The Indigestible

Arright, danjis, so here’s the slap.

Look, I geddit that you surf n slosh lookin for Cock and cock and other teeny young salty stiff whatevers from which to have a taste. Who among us doesn’t like a swell of warm frothy whatever? I don’t care; wrinklies all cost about the same and pay about the same, and more or less taste about the same. Dry and dusty and can you say shriveled withers?

But what you don’t get here is that my danji Warren doesn’t want to ’dulge your kinks. So we get shit like “egg chooses sperm” — a link to this and something no one here can really suss — or “citizen kane snow globe”, a reference to this one. (I guess there’s a Citizen Kane snow globe available for sale somewhere, or that “snow” and “globe” have been mistyped as “blow” and “job”.)

I guess he shoulda seen this coming with the links he got from drunken santa, but some days he’s kind of a lep.

ANYway he goes on and mentions Ben 10 and hentai or Naked Brothers Band and alla sudden you’re on him like a sluffer after spunk, which is not what they do here, even if this isn’t Terranova or whatthefuckever. I mean, I know I’m off it because crystals are late comin to Castor n all, but isn’t there something else you might be concerned about?

Shit, is this all you assholes got time to surf for? Cause if so, you are way, way brokedick, n I hope your planet self-novas before mine falls into Sapphire.

What, really, mine?

Fuckin’ rip.

Whatver I want to say?

Oh holy love of my own massive dick.

Okay. Okay. Here is My Very First Post Thing Ever.

So I’m like looking up in my bed at the big fat fuckin’ other world that orbits my shitty little Barque, and Ma says, hey, Medi, you gotta get up n write shit, Tokoshi-san expects it.

Dammit, well, okay, whatthefuckever, I’m up, Ma.

So I’m like crestin the peaks, yeah? And they are like so rip. I mean, you gotta see ’em, danjis, they are so loomilescent pretty. Not like your best girl’s twat lovely; blue and deep and swelling.

Well, okay, except for the blue part. Think pink and wet salty and pretty and tasty, but blue, and you got it.

So we lifted foil, see, and ripped out past the Barques, way out past the Urbis ring, well into the Fisherfolk waters — you don’t know what that means, I guess; it’s like we’re into the part of Castor that you can’t ever see from orbit, like the shit you see in the logs, showing you all those pretty scenes of sea and clouds — and you know that one? The one that shows you falling into the disc of the world fast, and then you’re on it flat, and just on the edge is the black of space and stars, and right under it is this glowing cobalt egg that is like all totally rimed with clouds and glisten from the waves? And then it’s like you jump just deamless from a deepstar to a skiff and shit, and you’re in blue stuff with water condensing on the ports, and you see the spires and the masts and the dirigibles, and it’s like the whole fuckin’ world is coast and Barques floating on the edges like a big cake made of lace?

Well, that’s where I live.

All lace, no frosting.
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something/one who exists in a work in progress of mine, The Seven-Year Mirror.

He’s hard to resist, even if he is a pain in the ass. So please excuse his occasional effusions here.

He has his own category now. It was the only way I could get him to leave me alone.

Those among you who are writers will understand.