Lewd Pony Press

Specializing in offbeat humor, shitty poetry, and sacred literature

57 notes

hookersorcake:

My Uncle Frank’s 3rd wife had a really old pug that needed a $7,000 stomach surgery. My Uncle took me aside and offered me $500 if I would discretely “take care of it,” for him. If I wasn’t only making $250 a week working at a gas station I would’ve said no, but $500 is a lot of money. All I needed to do was, help put their old dog out of its misery. So Tuesday afternoon I slipped on over to their house, my Uncle had given me the key. I was to leave the sliding glass door open, all I had to do was reset the house alarm and make sure the dog, Mr. Chuckles was gone, “gone for good,” my Uncle sighed.
The plan was to drive Mr. Chuckles out into the woods and just put a bullet in his widdle head. But when I got old Chuckles outta the car he started wagging his tail and licking my face, so needless to say Mr. Chuckles came to live with me. It was only to be until I could drive him down to a animal shelter far enough away to where he wouldn’t be found. The only problem was over the next week my Uncle sent more business my way via his friends. I was fast becoming a bonafide old pet assassin.
$500 for Sonny, a blind Pomeranian with no teeth, $300 for Felix the incontinent orange cat, and another $500 for Bronco, the German shepard with two bad hips. They all came to stay with me just until the weekend when I could drive them all down to various shelters far, far away.
It was a foolproof plan until Felix began shitting everywhere and Bronco revealed himself not only to be a gimpy dancer but also a problem barker. I came home after a graveyard one morning only to find a notice from the landlord that I had until the end of the day to get rid of all the animals or the locks would be changed and I along with my belongings would be out on the curb.
So I packed up the whole geriatric running crew and began making the trek south. I had only gotten a few miles when my piece of shit Oldsmobile began sputtering and lurching. I realized that breaking down with 4 crippled animals was not the best idea in the world so I slowed down and limped the car down a few back roads until I came to a heavily wooded area. Doing some quick math I realized that I was only about 5-10 miles from my Uncles house and maybe even closer to the other homes. I was going to have to kill these animals right here or risk that they would make some goddamn Walt Disney miraculous journey back to their owners and then I would be in some real weird shit.
Taking a deep breathe, I retrieved my snub nosed .38 from the trunk. The only reason I still even had the gun was that it had been my fathers and I couldn’t bear to pawn it. And I guess I was absentmindedly thinking about Dad when I opened the car door only to be bowled over by an excited German Shepard. And before I got up Mr. Chuckles, Sonny and Felix all leapt out of the car in different directions. FUUUCK!
Scrambling to my feet I knew that I needed to start killing animals pronto because as I looked around I saw all the animals still had their collars with the tags on them. I’m such an idiot. I needed to end this shit right now. I decided to start with Bronco, because even though he had bad hips, he was big and could still cover some ground. So I settled myself and leveled the .38 at the old shepard. Bronco looked right at me and then took off straight into the woods. I went right in after him, into the underbrush. I must have trudged about 50 yards trying to get free of the underbrush and to get a clean shot at that damn dog when I slipped, lost my balanced and tumbled down into a ravine. It was a pretty bad fall, but I jumped right back up. I was OK. I was OK. Shit. I was OK but my ankle wasn’t. I stood up on it and searing pain shot up through me and I almost passed out. Looking around I realized I couldn’t very well hop up the ravine. Maybe I could crawl. Damn it was steep.
It took way to long to crawl up out of there. Probably took 20-30 minutes and I was dizzy as hell. My ankle felt like it was going to throb off. Well only 50 yards or so to the car. I must have crawled for about 100 yards before I could admit to myself that I must have gotten turned around when I fell. I was going the exact opposite way. HOLY FUCKING HELL!
It took me a few minutes to calm down. I would be just fine, I told myself. Just take your time, don’t panic and get back to the car. Even if I took my time it would only take an hour or two at the most. So that’s what I did. I crawled back the way I had come. One hour later I was about half way up the other side of the ravine. Everything was going well if only it wasn’t so damn chilly. Wait a minute. Its late June, around noon time… it was around 75-80 degrees when I left this morning and the sun was still shining bright overhead… shock
“Fuck!” I’m having chills cause I’m going into shock.”
Just take it easy buddy. Take it slow. 30 minutes and you’ll be at the car.
Whats that whirling noise? Colored lights… Truck NutZ.
If only I’d swallowed my pride and stayed in Ohio to run the family business making Truck Nutz. Black spots danced in front of my eyes. Truck Nutz… just rest for a bit… close your eyes.
I must have passed out for quite some time because when I came too it was getting dark. I didn’t feel cold anymore. It just felt real peaceful and I was calm. I couldn’t feel my ankle at all. It was cold to the touch and purple and stiff, stiff just like Truck Nutz. I heard some leaves rustling and I looked up to the top of the ravine. There sat Mr. Bonkers, Felix, Sonny and Bronco. Multi-colored crowns of Truck NutZ whirled and danced above their heads. I reached out to them but they dissolved into the darkness.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
And all around me I hear the rustling of each single leaf. Every single one of them crying out to form an 8 octave chorus…
“Truck Nutz” they sing like a veiny glistening shout - a shout that resonates into the heart of all things.
“Truck Nutz,” as the wind scatters beneath the paws of the four ancient animal spirits. Their glowing eyes closing in upon me like windows into another world. Gazing inside I feel the sun. I feel the sun devouring the cold dark night that I thought I was.

hookersorcake:

My Uncle Frank’s 3rd wife had a really old pug that needed a $7,000 stomach surgery. My Uncle took me aside and offered me $500 if I would discretely “take care of it,” for him. If I wasn’t only making $250 a week working at a gas station I would’ve said no, but $500 is a lot of money. All I needed to do was, help put their old dog out of its misery. So Tuesday afternoon I slipped on over to their house, my Uncle had given me the key. I was to leave the sliding glass door open, all I had to do was reset the house alarm and make sure the dog, Mr. Chuckles was gone, “gone for good,” my Uncle sighed.

The plan was to drive Mr. Chuckles out into the woods and just put a bullet in his widdle head. But when I got old Chuckles outta the car he started wagging his tail and licking my face, so needless to say Mr. Chuckles came to live with me. It was only to be until I could drive him down to a animal shelter far enough away to where he wouldn’t be found. The only problem was over the next week my Uncle sent more business my way via his friends. I was fast becoming a bonafide old pet assassin.

$500 for Sonny, a blind Pomeranian with no teeth, $300 for Felix the incontinent orange cat, and another $500 for Bronco, the German shepard with two bad hips. They all came to stay with me just until the weekend when I could drive them all down to various shelters far, far away.

It was a foolproof plan until Felix began shitting everywhere and Bronco revealed himself not only to be a gimpy dancer but also a problem barker. I came home after a graveyard one morning only to find a notice from the landlord that I had until the end of the day to get rid of all the animals or the locks would be changed and I along with my belongings would be out on the curb.

So I packed up the whole geriatric running crew and began making the trek south. I had only gotten a few miles when my piece of shit Oldsmobile began sputtering and lurching. I realized that breaking down with 4 crippled animals was not the best idea in the world so I slowed down and limped the car down a few back roads until I came to a heavily wooded area. Doing some quick math I realized that I was only about 5-10 miles from my Uncles house and maybe even closer to the other homes. I was going to have to kill these animals right here or risk that they would make some goddamn Walt Disney miraculous journey back to their owners and then I would be in some real weird shit.

Taking a deep breathe, I retrieved my snub nosed .38 from the trunk. The only reason I still even had the gun was that it had been my fathers and I couldn’t bear to pawn it. And I guess I was absentmindedly thinking about Dad when I opened the car door only to be bowled over by an excited German Shepard. And before I got up Mr. Chuckles, Sonny and Felix all leapt out of the car in different directions. FUUUCK!

Scrambling to my feet I knew that I needed to start killing animals pronto because as I looked around I saw all the animals still had their collars with the tags on them. I’m such an idiot. I needed to end this shit right now. I decided to start with Bronco, because even though he had bad hips, he was big and could still cover some ground. So I settled myself and leveled the .38 at the old shepard. Bronco looked right at me and then took off straight into the woods. I went right in after him, into the underbrush. I must have trudged about 50 yards trying to get free of the underbrush and to get a clean shot at that damn dog when I slipped, lost my balanced and tumbled down into a ravine. It was a pretty bad fall, but I jumped right back up. I was OK. I was OK. Shit. I was OK but my ankle wasn’t. I stood up on it and searing pain shot up through me and I almost passed out. Looking around I realized I couldn’t very well hop up the ravine. Maybe I could crawl. Damn it was steep.

It took way to long to crawl up out of there. Probably took 20-30 minutes and I was dizzy as hell. My ankle felt like it was going to throb off. Well only 50 yards or so to the car. I must have crawled for about 100 yards before I could admit to myself that I must have gotten turned around when I fell. I was going the exact opposite way. HOLY FUCKING HELL!

It took me a few minutes to calm down. I would be just fine, I told myself. Just take your time, don’t panic and get back to the car. Even if I took my time it would only take an hour or two at the most. So that’s what I did. I crawled back the way I had come. One hour later I was about half way up the other side of the ravine. Everything was going well if only it wasn’t so damn chilly. Wait a minute. Its late June, around noon time… it was around 75-80 degrees when I left this morning and the sun was still shining bright overhead… shock

“Fuck!” I’m having chills cause I’m going into shock.”

Just take it easy buddy. Take it slow. 30 minutes and you’ll be at the car.

Whats that whirling noise? Colored lights… Truck NutZ.

If only I’d swallowed my pride and stayed in Ohio to run the family business making Truck Nutz. Black spots danced in front of my eyes. Truck Nutz… just rest for a bit… close your eyes.

I must have passed out for quite some time because when I came too it was getting dark. I didn’t feel cold anymore. It just felt real peaceful and I was calm. I couldn’t feel my ankle at all. It was cold to the touch and purple and stiff, stiff just like Truck Nutz. I heard some leaves rustling and I looked up to the top of the ravine. There sat Mr. Bonkers, Felix, Sonny and Bronco. Multi-colored crowns of Truck NutZ whirled and danced above their heads. I reached out to them but they dissolved into the darkness.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

And all around me I hear the rustling of each single leaf. Every single one of them crying out to form an 8 octave chorus…

“Truck Nutz” they sing like a veiny glistening shout - a shout that resonates into the heart of all things.

“Truck Nutz,” as the wind scatters beneath the paws of the four ancient animal spirits. Their glowing eyes closing in upon me like windows into another world. Gazing inside I feel the sun. I feel the sun devouring the cold dark night that I thought I was.

88 notes

hookersorcake:

Dearest Fuckface,
 Perhaps you have noticed some rough language or a course tone in our recent correspondence. We at Hookers or Cake would like to assure that this is not in error nor is it to offend. In fact this is just the latest and greatest step in the fight to verify personal identity.
Research has shown that robots, programs and offshore spam companies fail to comprehend sarcasm, irony and inappropriate cursing. In light of this we are encouraging all of our clients and social contacts to partake in superfluous cussing and absurd veiled threats as a means to assure one another that we are indeed human beings and not just another uptight program with a abacus for a heart and a bottomless coin purse for a belly. We hope you understand our stance but welcome that you may not. We find ourselves glad in that if you are a program or shortsighted asshole that your confusion will act as an agreement of the termination of any and all unsightly communication or contact in the future.
Warmest mutha fuckin’ regards,
Jade Bos
VP Lewd Pony Pressauthor of Hookers or CakeD.H.S. (Destroyer of Ham Sandwiches)

hookersorcake:

Dearest Fuckface,

 Perhaps you have noticed some rough language or a course tone in our recent correspondence. We at Hookers or Cake would like to assure that this is not in error nor is it to offend. In fact this is just the latest and greatest step in the fight to verify personal identity.

Research has shown that robots, programs and offshore spam companies fail to comprehend sarcasm, irony and inappropriate cursing. In light of this we are encouraging all of our clients and social contacts to partake in superfluous cussing and absurd veiled threats as a means to assure one another that we are indeed human beings and not just another uptight program with a abacus for a heart and a bottomless coin purse for a belly. We hope you understand our stance but welcome that you may not. We find ourselves glad in that if you are a program or shortsighted asshole that your confusion will act as an agreement of the termination of any and all unsightly communication or contact in the future.

Warmest mutha fuckin’ regards,

Jade Bos

VP Lewd Pony Press
author of Hookers or Cake
D.H.S. (Destroyer of Ham Sandwiches)

47 notes

hookersorcake:

Who are these people? What are they doing? My best friend died and all his obituary said was a list of different schools he went to and the names of his cousins. So at the funeral I felt compelled to tell everyone his final wishes involved his body being placed on a giant spring and being flung off into the woods.
   “Just leave the body, wherever it lands for the wolves to drag off,” he said.
I’d like to color all the plain obituaries - like the mortician who painted the bodies of the deceased with colorful directions for the afterlife.
    Hard Left at The River Styx - 0.3 miles
I’m reminded of my grandfather, who was buried in full drag. He’d never dressed in womens clothing or had any such desires in his waking life. But I was watching TV with him when I was a little kid, and Mr. Belvedere died. I asked “Where do people go when the die?”
and he replied,
  “No one ever dies, they just shimmer forever after.” 
and in his casket he shimmered in a sparkling blue, bare midriff evening gown by designer Jean Louis - his WWII navy tattoos dancing once again.

hookersorcake:

Who are these people? What are they doing? My best friend died and all his obituary said was a list of different schools he went to and the names of his cousins. So at the funeral I felt compelled to tell everyone his final wishes involved his body being placed on a giant spring and being flung off into the woods.

   “Just leave the body, wherever it lands for the wolves to drag off,” he said.

I’d like to color all the plain obituaries - like the mortician who painted the bodies of the deceased with colorful directions for the afterlife.

    Hard Left at The River Styx - 0.3 miles

I’m reminded of my grandfather, who was buried in full drag. He’d never dressed in womens clothing or had any such desires in his waking life. But I was watching TV with him when I was a little kid, and Mr. Belvedere died. I asked “Where do people go when the die?”

and he replied,

  “No one ever dies, they just shimmer forever after.”

and in his casket he shimmered in a sparkling blue, bare midriff evening gown by designer Jean Louis - his WWII navy tattoos dancing once again.

41 notes

jimmythemustascheman:

hookersorcake:

she had been a strippera drug addict and a whoreand I loved her dearlythe glow of a woman at peacea woman that knows the depthand breathe of the boundless range ofall experiencegorgeous - full blown - womanfearless - crazy - fucking womanthankfully crazyfor its in the madnessthat a man truly comes to know himselfan explorer of the frightening wildernessa wilderness he knows in his heartas homethe mother of all thingsrains down bliss and deathwith the whimsy of the very weatherborn murdered and diedagain and againthe primordial art of the cavethe porn rack at 7-11I love you bothfor your ends exceed meand tear me asunderin shortyou blow my sweet motherfuckin’ lil mindand thank god for that!

I knew someone like that. It took a bottle of SoCo and a can of Coca Cola to drive it all out of my mind.

jimmythemustascheman:

hookersorcake:

she had been a stripper
a drug addict and a whore

and I loved her dearly

the glow of a woman at peace
a woman that knows the depth
and breathe of the boundless range of
all experience
gorgeous - full blown - woman
fearless - crazy - fucking woman

thankfully crazy
for its in the madness
that a man truly comes to know himself
an explorer of the frightening wilderness
a wilderness he knows in his heart
as home

the mother of all things
rains down bliss and death
with the whimsy of the very weather
born murdered and died
again and again
the primordial art of the cave
the porn rack at 7-11

I love you both
for your ends exceed me
and tear me asunder

in short

you blow my sweet motherfuckin’ lil mind
and thank god for that!

I knew someone like that. It took a bottle of SoCo and a can of Coca Cola to drive it all out of my mind.

164 notes

hookersorcake:

My favorite artist was someone who went to my old church.They’d blacked out all the words in the bible so only three words appeared on each page.
            I
     love                 you
I first discovered this work while sitting through an interminable church service. The minister was spewing some hate filled nonsense and I finally picked up the Holy Bible, curious if it really said all these terrible things.
To my wonder and surprise all I found was page after page of “I love you”it was like a choir of angels was hammering a very simple song into my heart.I sat there in quiet awe while the asshole preacher prattled on and on with his hate filled fever dream. I was flipping through all those pages as the chorus sang upon me until I broke down and every fiber of my own being too began to sing.
I love you - I love you in everything you big dummy - I love you
I saw every mean and stupid thing I’d done. And a great compassion swelled within me. I found myself flooded by a strange tenderness for my very own self.  It then spilled and splashed across everything I saw until all was colored wet and bubblin  - baptised in the water light love of compassion  all is perfect and free - even the asshole preacher.
Finally I staggered to my feet and thundered out a proclamation to the pastor - “HEY FUCKFACE! Why don’t you put on some pants and get a real job! Cuz you fuckin suck at this one!”
And the universe roared a bright horn chorus of  “Dude!” and the high five were glorious and everlasting.
 - for Jesse Hassler - 1971-2010

hookersorcake:

My favorite artist was someone who went to my old church.

They’d blacked out all the words in the bible so only three words appeared on each page.


            I


     love
                you


I first discovered this work while sitting through an interminable church service. The minister was spewing some hate filled nonsense and I finally picked up the Holy Bible, curious if it really said all these terrible things.

To my wonder and surprise all I found was page after page of “I love you”
it was like a choir of angels was hammering a very simple song into my heart.
I sat there in quiet awe while the asshole preacher prattled on and on with his hate filled fever dream. I was flipping through all those pages as the chorus sang upon me until I broke down and every fiber of my own being too began to sing.

I love you - I love you in everything you big dummy - I love you

I saw every mean and stupid thing I’d done. And a great compassion swelled within me. I found myself flooded by a strange tenderness for my very own self.  It then spilled and splashed across everything I saw until all was colored wet and bubblin  - baptised in the water light love of compassion  all is perfect and free - even the asshole preacher.

Finally I staggered to my feet and thundered out a proclamation to the pastor - “HEY FUCKFACE! Why don’t you put on some pants and get a real job! Cuz you fuckin suck at this one!”

And the universe roared a bright horn chorus of  “Dude!” and the high five were glorious and everlasting.

 - for Jesse Hassler - 1971-2010

(via rrrick)

Filed under short stories

124 notes

hookersorcake:

 The initial findings were staggering. The possibility that more than 70% of all female adult film actresses may suffer from a little known hormone deficiency called Seria Syndrome. What is Seria Syndrome? “Basically its a hormonal imbalance that can lead to impulsive and mania type behavior,” says Dr. Louis Szekely, who heads up a team of researchers in Van Nuys, California.
 The hormone in this case is called Oxytocin and it has been connected to behavior ranging from orgasm, social recognition, pair bonding, anxiety, and maternal behavior. Oxytocin is specifically mammalian and acts primarily as a neurotransmitter in the brain. It is often referred to as the ‘love hormone’ thus the more than 300 million dollars that drug companies have spent on researching it in just the past 5 years. “If we could produce a pill that produces feelings of love, empathy and trust in the user… it would be a social panacea,” Dr. Szekely went on to say. Studies and research have shown that oxytocin may solve problems ranging from Autism and depression to drug addiction and even adultery.
Though oxytocin was first synthesized in 1953 administering to patients has proven quite difficult. Oxytocin is destroyed by gastrointestinal tract. It also also only has a half life of only three minutes in the blood stream and thusly cannot enter the brain in any significant quantity due to a blood brain barrier. What scientists then have turned to as a result of being unable to administer oxytocin to test subjects is studying its effects by inhibiting oxytocin in levels in subjects.   Researchers discovered during studies on laboratory rats that if a female rat was given a oxytocin inhibitor she would immediately lose interest in her offspring and leave her mate. Scientists then were able to naturally raise the oxytocin levels in the female rats by simple handling them and stroking them for a mere thirty seconds to forty seconds. The female rats then began to immediately mate with the closet male or female, though in repeated double blind studies they did show a consistent preference for male rats who drove Trans-Ams and had cocaine. Scientists theorize that the reason for such rash activity was that the oxytocin starved females had such a low baseline of oxytocin activity that normal stroking or petting that releases what would be an average dose of oxytocin in a non inhibited subject becomes in effect a overdose in a previously inhibited subject, thus overriding many of the usual trust/aversion markers that control mating and maternal behavior. “The oxytocin overdosed female rats basically became wanton whores,” stated Dr. Szekely.Besides the troubling social behavior scientist also noticed that the inhibited rats shown very specific problems with hearing that effected vocalization. Researchers then took these findings and began conducting research on a interesting test group; female porn stars. “I actually began to notice the vocal patterns that I was hearing from the inhibited rats matched up with those of the adult performers in… uh well… other research I was conducting,” blushed Szekely. Researchers then viewed several thousand adult films and charted the vocal patterns of the female performers. The data that was compiled and it was stunning. Studies showed that 713 of 998 female performers had speech problems consistent with Seria Syndrome. In order to verify the findings the female performers would need to be physically tested. Here the research team ran into a problem. The porn stars were not willing research participants, even when offered money and free treatment. It was then that a light went off in Szekely’s head. “We’ll make a porno,” he flatly stated. And that’s just what they did. Over the next three grueling weeks Dr.Szekely took samples from over 500 females. “We couldn’t get the starlets to submit to a regular blood sample,” he recalled “so I just attached a small patch of cotton to the end of my penis and was able to obtain throat sample within the context of the film. I achieved a 92% success rate,” he beamed.The numbers once again were staggering, only 3 female performers that appeared in Dr. Love, Female gang bang, actually showed any sign of Seria Syndrome. 413 of the performers just had tongue rings that impeded clear speech and 76 of the performers where “just fucked up,” stated a bemused Szekely. The 3 starlets that did have markers consistent with Seria Syndrome were thoroughly tested in Dr. Love II & III “It wasn’t until Dr Love IV, Anal mania, that we figured out a fail proof way to administer antidote testing,” said Dr. Louis. As of this writing Dr. Szekely is planning a new research group, Dr. Love V, Gang bang 1,000. “I will not rest until I find a cure,” sighed the good Dr.

hookersorcake:

 The initial findings were staggering. The possibility that more than 70% of all female adult film actresses may suffer from a little known hormone deficiency called Seria Syndrome.
 What is Seria Syndrome? “Basically its a hormonal imbalance that can lead to impulsive and mania type behavior,” says Dr. Louis Szekely, who heads up a team of researchers in Van Nuys, California.

 The hormone in this case is called Oxytocin and it has been connected to behavior ranging from orgasm, social recognition, pair bonding, anxiety, and maternal behavior. Oxytocin is specifically mammalian and acts primarily as a neurotransmitter in the brain. It is often referred to as the ‘love hormone’ thus the more than 300 million dollars that drug companies have spent on researching it in just the past 5 years. “If we could produce a pill that produces feelings of love, empathy and trust in the user… it would be a social panacea,” Dr. Szekely went on to say. Studies and research have shown that oxytocin may solve problems ranging from Autism and depression to drug addiction and even adultery.

Though oxytocin was first synthesized in 1953 administering to patients has proven quite difficult. Oxytocin is destroyed by gastrointestinal tract. It also also only has a half life of only three minutes in the blood stream and thusly cannot enter the brain in any significant quantity due to a blood brain barrier.
 What scientists then have turned to as a result of being unable to administer oxytocin to test subjects is studying its effects by inhibiting oxytocin in levels in subjects.
  Researchers discovered during studies on laboratory rats that if a female rat was given a oxytocin inhibitor she would immediately lose interest in her offspring and leave her mate. Scientists then were able to naturally raise the oxytocin levels in the female rats by simple handling them and stroking them for a mere thirty seconds to forty seconds. The female rats then began to immediately mate with the closet male or female, though in repeated double blind studies they did show a consistent preference for male rats who drove Trans-Ams and had cocaine. Scientists theorize that the reason for such rash activity was that the oxytocin starved females had such a low baseline of oxytocin activity that normal stroking or petting that releases what would be an average dose of oxytocin in a non inhibited subject becomes in effect a overdose in a previously inhibited subject, thus overriding many of the usual trust/aversion markers that control mating and maternal behavior. “The oxytocin overdosed female rats basically became wanton whores,” stated Dr. Szekely.
Besides the troubling social behavior scientist also noticed that the inhibited rats shown very specific problems with hearing that effected vocalization. Researchers then took these findings and began conducting research on a interesting test group; female porn stars. “I actually began to notice the vocal patterns that I was hearing from the inhibited rats matched up with those of the adult performers in… uh well… other research I was conducting,” blushed Szekely. Researchers then viewed several thousand adult films and charted the vocal patterns of the female performers. The data that was compiled and it was stunning. Studies showed that 713 of 998 female performers had speech problems consistent with Seria Syndrome. In order to verify the findings the female performers would need to be physically tested. Here the research team ran into a problem. The porn stars were not willing research participants, even when offered money and free treatment. It was then that a light went off in Szekely’s head. “We’ll make a porno,” he flatly stated. And that’s just what they did. Over the next three grueling weeks Dr.Szekely took samples from over 500 females. “We couldn’t get the starlets to submit to a regular blood sample,” he recalled “so I just attached a small patch of cotton to the end of my penis and was able to obtain throat sample within the context of the film. I achieved a 92% success rate,” he beamed.
The numbers once again were staggering, only 3 female performers that appeared in Dr. Love, Female gang bang, actually showed any sign of Seria Syndrome. 413 of the performers just had tongue rings that impeded clear speech and 76 of the performers where “just fucked up,” stated a bemused Szekely.
 The 3 starlets that did have markers consistent with Seria Syndrome were thoroughly tested in Dr. Love II & III “It wasn’t until Dr Love IV, Anal mania, that we figured out a fail proof way to administer antidote testing,” said Dr. Louis.
As of this writing Dr. Szekely is planning a new research group, Dr. Love V, Gang bang 1,000. “I will not rest until I find a cure,” sighed the good Dr.

39 notes

hookersorcake:

So I was asked to come with ideas for a Green Eggs and Ham script.
 A man’s wife dies tragically in a car accident during a quick trip to the store while preparing a big holiday feast.
The bereaved husband comes home from the hospital to an empty house and can’t bear to part with the giant ham that his wife had cooked for their dinner. The man then sits alone in his kitchen and gnaws away on the ham for several days until its rancid and then he begins to hallucinate that the rancid ham is some kinda god or something. He begins to inquire of the godhead ham the true meaning of life.
IE. Why all the terrible pain and suffering strung together by unendurable stretches of pointless boredom punctuated by brief moments of happiness and love?
Many of the usual romantic comedy hi-jinks ensue as the rancid ham tears apart our protagonists world view. There is also a great little montage set to popular music where the rancid ham and the man try on funny hats.I envision the whole thing done with puppets and a over the top laugh track. Think … A Love Story meets Alf meets the Bhagavad Gita meets 2001
 I already have Ariel Pink signed on for the soundtrack but who should play the ham? and who plays the man?

hookersorcake:

So I was asked to come with ideas for a Green Eggs and Ham script.

 A man’s wife dies tragically in a car accident during a quick trip to the store while preparing a big holiday feast.

The bereaved husband comes home from the hospital to an empty house and can’t bear to part with the giant ham that his wife had cooked for their dinner. The man then sits alone in his kitchen and gnaws away on the ham for several days until its rancid and then he begins to hallucinate that the rancid ham is some kinda god or something. He begins to inquire of the godhead ham the true meaning of life.

IE. Why all the terrible pain and suffering strung together by unendurable stretches of pointless boredom punctuated by brief moments of happiness and love?

Many of the usual romantic comedy hi-jinks ensue as the rancid ham tears apart our protagonists world view. There is also a great little montage set to popular music where the rancid ham and the man try on funny hats.

I envision the whole thing done with puppets and a over the top laugh track.

Think … A Love Story meets Alf meets the Bhagavad Gita meets 2001

 I already have Ariel Pink signed on for the soundtrack but who should play the ham? and who plays the man?

47 notes

hookersorcake:

The bright recognition of ones own mortality, can poop on the ol giggle parade.
Last night I was visited by 3 Elvis’s
The young, crazy vibrant Elvis
The fat, drugged old Elvis
and the massive dead Elvis
They told me to change my ways baby
that I was losing hydrogen and helium at my core
while expanding in mass.
then they asked me if I was going to eat that
they were pointing at a bare wall
I said no and stepped aside.
They tore the drywall from the studs and young Elvis thrust his manhood upon it making love to it in several different ways and yet somehow all at once.
Fat Elvis crushed up the parts young Elvis was done with. He snorted up the dust but the larger parts he cooked into a cosmic frittata using a red hot skillet.
Dead Elvis just held the whole scene in its infinite mouth - his massive mutton chops would close in upon it obliterating all light and sound. Then the giant horns would sound and the mutton chops lift and the whole cycle would begin again.  This repeated itself all through the commercial break during the age of Kali Yuga and then we went for ice cream.

hookersorcake:

The bright recognition of ones own mortality, can poop on the ol giggle parade.

Last night I was visited by 3 Elvis’s

The young, crazy vibrant Elvis

The fat, drugged old Elvis

and the massive dead Elvis

They told me to change my ways baby

that I was losing hydrogen and helium at my core

while expanding in mass.

then they asked me if I was going to eat that

they were pointing at a bare wall

I said no and stepped aside.

They tore the drywall from the studs and young Elvis thrust his manhood upon it making love to it in several different ways and yet somehow all at once.

Fat Elvis crushed up the parts young Elvis was done with. He snorted up the dust but the larger parts he cooked into a cosmic frittata using a red hot skillet.

Dead Elvis just held the whole scene in its infinite mouth - his massive mutton chops would close in upon it obliterating all light and sound. Then the giant horns would sound and the mutton chops lift and the whole cycle would begin again.  This repeated itself all through the commercial break during the age of Kali Yuga and then we went for ice cream.

Filed under Hookers or Cake

73 notes

hookersorcake:

The mustache that can spoke of    is not the eternal mustacheThe understanding that can be understood    is not wisdomFor the mustache is the beginning of heaven and earth    it is the mother of all thingsMustachioed one can see the entire mysteryMustacheless one only sees the manifestationThese two ways of being are identical       they only differ in nameThe mustache exists     only when it does notThis is the gateway to all mystery.     - Mustache Te Ching

hookersorcake:

The mustache that can spoke of

    is not the eternal mustache

The understanding that can be understood

    is not wisdom


For the mustache is the beginning of heaven and earth

    it is the mother of all things


Mustachioed one can see the entire mystery

Mustacheless one only sees the manifestation


These two ways of being are identical

       they only differ in name


The mustache exists

     only when it does not

This is the gateway to all mystery.


     - Mustache Te Ching

Filed under Choose Your Own Author Mustache