Dear Reader, if you’ve read the first part of Cade’s massive missive, then wait no longer to dive into the next enthralling bit…
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Today is Sunday September 16 of 2018, and I’ve been sitting on this post since Thursday August 30 of 2018.
Ya rly.
I started with that shit about blood and twisting lines, and I’ve been pondering the mechanics of the micro and particulate as it pertains to a woman’s menstrual cycle for over two weeks now.
You think it unusual that a man would spend weeks considering a woman’s menstrual cycle? About how ergonomics and nutrition and lifestyle and the like affect a woman’s naughty bits with respect to time and gravity and motion and all kinds of other crazy factors?
Over the course of a lifetime, I wonder how much cotton and other fibrous material accumulates in a woman’s body, and how that individual woman’s body acclimates and/or handles this…stuff.
Filler(s)? Additives? Preservatives?
Sound crazy? Welp, if you put enough magnetic interference around a compass, eventually, the compass is going to have difficulty with finding its way and/or doing what it is designed to do.
EX: From a global perspective, do you think that people living in the northern hemisphere eating watermelon in January is unusual?
I think the circadian clock(s) are based on, and guided by, more than just/only a 24 hour cycle. I mean, how in the fuck did it get to 24 in the first place? What keeps it there? I’ve this sneaking suspicion that dark matter/energy plays a role.
^POGO – Jaaam^
It would appear that a “beedi” is a thin cigarette.
Baby, if you wanna mince words, you came to the right place. I’m a Juice Tiger™ that eats Weekly World News® newspapers and spoos out gallons of juicy linguistic goodness like it ain’t no thang.
(nod to SIMAAM)
^Religious Man ( I am I am )^
Quick thought…
Q: How does one get money out of The UN?
A: In UN Dough
Sorry for the lame pun/bad joke, but the UN Secretary General appeared on my radar yesterday, and I can’t help but wonder if this Brexit nonsense is more of a battle between The EU and The UN, and which side The UK is going to wind up on. Of course, there’s also the NATO angle(s), which is muddied somewhat by the Trump/Putin connection(s)…assuming there are any. But those will be severed when Trump goes to prison with Clinton.
^Smoke Fairies – Living With Ghosts^
What is our preferred method of disposal?
Yeah dummy…for garbage, what is the preferred method of disposal for garbage?
A: Fire/Burning
In our conversations, RooBeeDoo mentions the spine quite a bit. Well, maybe not “quite a bit”, but she mentions it frequently enough that I notice. That said, she never elaborates, and any links that she provides tend to be vague, distant and/or unrelated to whatever we are discussing. Anyone who has spent any time around, erm, weirdos, will know that the number 33 has some cosmic/divine connotations and/or associations, and there are rumored to be 33 vertebrae in the human spine.
Let’s back up tho. When you fart, where does that gas come from? I think medicine will tell us that there are bacteria in our gut that eat what we eat, then make their own poop and farts that in turn become our poop and farts. But don’t we breathe? Doesn’t our skin breathe? Doesn’t our blood contain gas(es)? What does our body do with things that it just flat don’t know what to do with? Is it possible that our body might try to…burn it? More than that, do our bodies potentially possess the ability to do any such thing?
Why are there all these calls and/or efforts to send everyone to prison? I see shitloads of tweets calling for the immediate arrest and imprisonment of all kinds of people, but especially public figures. Surely there has to be more options than just/only prison. Have you fucks not heard of riots? Lynchings? Mob justice? Vigilantism? Mass murder? Anarchy? Hitmen/assassins/murder for hire? Ritual killings? Surely there aren’t efforts to pollute “legitimacy” with unsound methods and actions…
are there?
That said, there sure seems to be a lot of fuckery via government(s), which means it originates via commerce.
HEY!!! I’ve been wondering how to do this. Now I know.
^How to Install Cyberlox^
Truth is we plebeians live under the thumb of delay, detainment and arrest…
all day, every day.
Get pulled over for any reason, and catch the wrong cop on the wrong day, and you could wind up on the business end of a taser for anything from drugs, to suspected terrorism, to pissing off some random stranger, to simply having your own bad day on the wrong fucking day. I mean, who in the FUCK is having a good day when you get pulled over, have some conflict, or are otherwise detained for some odd reason.
Like say...having long hair.
Has government forgotten customer service? Or is that “protect and serve” bullshit just a hyped up myth designed to protect a racket. If so, “the racket” is going to be…advancement, job security, and accolade. Afterall, the cream, rises. Curds are for turds, buttermilk is for babies, and plain milk is for pussies.
I have no idea what any of that means either.
Seems like it’s easier, and safer to just…stay indoors. Protect yourself…at all times…like a boxer might.
^Mucha Muchacha by Esquivel^
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*/furrows brow… Is that from the same movie, Clicky?*
Make yourself a cuppa tea and get ready to read the next part, Dear Reader, by clicking HEAR… And have a Song 😉
….Seventeen pages of missive is too much for just one post; however, I will post all 5 parts tonight, so you can read them in one go, as intended. Ready?
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Does a woman’s blood, and the things in it, affect her menstrual cycle? I mean sure, women have their monthly business for a few days or whenever it’s convenient, at which point they likely need some additional iron so they don’t pass out every five minutes. But what about other stuff in the blood? How does that stuff in the blood affect the menstrual cycle, and how does it affect a lot of other shit that goes on down there on the girly bits? What about up top?
No…not the brains, the breasts. What’s going on with them boobs when your naughty bits are doing their monthly leak/pressure tests? Do the breasts swell? Do they get sore? Develop lumps and/or hard spots? Is it normal if they do none of those? I’m thinking displacement here. If a segment of tissue is needing some sweet sweet loving from some Iron(Fe), but there is something already occupying the space that Iron needs to occupy in order to facilitate the need, what kinds of thing happen within that region? Does the body work to displace whatever is preventing the Iron from getting to where it needs to be? But more than that, is the Iron itself now perceived as an intruder since it cannot get to where it needs to go and is taking up space that is needed for something else? I mean, we are talking transience here.
Oh btw…hi.
/me waves
^The Pixies – I Bleed^
How far will a straight line bend before it starts to twist and either:
A) collapse back in upon itself;
B) wander off on less predictable path;
C) break into particulate that makes random and unpredictable appearances/disappearances;
D) some or all of that depending on locale?
Prolly basic crap for a Geometrist to ponder. But there is/are considerations to ponder with respect to observer(s) and their own orientation. I mean, let’s take that image above, and shrink it down a bit. And see if that changes anything with respect to how we observe.
At some point, you are likely going to make a decision or two as to what the safe operating parameters and/or conditions are for that torque-wrench you are designing. But I got a question…
Q: What is safe about a torque-wrench?
A: Nothing.
I guess we’ll just have to take our chances, eh?
^Horde War March^
Action->Reaction
What happens after the reaction?
What led up to the action?
I mean, the guys who made this video prolly wouldn’t appreciate someone coming over to their house and climbing on the roof.
Wait…what’s that? You’ve not watched the video that follows yet? K…well…I have. Maybe if you watch it, you’ll have an inkling as to what I’m talking about.
Or not.
^escaping from police (south london crane climb)^
Ever had a rock in your shoe?
Something that prohibited the facilitation of the more or less natural movement and/or motion of a certain part of your body, and that prohibition kinda cascaded, and effected your entire being moving in the way that you want it to move? Welp, yesterday, the Amygdala appeared on my radar with respect to “response to more emotional types of stimulus”, and the reaction(s) and response(s) that happen under these circumstances.
Q: Does emotional response via what we see on-screen affect our being in ways that we might not consider or give any thought to?
A: ¿¿?
I’m thinking any screen. Not just only phones or computers or TVs or movie screens, but billboards, t-shirts, building designs, certain types of shoes, faces, a tree.
“Smartphone Zombies” appeared on my radar this morning.
I guess I’ll get back to writing.
^Transcending the limbic system response^
*******
*He is that, Clicky…*
To continue reading Cade’s missive, Dear Reader, click HEAR… and have a Song 😉
😀 Welcome back, Dear Reader, for another amazing tale from the Okie Devil of Text US, Cade F.O.N. Apollyon. Like ‘Hee Haw Hockey‘, the following short story appeared in ‘Underdog Anthology V: Six in Five in Four‘. It’s kinda…
*Oh it’s definitely saucy, Clicky…*
… adult in it’s theme, and is called ‘Pour, Know…Poor, No’…
*It is that, Clicky…*
… So if you’re the type to be easily triggered, Dear Reader, then… Enjoy! 😉
‘His throbbing cock rose like a submarine going through and emergency surface maneuver. She gasped in delight at the sight of the meaty ship of bounty that had suddenly appeared. Almost as if by instinct, she threw herself onto the bed and spread her legs to expose the moist ocean of delight that was now eagerly awaiting his fleshy meat torpedo to submerge it’s shadowy depths.
‘He approached her confidently as she lay on the bed, his errect cock swinging like a penduluum as he walked. He glanced at the crux of her wide-spread legs and noticed her casm had began to slowly ooze her white juices in a steady flow that ran straight into the crack of her ass. His meaty cock was already standing straight up, and yet the sight of her vagina’s juices flowing made his rod pulse to an even more errect state.
‘As he joined her on the bed, there was no need to take his cock in-hand…destiny and desire would guide the target home at this point. Their bodies uniting was both a metaphysical and physical certainty at this point…and sure enough, like a submarine sailing into The Grand Canyon…’
The author paused in his writing.
Wait…if her vagina is “The Grand Canyon”…and his penis is “a submarine”…there ain’t much going to be going on there, he thought to himself. He continued his inward observations and critiques of his own writing…I mean, can you imagine what a submarine would look like in The Grand Canyon? He imagined himself standing at an observation point in Grand Canyon National Park, and then trying to find a 560 foot long Ohio-class nuclear submarine located within the 277 mile long, 18 mile wide, 1 mile deep canyon.
If sighted, what would that look like? he wondered. If his penis was a submarine, and her vagina was The Grand Canyon, the submarine would fucking disappear alright, and not in a good way.Men don’t like to think of their massive meaty manliness suddenly going from a mighty man-o-war, to completely invisible. Men? Who in the fuck am I writing this for anyway? Surely I’m not writing it for men…am I? No, I’m not. I’m writing it for no one. I’m writing this for no one in particular, but I only have the male perspective, and really have only my own male perspective based on my own experiences.
A long pause ensued in his being as to exactly what that meant, and to whom. More importantly, when. What do my experiences even mean anymore? he further wondered to himself as he contemplated jerking off, going to bed, and forgetting the whole thing.
Holy FUCK this is confusing. Subs are all about stealth and being able to disappear. But submarines don’t necessarily go away when they disappear. You just can’t see them, and usually can’t hear them either. No wonder dicks are usually referred to as “love rockets” or “heat-seeking moisture missiles”. They are big, noisy, overt and there’s little doubt as to a rocket’s intentions and purposes. It’s much easier sticking to what you know and running with the crowd than it is trying think outside the box and come up with something new. Box? Fuck!!! Women’s vaginas are sometimes referred to as a box. Inside the box, outside the box…sounds sexy…except not.
He sighed as he contemplated the energies devoted to symbolism in writing as it pertained to sex. Why is everything so distorted? So misplaced? Submarines and canyons? Oceans? Birds? Bees? Flowers? Vesica piscis and missiles? “Misplaced parts” is kind of ironic considering how well all of the parts mesh together without all of the symbolism and hype. Yeah…like…”the real thing”. Fucking. Intercourse. Getting freaky. Doing the nasty. Bumping uglies. Ten toes to Jesus. No one is thinking geometry or horticulture when grinding naughty bits together. He continued his inward rant. There are no chasms, nor is there any subversion in sex. All of those gaps have already been bridged and crossed by the time any actual fucking starts, so what it is I’m missing…other than a partner? How can I write about sex if I’m not having any? Is that my problem? Why can’t I just say “he proceeded to maneuver his being into position within close proximity to her being, so as to facilitate the timely entry of his penis into her vagina”…that works…doesn’t it?
He had started his first attempt at “an erotic story” the previous night, writing a brief story in his head after searching the local classified ads looking for a “real” job. An advertisement under the “writing” section had caught his eye and sent his mind to spinning yarns.
‘$$ Erotica authors needed for short story submissions’
After some quick thoughts on smut and “erotica” that he had read as a youth, he began to concoct a story line in his head. It started with the fucking parts of course, because this is erotica after all. He wondered if working backwards was really the way to go. No one is going to want to read some sensual and intimate romantic bullshit,are they? Doesn’t romance and intimacy always end in tears of the “bad” variety? He decided to stick with the sticky stuff to start.
The next day, he sat down and tried to type out some of his ideas which were then passed along to a friend, his editor, for her thoughts. She seemed to get a good laugh out of it. If for no other reason than the horrendous spelling. But a laugh was not what he was looking for. If he had wanted a laugh, he could have just taken a picture of his own pathetically inadequate and unused penis, posted that as his profile picture on Twitter, then sauntered off into oblivion in search of an adequate rock to bury his inadequate being under. He was trying to write an erotic story here, not a fucking comedy piece. A fucking…comedy…piece. I wonder if that would work, he mused to himself. No…stick to the basics, and see what you can do before sauntering off elsewhere. I can do this.
“She gasped in delight at the sight of the meaty ship of bounty that had suddenly appeared on her horizon”…is how that should likely read. It kinda goes with the whole “fringe” and “verge” vibe,all while staying with the “ships” and “oceans” kinds of vibe(s). Also likely should be a “metronome” instead of a “pendulum” since it’s standing up rather than flopping around like a wobbly plumb-bob seeking center in the middle of an earthquake.
Chasm not casm. FUCK!!! How many typos do I have in this fucking thing? I guess I should re-read again before dumping any further ideas on my editor. “My” editor. Since when did she become mine? Relationships are tough to figure out when you start slapping labels on them. I thought labels were supposed to create these clearly-defined barriers and boundaries that helped us to survive the tempests that seem to rock our worlds. Maybe not. Maybe they help to create and even facilitate these storms.
Lemme try again, don’t change a thing. Just make some corrections, and rewrite without rewriting. He wished himself a good luck, but noted that getting lucky would likely help more. Maybe I should go watch some porn, and watch everything except the fucking parts? The intro bits, although typically corny, can be quite hot sometimes. Not yet…let’s keep writing…
‘His throbbing cock rose like a submarine going through an emergency surface maneuver. She gasped in delight at the sight of this meaty ship of bounty that had suddenly appeared on her horizon. There will be no mutiny on this bounty. Almost as if by instinct, she threw herself onto the bed and spread her legs to expose the moist ocean of delight that was now eagerly awaiting his fleshy meat torpedo to submerge its shadowy depths in anticipation of the explosion to cum…’
She’s not wanting him to cum already is she? She wants him to come, not cum, not yet. He’s not wanting to cum already is he? I mean yeah, I intentionally changed that from “come” to “cum” in order to be racy. But “the explosion to come” is the passion of the actual coupling, and not his spooging the USDA recommended daily allowance of semen all over the room. And yeah, he’s gotta cum anywhere and everywhere except inside her vagina…right? He again paused in his thinking and attempted to correlate his own personal experiences, with that which is typically depicted in pornography or some other form of erotica.
Women seem to be fascinated by a particular penis that they have unrestricted access to. And by unrestricted access, we are talking about a man who had shed all pride and pretense, both flaccid and erect, and given the green light for his lover to perform any and all tests and observations they deem necessary on this particular package, its contents, and states. And while we ponder this package,let us not forget the testicles and scrotum. The penis, even in and at the height of its glory, pales in comparison to the fascination that seems to be generated by this oft orphaned accessory pack…sack…thingie.
‘He approached her confidently as she lay on the bed. His erect cock pointing ever skyward, and swinging back and forth like a metronome that kept time with his steps as he walked. Counting down the fleeting seconds until its ample girth would be delivering its timely pleasure load to her wet pussy palace…’
Pussy…Palace? Sounds like a topless bar. And topless bars have absolutely fuckall to do with the vulva, except for the g-strings that cover the one place you won’t be going in a topless bar. You get fucked in a topless bar…not laid. His personal philosophy was really starting to boil now. And what about “the pussy”? Not to mention “the vagina”? THERE’S NOTHING THERE!!! he mused to himself almost aloud. Yeah, ok, with respect to the vagina there is something there, but not really. The vulva is actually more apt description with respect to getting to where you want to be. The “Bermuda Triangle” lays atop, hiding the waiting dangers to be explored, and the clitoris lay hidden within the lush and hopefully musty and damp forest.
Let’s take it from the top…wait…top. Here I am talking “titty bars” thanks to my “pussy palace” reference, and I’ve not even given a second thought to this woman’s breasts. But why should I? A woman’s breasts aren’t sexual organs. They’re cake on top of a pie that is served with ice cream and beer in a restaurant that you just can’t get enough of no matter what is being served. She is both your hostess and waitress in a joint she herself owns, and no matter how bad her breath stinks nor how bitchy she gets when menstruating, I want to eat there all the time. I can even tolerate the pre- and postmenstruating bullshit. Those are simply temporary “irritations” which are actually just more things to talk about. Or at least, they certainly can be. So…center and centers. Center. It’s really not “all about the pussy” is it? If so, wouldn’t that make all women…lesbians? Nope. Can’t be. Not even close. You’ve also forgotten…kissing.Fondling. Buildup, and breakdown. Arcs…plural.
He stared at the cursor blinking on the screen for a long time. He didn’t mind using “sassy” vernacular within the scope and confines of a relationship, but it didn’t make sense outside of that and those realms. To write a story is one thing, but to write a story that caters to some group or groups in particular? Greek. All of it…Greek. Swahili. He had trouble relating to a single person, let alone relating to several. Perhaps the brush is too big, he wondered to himself. I’m not trying to please every woman. I’m trying to please one woman. And I’m trying to do that via my own short penis which, despite it’s lack of numerical significances in the plus column, actually gets quite hard. Or it used to anyway.
He glanced at the clock on his computer…23:47. He decided to wander outside to see if the moon was up.
‘He glanced at the nexus of her wide-spread legs, her own hands under each of her thighs to assist in holding them spreadeagle and aloft, her legs shaking slightly in what was surely her anticipation of his mounting and penetrating her with his meaty fuckrod. He began to inspect the ample hair piled atop her love nest, and then followed the trails of pussy hair downwards with his eyes to where the hair covered the meaty gates of perdition that beckoned him forward to enter. A sudden glint on her pussy maze caught his eye, and he noticed that the waiting chasm hidden by her engorged and meaty pussy lips had began to slowly ooze a river of her white love juices in a steady flow that ran straight into the crack of her ample round ass.’
Great. Now her ass is “ample”. No honey, your ass isn’t big, it’s ample. But, when you are given access, isn’t any woman’s ass “ample”, irrespective of actual dimensions? I’m not going to have the guy break out the calipers in order to get a Body Mass Index on her ass. Would that be a Body-Ass Index? Booty-Ass Index? He reached into his shorts, then grabbed the head of his penis…manipulating it back and forth between his thumb, index and middle fingers. He could feel a slight wetness on his fingers, stopped typing for a moment, and then used his other hand to pull his shorts aside, exposing his entire penis and testicles.
Hmmm…pre-cum. I guess I’m getting myself kinda hot thinking about licking this woman’s vaginal cum out of her ass crack, he thought to himself. There was a moment of contemplation as to locating a ruler to measure his drooping penis as it hung in anguish in one hand, while the other hand continued to hold the shorts aside. But what would that add to the story? What could that add to the story. A detraction? Is the addition of a detraction… an addition, or a detraction?
He was firmly entrenched in “average” and had been so for as long as he could remember. The guy that we are writing about is hung like a stallion, has a heart that can pump enough to blood to keep his boner skyward for days, likely has giant muscles, great mug, a good job, plenty of cash, big house, cool car…the works…right? We’ve none of that. Not any more anyway. How can I possibly write about something that I know nothing about? I can’t relate to this guy in any way.
Another staring contest with the blinking cursor on his computer screen. “You are never going to finish this,” he said aloud. The cursor did not respond nor reply. Simply continued it’s mechanical blinking shortly after each and every character typed.
The moon is beautiful though, he thought to himself. High in the midnight Texas sky, and so bright that it casts shadows. Plenty of stars too, he added. The only thing missing is someone to gaze at the stars with me. That’s romance dipshit. This is a fucking erotic story about fucking.
‘His meaty cock was already standing straight up, and so erect that it almost hurt. And yet the sight of her love canal’s juices flowing made his rod begin to pulse to an even more erect state that he only previously would have thought impossible. As he neared joining her on the bed, he caught the briefest glimpse of her scent with his nose. Almost on instinct, he suddenly had the desire to shove his face directly into her love trap, now glimmering with pussy juice, so as to lap up every drop.’
Women…don’t…smell. I mean…yeah…most of the time they don’t. But even when they do, they don’t. Got it? He briefly contemplated counting the number of times that the cursor would need to blink before it was considered a prompting to get back to typing. He found this odd, as usually when writing, he didn’t give the cursor a second thought except to it’s location on the page. He stopped typing again, and once again pulled his penis from his shorts. This time, he pulled the shorts further to the side, and then pulled the entire length of his scrotum from his shorts so as to expose the entirety of his scrotum and both testicles.
He shoved his left hand at the very base of his scrotum, and lifted the enclosed testicles upwards while holding his penis to the side with the other hand. As the testicles remained elevated with his left hand, he used his right hand to push back the hair at the top and base of his penis to get a better idea as to the dimensions. He could suddenly feel something in his urethra, and at the same time, a large clear drop emerged from the head of his penis. He let go of his scrotum, letting the testicles fall rather unceremoniously as they retreated back into their more natural state of hanging. His now free left hand wiped the large clear drop away before it fell from the tip of his penis, then with the same hand he transferred the contents now resting mostly on his thumb to a nearby paper towel. That shit will stretch forever, he thought to himself. I’m just going to leave my junk hanging out of my shorts while I write, and if another drop comes out, I’m just going to let it drip. I’m betting it will reach all the way to the floor and still stay connected.
‘As he joined her on the bed, there was no need to take his cock in-hand…destiny and desire would guide the target safely home at this point. Their bodies uniting as one in perfect harmony was both a physical and metaphysical certainty. There was no going back, and as much as he desired licking the sweet glimmering pussy nectar from her asshole so that not a single drop was wasted, he knew that she wanted his cock inside her..post-haste…again and again.
‘He placed his knees on the bed, then leaned over and positioned himself on top and above her, simultaneously taking one of the supple nipples of her ample breasts into his mouth. He felt something emanating from the head of his engorged cock…pre-cum, lubricant, and none too soon. He felt the warmth of her pussy on the head of his cock, as her wild and raspy pubic hair reached out to tickle the head of his rod. He pushed his hips forward as she simultaneously wrapped her legs around him, urging his penetrating thrust forward…and sure enough, like a submarine sailing into her grandest of canyons…’
Isn’t The Grand Canyon also kinda…dry? I really need to work on these associations. There was that comedy angle too. Not sure what happened there with the comedy angle, but I’m pretty fucking sure what didn’t happen with the comedy angle. But isn’t comedy actually, typically anyway, kinda…tragic?
His eyes once again turned to the steadily blinking cursor. Perhaps it’s the poetry? he thought. The blinking cursor continued its profane rant. The poetry of the moment. Perhaps the poetry of a moment. A moment that was. A moment that is. A moment to come. He pondered his own thinking, and wrestled inwardly with the desire to substitute “cum” for “come” Would such trivialities matter in that moment?
“Where in the FUCK am I going to take this story?” he said aloud. He’s entered her, she has enveloped him, do I now give a play-by-play of every grunt, groan and grimace? And if so, what clock do I use? Seconds? Milliseconds? Hours? We want this shit to last don’t we? WAIT!!! Maybe that’s it! Maybe the phone rings mid-coitus, she’s a world famous rocket scientist, and her scientific research group has just detected a mysterious signal from deep space. They need her to get busy on designing and building a new rocket to explore the part of the Universe from whence this signal doth emanate. She slips out of character, into her clothes, vaginal drippings and all, leaves a gooey trail all the way to her sassy BMW convertible, but not before telling him to lock the door behind him on his way out. Genius. I think it’s time to send this piece of shit story over to other eyes, and see what they think.
The response via email was quick. Well that didn’t take long, he thought to himself. “That’s what she said,” he chortled aloud.
‘I’ve spaced it out and put indents in. A couple of typos corrected. Changed the editor to a she from the start, but if you want to change that back, no biggie.
‘I look forward to reading the rest :D’
He stared blankly at the email for a moment. Um, that’s all there was dear lady. That’s all there is. Should I take the opportunity to be risque here? Nope. I think I’ll pass on that. Read what she’s sent back, see what’s she done with this monstrosity, and continue to fuck it up completely from there.
Also in lieu of taking the opportunity to be cheeky, I wonder perhaps if maybe I should instead take some time to explain what a Ohio-class submarine is? While I’m doing that, maybe I can even work out the logistics involved in somehow getting a 16,000+ ton, nuclear powered ballistic missile submarine into The Grand Canyon. Sixteen-thousand tons is 32,000,000 pounds. The largest flying machine that we currently have, The Antonov An-225, can only lift around 500,000 pounds, so we’re going to need 64 of them. A submarine would never fit inside of 64 different aircraft cargo bays without a chainsaw and a shitload of petroleum jelly, so how in the fuck can I get this thing into The Grand Canyon? Launch the submarine into space via some giant heat-seeking moisture missile, and then parachute the submarine safely back to Earth where the submarine would land safely in The Grand Canyon?
‘The massive fleet of dirigibles took flight in unison in order to hoist the gigantic submarine aloft and towards its new home, based somewhere in The Grand Canyon. Here, the submarine could prowl the ever rising moist and willing waters of The Colorado River, searching for prey. These waters were, as of yet, devoid of predators or any other unseen threats…but that would soon change.’
“That has a nice Steampunk ring to it,” he said to himself aloud.
*******
*Indeed. For synchronous ocular and genital secretions, Clicky… Proper paw gno…*
Come back on Tuesday, Dear Reader, for the third of Cade’s Underdog Anthology V stories. And don’t forget, the sixth is coming soon… Have a Song ❤
I have had a fantastic holiday away from The Tower this past fortnight, Dear Reader. Aside from writing a Halloween story for the next Underdog Anthology, I have spent my time remote viewing, with Cade, a shit-ton of movies from my ‘To Watch’ list. To be honest, we barely scratched the surface. I’d provide a comprehensive account of them all, but to do that would take a fuck-ton of Twitter DM scrolling, and the remainder of my holiday…
*And that’s only from yesterday, Clicky… /lights up… So much good stuff… /drags…*
*Mmm, hot chocolate… /blows smoke ring… That’s a bleedin’ good movie, Clicky… /flicks Ash… They all are…*
*PANoptica, PAMoptica? …/draws in smoke… TiTANic TITania?*
*Heh. Well, we’re certainly going the long way round, Clicky… /rolls eyes… that’s foreshore…*
*Yeah, Josephine takes over her husband’s cafe and revamps it at the end of Chocolat… /drags... Calls it ‘Armande’… /plumes smoke… after Judi Dench’s character…*
*Pivotal… /final drag… Hey, I listened to Lashy’s latest talk, Clicky… /streams smoke… and he don’t seem that interested in decoding the Mandela Effect anymore… /stubs butt… Gotta say, I fink that’s a mist ache…*
"Fallen Angel" Alert: Is Ford's Downgrade The "Spark" That Crashes The Bond Market | Zero Hedge https://t.co/gSaW8sWBRV
*Interesting choice of Song, Clicky… /pat snout… ‘Cos of what Frank wrote me last night in the Red universe? …/rolls up…*
*/puts rollie to lips… Welcome to the Jung Gal? …/flicks lighter… Don’t. You’ll make me laugh… /lights up… and that’ll make me cough… /drags… and I don’t need the wee seepage right now, thank you very much… *
*Clicky! That’s Jeremy Irons singing… /taps ash… He’s in one the the double bill of movies Cade and I watched last night… /puffs… and what this post is supposed to be about… /rolls eyes… If I ever fuckin’ get round to start writing it…*
Dear Reader, I am on holiday now for the next two weeks. Underdog Anthology VI: The Gallows Stone – is due out for Halloween and I haven’t written anything for it yet…
… Last night, instead of writing, I accepted Cade’s invitation to watch some movies. Well, I am on holiday 😉 We each picked a film that we’d really enjoyed watching, but that the other hadn’t seen. First up was Cade’s pick of ‘Moneyball’, ostensibly about baseball…
‘In the film, Beane (Brad Pitt) and assistant GM Peter Brand (Jonah Hill), faced with the franchise’s limited budget for players, build a team of undervalued talent by taking a sophisticated sabermetric approach towards scouting and analyzing players.’
‘The principal story takes place over a 24-hour period at a large Wall Street investment bank during the initial stages of the financial crisis of 2007–08.In focus are the actions taken by a group of employees during the subsequent financial collapse.’
Both movies were released in 2011, and both movies were about the same things: interpretation of numbers, risk management and being first with a paradigm-shifting break through…
… Or breakout…
…And the logistics required to build something up, or to tear it down…
*Sullivan… /final drag… I spent 16 years as a PA to a Construction Logistician called Sullivan… /stubs butt… He definitely had some paradigm-shifting ideas… /streams smoke…*
I can highly recommend both movies, Dear Reader, especially if you have time to view them in one sitting. Tomorrow I shall start writing a story for the UAVI, but for tonight, Cade has recommended a horror film for us to watch. To help get me in the mood, so to speak…
*No, I can’t believe I’ve never seen it before either, Clicky… /pats snout… Now be a love and get something suitable to end with…*
I’ll be certain to let you know how the stories are coming along, but until then, Dear Reader… Have a Song 😀
Cade: I think a better question would be…who in the hell are you?
X: Doesn’t feel right, does it?
Cade: No, not really.
0: Maybe that’s what happens when you let something sit in your head for too long.
Cade: It’s possible. But just because something pops into my head doesn’t mean I need to write it down.
Z: Any other current examples you can list to relate?
Cade: SoPi J.
Z: Been stewing on that one for a while?
Cade: Yes I have.
Z: And what have you come up with?
Cade: Well, SoPi K came along last night, so I think I’m going to skip SoPi J for now, and maybe talk about SoPi K a bit…try and flesh it out.
Z: Do you think that’s a good idea?
Cade: 😦
X: Why do you think that a certain something might not feel right?
Cade: The first time that you wander into a new environment as a kid, your eyes are likely to boggle as you marvel in wonder at the unknown/never before seen.
T: Can you think of an example?
0: Yeah. Give us an example 😉
Cade: A department store.
C: Anything else pop into that head of yours as to an example?
Cade: Yeah…The Colosseum scene from Gladiator.
Z: When all of Proximo’s gladiators see it for the first time?
Cade: That’s the one. Juba says, “I did not know men could build such things.”
X: And what about subsequent visits?
Cade: I think the wonder and awe is likely still there, but it’s been constrained a bit.
Z: Constrained by rules and regulations.
Cade: True that. Loads and loads of rules, regulations, constraints, weight limits, size limits…everything has been qualified and quantified.
Z: Just takes us a while to learn and understand the hows and whys behind the system and systems that created this new environment…is that what you are saying?
Cade: Something like that.
X: Do you think such knowledge crushes the glow of that initial awe and wonder?
Cade: It certainly can.
A: Overwhelming the overwhelmed…that’s quite the concept to ponder.
Cade: Indeed it is.
X: Has anything in particular overwhelmed you lately?
Cade: To quote “T” here…”Let’s talk about that.”
X: Good show.
Cade: I guess time will tell.
T: …
^Gorillaz – Humility (Official Video)^
*******
*Nice one, Clicky! So much better than going with a department store opening… /lights up… *
Ah, there you are, Dear Reader. As you can see, the Okie Devil of Text US – Cade Fon Apollyon – has sent a brand spanking, new missive through to the LoL…
…#111 to be exact, and I for one am looking forward to finding out what SoPi J & K are all about…
*Ah, but did you know Elvis played at the Coliseum, Clicky? …/drags…*
So yeah, let’s us talk about that. And what is “that” you may ask? Welp, my own personal method is to get a vague idea as to what I want to write about, then just let it develop as I actually type. That’s why I tend not to edit things as I go, leave mistakes in grammar/spelling and the like, and not fear looking like an idiot when I know that I’m going out on a limb. If I edit out all of the chaff and rough bits and whatnot, there’s no indication to the reader as to what went into the rock tumbler in order to get the rocks shiny. Not suggesting that I don’t have my own “trade secrets” so to speak, because I do…I just tell you what they are.
EX: Much of my writing includes concepts about talking to strangers and/or people that I don’t know. Animals, gods, ghosts, demons/angels, aliens, Artificial Intelligences, girls, angry neighbors, etc..
X: lolz…wait a minute here…did you just equate “girls” with gods, ghosts, aliens and angry neighbors?
Cade: Girls are weird.
X: /shakes head and laughs.
0: Carry on dude.
Cade: K 😛
I sometimes have trouble speaking with others. Mainly, I think this is because I am sometimes expected to say something, but I cannot because I have nothing to say. In this and these instances, my not having anything to say is viewed as something lacking on my part, or perhaps even a failure of some kind. But my thinking is, that if you say something to me, and expect me to say something back, why don’t you just have the conversation all on your own, and leave me out of the discussion entirely.
I don’t need someone prompting me to get the answers you want, in the way you want them…it’s likely gonna end badly for everyone. So yeah, I try and avoid being bound by pride in my writing, and just let my writing flow as best I can. I may not get anywhere, but someone else may be able to learn something.
/me shrugs
^”Souvenir” lyric video – SWIMM^
Happy Friday fuckheeds!
Today is Friday August 17th of the year 2018 CE.
I know someone who is…
erm…
…extra super duper happy today.
Let’s toss a song her way.
❤
^GOOD VIBRATIONS (HD) THE BEACH BOYS^
And since we are currently on flights of fancy, how bout a quick viddy of this vid that just popped up on my YouTube feed. Care for a quick spin in a North American P-51 Mustang?
Pro-Tip: If it wasn’t for the Limeys and their input + their Rolls Royce Merlin engines, the P-51 Mustang would not be what it is.
And what is the P-51 Mustang you might ask?
It is what it is.
^THE ULTIMATE P51 MUSTANG FLIGHT with ATC Audio!^
Before I get to SoPi K, here’s something that I just stumbled across on IMGUR called “Sacred Geometry – Vector Set”.
So, this is a single image, that contains four sets of shapes, and each set of shapes contains nine individual shapes for a total of thirty-six individual shapes…all in one image. Let’s get back to our department store with the boggly-eyed kid, who is seeing a department store for the first time. And let us use this sacred geometry as a representation of our department store.
There are some people that have likely never heard of the concept of “sacred geometry”. I know that I had never heard of it, and then I did hear about it, saw it, and now I know a little bit about what it is and what it can be said to be representative of. So let’s us wander off to a show that was on HBO years ago called Carnivàle.
In this show, the concept of “management” is a prevalent theme. I’ve thought about that concept quite a bit, and especially as it relates to “knowing”.
Q: Do you know who manages our planet?
A: ¿?¿?¿?¿?¿
Yeah…tough question. And via the damnedest of methods, it occurred to me one day to ponder the concept of…”ownership”.
Management and Ownership as it relates to our planet.
It’s likely that we can relate better to ownership than we can to management. Management is always in a state of flux. But ownership is absolute. Prolly why it’s so vague and so thin in most instances. The scramble of management buzzing around what is and is not owned, and by whom. Let’s mix in some Lucifer and God in that image of ownership/management, and we’ll just leave it there and let you stew on it. Actually, add Brahma and Shiva in there with God and Lucifer. I’ve been thinking about those two a lot lately.
^Slowdive – Sugar for the Pill (Official Video)^
Let’s continue the detour so we can stay on target…
Let’s stop there for a second, and pull a blurb from that second Wikipedia article…
‘Gout was historically known as “the disease of kings” or “rich man’s disease”.
I wonder how that came about? There’s a mention that gout has been known to be around since the time of the Ancient Egyptians, and there’s also something there about gout being more common in those who drink beer.
I wonder if The Universe keeps records, and if so, how. Gotta be system designed to keep the records more or less intact and decypherable.
^DWIG – Orange Evening (LUL007)^
This guy Legiron has a book called “Fear The Witch (for it is you)”, and I gotta admit that the first time I heard of this book, I couldn’t help but smile a bit. Clever title and, to me anyway, it speaks a lot to the Alchemists of the now who seem to try and get away from the more erm…”mystical”….types of associations that go along with brewing and concocting all kinds of crazy shit.
Now, if I were to mention a certain…erm…”ceremony” right now, and this ceremony was a balancing of hammers upon a stone, and these balanced hammers on this stone would then be reviewed by the master? That may not mean much to you. Hell, it may not mean anything to you. But it means something to me.
^Deadmau5 – Clockwork (1080p) || HD^
OH!!! And did I mention…these hammers that are balanced on this stone, welp, the stone they are balanced upon, is itself, balanced atop another stone. So yeah, a stone, balanced atop another stone, and the hammers are then balanced upon the balanced stone. Quite the metaphor for accuracy with respect to builders and building…eh? Welp, if you consider that this same ceremony was performed prior to the start of construction, and the mass and shape of these hammers was calculated at that time.
Yes, I just suggested that part of this process included calculating the shape, mass/density of these hammers prior to use, then calculated again after use.
Q: Do you think hammer manufacturers of today calculate the number of atoms in a hammer prior to use, and the number of atoms contained in the same hammer after use?
A: ?!!!?
It’s doubtful, but possible.
I wonder if they would if they could.
Not only that, but what if they could track each and every atom that comes off of that/those hammers, and trace where they went?
You think anyone would be interested in such a thing?
Certainly might help in other areas.
(cough) DU (cough)
Sorry…got a bit choked up there.
^CHVRCHES – Recover^
Short of nulling them off, do you think it possible for someone to forget their scars?
Tattoos have become quite popular.
I wonder if there is any connection there. Elective surgery is also quite popular these days. Deadly, but popular.
Not sure what else to say about it right now, other than day before yesterday, I cut my fingernails for the first time in a month, and there’s not a single fingertip that isn’t sore as fuck. Lots of hangnails that are spinning and spiraling off the nails like coil-springs that were previously under tension, and are now whirling around seeking a new center after I cut my nails.
That likely sounds improbable, and maybe even impossible, but I watch my nails and have been watching them for quite some time. The fingers do all kinds of things, and this “new world” of ours has lots of things in it that have changed the dynamics of how the fingers move/what they do.
So, we’ve got a healthy case of logistics and mechanics backing up the physics of the/a body.
Q: Are you happy?
A: ???
Only you can answer that.
^Vini Vici – Expender^
There appears to have been another purge on Twitter recently. The odd thing is, that from two different unrelated sources, two different Twitter users claim to have lost around twenty (20) followers.
Q: Why is everyone focused on their followers?
A: ¿¿¿
In the 1.5 years that I’ve been more or less actively participating on/in Twitter, I’ve never heard anyone say…
”DAMN! I LOST 20 PEOPLE I WAS FOLLOWING TODAY!!!”
I wonder what’s up with that? I mean, I’m only following 116 people, but I can pretty much tell you why I followed each and every one of them. Not only that, I notice when certain people that I follow stop tweeting and/or their tweets seem to disappear. One recent such example was/is a gal who I had only recently started following, and she turns up a month later with cancer.
😦
There are many people that I follow that I’d like to drop a line to occasionally and just say…
“hey, haven’t seen you around much, hope you are OK.”
…and sometimes I do just that. Like this one gal that posts a lot of “earthy/witchy” photos that are pretty cool. She comes and goes, and I’ve dropped her a line once to just say hey, but people seem to get creeped out by that for some reason. I mean, are you REALLY worried about your followers? Like…really really worried about them? Or are they just some number that should be silent and compliant in sitting in your followers queue.
Just sayin'.
^Swedish House Mafia – Greyhound – Extended Video Remix HD^
Hell…there’s a guy that I follow on Twitter that is dead. Yeah…the motherfucker died not long ago. I don’t expect to see any tweets from him anytime soon, but I’m sure as shit not going to unfollow the poor bastard just because he died. I mean…not too anxious to follow him either…if you know what I mean…but yeah.
lolz
I have no clue what I’m trying to say here.
rofl
^Indian Spirit 2017 – DJ CAPTAIN HOOK^
I’ve not done a whatever/missive in a while, but I’ve been thinking about them. Pretty much cut myself off of anything and everything on The Internet except for Twitter and the occasional foray on my own blogger blog. I mean, hell, I don’t even read Frank Davis nor Underdog Bites Upwards anymore.
Nothing against them, just am where I am.
Plus, I had a pretty big something happen in my life about a month ago.
Scared me.
Scared me bad.
I’m still dealing with it.
Hope you are good tho.
TTYL
^Planet Funk – Chase The Sun (Extended Version) 2002^
‘The agnostic does not simply say, “I do not know.” He goes another step, and he says, with great emphasis, that you do not know. [Robert G. Ingersoll, “Reply to Dr. Lyman Abbott,” 1890]’
*/Lights up… Fuckin’ ‘ell, Clicky, it’s twenty past four already…*
*I’d better get on with it… /drags… Shambles always take me sew much longer than I anticipate… /plumes smoke…*
Gnostic teacher, John Lamb Lash (JLL) has some new talks up, Dear Reader. Cade and I listened to a couple of them earlier this week…
… There are four talks, in which Lashy [and his gal pal, Ginny] refute Flat Earthers and their theories. Interesting stuff, well researched but unfortunately we only managed to get through the first two and a bit…
*No, Clicky… /flicks ash… Of course the world can be round and flat at the same time… /drags… Nah, it’s their increasing nasty rhetoric and unfunny jokes that’s pissing me off… /snorts smoke…*
‘Listened to some more John Lamb Lash talks with RooBeeDoo yesterday, and I try and be objective when I listen, but it irritates me when he starts talking about Jews as if they were some kind of nigger or spics or something. Wait…that didn’t come out right. I hate nigger Jews haters that live in España in a spic neighborhood that has been infiltrated by eskimomos.
‘What’s that? You’ve never heard of Eskimomos?
‘Welp, recently, it occurred to me that Eskimos appear to be devoid of a racial epithet, so I came up with “eskimomo”. An eskimomo would be that one eskimo that always shits way too close to the igloo, or always picks the best seal blubber for themselves, or puts a black light outside his yurt during the summer in an attempt to simulate darkness but all it does is attract mosquitoes and grizzly bears…shit like that.
‘But yeah, the jewey jew jew shit gets really fucking old, really fucking fast.’
*I know! If I wanted to listen to that kinda crap, I’d join the Labour Party and blindly follow their messiah, Clicky… /rolls eyes… Fuck that for a game of soldiers…*
… Although I am currently reading JLL’s book, ‘Not In His Image’, and it’s really, very good. Inspiring, much like the bulk of his talks about the Planetary Animal Mother, Sew-Fire…
*/drag… Lashy’s why I started the ‘Selfie Sounds Like Sophie’ experiment in the first place, Clicky… /cough… He does say Sophie has a wonderful sense of humour… /thinks… ‘Not In His Image’ is starting to sounds ironic… /final drag…*
I probably will go back and finish listening to the remainder of the Flat Earth talks, Dear Reader. If only to find out if JLL has any Terry Pratchett in that extensive library of his…
*/stubs butt… There’s an awful lot of humanity on display from the eclectic cast of characters inhabiting Discworld, Clicky… /pats snout… And it’s funny as fuck…*
It was actually my friend Poppy Sweet Pea that inspired this particular post. She’s into cross-stitch, big-time; always has project on the go. Last night she posted a photo of her latest handiwork for Cade and I to see…
… And I was reminded of my favourite piece of Poppy Sweet Pea cross-stitch artwork. She made it for Legs…
‘Immortalised in Churchill’s often quoted assertion that never before “”was so much owed by so many to so few””, the top-down narrative of the Battle of Britain has been firmly established in British legend. Britain was saved from German invasion by the gallant band of Fighter Command Pilots in their Spitfires and Hurricanes, and the public owed them their freedom. Richard North’s radical re-evaluation of the Battle of Britain dismantles this mythical retelling of events. Taking a wider perspective than the much-discussed air war, North takes a fresh look at the conflict as a whole to show that the civilian experience, far from being separate and distinct, was integral to the Battle. This recovery of the people’s stolen history demonstrates that Hitler’s aim was not the military conquest of England, and that his unattained target was the hearts and minds of British people.’
*/final drag… Purple and yellow UKIP had a wolf, Clicky… /plumes smoke… Shame they dropped the smoker-friendly policy for the last election… /stubs butt…*
David, judging by this tweet and you replies to people below it, you have no concept whatsoever of how democracy actually works or even any idea of what Brexit means.
All of this and you being Vice Chair of the police federation is actually frightening.
— Count Dankula🏴 (@CountDankulaTV) July 10, 2018
*/drops jaw… Wot? That Remoaner nob’s the Scottish police fed vice chair? …/whistles…*
*Shit! Wot’s the time? …/clocks wrist… Fuck! Free Lions are already playing Crow Asia…*
*Oh fanks, Clicky… /puts fag to lips… Alex Robinson ‘as a post up abaht whyt? …/flicks lighter… Well, the play’s the fing, innit? … /lights up… Wot Song did ‘we’ chews to tweet ‘er link aht wiv? …/drags… From the Yt Stripes’ White Blood Cells album? Clever fucka…*
*Oi! I didn’t mean literally! …/coughs… Watch wot ya dooing wiv ya snout…*
*/flicks ash… Good movie, Clicky… /drags… ‘ope they do anovva…*
Well now, Dear Reader, I think that’s about wraps up this Sunday post…
2 British white males at the head of this rescue mission. Their privilege is staggering. Ability counts for shit when there's zero diversity. I demand they be replaced with 2 differently-abled transgender people of mixed race to offer those children a more empowering experience. https://t.co/1zBd1v2PBf
*Oh fanks, Clicky… /puts fag to lips… Yikes! …/flicks lighter… Well, yeah, I can see why you picked Magritte’s Son of Man picture… /lights up… Where’s the fuckin’ famous ‘diversity’ we’re all told to embrace, when super massive corpses, controlling cuntin’ everything, are encouraged? …/drags… It’s enough to make you blue…*
*/coughs… Yeah, well quite… /flicks ash… It’s like Paracelsus pissin’ well never existed…*
NUTRITION
In the whirled of MRSREGN, Dear Reader, N stands for Nutrition…
*If you’re gonna ask, Cade-style, why I assign blue to Nutrition, Clicky, I’m gonna have to refer you back my previous answer…/puffs… Red it? Okay, ask me another…*
Q. Roob, why do you refer to Frank Davis blog as the Blue universe?
What’s with that line on her left side that runs from under her left breast down and around her back? She must not be adequately hydrated or something.
SOMEONE GET THIS LADY UNLIMITED REFILLS OF A SUGARY DRINK!!!
So what does a purge have to do with some hottie’s bikini lines? Welp, when you get to the end, you evaluate…
right?
We’ve reached the end, and it’s time to dig out the calculators, sit back, add the columns, and reflect…
right in the big goddamn middle of the climax.
Or should we cum first…and THEN do our sums? Might need a towel. Prolly gonna be some sadness.
‘Whoever is not with me is against me, and whoever does not gather with me scatters.’
Yep, no matter what it is you do, someone is prolly gonna bitch about it. I mean, today is Sunday, and I personally am sitting here working my ass off. Sitting, and working my ass off…that don’t synch.
I bet her lips smell like hamburger.
^ARCANA – As The End Draws Near^
That looks a bit like “SoPi-I” run amok (shudder).
Butt it’s also kinda accurate.
/me shrugs
I found that image above when looking for “on the beach” gifs. Was thinking about the “nutrition” that we get from the sun, and “tanning” didn’t get me much cept for boobies and tanning spray memes. Figured I’d give “on the beach” a try since Brizdaz (Darren) over at the Just Watching The Wheels Go Round blog was recently talking about reading Nevile Shute‘s book “On The Beach“. That book is about…(drum roll)…the end of the world…via nuclear war. I personally have only read the first few chapters of that book, but there’s a submarine in it.
‘Vitamin E has a natural affinity to the skin but the amount of Vitamin E is reduced in the skin when exposed to sunlight. … UV radiation from the sun is what causes us to tan, and helps the body to make its own vitamin D, yet exposure to the rays also cause an array of negative reactions in the skin.’
Source = Google – 1 July 2018
So reading that, it appears that when we go out into the sun, we don’t need as much Vitamin E in the skin. Or maybe it just can’t live there anymore because of this new neighbor? Our body prolly starts recalling and hoarding that Vitamin E shit as soon as the sun starts to kiss our flesh, in order to seduce our precious bodily fluids and their contents. Maybe Gen. Jack D. Ripper was right about being sapped…
So let’s us nutritionize our brain sacks by blending a few MRSREGNarcs hither and thither, and see what we can come up with. These are going to be fades/gradients, from one color to another, and they are gonna follow some more or less “logical” arcs.
Aqua(Movement) To Blue(Nutrition)
Green(Respiration) To Purple(Growth)
Orange(Sensitivity) To Red(Exretion)
This One All Colors/Concepts Circle Yellow(Reproduction)
Nice to be in the sunshine.
TB Chihuahua
TB Kahuna
TB Caboose
TB Potato
TB Crapola
Don't worry...I'm not trying to program you 😉
^Hayling – FcKahuna (Perfect Sound Quality)^
Prolly much more to nutrition than just only sustenance. It would be cool as shit to someday hook with a gal, and we work together, we plan and plot together, we shop together, we cook together, we eat together, we clean together, etc.. Prolly do some shit on our own together too…nothing wrong with that.
Very nutritional.
‘O God, you are my God; earnestly I seek you;
‘my soul thirsts for you;
‘my flesh faints for you,
‘as in a dry and weary land where there is no water.’
… And navigate her course correction. Clicky, Cade and I hope you’ve enjoyed our play… Have a Song ❤
*LOL… like ‘streaming smoke’, Clicky… /pats snout… Yore such a wag. Well, Lashy does say Sophia’s an ancient fallen alien, who’s sumfin of a scientist… /lights up…*
What is our preferred method of disposal?
Happy Friday fuckheeds!
This guy 
O RLY?!?!? This is where my thoughts go, eh? 😉
Mmmmmmm...time.
Library of Libraries 