The bank.
There are more employees than customers but still there is a line. The woman ahead of me, frumpy but still clad in leather, says "What is this shit!" I step forward. We touch. She does not turn around. I step closer. She falls forward. Her front teeth rip the man in front of her's flannel shirt. He is wearing a helmet. Kinda like mine! I shrug. He turns to the woman, who glares- at him, not me. She hasn't looked at me. I bend to help her up but the flannel guy gets there first, holding her wrist gently in his big, grimy hand. She doesn't say thank you. I begin to wonder what her problem is and how I might translate it into the type of anal sex that is fun but still not a jailable offense. When she is on her feet I step to her again. This time I say as smoothly and quietly as I can, "Can I have some of your money?" I touch her hip. She shakes her head and her hair brushes my mouth. Even quieter I say, "Can I fuck your ass?" She nods. Then it is her turn.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
REFORM!
Policital activism! What could be more effective than hobbling up to some Pentagon apparatchik and rubbing my naked tushy into his face?
How to defend? Ward off the encroaching bum with hands? Briefcase? Ha!
Oh, how my poxy ass is weaponized in the name of freedom and thrills! He crouches on the ground. He huddles in a ball. And I sit on him. Suit ruined, policy changed.
But I'm not interested in undermining foundations. I'm not interested in much. Unless something is good on tv. Something good is always on tv. Usually in Spanish, which I don't understand. So what?
I'm Rex Kramer and I don't live here. That's what's good on tv. The terrified lady blocking the view.
She knows what I can do and she'd like to see me try. What do you think I mean?
Ha!
How to defend? Ward off the encroaching bum with hands? Briefcase? Ha!
Oh, how my poxy ass is weaponized in the name of freedom and thrills! He crouches on the ground. He huddles in a ball. And I sit on him. Suit ruined, policy changed.
But I'm not interested in undermining foundations. I'm not interested in much. Unless something is good on tv. Something good is always on tv. Usually in Spanish, which I don't understand. So what?
I'm Rex Kramer and I don't live here. That's what's good on tv. The terrified lady blocking the view.
She knows what I can do and she'd like to see me try. What do you think I mean?
Ha!
Monday, January 3, 2011
Thursday, December 30, 2010
How About Fat
Put that down, Jimmy! Put it down. Put it down. Up? No down! Which-a-way, I can't be certainly.
REX HERE! Where? In pajamas.
With frogs on them. Red frogs.
I have studied poetry.
Scans, don't it?
Rex here!
New Year!
Flu queer!
Fuck beer!
Topps Fleer!
Chuck Spear!
Cashmere.
Anyhole, I am not on a Ferris Wheel, it's a log flume you dunce. But like a real one, in an abandoned mill. Tickets are a nickel and we ride real logs down real chutes. But what if you fall off? Well, see I'm smarter than that. So I picked a log with a little brunch unshorn. And I sat on it. Right up the darkness.
So now, oh wait. Now it's not just me who falls, but me and my inserted log! Rex you are du-
W
W
W
W
W
W
H
H
H
OOO
OOO
OOO
OOO
OOO
OOO
Land.
Ow.
Hey, uh owl? Do you speak Spanish? Can you go and get me some help? Yes. Me Rex. Under this log. Face down in the forest? Well do you think that you could use your Wise Potato Chip How Many Licks beak and gnaw this little branch loose from my tushy?
Right, it's just that I'm late for breakfast. I said one ride on the flume and I'd be home to feed the geraniums. And now I'm here and possibly injured and away from the road and I can't really get out from under this large pine log. Or is it geranii?
Now see here, owl. You don't know me but I am valuable in this world. There are runaways who will never go home thanks to me. And so the exhiliration of pain that their parents must be feeling- that's me. We're out here on the fronteir man! Or are you a girl owl? Do you have an egg-laying owl vagina? What happens if you go into labor while your head is turned around? Oh wait! OK listen! Yesterday I ate three pieces of mouse! So? So, now the branch that's in my heinie probably smells like something that you like to eat too! Come on over here you big barn bird! Free me! FREE ME!
free me
REX HERE! Where? In pajamas.
With frogs on them. Red frogs.
I have studied poetry.
Scans, don't it?
Rex here!
New Year!
Flu queer!
Fuck beer!
Topps Fleer!
Chuck Spear!
Cashmere.
Anyhole, I am not on a Ferris Wheel, it's a log flume you dunce. But like a real one, in an abandoned mill. Tickets are a nickel and we ride real logs down real chutes. But what if you fall off? Well, see I'm smarter than that. So I picked a log with a little brunch unshorn. And I sat on it. Right up the darkness.
So now, oh wait. Now it's not just me who falls, but me and my inserted log! Rex you are du-
W
W
W
W
W
W
H
H
H
OOO
OOO
OOO
OOO
OOO
OOO
Land.
Ow.
Hey, uh owl? Do you speak Spanish? Can you go and get me some help? Yes. Me Rex. Under this log. Face down in the forest? Well do you think that you could use your Wise Potato Chip How Many Licks beak and gnaw this little branch loose from my tushy?
Right, it's just that I'm late for breakfast. I said one ride on the flume and I'd be home to feed the geraniums. And now I'm here and possibly injured and away from the road and I can't really get out from under this large pine log. Or is it geranii?
Now see here, owl. You don't know me but I am valuable in this world. There are runaways who will never go home thanks to me. And so the exhiliration of pain that their parents must be feeling- that's me. We're out here on the fronteir man! Or are you a girl owl? Do you have an egg-laying owl vagina? What happens if you go into labor while your head is turned around? Oh wait! OK listen! Yesterday I ate three pieces of mouse! So? So, now the branch that's in my heinie probably smells like something that you like to eat too! Come on over here you big barn bird! Free me! FREE ME!
free me
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
It's a Toss Up
Rex here. Hey, ya know Cher? The nice thing about Cher, and ladies of her ilk, is that they're the least likely to notice when you're raping them. Now I'm not saying that I condone that sort of thing- I kinda like to get the recognition I deserve for forcing myself on people (even if I am behind them ;)), but you know, if it's been a few hours and they are within striking distance, I say- well, this probably requires explanation just in case you're not offended.
Alright, so let's say Cher comes out with a new movie. And so she goes on a talk show to promote it. Talk shows have green rooms. They also have cameras. So here's what I do, and for this, it's actually beneficial to lose a foot-
You skulk onto the set- easy enough if you've blown as many Teamsters as I have. If not, drugs work too. If not, ask nicely. If not, commence to kicking! If not, you might have difficulty raping Cher during a talk show, but whatever.
Alright, so you get into the studio and you take what's called an AUX cable. Plug it in and taze people with it. I prefer the place on the body right between the butt cheeks. It loosens the sphincter- something 95% of Americans need anway.
Alright. So- keep going around with this live frayed AUX cable and offer to light somebody's cigarette. And they'll be all like oh smoking's terrible for yooooo, and you can't do that hee-yar, and all that shit. Right? Well, zap 'em in the forehead and see how prudish they are then because Rex has gotten a little angry with how much everybody thinks they know when all knowledge is merely crud that pulses around the seething core of our tenuous existence motherfuckers.
Now you're near the dressing room. There will be frocks hanging from a bar. Squat to the floor and climb up inside one of the frocks- probably a spangly one, because it's Cher, bitches.
And then when she puts it on, she'll just fucking sit right down on you and next thing you know, you're crash helmet has penetrated her vulva and you are inside her tummy and everytime you laugh, Cher has an orgasm, but she doesn't notice because her pubic nerves end at her hips.
Now breathing might be an issue, but here's how you extricate your head from Cher's vagina and take a breath without hurting yourself on account of sudden temperature change? First, you take your thumbs and poke her in the back of her knees. Then she's really just posted on your pedestal. Next you jump up as abruptly as possible, sending Cher rocketing upward and then you can either land and leap out through one of her nostrils, or you can touch your toes and land on your own ass and topple backwards and Cher will fall to the floor.
Revive Cher with your exposed AUX cable, preferably while your penis is in her vagina, and then wish her luck with her latest cinametic endeavour. From this point, you can do what you want, but Rex is hanging around the green room waiting for the next guest: Susan fucking Boyle!
Alright, so let's say Cher comes out with a new movie. And so she goes on a talk show to promote it. Talk shows have green rooms. They also have cameras. So here's what I do, and for this, it's actually beneficial to lose a foot-
You skulk onto the set- easy enough if you've blown as many Teamsters as I have. If not, drugs work too. If not, ask nicely. If not, commence to kicking! If not, you might have difficulty raping Cher during a talk show, but whatever.
Alright, so you get into the studio and you take what's called an AUX cable. Plug it in and taze people with it. I prefer the place on the body right between the butt cheeks. It loosens the sphincter- something 95% of Americans need anway.
Alright. So- keep going around with this live frayed AUX cable and offer to light somebody's cigarette. And they'll be all like oh smoking's terrible for yooooo, and you can't do that hee-yar, and all that shit. Right? Well, zap 'em in the forehead and see how prudish they are then because Rex has gotten a little angry with how much everybody thinks they know when all knowledge is merely crud that pulses around the seething core of our tenuous existence motherfuckers.
Now you're near the dressing room. There will be frocks hanging from a bar. Squat to the floor and climb up inside one of the frocks- probably a spangly one, because it's Cher, bitches.
And then when she puts it on, she'll just fucking sit right down on you and next thing you know, you're crash helmet has penetrated her vulva and you are inside her tummy and everytime you laugh, Cher has an orgasm, but she doesn't notice because her pubic nerves end at her hips.
Now breathing might be an issue, but here's how you extricate your head from Cher's vagina and take a breath without hurting yourself on account of sudden temperature change? First, you take your thumbs and poke her in the back of her knees. Then she's really just posted on your pedestal. Next you jump up as abruptly as possible, sending Cher rocketing upward and then you can either land and leap out through one of her nostrils, or you can touch your toes and land on your own ass and topple backwards and Cher will fall to the floor.
Revive Cher with your exposed AUX cable, preferably while your penis is in her vagina, and then wish her luck with her latest cinametic endeavour. From this point, you can do what you want, but Rex is hanging around the green room waiting for the next guest: Susan fucking Boyle!
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Hamper Hum
Hey! Get away from there you rodents, you dogs, you Asians! There's still liquid in those cans goshdangit!
Rex needs fuel to seek thrills. Look, I'll share. Ah. Yuck. Hmm. That squirrel looks drunk- anybody know anything about squirrel blood? Are you sure it's not 1 r and 2 l's?
Now as your local person being a person among other people like beings, you should know that I have gotten wiser since I last graced these interwebs. Yes, I have one stump and one foot like a gingham and flesh appendage kinda thing, and yes, my helmet can never be removed again, so I'm kinda like Darth Varmint in White, but the point I'm trying to make here, campers, is that I still have fo fi tee (four or five teeth), and pretty good use of one eye, so the truckers can choose between socket and gums and I have been able to parlay that buffet of services into some enhanced mileage, right?
Today I find myself in Pawcett Gulch, Nebraska and I can attest that wormy, blighted corn is better for wiping. I went to see the mayor of Pawcett Gulch, who is also a travel agent, to discuss a new art piece in the town square, and she was like totes amenable. But I had to furnish my own cannonballs and it really is better to have two feet for that kind of project. So I abandoned it, feeling that faint tangy whiff of the notion that my ambitions are stunted by an aversion to hard work. I abandoned it, and went over to the hardware store nearby and broke me some windows.
The stock boy came chasing it with a circular saw, but I only had to leap out of the range of its extension chord, which put me right in front of a moving bus. Helmet! Still works.
Rex needs fuel to seek thrills. Look, I'll share. Ah. Yuck. Hmm. That squirrel looks drunk- anybody know anything about squirrel blood? Are you sure it's not 1 r and 2 l's?
Now as your local person being a person among other people like beings, you should know that I have gotten wiser since I last graced these interwebs. Yes, I have one stump and one foot like a gingham and flesh appendage kinda thing, and yes, my helmet can never be removed again, so I'm kinda like Darth Varmint in White, but the point I'm trying to make here, campers, is that I still have fo fi tee (four or five teeth), and pretty good use of one eye, so the truckers can choose between socket and gums and I have been able to parlay that buffet of services into some enhanced mileage, right?
Today I find myself in Pawcett Gulch, Nebraska and I can attest that wormy, blighted corn is better for wiping. I went to see the mayor of Pawcett Gulch, who is also a travel agent, to discuss a new art piece in the town square, and she was like totes amenable. But I had to furnish my own cannonballs and it really is better to have two feet for that kind of project. So I abandoned it, feeling that faint tangy whiff of the notion that my ambitions are stunted by an aversion to hard work. I abandoned it, and went over to the hardware store nearby and broke me some windows.
The stock boy came chasing it with a circular saw, but I only had to leap out of the range of its extension chord, which put me right in front of a moving bus. Helmet! Still works.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Back on the Wang
This is Rex Kramer. I wouldn't call it rehab, but I have emerged from losing one of my feet. I can explain and my advisors have suggested it might be therapeutic to do so. See, after years of travelling barefoot, I decided to wear some shoes. My feet were bloated so I got a large size. But then I thought I could jump up and down. On top of some citrus fruit, who knows maybe I was standing on an organge-wine empire. Anyhole, through some kind of scientific phenomenon, the shoes grafted into my foot skin. They were Kenneth Cole Reactions- nice black patent leather. So now my feet looked like tiger haunches. Cool, right? Yeah. No. I developed circulation problems. And if now you are thinking that Rex is not as much fun as he was, well, these are the terms by which I'm allowed to re-emerge. I owe an explanation for my absense.
And it's not just my feet. It's my mouth. And my head. Apparently I can never remove my crash helmet again. Else I die.
So how I'm supposed to seek thrills now, right? And maybe you heard rumors about my children. There are two. I see them on Skype from internets cafeterias.
This is so sad, isn't it? You see, now that I am somewhat tethered to real world concerns, my ebullience is hampered. Maybe re-blogging the whole blog and nothing but the blog might reinstate my penchant for perversity.
I'll try.
Rex Out.
And it's not just my feet. It's my mouth. And my head. Apparently I can never remove my crash helmet again. Else I die.
So how I'm supposed to seek thrills now, right? And maybe you heard rumors about my children. There are two. I see them on Skype from internets cafeterias.
This is so sad, isn't it? You see, now that I am somewhat tethered to real world concerns, my ebullience is hampered. Maybe re-blogging the whole blog and nothing but the blog might reinstate my penchant for perversity.
I'll try.
Rex Out.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)