I can feel is my prick and my balls. Everything else is black and empty. I get this high pitched ringing in my ears. Then I get hit with all this...footage. Visions flashing before my eyes. They feel real, but sorta fuzzy. 


I see my father thrusting a samurai sword into the belly of a horse. He walks alongside the horse, gripping the sword strongly, shredding the animal's insides as he goes. He pulls it out, winks at me, and turns into a walrus. 

I see the same walrus every now and again in my dreams. When I was a teenager, whenever I got angry, I would bring a bag of potatoes to the zoo and whip them at the walrus they got there. I feel bad about it now, but I have to admit I had a good time lobbing Irish Grenades at that fat fuck. 

As I'm looking into his eyes, I feel 8 tons of guilt. The walrus transforms into my first girlfriend, Sandy. Beautiful Brooklyn girl, but big. Built like a Buick. We would listen to Fats Domino records and make out. Then we would ride bikes down to Chinatown and giggle at those slant-eyed bastards. I don't like Chinese people very much, but they sure are fun to laugh at.

Then I'm taken back to reality. I'm still behind the girl in the boiler room. I'm still deep in her gash. I spurt 6 times. Every blast feels like a 4 day weekend. Time passes in inches. The cosmos is centered in my shvantz.

My goo? It's all over the place. I filled her up too fast and it didn't have any other place to go. My head starts feeling throbby, and my eyes go out of focus. The last thing I remember is this broad saying, 'Damnit Harvey, it's everywhere!' 

I black out. Wake up on the concrete floor of the boiler room with a headache. It's nighttime now. Touch my head where the pain is coming from. I'm bleeding, but not too bad. I get up slowly and my back is wet. It's cum. I came so hard that I passed out in a pool of my own nut. The chick is long gone. Left me there. 

It was the greatest day of my life."



Thursday, June 18, 2020

Letter Home From Camp

Dear Mom and Dad,

Things are weird here. The camp director has surrounded himself with squirrels. I believe they are his personal army. I tried to shake his hand and a big brown one flew at my hand and bit me. How does he command their loyalty? Sometimes he balances grapes on his nipple tips and the squirrels launch themselves in the air and snatch the grapes. I want to come home but I know the squirrels won't let me.

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The cabins we live in are primitive. My bed is hay. My pillow is dead birds. Spiders crawl in and out of my mouth. To them, I'm just a piece of terrain to cross. I am human! I deserve respect!

The trees here make noises like old people make. Remember the moaning man at grandma's nursing home? They sound like that. Something fell from a branch one day. It was a VHS tape filled with human teeth.

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We came across a baby in the woods. He was swaddled in a Judas Priest t-shirt. This dickhead kid named Gerald put it in his backpack. He fed it Doritos and licorice, but I don't think babies like that stuff because it wouldn't stop crying. The camp director heard about the baby and took it away from Gerald. That night, one of the squirrels pissed on Gerald's face while he was sleeping.

My bowels are white and they move in the toilet. I'm listening to a lot of Prince.

They made this one kid dig his own grave and sleep in it for 3 nights because he said the camp director smells like horse cum. He does, though.

One of our counselors drilled a hole in a globe and lubed it up. We fuck it. The hole is near Brazil.

This letter might not find you in time. If I die here, don't look through my stuff. Just don't. I miss you guys so much and can't wait to leave this place. I love you both.

ventriloquist-dummy-surround-young-man



   

Thursday, May 7, 2015

Losing My Mind: A Tale of Exhaustion

Note: This post was written in January of 2015. Rough times. I'm over it now. Living with my girlfriend in a nice little guesthouse with no shared walls or floors. I'm past the bull noise. Enjoy my retroactive suffering!

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I'm exhausted and tapering off my antidepressants. I'm not doing well. I can't get proper sleep at my apartment because I made the mistake of believing that I had in fact rented a structurally sound top floor apartment. I did not. I can hear everything my neighbor does and she can probably hear me. She says she has gotten used to it. I will never get used to feeling her stomp through my floor. I can feel her door slams through my bed. I'm forced to wake up when she wakes up, which is too early for me. I'm seriously considering staying in a hotel for a few days just to get some sleep because I'm losing it.

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I'm going to break my lease here, which is something I've never done. I thought briefly about buying a house and paying a mortgage, but LA is so fucking expensive that the only houses I could afford were next to the freeway and/or shacks in questionable neighborhoods. Any house listed below $600,000 in LA is a piece of shit.

I am growing sick of the city. Fuck, I am done with any city right now. I need quiet. I need space. I need no neighbors and total privacy. I had a guesthouse in LA for 3 years. Should have kept it. It wasn't perfect but I should've stayed there. I was happy there. Actually, the last two months, I was not happy there, what with the combination of the next door neighbor building AN ENTIRE 2 STORY HOUSE ONTO THE BACK OF HIS HOUSE, and a leak in the roof. The construction guys hammering at 7 in the morning is what started driving me crazy. I don't think I've ever gotten back on track. That was 6 months ago. I've had a short fuse and been physically and emotionally exhausted for 6 months and I'm finally spent. It's good to know that my personal limit for bullshit is around 6 months. Yep, good to know.

Downstairs neighbor lady runs a juice company out of her apartment and runs the blender all day. She also has a roommate now, unbeknownst to my landlord. This new roommate is just as inconsiderate about making noise as she is, but then again, this apartment is built like a cardboard tree-fort. It looks nice, but Ted Bundy also looked nice and he murdered people.

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Oof, I sound angry and bitter.

Girlfriend was supposed to move in to this apartment. This was gonna be the place where we lived together. I took on the high cost of this shithole alone, knowing that she'd eventually move in and ease the financial burden. Not anymore. She won't move in here and I don't blame her. Fuck this place, I wish it burned down while I was walking my dog. That would be perfect, actually. No loss of life, just one less shitty structure in LA.

I don't even want to live in LA. Can't stop thinking about my escape really. Actually thinking about suicide on a very casual, surface level. Ooooooooooooooo. Uh oh! No, mustn't say that. Mustn't think about the sweet release of the end. The pull of oblivion. Can't talk about it or they'll lock you up. Don't even mention it or a switch gets flipped and people want to help you. By help you, I mean institutionalize you. And once you've been in a mental facility, the stink will never wash off you. That little nugget of information can be used to assassinate your character for as long as you live. Can't adopt a kid. If you ever get sued or have to go to court, the lawyers will dredge up that shit like an old lobster trap. "Well look what we got here! A suicidal lobster! Explain yourself, suicidal lobster. Go on, tell us non-suiciders what the hell you were thinking. Why would you even consider opting out of this grand world of ours? Speak up, boy!"

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I'm desperate. My 1st priority is sleep. 2nd priority is finding a new place. 3rd priority is building a giant walk-in microwave. Things might be better if I could get some sleep and a new place to live.

I'm very tired. Going to sleep now. Can't wait until I get woken up. Life is great. I wish I was dead. Cemetery folk have it made.

Saturday, March 1, 2014

Flash Your High Beams

We here at the gabbin' cabin like to talk about the dogs we've murdered on our way to the championship of roof jumping. From roof to roof we frolic with the truth that our days are numbered but the number of the beast will never be branded upon our necks. Trek through the apartment complex and satisfy the lonely housewife that wears a turban filled with rubies and Judge Dredd stickers pasted to her titties. Get real close, but never get burned.

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How to Buy a Used Fridge

HATE FILLED BULLET POINTS......

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- The wife of one of my acquaintances thinks she is a radiant goddess of class and erotic features that devastate the eyes and boners of all that look upon her. But in truth, and we're speaking strictly about facts here, she is a gross sack of shit. Her pale, fleshy folds of fat are being used as incubators for nests of bacteria and her breath smells like a chemo fart. Even though she is obese, she gets drunk on 2 drinks, at which point she demands to leave whatever party she's at. Oh, and she sucked a stripper's dick the night before her own wedding. Nearly forgot that detail.

- I don't trust anybody else's idea of clean. You all missed a spot.

- I don't think I'd buy a used car from an obese man. The suspension is probably all fucked up. Who knows what that guy's been eating in the car on the way home from work, hiding his food intake from his very patient wife.

He's going to Wendy's and he's getting a fucking Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger from the drive thru and he's shoving that shit into his fucking mouth in the parking lot. He feels that short rush and then the cannonball of self hatred right afterwards. But then he rationalizes his behavior, telling himself he deserves a treat because he works hard and life is hard. It's true, life is hard, but I'm not buying a car from that pig.

I used to be fat, and now I hate fat people. Actually, I've always hated fat people, including myself. But now I'm thin, baby! So suck a toaster strudel, ya porcine shit slurpers!  


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Sunday, February 23, 2014

Obama and His Secret Cat Food Addiction

Barack Obama eats cat food. It's all he eats, in fact. Sure, he'll pretend to eat a hot dog at the state fair for a photo-op, but as soon as the photos are taken, he spits that wiener out with violent force.

One of his aides brings him a spoonful of Meow Mix and he lets out a low moan of pleasure as the fishy slop hits his tongue. "That's what I'm talking about!" he screams at the sky and then rips his shirt off, revealing a large tattoo on his chest of Garfield getting butt-fucked by Tigger.

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His tongue extends to a superhuman length and he starts to lick where Tigger's cock meets Garfield's asshole. "Oh yeah, you like that, dontcha boys? That gets you all riled up, huh? Well, I'm riled up, too!" Brown liquid streams down his pant legs and into his socks. Diarrhea.

"I'm the luckiest motherfucker on this earth!" Obama declares, as he rips his pants off and sprays frothy diarrhea from his ass while spinning, creating a mighty fecal sprinkler.    

And then a old skeletal Japanese man in a shopping cart rolls up, using a hockey stick to propel himself. He points the stick accusingly at Obama, "Mr. President, why you squirt shit, sir?"

Obama shits out a shotgun and blows the old Japanese man's head off. The shitting stops to a trickle. "Bring me more cat food." he bellows.

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Monday, June 24, 2013

Searching For Sugar Man: Criminally Boring

I actually got angry after watching "Searching for Sugar Man" last night. Not that the documentary contained offensive ideas or anything. I just didn't see what the big deal was. I've heard a lot about the movie and how it was shocking, epic, and one of a kind. It centers around a musician known as Rodriguez, whose music was so great and why hadn't anybody heard of him before? Well, probably because his music isn't very good and his lyrics are written in the vein of an eighth-grader who just started listening to Bob Dylan and plans on being an influential poet because that's the only way to wake people up. If that means rubbing your dick all over a Chinese food menu and shitting on the floor of a mausoleum, then we all need to wake up. (huh?)

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What bridge troll finds this fascinating? Other people and their tastes are wrong. I'm a miserable man with psychological problems and if it's not about me and what I like, then it must be shot out of the sky with an RPG, like a helicopter filled with puppies of a breed I do not care for. 

The mystery surrounding him is boring. He supposedly killed himself on stage, and big surprise, didn't. Turns out he's just this soft spoken Navajo looking dude living in Detroit, sitting at his kitchen table with a cigarette and coffee, looking a lot like a criminal. I get the feeling that Sugar Man has stabbed up a few folks in his day.

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All the interview subjects, including a hilariously hyperbolic record producer with an obvious toupee, go on and on about how much Rodriguez changed their life and they can't understand why he isnt a huge star.
Well, here's a couple reasons.

1. His voice is a shitty imitation of Bob Dylan, who has the most legendary shittiest voice ever.
2. Fuck this movie.