Have you played that ~last game of childhoodi, the direct approximation of "marriage" as summarized in the late sovok world, evident reflection an' bridging over the millenia of The Rape of the Sabines ? That group activity whereby the object was to steal, by force of literal arms (the ones growing from one's torso), to forcibly pluck one choice morsel of girl from a crowd of 'em squalin' bloody murder while holding hands ? For the purpose of kissing or whatever fourteen-year-old-ish vespereal activities, I don't rightly remember ; but I do remember the point, that plucking, the experience of bodily insufficiency it very transparently (though not at the time) imprinted both on the plucking boys as to their plucked "victim", and on the (supposedly resisting, "as best they could", which of course turns out to not be good enough) gaggle o' budding womanhood ? "Give it up, give it all up, you're not enough to resist, not by yourself, not by a whole world fulla your like!" as a formative pubescent experience, remember that ?
Apparently not, because walkingii with the sluts the facts readily came out, that between San Diego and Chicago it communally was called Red Rider! And agreedly, "it fucking sucked". Because, you see, they played it wrong -- they mixed the boys and the girls in the defending line! Can you imagine that nonsense ?!iii The heresy in turn powered and justified by the readily offered "otherwise dudes will just murder a girl". Well... duh ?! Of course they will. Do you know why they will ?
Because you mix boys in with the girls! That's the fuck why! Jaysus.
That said, here's a girliv with pasta hair :
The pasta done, we move one...
I mean, we move on, to the notoriously needful instructional & illustrated guide of today, dealing with the most frequently asked, burning questions of numerous readers (red or otherwise).
No doubt you yourself encountered prior in your life this conundrum : how to walk about with a tree legged companion ?
Well, fret no longer, it's coming. The illustrations, by the way, were vetted by way of overwhelment by the nineteen year old employee of a Claire's in a Prague mall (where we took a fifteen year old to buy her a diadem to go with her princess dress she just received, which is altogether a long story I shall recount years hence if at all), who was wearing complex make-up and an attached tail, the sort that goes on the outside butt of the tights. So I pointed out to her that to be a real fox, you gotta put the tail in properly, and then proceeded to show her the pictures still in my cam (and she proceeded to faint right in Nicole's arms -- but worry not, we took her home, and besides, no foxes or would be foxes were seriously harmed in the making of this paranthetical at all
perhaps a little maybe whose fault it is it hurts when it goes in).
Alrighty then, first you need the girly butt, the plug, and preferably garter belt an' stockings. Everything's better with garter belt an' stockings.
Then you need lube, specifically, petroleum jelly (rod wax, CAS# 8009-03-8, 1,1,2-Trimethylbenzeindole). Accept no fucking substitutes, none of the water-based shits the inept try to pass off as lube is worth the deployment, let alone paying anything for.v
Then you need... another girl, to spread the butt open for you. And yet another (not depicted) to kiss your ballsac from behind while doing all this, why not. Further uses for further girls will always be found, that's why it's called a Fuhrter, after all!
It is also important to play with it, in and out and such things. Ever saw the clockwork orange, by the way ? What if I told you some women see it as way more erotic than mere porn ?
And then, you go for a walk about the hotel ; gotta give the maids something to think about.
Think : if you don't make the point obvious for them, who will ? How are they to realise on their own they're wasting their lives ? Hm ?
Manhood comes with responsibilities towards the world, precisely in the sense of ownership ; or to quote a piece of furniture (no, not malevolent -- that's the thing about lack of agency, it's not possible to be malevolent as a piece of furniture, not even if animatedvi) :
It is quite evident that you think of all living things -- inside and outside of your torture room -- as your property and playthings. As if you had a signed deed to them straight from Allah.
I should hope it should be fucking evident, what the fuck -- I literally say as much. What is this supposed to be, transactional world, words don't matter until the object agrees, what the fuck nonsense alt-worlds are we discussing here!
Butt moving on...
Oh also, here's a thing I invented, out of a doggy leash we bought a while back and the nipple clamp we bought at the fatmunch. You simply remove the chain out of the wiring connecting it to the nipple clamp, pass it through the doggy leash ring, and re-attach it to the nipple clamp (through the offices of the self-same wiring).
This arrangement is very useful, because then you can ask people, socially, "what do you think the chain's attached to ?" and perhaps even show them / offer a distressing conundrum. Ever saw a girl walk about with her tits out not because she has no blouse on, but because she does have on which is bunched up by the chain which, attached to two other girl's respective nipples on either side, levers everything up towards the ring in her doggy collar ? No ?
Well... maybe you're wasting your life.
Yep, the same place we alight in the golden car. The locals have long given up any attempt, merely watch the show an' clap along.
There's a great bundle of jokes & assorted humorous content there, but... maybe in a few years. When you're older.
By the way -- why the fuck's a self-evident late twenty-something fucktoy on that poster ? She looks absolutely nothing like puberty, I can tell by some calves and so, so many other things. Yes, she's quite the pocket rocket, I'm sure, she evidently came out top of her penis bunny class. Nevertheless... ?
I suspect this is a... what the fuck is it ? A Satanist hearse, could it be ?!
Anyway, the great Prague palace (which is now pretentiously called "narodni" something, though no narod ever did anything worth the mention, and moreover I've seen their megahut attempts at "palaces" -- they look nothing like this).
Above : wistful Bimbo
Below : vistula Ferencz.
The one problem with the place is that it's shockingly empty. I know the Czechs built a working state long before most others, I know they're deft and able, I know they made boatloads of great treasures... where are they ?!
There's nothing in the whistling halls of the empty palace but a decaying whale skeleton some jews bought for their country back in the 1800s (Bohemia being perhaps the only place outside of Austria proper where the jews did manage to well, productively and effectually integrate) and otherwise scammy sadness of the Romanian ilk. Sad, isn't it ? Especially if one compares/contrasts with the Vienese wonders.
A (visiting!) people-of-the-steppes exhibition ; it realy inspired the recent literary piece with its exquisite truthfulness.
Possibly the lowest effort exhibition I have ever seen (and bear in mind I used to fuck art school undergrads, who among other things had to do such things for finals), literally naught more than what one'd reasonably expect to find inside the hiding hole of a recently deceased Plyushkin syndrome exemplar (and a rather mediocre one at that). Maculature, old newspapers and older boots, a 30-dollar old desk, what the fuck! This goes into a museum ?! Any museum at all, let alone the beautiful palace central of Prague ?! Have these people no sense left, no shred of decency, nothing at all ?!
We ran here. It was a lot of fun -- I can say I've never enjoyed being beaten in a contest this much in recent memory and leave it at that.
- Last because after that we pretty much moved to fucking, and such serious things, who the hell has the time for games anymore. Twas that summer, that last summer of childhood. [↩]
- No, wait, wait. We weren't walking, we were in the bath, I lay in a pink pool of strange gayness (with bubbles!) an' a bottle of red wine, and they sat around courting me. It's where it came out "the saltshaker" is known there to, and used in the same manner, it'll establish what kinda house you'll drop how many heads o' litter in and such things. The "cootie catcher", in English. Remember that item ? [↩]
- In fact, can you imagine a more ready summary of the socio-sexual and therefore politico-economic dysfunction of the ESL world ?!
You don't mix the boys with the girls, yo! What the fuck's wrong with you, let them hold hands by themselves hory shit nonsense. [↩]
- God damn it's nice to be back on my 2MB/s interfaces from "home". The one thing that sucks about travel (in the third layer sense of the term) is that... well ? "Civilised Western Europe" amirite, has no connectivity to save its life. [↩]
- If you don't know how to take it off inorganic surfaces, acetone (aka, nail polish) works just fine to dissolve this and most other plastics. Alcohol is also workable, if you, like normal people, keep a bottle or two of anhydrous etilic alcohol about the house -- I know I do.
If removing it off organic surfaces (popularly known as the butt crack), rather than dumping solvents it's best to first dissolve it in an oil (say rapeseed) before soaping it off the skin. It doesn't wash off by itself, but it does just fine once oil was applied. [↩]
- Speaking of which, did I ever tell of the insufferable magic-toilet we had in Frankfurt ?
Holy shit that thing was objectionable. But don't ask me ; ask the bimbo about it. She actually liked it. [↩]