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t3knomanser's Fustian Deposits

With a dash and a flash... of pozazz!

How Random Babbling Becomes Corporate Policy

run the fuck away

Mad science gone horribly, horribly wrong(or right).

With a dash and a flash... of pozazz!

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run the fuck away
I'm so stylish. Really, I mean, king fashion plate. I've gotta fight the babes off with a stick.
The preceeding was an unauthorized Sinfest moment. We now return you to your regularly scheduled LJ.

It's been busy. Frickin' busy. Last week Cate and I went down to the City. I had to teach a class to the department of transportation down there. It was a ball. My class ran quick and clean, I was done early both nights, and Cate and I spent both wandering around Manhattan. It was delightful. I bought two toys while there: Dr. Bunsen Honeydew (with Robo Rabbit) and Beaker with the "Muppet Labs" playset.

They rawk. Hardcore.

Well, we bought other toys, but at a totally different kind of toy store... which, in amusing aside, this one porn shop we went to, all the genetalia on the sex toy boxes were scribbled out or otherwise covered. I mean, someone selling dildos the size and shape of a fist shouldn't be so squeamish.

And no, we didn't buy a fist-dildo. Why, when we both have fists, hrm?

Anyway, we helped Sarah and Dennis move this weekend, which in many ways, was much saddness, both of us having been residents there for a time, and having Sarah and Dennis not in walking distance.

Cate and I just had a short cleaning jag... the apartment is much improved, though still pretty bad. I don't feel slimy for just walking through the hall, though the kitchen floor needs a hardcore scrubbing.

Over the weekend, at some point, a mysterious unidentified entity started causing a bit of an uproar. His motives, purpose, actions, and existance are very much unclear. At any rate, we're going to keep our eyes and ears open, and see what happens.

A quick synopsis of my life to date, take it or leave it, or I'll eat your soul.
  • Please explain the rationale of wanting a fist inserted into your vagina or rectum.

    Even though people are stretchy, it's got to be uncomfortable to start with. I know from experience that small openings become larger and looser with use. It's not a barn door down there, but it adjusts to accommodate whatever you're shoving through it. I fully comprehend the desire to feel... erm... nicely stuffed. What I don't get is the desire not only to stuff oneself, but to learn to stuff bigger things in oneself. Sure, you may "graduate" from Average Joe to Long John Silver, but why work to insert the Jolly Green Giant?

    And... to be honest, the images going through my head are disturbing... plumbers up to their armpits, groping through the muck and mire, probably wielding a plunger or a toilet brush in there.

    Justify this practice! Vindicate it for me! Replace these horrid imaginings with something a trifle more realistic and reassuring!
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