the veiled sibyl

I have heard and said more inanities, since you took me in tow, than in all the rest of my life.

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like a dripping faucet

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Stalking my share of strange meat

Ever have a conversation with someone who apparently knows you, but you have no freakin' clue who they are? That just happened to me in the hallway.


Today's Blog-Plate Special is a bunch of bits-n-pieces from email conversations I've had with someone I do know:

Okay, who let the big secret out? Come on -- just tell me. Was it Roxie? Must've been, since she's the only person we both know who's intimately familiar with the intimidating size of my human riot club.


The twouch made it as far as my Martindale home, believe it or not. Over time, I became rather attached to the twouch. (Each July and August, when the twat residue got good and hot, I'd often literally become attached to it.) I even have pictures of Linda sitting on the twouch, so you can imagine the veritable potpourri of fluids that ultimately graced its fabric. Once, I did attempt to remove said stains using a product by Ronco that I'd bought on the tele. But alas, even Snatch-B-Gone Spray 2000 proved ineffective on those tough-to-remove secretions.


S: For some reason, I now have the image of you practicing your violin in your underwear whilst letting a HUGE one rip. . .

D: Mmm . . . pretty much accurate.


S: An anthrax and smallpox-laden cheesecake will be delivered to you by FedEx on Friday afternoon. When it left me, it was beautiful and frozen quite solid (-80C freezers are wonderful things.) I hope it isn't a cheesecake milkshake by the time it gets to you.

D: I don't have to cook it or anything, do I? You know, to kill the manifold viral strains.

S: This from a man who kept a cooch-stained sofa for several years?? No, it should be pretty damn germ-free. I mean, the only time it came in contact with me was when I mixed all the ingredients in my mouth and spit them into the pan.

D: I'd've thought you'd let nature do the mixing. Injest ingredients.Let mix for 24 hrs.Deposit resulting mixture into bowl. Serve warm!

S: Are you sayin' something about the quality of my cooking, bitch?

D: No, beeyatch! Damn! All goddamn sensitive an' shit! I'm just sayin', if you'd mixed the cake in your ass, that'd have been funny.


When two people work closely together for long enough, expesially those who lead discontented lives at home, fluids can occasionally find themselves being unexpectedly exchanged.


S: Sorry, she's actually wearing a blue sweater - not a pink shirt - and it is rather form fitting.


S: Oh come on - you can't pull off two in one day?

D: Oh, I can pull it off ten, twelve, fifteen times a day. I'm just worried about wearing poor M out.

S: wow - fifteen? you must go through a LOT of lotion and kleenex.

D: No, no. M likes it dry. And I just aim at her picture.


The "lovejuice" room is a little... bland. It'll need a bit more "Juice-ification" before I can christen it (with a name). And it will definitely need a little pimp-a-liciousness before you can "christen" it - otherwise it'll just be known as the "Buffin' the Banana Berth". A few candles (remember, tealights sind VERBOTEN!), some nice pictures for the walls, a lush rug and an (easy-to-move) artsy coffee table and you'll quickly be on your way to 'tang city! And, you'll probably want to move that mirror so that you can reflect on your handiwork...
Oh, I do like the couch. One question... is it stain resistant?

That being said, why even bother with a sugar shack when you've got that dead sexy bedroom?? I mean what girl could resist the masks, the hammers, the caulk gun - mmmm.... honey, it's better than female Viagra! And I'll tell you, nothing says "I'm a man's man" like a tub of doorknobs on the bed. (You know, I probably shouldn't say this, but your level is a LOT longer than Lee's level...)


You are a really fucked up individual. Nothing personal.


Congratulations on outfucking me.


Why, you old weather-worn, dried-up jerky-strip of twat, you,


Doug, he of the dessicated, dilapitaed dick-stick


Dear Ho-Basket,
I realize it has taken me an inordinate amount of time to respond to your last e-mail. It's not because you're a ho-basket, in case you were wondering.


Wholesome Christian girls like pipe, too.


Slowly and softly is okay; swiftly and with appreciable force is more difficult to ignore.


A whore-bag is like a scrotum-scratch. Delightfully descriptive in its abundant meaninglessness.


Amy's got some big titties. I don't know if I've ever mentioned that fact before. Let's assume for the moment that I never have. Sheila, . . . Amy's got some gargantuan mammary glands. I sometimes ask myself, "Why, if there so damn big, does she wear shirts that are so small?" Then I say, "If my package were proportionally as big as her titties (God forbid), I'd probably be wearing some pretty tight pants." More power to her.


I'll have you know, I've had 3 spontaneous orgasms since I bought my inserts!


After slightly less than half of my lovely green-colored gin and midori drink, I was completely snonkered. (This from she who can knock back the bourbon like a dessicated casino hag...)


S: in the fantasy does she pee on you before she qwacks you wit the wip, or during??

D: It never goes that far. Just as she's about to strike, she suddenly recalls that she's left her chess pie in the oven, and that it's surely ruined. She sobs uncontrollably; we embrace warmly. I gently take her by the left paddle and lead her into the bedroom. The end.

S: Ohhh - I thought it was that she sobbed uncontrollably because all the pipet tip boxes were empty, and you told her that you would stuff her box anytime.
Wait. . . PADDLE????

D: Sheila . . . she's a duck.


S: The new air conditioner ducts stink and they have infused my house with an odor that is a combination of curry and maple syrup. (And you wonder why I was at the lab all weekend.)

D: Curry? You sure there's not some homeless Indian man who's taken shelter in your ducts? Cause I had that shit happen to me once.


S: I asked you what you preferred - you said it didn't matter as long as the girl didn't jump up and run to the bathroom seconds after the finish. Then I said something about hanging towels on the headboard...

D: I'm drawing a blank here (perhaps because I've had so-ooo many conversations on that subject). But now that you mention it . . . it's not so much the getting up immediately after to go to the bathroom that irks me, but more the gurgling.

S: I've no idea why we were talking about that. But since the topic's come up again, I have another question for you. (Warning - Graphic Language) What is the deal with facial cumshots? Why do guys like that?!? No guy I've asked has been able to give me a good reason. I'm thinking they could explain it - but they're just not being honest with me 'cause I'm a girl.

D: I don't care if you are a girl, I'll be more than happy to tell you. And take this shit for gospel. Guys like the FCS because it is a sign of power / dominance over the woman. He's saying to himself, "Okay, biatch, I'm spraying my wad across your precious face, and you're fuckin lovin' it!" (Guys really dig it when she's wearing carefully-laid-on makeup, by the way.)

S: Changing gears - I used the cRNA standard method for the data reduction for the paper - I'm not reporting relative mRNA _expression at all - I wonder if I'll have any trouble from reviewers with that? I'd think not, because reporting starting copy number is sort of legitimate, isn't it???? (see how i'm begging you to say yes to that question?)


I like the way I seamlessly go from facial cumshots to real-time PCR in that last one. Now that's talent!



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