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From: Andrew Roller <roller666@earthlink.net>
Subject: FUCK DECENCY 341 Dungeon of Desire NND g2
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DON’T TELL ANYONE THAT WE HAD SEX, OKAY?
(I’m practising to be president - h.j.)
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Sponsored by: Innocent Interns, Inc.
1-800-HOT TWAT
Issue No. 341
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Dungeon of Desire
Chapter Three
“I am not cocky, just protecting a Lady,” my Officer replied.
“Toss me a blade, then, fool. You can spend the rest of your
life making cheap porn after you’ve sewn yourself back on!” Sauron
bellowed. His voice was quite sinister. My Officer, accepting the
challenge, in all his aspects, tossed a silver sword to Sauron.
My belly plummeted inside when Sauron expertly caught the
tossed blade by its handle.
Three heads had appeared from the bedroom door. Two females,
as I’d suspected, and a male. Obviously the second male was another
Officer. One of the girls rushed out from the safety of the bedroom and
ran to a low table which stood next to the wall where the swords had
hung. There, arranged decoratively, were leather fencing gloves.
“Wait! You must have these--and pants also!” the girl cried.
She had long honey-blonde hair that swirled round her as she tried
desperately to outfit her boyfriend in safety.
“No! I need nothing,” my Officer, her Officer too, I guessed,
replied.
“Give me the gloves,” Sauron said. “I need not cut my hands
dealing with this cocksure urchin.” The girl, hesitant, at last threw
him a pair of gloves. His gaze was too malevolent to cross, armed with
anything less than a cock and a sword. She had neither.
Slipping the gloves on, tying them behind each of his wrists
with the help of Katy, and me also, drafted in his service, Sauron
laughed out loud and sneered at my would-be savior. “Do you not know,
son, that I am a retired military officer? I will teach you a thing or
two about fencing! And your dick also! I taught fencing at the
Academy!”
Serving my Master as obediently as I must, I nonetheless
managed a quick glance at my Officer friend. He seemed a little pale,
realizing his odds were not as he’d supposed them.
Sauron flourished his sword as soon as he had his gloves on.
My savior, still abstaining from any protection whatever, held his sword
bare-handed. “Now I will make quick work of your cock,” Sauron laughed.
“Please, DON’T!” I cried. He looked at me and might have
slapped me but Katy hit my face first, with her palm. I howled and
tears stung my cheeks. She grabbed me anew by my collar and held me
tightly against her.
“Do you like him? Yes? Watch as Your Master cuts him down to
size,” Katy laughed in my ear. I could do nothing. In horror I watched
as Sauron advanced on my Officer.
“Stop! What are you doing?” I heard shouted from the end of
the hall, where the stairs were. It was Miriam.
Sauron ignored her. And, nobly, resisting any attempt to save
him, so did my Officer.
“Would you like your balls cut off also?” Sauron asked with
obvious glee.
“I should ask the same of you, I think,” my Officer replied.
“I at least have the good sense to not be erect,” Sauron said,
admiring a little, I think, the length and breadth of his opponent’s
cock. “Perhaps you would like to jerk yourself off, first. I will
wait. It will not save you, but it will make you look like the jerk-off
you really are,” Sauron laughed.
My Officer made no reply. Instead he held his silver sword
aloft, waiting for the duel to begin.
“Very well, then. They should have castrated you Citadel nerds
during Hell week, instead of making a man of the Academy do it for
them,” Sauron snarled. And he struck. Below the belt, quite illegally,
aiming to undo my savior in one fell swoop.
Like Luke facing Darth Vader, my Officer somehow avoided the
blow, bringing his sword quickly down and countering it. Yet, watching,
my knees trembling uncontrollably, my nipples on my heavy breasts
tremulous, I remembered how the Jedi sword fight in Star Wars turned
out. Obi Wan died at Darth’s hand, and Luke lost his hand.
My Officer boyfriend parried Sauron’s next blow, and his next,
and then struck back with a swift slice of his own. Somehow his sword
glanced off Sauron’s leather glove (of his sword hand) and cut into his
arm. Sauron, looking down, stared in shock as the superficial wound
began bleeding. Then, bellowing, glaring in hatred at my would-be
savior, he struck in a fury of blows. Each one, I was sure, would undo
my Officer forever. Yet, when the flurry of thrusts subsided, my hero
had only a slight cut on his unprotected hand. His organ still stood
firm and tall, sticking itself boldly forth. It seemed oblivious to the
danger it faced.
COMMENTARY
by holy joe
Now, let’s face it. A ripe young thing is wiggling around the
White House and you’re president. What’s the point of being president
if you don’t get to fuck some hot ass?
Really, America. Have you forgotten how guys’ brains work?
The *only* reason most guys do anything is so they can meet girls. And
you’re absolutely right; I did not say: the only reason most guys do
anything is so they can meet 50-year-old women.
Sure, maybe the Intern is only a few years older than Clinton’s
daughter. But that’s just how guys’ brains are. Men are designed to
want young, reproductively healthy females. Why? Because a female’s
child-bearing years end around age 35. In previous eras, a female’s
ability to reproduce probably ended at an even younger age. So, to
quote Ann Taylor Fleming: “the younger the better.”
This is not the case with female desire, however. What does a
female need, sexually? A female needs a big, strong man who can protect
her young. The last thing she wants is some little boy. He’d just get
clobbered by a male rival, or eaten by a lion. (Staying, for a moment,
with the situation as it was in previous eras.) In the case of a man,
his ability to reproduce does not end at age 35. A man can get a female
pregnant even when he’s 70-years-old.
See how that works? Men want the youngest female possible,
because her reproductive years are limited. Females, on the other hand,
need not worry about a man being too old to sire offspring. What they
must worry about is: is he big and strong enough, and savvy enough, to
protect the babies I bear him?
Sorry, ladies, but you just don’t have what us guys need!
Maybe modern medicine can help you, but still, even if it does extend
your reproductive years, how will a ‘medical fix’ erase millions of
years of evolutionary conditioning out of guys’ minds?
Plus, girls are more fun to be with than women. They have
better bodies, for one thing. And for another thing, ask yourself
this: would most guys rather have a blonde airhead who thinks about
bubblegum all day, or some hard-bitten, hard-assed female prosecutor? I
have yet to see a single porno magazine titled: “Female Prosecutors”.
A feminist might say, “that’s just porn.” True, but porn isn’t free.
Us guys spend our hard-earned money on porn! So, not only are girls’
bodies better than womens’ bodies, but their minds are more fun too!
Let me explain the mental aspect again: 1. Guys do not think
about bubblegum all day. 2. Women do not think about bubblegum all
day. 3. Girls DO think about bubblegum all day. (Or equally frivolous
matters.) Hence, girls are more fun to be with, even from the mental
perspective. Because they are *different*. Hanging around with a
woman, on the other hand, is like hanging around with another man.
(Except, in the case of a woman, she whines a lot.)
I can feel the chill that is currently running up the backs of
women reading this essay. They know that while girls might think about
bubblegum a lot, that’s not, in fact, all a girl thinks about. She will
also know many other things, since she is in tune with the modern world,
as it exists at this moment. She will know all the new games, and toys,
and all the current names of all the dinosaurs, plus all the latest
songs. She will be like the doctor who just graduated from medical
school, and knows all the latest procedures. A woman, on the other
hand, is like the doctor who graduated years ago, and is still sticking
with the old methods. So girls, in addition to thinking about fun,
frivolous things (like bubblegum) are also better educated than women.
(When’s the last time you actually read Romeo and Juliet, ladies?)
Hence, the question, properly framed, is not: What do we, as a
society, do with men? The question is: What do we, as a society, do
with women over 35?
Suggestions, anyone?
I know what you’re thinking: Joe, your ideas are pretty
great. What if you ran for president, and we all elected you? Would
you wind up embarrassing us, like Clinton has?
Let me lay out for you exactly what I will do as your
president. You will note, first and foremost, that I am not trying to
remain “politically viable within the system.”
Now, on the matter of women: First of all, I have nothing
against women. If a woman is competent to, say, run NASA, fine. She
can run NASA. I’m not getting in bed with her, but she can run NASA.
Next, there *will* be gays in the military. At one time, when
the military was all men, one might have argued, “We can’t let gays in.
What if a gay wants to fuck another guy, and he says ‘no,’ and so, in
revenge, he’s not promoted?” That might have been a good argument at
one time. But now, with women in the military, a guy might not get
promoted because he turned down the sexual advances of a female
superior. (You know, the ‘real’ reason he didn’t get that promotion.)
Or a female might be denied a promotion because she turned down a male
superior’s sexual advances.
Hence, there is no reason to keep gays out of the military
anymore, since the ‘problems’ they might cause, sexually, are no worse
than the everyday problems currently occurring in the military between
women and men.
Next, we will have pedophiles and communists in the military,
because a) a ‘pedophile’ is simply a guy with a young girlfriend and b)
an American ought to be able to belong to any political party he wants
to belong to.
Next, I will abolish all of America’s drug laws. If someone
wants to get stoned, and it doesn’t affect his work or his driving, he
will be able to get stoned.
I could go on, but by now you may be experiencing a panic
attack. What will Americans do, if everyone can go about their business
in life and not be hassled by dumb laws? What will people have left to
talk about? Who will they have left to hate? (Very important, for
Americans.)
My answer is: I don’t know. Maybe Americans will have to
learn how to mind their own business again. Maybe they will have to
learn what “a book” is, instead of just glueing their minds to trash
T.V. for seven hours a day. (‘America’s Most Wanted,’ and all that.) I
realize that by liberating Americans from their petty jealousies and
fears I am seriously damaging my presidential prospects. But, at least,
in my case, you can comfort yourself with two facts:
a) I won’t tell you I’ve “had problems in my marriage.” I
don’t even have a girlfriend. And,
b) I won’t be fucking some 22-year-old Intern. In my opinion,
she’s too old!
“If this is crap there is plenty more where that came from,”
writes Gary Brown, c/o State Mental Hospital, 187 Santa Barbara, Irvine,
CA 92606.
The laughing Academy
by Gary Brown
Albert Hall.
It was while living the life of a vagrant
that Albert came to understand the true meaning
of violence and intolerance.
On the streets of Mercuria
there are few things
that are more destructive
to the soul
than loneliness,
Albert was alone most of the time.
Alcohol helped to ease the pain
of living but it only proved
to be a temporary respite.
Regardless of all the odds
he managed to retain a shallow
semblance of sanity
although he made a game
of outwardly acting
in a deranged manner.
He even managed
to write a chorus
to a song
that heretofore had remained
trapped in his obsessive thoughts:
“Violence and loneliness they get all the blame,
while life in the academy remains just the same.”
The outcome of this dubious song
writing event
presented Albert with an extraordinarily
difficult problem;
his whole persona
became like Rudolf Hess
hopelessly incarcerated
in Spandau prison.
Everybody involved
with the prisoner
berated the audience
using endless emissions
of cerebral injustice,
but they secretly supported
the process
by sliding through life
as if they were freaks
from a carnival of broken stereotypes.
I remember meeting Albert
that splendid morning,
we were bathed
in the anorexic sunlight
of winter
and divided before the world
like an undisciplined army
marching through the garden
of a man called George.
The silence of our momentum
roared
but nobody heard it
because they were busy
trying to avoid
the shallow nebulosity
associated with materialism
in a culture of recalcitrant children.
AND IN THE END...
Never mind the Intern. I’m worried about the dog.
-------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------
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