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From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
Subject: FUCK DECENCY 296 Pussy Playland (nnd) g2
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BILL GATES IS NOT WEALTHY
Recently I had to blow my nose. I was cracking open one of
those new Kleenex ColdCare tissue boxes, when I thought, “Gosh, this is
sort of luxurious, the way they make you peel back the top. It used to
be, these people made a product entirely of paper. Paper box, paper
kleenex inside. I used to rip those boxes open and think nothing of
it. As if I was, you know, entitled to endless shrinkwrapped boxes of
paper kleenex. For nothing. Now they’ve got me peeling back ‘luxury
seals,’ and pulling out menthol-impregnated tissues. As if I’m not
entitled. As if I’m supposed to actually feel grateful for having a
damn box of kleenex.”
Not that I don’t enjoy the new menthol-impregnated tissues, of
course. They’re quite excellent. Yesterday, my nose ran all day.
Usually, using paper kleenex in paper boxes, my nose would have been raw
by the end of the day. But not with new menthol-impregnated Kleenex! I
used a whole box of those, in one day, and at the end of the day my nose
still felt fine and dandy.
Which is why I live again, to blow another day. (Usually, on
the second day of a cold, my nose hurts too much to blow it anymore.
Even though I still need to.)
So, with my new, blow-able nose, I fortuitously read The
Economist, September 20, 1997, pg. 18. It was the article titled, “Not
this again, please.” And it got me to thinking, not about America and
Japan, but about Bill Gates. And us.
As you know, Bill Gates is a human being. I don’t know how
tall he is. But, taking into consideration all his nerdy
characteristics, I think the following thumbnail weights and measures
can be roughly estimated. He’s probably about 5’ 8”. He probably
weighs, oh... (he’s older now, and heavier...), 125 lbs. So, you know,
he’s a typical computer nerd. Short, and a 125 lb. weakling. He’d die
in a boxing match against Tyson while he was still trying to climb over
the ropes around the boxing ring to get into it.
Tyson would eat well that day.
However, Bill Gates, the man, has managed to sell to us 40
billion dollars more stuff than we have managed to sell to him. Think
about that. Take the box of mentholated Kleenex. Somebody managed to
make that and sell that to me. But did I sell anything to him? I doubt
it. So he, in essence, gave me something (a box of kleenex). And I,
holy joe, gave him nothing back. Not really. Oh, sure, you may say,
“Well, you paid him $1.99, didn’t you?” (Plus tax). Sure I
did. But I didn’t really make anything and actually sell it back to the
kleenex man. Jupiter moved between Saturn and trees grew and one way or
another $1.99 wound up in my pocket just when I was looking to blow my
nose. So the kleenex man, in essence, gave me a box of mentholated
kleenex. And I told him, in essence, “Don’t worry. Someday I’ll sell
you something back.” But I didn’t have anything. So instead I gave him
some coins, in the form of a sort of I.O.U. The coins in essence mean
‘I owe the kleenex man $1.99 worth of stuff.’
Don’t worry. Someday I’ll think of something and sell it back
to the kleenex man. In the meantime, he can keep my I.O.U., in the form
of $1.99. He can even trade it around. You know, if he needs some
Pepto-Bismol, the Kleenex man can give the Pepto-Bismol man my I.O.U.
and say, “Here’s holy joe’s I.O.U.”
So let’s think about Bill Gates again. Bill Gates, the man,
has sold us 40 billion dollars more worth of stuff than we, as a
society, have managed to sell him. Hence, it can be said, ‘Bill Gates
is worth 40 billion dollars.’ But what does Bill Gates really have? He
has 40 billion dollars -- in I.O.U.s!
As soon as we manage to sell Bill Gates 40 billion dollars
worth of stuff, how much ‘money’ do you think Bill Gates will then
have?
Zero. Bill Gates will be worth nothing, because he bought 40
billion dollars worth of stuff from us.
Recently a woman (naturally) from the Clinton Administration
was on T.V. And they asked her about Bill Gates. And she looked
slightly worried, in an administrative sort of way, and she said, on
behalf of the Clinton Administration, “Well, we sure would like to know
what he’s going to do with all that money.”
(Hopefully give it to me.)
But think of it. The Clinton Administration is worried about
what Bill Gates is going to do with all his ‘money’. Bill Gates has no
money! He just has a fistful of I.O.U.s from the whole fucking planet!
Do you think there is any possible way we could manage to sell Bill
Gates 40 billion dollars worth of stuff before he dies? Heck no!
Hence, Bill Gates is obviously going to die a poor, groaning man,
cheated by earth. He will have sold us 40 billion dollars worth of
stuff we needed. But, in the end, we had nothing to sell him. So he
died ‘rich’. In other words, he died with his hands full of I.O.U.s
from lots of other people.
So much for ‘rich’ and ‘poor’.
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Sponsored by: JOE CAMEL
Issue No. 296
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Pussy Playland
Chapter Four
Her cheeks were wet with my dew. She was slathered in cream.
I gazed into her eyes and she into mine. Our noses touched. We kissed,
lightly, like two warriors from different tribes contemplating peace.
“How do you feel, honey?” Sherry asked me.
“Full,” I answered. “In my butt.” My voice was tremulous from
my exertions underneath Jeff. She giggled. Jeff rose and walked out to
the drain and relieved himself. We could hear his pee hitting the
drain, flowing, gurgling down. “I think little boys used to be trapped
against this wall by their cocks,” I mused to Sherry. My eyes looked at
the cock ring in front of my pillow. On either side of it the wall was
recessed. Had little boys knelt here, in front of the ring, their knees
pressing into the wall on either side of it, and felt a master ring and
lock their penises? I shivered. Now I was a victim too. Sherry
caressed my reamed hole and fingered within it. I felt opened back
there, where I was supposed to poop things out but had instead let Jeff
ram himself into me. I could feel his sperm up inside me. Slowly it
was starting to trickle and run down from the deep place he’d shot it to
the opening of my anal hole. Sherry kissed me again.
“We’ve got much more to do, but now it’s time for a little
break,” she said. “A little sleep, a wash, a midnight breakfast. Come
on. Let’s go upstairs and relax awhile.”
I stirred. I found I couldn’t move my body. It had been
hammered for so long by Jeff that it just wanted to lay there forever.
Sherry stood up. Her large breasts bounced on her chest. Her nipples
were still hard, as if she wanted more. I did not want any more. I was
so thoroughly fucked I felt like a rag doll, lying there. Jeff had
pounded my anus until I’d cried. Sherry had licked at my clit as if I
were a meal and my slit was her first dinner after a hunger strike. She
bent down, her bosoms hanging down as she bent low to retrieve me. They
looked like they belonged at a dairy farm, full and heavy and stiff
nippled. Sherry took my arm and pulled.
“Come on, it’s just a fucking you got. You act as if you’ve
been executed!” she teased me.
“My bottom feels like its been executed,” I said. It was
striped and sore from being hit by Jeff’s whip.
“What do you think mine feels like?” Sherry asked. She tugged
on my arm again and I let her pull me, not without effort, to my knees.
My head felt a little dizzy from all the champagne I’d drunk. Is that
what had finally convinced me to try sliding down a cream-covered mat on
a pillow? Such a stupid thing! Yet I’d almost won. It would have been
so fun to beat Sherry in her own home in front of her own husband. I
felt a sudden, desperate need to have a big man of my own like she did.
Not some guy on the beach, sole owner of a surfboard. But a man who had
an important job and a nice home out in the canyons, or up on the
hilltops, who could buy me nice things and spoil me. It beat sitting at
home listening to my mom insist on two hours of homework a night. What
did trigonometry have to do with men? Or boys, for that matter? Who
cared about all those unkewl equations? There was only one measurement
that mattered.
Jeff came bobbing back up to us. His cock was still nicely
elongated, although he’d spent his strength up inside my tight teenage
bottom. His balls jangled underneath him, between his powerful thighs,
like church bells. They were empty at the moment, but I had little
doubt they’d refill again soon. And they were empty because... it took
my breath away! Because he’d worked and labored and striven to give me
his all. And he had. I now held his strength within me. What if he’d
shot in my belly? I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taken a pill.
My mom didn’t like me having them.
I looked up at Jeff. He’d been so very hard. (And that,
wouldn’t you know, is when men try to get themselves up inside us,
inside our smallest, tightest, most forbidden places. When they’re
hard! Not when they’re soft. Men are not polite like we girls are.
They wait till they’re huge and hard and absolutely inflexible and then
they say, “excuse me, little miss, but I’m really horny and I’m just
going to HAVE to stick this big thing of mine in you. Sorry for the
inconvenience, of course, but you’re just going to have to take me and I
can’t stand having this big thing sticking out in front of me anymore.
You see, I can’t get my pants on and its just driving me crazy. Maybe
if you weren’t so young and cute and innocent, or weren’t wearing sexy
clothes... So you see, my dear, it’s all your fault. Now do please
spread for me or I’ll make it very difficult for you.” And that’s if
they’re ‘nice.’ If they’re mean you don’t even know what hits you.
They just ‘take command,’ as men like to do. And you receive them.
And, looking up at Jeff, I wanted to receive him again. He
grinned possessively at me. He liked seeing me wobbling on my knees, my
bottomhole filled up with his seed, having it actually leak out of me
and run down the backs of my thighs, seeing the marks where he’d made me
feel his whip. And, strangely, I liked being watched by him, loved,
spoilt. Sherry ran her hand through my hair and tousled it, like a man
might tousle the hair of a little child whose fallen, as if to say,
‘there, it’s not so bad. It happens to everyone. Now get up and on
with your life.’
MUSIC REVIEWS
by holy joe
American Thighs, Veruca Salt. Tape, CD.
Review: Perhaps one cannot put new wine into old bottles, for
fear of breaking the skins, but I can certainly re-review an album, if I
really like it, can’t I?
And that album is American Thighs, by Veruca Salt.
Specifically, it is Side One. (I never thought much of Side Two). (As
you can see, humble holy joe here is having to review the cassette tape
version of this album. I still can’t afford a CD Player, despite my
year and a half drive to solicit donations for my ‘Holy Joe Freedom,
Defense, and Free CD Player Legal Fund’. Even Bill Clinton seems to get
more donations than I do.)
Be that as it may, you will be interested to know (I hope!)
that I still have not bought Veruca Salt’s new album. Their first video
from it, “Volcano Girls,” was a piece of shit, in my opinion, except for
the brief “Seether” part. Perhaps the girls are now just too mature.
(Always the kiss of death with me.) (You didn’t read that, feminists.)
In any event, it is Side One of the aforementioned album that I worship.
Only three songs are truly great on this album. The first,
second, and third: “Get back,” something that begins with driving and
raining and winds into the apparent loss of a girl’s virginity. “All
hail me,” a song apparently about a girl who let her boyfriend down by
having an abortion, and her mother down by getting pregnant. And the
famous, MTV ‘buzz cut’ “Seether,” featuring some girl and her cat.
(Unless you factor in the “Volcano Girls” explanation on their new
album.)
The first three songs (above) are hard-driving rock and roll.
Lots of feedback, a tune (VERY important), and a sufficient amount of
‘fuck you’ vocals to make each song satisfying.
Next, three more songs. These are reflective songs. However,
to describe them as ‘soft’ would be to describe a jet aircraft landing
as soft. There’s lots of feedback. Each song has a tune. And there
are passionate vocals. The songs are: “Spiderman ‘79,” (very good,
about a girl who’s life has been changed by getting pregnant. This time
she’s happy about it, even if it did wreck all her plans.) “Forsythia,”
(the weakest song on Side One, but still good, especially if you listen
to it over and over. A song, apparently, about how to mind the health
of your newborn.) Finally, the last song is the most triumphant. It’s
“Wolf,” and it’s apparently about two girls, both of whom lost their
virginity over the summer. Again, I fit it into the ‘soft’ category,
but it’s still got lots of hard-rock elements.
All six of these songs are ‘girlish’ in nature. If you don’t
like hearing untrained young girls’ voices, don’t bother buying this
album. It is, as with most of rock n’ roll, the lack of perfection in
the singing voice that gives a song its unique appeal. I also note some
very intriguing ‘Lita Ford-type’ guitar work, especially in the album’s
first song.
And, a confession: I usually only like the first,
nationally-distributed album of a new group. (Plus their very first
MTV-circulated video.) After that, most groups seem to have said
everything important they really need to say. Follow-on albums can tend
to have the ring of ‘well, let’s crank something more out while we’re
still hot.’ Hence, Bush releasing their second album. Gavin (of Bush)
frankly admitted that their second album “contains stuff we didn’t have
room for in the first album.” (No wonder all the songs I’ve heard from
that album sound like leftovers.) (I haven’t bought their second album,
based on the so-so videos they’ve released.)
Bush is perhaps a perfect example. Let’s take their first
three videos, from their second album. The videos are lavish. I don’t
like lavish videos. I like videos that cost $5,000 to make. The first
“Offspring” video, the first “Smashing Pumpkins” video, the first
“Veruca Salt” video. Those were all truly great videos, the first two,
at least, the two best videos I’ve ever seen on MTV. Bush, on the other
hand, has switched to ‘big time rock group videos.’ The thing looks
like a small movie. All the big groups do this, and mostly produce
uninspired videos. Take the group “Aerosmith.” My God! All their
videos look alike! Sure, each of their videos contains different
action, and a different theme. But, to me, it’s all the same crap. The
lead singer screams unpassionate nonsense in your face. The lead
guitarist endlessly strives to look cool.
Recently I saw “Aerosmith” interviewed on the PBS television
show ‘Charlie Rose.’ Perhaps you’re used to quickie two-minute
interviews on Entertainment Tonight. Forget ‘em. If you want to see a
long, deep, involved, 20 minute interview, digging into the very root of
“Aerosmith,” watch the episode of Charlie Rose that featured them. I
hate “Aerosmith’s” songs. (Except for “Dream On,” from the 1970’s.)
But the lead singer and the lead guitarist are very interesting people.
Take the lead singer of “Aerosmith.” (Sorry, I don’t know his
name.) He is, in reality, a scared little boy. He’s also an extremely
nice person. But you’d never know that, from watching “Aerosmith’s”
videos. In the videos, he’s just some overpaid jerk screaming nothing
at all in your face.
And then there’s the band’s lead guitarist. He’s just one more
‘Joe Cool’ guy in the videos. Look at me, I’m cool. You want me, don’t
you, girls? (Yes, don’t worry, I’m sure they all do.) But I liked the
lead guitarist when he was interviewed on Charlie Rose. Sure, his major
occupation in life is to look cool. But I enjoyed hearing him
interviewed.
Oh, yes. Have you ever heard of the 1970’s band, “The
Runaways”? It starred Joan Jett and Lita Ford (among others). All I
own from this band is their “Best of the Runaways” album. (Yes, it’s a
wax record. No, I don’t have anything to play it on. Hence, I’m
starting, today, the ‘Holy Joe Freedom, Defense, and Free Phonographic
Record Player Legal Fund’. Please donate. Then, just for you, (and
millions who didn’t donate) I promise to write a full review of this
20-year-old album.
AND IN THE END...
UNDERAGE PANTIES !
“Wow! This girl is hot... precocious [ 16-year-old ] Anna
[Kournikova] has grabbed the headlines... more for her stunning looks
and her figure-hugging outfits than her results.
“...[She] usually has a bevy of admirers trailing behind her,
and she might well find it difficult to keep her feet on the ground over
the coming years.”
- Mayfair, Volume 32, No. 7, Pgs. 3, 32. (Photos of her bare legged,
white-pantied ass.)
(Of course, I prefer pictures of Andrea Dorkin’s pantied ass. - h.j.)
-------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------
-Free e-mail subscriptions: No longer available due to mailbombing of
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-Currently I am: roller39@mail.idt.net
-formerly I was andrewroller@sprintmail.com, roller66@inreach.com,
roller666@aol.com Read my complete works under these names by
going to: http://www.excite.com (Click on ‘newsgroups’ and search
under my various former screen names). (Also you can read irrelevant
bullshit posted by right-wing Christians.)
-Recent back issues at Usenet newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated
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- JOIN the world’s greatest organization! Send $35.00 to The North
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NAMBLA, P.O. Box 174, Midtown Station, New York, NY 10018.
-Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is
copyright 1997 and a trademark of Andrew Roller. Work by others
copyright 1997 by the respective copyright holder.
-END OF 296 EMISSION
“MARKET, n. The meeting or congregating together of people for the
purchase and sale of provisions or livestock, publicly exposed, at a
fixed time and place.”
- The Oxford English Dictionary
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