Tuesday, February 24
Wednesday, February 18
Big Dick Fan Fic #1
By Janet Whitesides
It was 5:00 PM, and John Darnielle was writing in his diary. The afternoon sun was shining orange and yellow through the boughs of the old oak tree outside. John spaced out for a moment, admired the tree sunset beauty as he thought of titles for his new album.
"Maybe I will call it 'Dark Bird Brain'," he thought to himself. "Or, maybe 'Tiny Tinsel Toy'. Or, maybe I will name it after a South-African country." He had just thought of a really good one when his wife, Lalitree Darnielle, burst open the door to his study.
"Again you left the FUCKING top off the mayonnaise, John," she said. "Just what the hell is wrong with you?"
"Geez, Lalitree. I was going to put it away. I just needed a moment to think in my study, and then I was going to put the mayonnaise jar away."
"You have been in your study for three fucking hours, John."
"Well, anyway I just needed some time to think, Lalitree."
"'Needed some time to think,' John?"
"Maybe I would not need to spend so much time in my study if you were not nagging me all the time, Lalitree."
"Maybe I wouldn't need to nag you all the time if you could put the FUCKING cap back on the mayonnaise, JOHN!"
"Maybe I would do it if you just gave me the chance, LALITREE!"
"AARAKYRAAARD!" said Lalitree. In a fit of rage she threw the mayonnaise lid at John. It sailed in a curved hook like a flying saucer doing a barrel roll. It hit directly in the center of John Darnielle's forehead. John fell backwards off his chair, not as much from the force of the impact as from the surprise at being hit in the exact middle of the forehead with the flying lid of a mayonnaise jar.
"I HOPE YOU DIE!" said John as Lalitree began to storm out of the house.
"I HOPE WE BOTH DIE!" she said as she slammed shut the front door of their south-western ranch style house. The sound it made when she slammed the door was a sound like a nail being hammered into a coffin.
"Wow, that's a really good line," John thought to himself. He wrote it down in his diary. He waited a moment until he heard Lalitree peel away on her yellow and black Kawasaki and was sure she was gone for at least a while. "Now," thought John, "it is time to return to the closet where I hastily hide my little toys when Lalitree comes home too soon." As he approached the closet he could hear "Ghost...I know you live within me" wafting down the hall. John snuck up to the closet as silent as a cat. "Feel as you fly..." came from inside. John waited outside until "IN THUNDER... CLOUDS... ACROSS... THE CITY... HOW!... WE!... TORE!!!" Just then, John burst the door open. Inside, John Vanderslice sat up so quickly, his mouth made a distinct popping noise when it came up off Jeff Mangum's erect, throbbing member. J.D. knew Jeff was on the brink of climax. Jeff would always scream in a bleating warble just before releasing his warm boy juices all over his supple stomach.
"You little whore!" J.D. said, slapping Jeff across the face. Jeff turned his head and tried to cover up the red, throbbing outline on his face perfectly with his own hand. He touched it right where he felt the pain. The pain felt good. "You really thought you could get away with sneaking behind my back like that, Jeff? You worthless, tiny slut!"
"I'm sorry John. I have been a bad boy," bleated Jeff. "I have been an exceptionally bad boy."
"Well, Mr. Vanderslice. You know what we do with bad boys," said J.D..
"We punish them, Mr. Darnielle," said J.V.. J.V. beat Jeff about the buttocks as Jeff ran his boyish tongue up and down J.D.'s egarly waiting empty flesh tube, the tip easing its way in and out of Jeff's parted lips.
"I have loved you ever since you did that cover of my song where you couldn't really remember the lyrics," said Jeff.
Eventually they arranged themselves in a sort of vertical triangle up and over a sofa footrest, each boy eating another boy's butt. They sang "Two Headed Boy Pt. 1" Into each other's butts as they ate the butts. At "I AM LISTENING TO HEAR WHERE YOU ARE" J.D. and Jeff came simultaneously in what were the most beautiful and powerful orgasms of their adult lives. John thought he was going to shoot a couple vertebrae out of his dick. By this time the sun had long set behind the tree outside.
It was 5:00 PM, and John Darnielle was writing in his diary. The afternoon sun was shining orange and yellow through the boughs of the old oak tree outside. John spaced out for a moment, admired the tree sunset beauty as he thought of titles for his new album.
"Maybe I will call it 'Dark Bird Brain'," he thought to himself. "Or, maybe 'Tiny Tinsel Toy'. Or, maybe I will name it after a South-African country." He had just thought of a really good one when his wife, Lalitree Darnielle, burst open the door to his study.
"Again you left the FUCKING top off the mayonnaise, John," she said. "Just what the hell is wrong with you?"
"Geez, Lalitree. I was going to put it away. I just needed a moment to think in my study, and then I was going to put the mayonnaise jar away."
"You have been in your study for three fucking hours, John."
"Well, anyway I just needed some time to think, Lalitree."
"'Needed some time to think,' John?"
"Maybe I would not need to spend so much time in my study if you were not nagging me all the time, Lalitree."
"Maybe I wouldn't need to nag you all the time if you could put the FUCKING cap back on the mayonnaise, JOHN!"
"Maybe I would do it if you just gave me the chance, LALITREE!"
"AARAKYRAAARD!" said Lalitree. In a fit of rage she threw the mayonnaise lid at John. It sailed in a curved hook like a flying saucer doing a barrel roll. It hit directly in the center of John Darnielle's forehead. John fell backwards off his chair, not as much from the force of the impact as from the surprise at being hit in the exact middle of the forehead with the flying lid of a mayonnaise jar.
"I HOPE YOU DIE!" said John as Lalitree began to storm out of the house.
"I HOPE WE BOTH DIE!" she said as she slammed shut the front door of their south-western ranch style house. The sound it made when she slammed the door was a sound like a nail being hammered into a coffin.
"Wow, that's a really good line," John thought to himself. He wrote it down in his diary. He waited a moment until he heard Lalitree peel away on her yellow and black Kawasaki and was sure she was gone for at least a while. "Now," thought John, "it is time to return to the closet where I hastily hide my little toys when Lalitree comes home too soon." As he approached the closet he could hear "Ghost...I know you live within me" wafting down the hall. John snuck up to the closet as silent as a cat. "Feel as you fly..." came from inside. John waited outside until "IN THUNDER... CLOUDS... ACROSS... THE CITY... HOW!... WE!... TORE!!!" Just then, John burst the door open. Inside, John Vanderslice sat up so quickly, his mouth made a distinct popping noise when it came up off Jeff Mangum's erect, throbbing member. J.D. knew Jeff was on the brink of climax. Jeff would always scream in a bleating warble just before releasing his warm boy juices all over his supple stomach.
"You little whore!" J.D. said, slapping Jeff across the face. Jeff turned his head and tried to cover up the red, throbbing outline on his face perfectly with his own hand. He touched it right where he felt the pain. The pain felt good. "You really thought you could get away with sneaking behind my back like that, Jeff? You worthless, tiny slut!"
"I'm sorry John. I have been a bad boy," bleated Jeff. "I have been an exceptionally bad boy."
"Well, Mr. Vanderslice. You know what we do with bad boys," said J.D..
"We punish them, Mr. Darnielle," said J.V.. J.V. beat Jeff about the buttocks as Jeff ran his boyish tongue up and down J.D.'s egarly waiting empty flesh tube, the tip easing its way in and out of Jeff's parted lips.
"I have loved you ever since you did that cover of my song where you couldn't really remember the lyrics," said Jeff.
Eventually they arranged themselves in a sort of vertical triangle up and over a sofa footrest, each boy eating another boy's butt. They sang "Two Headed Boy Pt. 1" Into each other's butts as they ate the butts. At "I AM LISTENING TO HEAR WHERE YOU ARE" J.D. and Jeff came simultaneously in what were the most beautiful and powerful orgasms of their adult lives. John thought he was going to shoot a couple vertebrae out of his dick. By this time the sun had long set behind the tree outside.
Sunday, February 15
Blog Poetry
I can't stop! it's too easy! Make poetry with only 'delete' and 'enter' keys!
BALL LIGHTNING by Danae123 (www.ballllightning.blogspot.com)
I HAVE SEEN BALL LIGHTNING.
MY MOTHER WAS ON
THE PHONE AND THERE WAS A BIG BANG
(THERE WAS A SMALL STORM AT THE TIME).
THERE WAS A LOUD HISS
ON THE PHONE AND MY MOTHER YELPED AND PULLED IT AWAY
REAL FAST.
IT APPEARED TO EMERGE FROM THE SPEAKER END
AS A FUZZY ORANGE THING
I LIKEN TO A SPARKLER,
KIND OF BALL SHAPED THAT ROLLED AND BOUNCED TO THE WALL AND LEFT A SCORCH MARK THAT
WAS SMALL. MY MOTHER'S EAR WAS SLIGHTLY BURNED
ON THE TOP AND THE SKIN SLOUGHED OFF.
I REMEMBER SHE WAS ILL A BIT AFTER,
NOT TOO SERIOUS,
BUT I THINK SHE VOMITED.
IT WAS VERY QUICK, A FEW SECONDS OR SO
AND IT WAS GONE.
Word of Truth Summer Camp by Bobby Ramsey (www.summercamp.blogspot.com)
Organist and Columbus native Steve McDaniels
sets the mood in the sanctuary
with a freeform musical performance that mixes reggae with traditional spirituals.
Proud parents file into the sanctuary, and director Joann Hassell opens the evening
with prayer.
So begins the graduation ceremony of Word of Truth summer camp on 13th Ave. in Columbus. After opening remarks, the audience is hushed
as 5-year-old Renaldo steps up to the microphone, gets a prompt from his teacher Ms. Hassell. He looks around for a moment and then shouts with a lisp,
“Genesis! Exodus! Leviticus! Numbers! Deuteronomy! Joshua! Judges! Ruth! First and Second Samuel!”
And so Renaldo finishes off a long list of Bible books,
all to the beat of the music. In their turn,
every one of Renaldo’s classmates takes the microphone and displays his or her knowledge
of the books of the Old Testament. That’s right, this is a pre-K class,
and some of them have memorized books all the way up to Esther and Ezra. Next
Mrs. Cantrell’s 1st to 3rd graders stand up
and take the stage. They get in a marching formation in front of 9-year-old Samuel,
their drill sergeant. He sings the cadence,
“We are the books of the Bible… We are the four gospels…”
Then his classmates sound off in turn, “Matthew! Mark! Luke! And John!”
1st graders Victoria and Jazmin stand near each other and exchange glances
and giggles during the song, having become best friends during camp.
3rd grader Anias sits down and rests from his earlier solo musical performance. These
are just a few highlights
from the Word of Truth camp graduation,
which took place last week.
Dust Off… by Stedelijk
(www.dustoff.blogspot.com)
time to dig the dirt
and listen to the winds
Reasons Unbeknownst by Anonymous Person in San Diego (crackhouse.blogspot.com)
Anderson - LongtailSavagely truncated
Tyranny of Choice - Due
to lack of information. Maybe that's what
google answers are looking to address.
411 specialists, turnaroud. Same with google advertizing.Custom Streams, not mass markets.Filters to get the crap out of the tail.-Six research projects - how does the tail affect the head?Inverse, time is the distribution
bottleneck.-Fractals??!!Minitails, hit amplification, the tail is made up of
mini-tails. Contradiction? -Price elasticity - Botique products cost more.
Fixed cost.-Difference between comodification, pyramid and the
long tail-Secondary markets - Used goods, Gray Goods, Overstock Goods-Watching Lessig watch Anderson, I wonder if this is the first time he's heard about this.-Waste transistors
then, waste storage,
bandwidth now. Excite former exec, Jotspot -
this is a good idea, software longtail. Excel for example. VC's are "freaked out"
about it. Leverage existing longtail
infrastructure!
BALL LIGHTNING by Danae123 (www.ballllightning.blogspot.com)
I HAVE SEEN BALL LIGHTNING.
MY MOTHER WAS ON
THE PHONE AND THERE WAS A BIG BANG
(THERE WAS A SMALL STORM AT THE TIME).
THERE WAS A LOUD HISS
ON THE PHONE AND MY MOTHER YELPED AND PULLED IT AWAY
REAL FAST.
IT APPEARED TO EMERGE FROM THE SPEAKER END
AS A FUZZY ORANGE THING
I LIKEN TO A SPARKLER,
KIND OF BALL SHAPED THAT ROLLED AND BOUNCED TO THE WALL AND LEFT A SCORCH MARK THAT
WAS SMALL. MY MOTHER'S EAR WAS SLIGHTLY BURNED
ON THE TOP AND THE SKIN SLOUGHED OFF.
I REMEMBER SHE WAS ILL A BIT AFTER,
NOT TOO SERIOUS,
BUT I THINK SHE VOMITED.
IT WAS VERY QUICK, A FEW SECONDS OR SO
AND IT WAS GONE.
Word of Truth Summer Camp by Bobby Ramsey (www.summercamp.blogspot.com)
Organist and Columbus native Steve McDaniels
sets the mood in the sanctuary
with a freeform musical performance that mixes reggae with traditional spirituals.
Proud parents file into the sanctuary, and director Joann Hassell opens the evening
with prayer.
So begins the graduation ceremony of Word of Truth summer camp on 13th Ave. in Columbus. After opening remarks, the audience is hushed
as 5-year-old Renaldo steps up to the microphone, gets a prompt from his teacher Ms. Hassell. He looks around for a moment and then shouts with a lisp,
“Genesis! Exodus! Leviticus! Numbers! Deuteronomy! Joshua! Judges! Ruth! First and Second Samuel!”
And so Renaldo finishes off a long list of Bible books,
all to the beat of the music. In their turn,
every one of Renaldo’s classmates takes the microphone and displays his or her knowledge
of the books of the Old Testament. That’s right, this is a pre-K class,
and some of them have memorized books all the way up to Esther and Ezra. Next
Mrs. Cantrell’s 1st to 3rd graders stand up
and take the stage. They get in a marching formation in front of 9-year-old Samuel,
their drill sergeant. He sings the cadence,
“We are the books of the Bible… We are the four gospels…”
Then his classmates sound off in turn, “Matthew! Mark! Luke! And John!”
1st graders Victoria and Jazmin stand near each other and exchange glances
and giggles during the song, having become best friends during camp.
3rd grader Anias sits down and rests from his earlier solo musical performance. These
are just a few highlights
from the Word of Truth camp graduation,
which took place last week.
Dust Off… by Stedelijk
(www.dustoff.blogspot.com)
time to dig the dirt
and listen to the winds
Reasons Unbeknownst by Anonymous Person in San Diego (crackhouse.blogspot.com)
Anderson - LongtailSavagely truncated
Tyranny of Choice - Due
to lack of information. Maybe that's what
google answers are looking to address.
411 specialists, turnaroud. Same with google advertizing.Custom Streams, not mass markets.Filters to get the crap out of the tail.-Six research projects - how does the tail affect the head?Inverse, time is the distribution
bottleneck.-Fractals??!!Minitails, hit amplification, the tail is made up of
mini-tails. Contradiction? -Price elasticity - Botique products cost more.
Fixed cost.-Difference between comodification, pyramid and the
long tail-Secondary markets - Used goods, Gray Goods, Overstock Goods-Watching Lessig watch Anderson, I wonder if this is the first time he's heard about this.-Waste transistors
then, waste storage,
bandwidth now. Excite former exec, Jotspot -
this is a good idea, software longtail. Excel for example. VC's are "freaked out"
about it. Leverage existing longtail
infrastructure!
1st Bullshit
This was the 1st Bullshit, which completes the list, except for the new one for February
Friday, February 13
Sunday, February 8
Friday January 30th, Downtown Oakland
The shittiest part about biking across downtown Oakland is there are about one million red lights that are never in sync with one another. Right now I am following a huge tank-like black police vehicle across city streets as fast as I can. Four helicopters hover overhead like a dark cloud in the distance brings a storm. It seems like throngs of angry people are as natural and unrelenting piece of this Oakland urban ecosystem as the sky and the rain. I crawl through an artery of pulsating cars and watch as the tank arrives at its destination. Riot cops fan out and draw a line down the street between me and a group of maybe two hundred people. These people are pissed.
Police quickly block off the intersection, forming a diagonal line across 14th and Harrison streets. The throng starts to gather on the other side of the line. Some middle school girls are asking police “hey, why cant I go over there? I want to go over to the other side of you. Why can’t I cross the line? I would really like to cross the police line.”
It has been announced just one hour ago in a hearing that Johannes Mehserle may be released from prison if he pays ten percent of a three million dollars bail. In case you have been living under a rock in some Alemeda cul-de-sac, Mehserle is the BART cop who publicaly shot Oscar Grant in a subway station this new year’s day. Needless to say, people are not happy with the Judge's decision. Three million dollars is a very steep bail--Mehserle is considered a flight risk. However, for many people, the fact bail is even an option for Mehserle is a disturbing foreshadowing of how the judge will handle this case. A point that has been consistently brought up during all mass-gatherings concerning the murder of Oscar Grant is those assembled believe not only one police officer is at fault, but also a larger system of economic and racial opression.
I watch as a young black dude tries to break out of the crowd and through the police line.
“OK; arrest that guy” one of the cops say. About 6 people jump on him.
“What is your name?” a girl is shouting at the kid.
For his age, it really is impressive six cops are having trouble putting him in handcuffs.
“Don’t resist them, man. Be calm. Do not resist.” says an onlooker.
“What is your name?”
“Get off his fucking neck. Get off his fucking neck you dirty pig piece of shit cop. Get off his neck you worthless fucking shit bag,” someone else is screaming. The kid continues to struggle. Finally, they get the handcuffs on.
“What is your name?” says the girl again. The kid on the ground tells her, defeated. They put the kid in the paddy wagon.
“Man, I have never seen anything like this before. It is pretty clear in this situation the police are not on our side.” an impeccably dressed black man from Texas is telling me. “I wonder, though. If not us, who’s side are they on?”
A guy drives up into the middle of the fray in a black SUV. He opens the door and starts telling everyone to get out of the street or they will be arrested. Judging by his dress, he must be some sort of important guy. Maybe even the chief. However, everyone around is trying to stifle laughter because, really, the guy sounds pretty silly. If I had to describe it, I would describe it as if Pee Wee Herman, instead of starting a kids’ show, fell into an evil oozing vat of sludge that makes you embark on an endless self-loathing masculine power quest video game. “arrest that one.” he says, extending phalanges at some kid. “the one with the white T-shirt.” Tons of cops jump on him. Another black kid. “get that one with the backpack, over there. Arrest him.” The same. He gets one other, a white guy this time, I guess for good measure. By this point it is four PM and there is a ratio of about one police to one person, including onlookers on the other side of the line. It would be difficult to take this SUV man seriously were he not able to arrest anybody here pretty much at his will. The scary thing is he can.
All in all, at least four people are arrested before protesters disperse. On the part of protesters, there is no violence or breaking of shit. I look over to see a white guy putting plywood over the humongous windows of his downtown business. When I go over to talk to him he says he pretty much started boarding it up as soon as he heard the news about Mehserle. Next door to his business, a white woman in a black suit is frantically wheat pasting colorful pictures of Martin Luther King and Barack Obama onto her own plywood storefront, just beside her huge custom graffiti portrait of Grant. Most businesses on this street have at least pasted xeroexed pictures of Grant’s face on each window of their storefront. “I guess it is better than a security system,” a passer-by observes. Soon the clouds of reporters, protesters, and police subside. People go home and some racist white people descend upon internet news post comment pages like vultures, writing some irrelevant shit about how young black folks are thugs.
When the shit hits the fan some of us have the option to get out of the way. It is important to recognize that option is a luxury.
Update: Johannes Mehserle was released 3:45 PM Friday, February 6 after making $30,000 -- 10% of his three million bail.
Police quickly block off the intersection, forming a diagonal line across 14th and Harrison streets. The throng starts to gather on the other side of the line. Some middle school girls are asking police “hey, why cant I go over there? I want to go over to the other side of you. Why can’t I cross the line? I would really like to cross the police line.”
It has been announced just one hour ago in a hearing that Johannes Mehserle may be released from prison if he pays ten percent of a three million dollars bail. In case you have been living under a rock in some Alemeda cul-de-sac, Mehserle is the BART cop who publicaly shot Oscar Grant in a subway station this new year’s day. Needless to say, people are not happy with the Judge's decision. Three million dollars is a very steep bail--Mehserle is considered a flight risk. However, for many people, the fact bail is even an option for Mehserle is a disturbing foreshadowing of how the judge will handle this case. A point that has been consistently brought up during all mass-gatherings concerning the murder of Oscar Grant is those assembled believe not only one police officer is at fault, but also a larger system of economic and racial opression.
I watch as a young black dude tries to break out of the crowd and through the police line.
“OK; arrest that guy” one of the cops say. About 6 people jump on him.
“What is your name?” a girl is shouting at the kid.
For his age, it really is impressive six cops are having trouble putting him in handcuffs.
“Don’t resist them, man. Be calm. Do not resist.” says an onlooker.
“What is your name?”
“Get off his fucking neck. Get off his fucking neck you dirty pig piece of shit cop. Get off his neck you worthless fucking shit bag,” someone else is screaming. The kid continues to struggle. Finally, they get the handcuffs on.
“What is your name?” says the girl again. The kid on the ground tells her, defeated. They put the kid in the paddy wagon.
“Man, I have never seen anything like this before. It is pretty clear in this situation the police are not on our side.” an impeccably dressed black man from Texas is telling me. “I wonder, though. If not us, who’s side are they on?”
A guy drives up into the middle of the fray in a black SUV. He opens the door and starts telling everyone to get out of the street or they will be arrested. Judging by his dress, he must be some sort of important guy. Maybe even the chief. However, everyone around is trying to stifle laughter because, really, the guy sounds pretty silly. If I had to describe it, I would describe it as if Pee Wee Herman, instead of starting a kids’ show, fell into an evil oozing vat of sludge that makes you embark on an endless self-loathing masculine power quest video game. “arrest that one.” he says, extending phalanges at some kid. “the one with the white T-shirt.” Tons of cops jump on him. Another black kid. “get that one with the backpack, over there. Arrest him.” The same. He gets one other, a white guy this time, I guess for good measure. By this point it is four PM and there is a ratio of about one police to one person, including onlookers on the other side of the line. It would be difficult to take this SUV man seriously were he not able to arrest anybody here pretty much at his will. The scary thing is he can.
All in all, at least four people are arrested before protesters disperse. On the part of protesters, there is no violence or breaking of shit. I look over to see a white guy putting plywood over the humongous windows of his downtown business. When I go over to talk to him he says he pretty much started boarding it up as soon as he heard the news about Mehserle. Next door to his business, a white woman in a black suit is frantically wheat pasting colorful pictures of Martin Luther King and Barack Obama onto her own plywood storefront, just beside her huge custom graffiti portrait of Grant. Most businesses on this street have at least pasted xeroexed pictures of Grant’s face on each window of their storefront. “I guess it is better than a security system,” a passer-by observes. Soon the clouds of reporters, protesters, and police subside. People go home and some racist white people descend upon internet news post comment pages like vultures, writing some irrelevant shit about how young black folks are thugs.
When the shit hits the fan some of us have the option to get out of the way. It is important to recognize that option is a luxury.
Update: Johannes Mehserle was released 3:45 PM Friday, February 6 after making $30,000 -- 10% of his three million bail.
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