12-11-08 13:21 - Big Exit
"Egyptian archaeologists have discovered a pyramid buried in the desert and thought to belong to the mother of a pharaoh who ruled more than 4,000 years ago.
It is the country's 118th pyramid to be discovered.
It was found about two months ago in the sand south of Cairo..." [link] - They are still finding pyramids? Maybe this one will have all the alien tech in it.
After forgeting to read them for so long, I have caught up with all of my prefered comics. However, missing the pace of the rapid reading I have slipped back into A Softer World. I was surprised to note that I neglected it since Febuary. An oversight I am glad to remedy.
I like the story of the US losing a Nuclear bomb, however Dinosaur Comics]' take on it made me apprieciate it more. Oh that God.
Galactic Civilisations 2 is a game with a degree of depth and customisation that I respect, however it turns out that my attention span is much shorter than I expected and the only way I have found of completeing a campaign is to nose dive my economy and wait to be conquered.
Last Christmas I was given Twilight Princess, which is a good zelda game, but like all Zelda games, I never play it enough to get past the Goron mountain. The electro-boots are fun, and I keep replaying that bit.
publover
Plants & Rags
22-08-06 18:58 - Plants & Rags
On Friday August the Fourth in the two-thousand and sixth year of our Lord, I got my Permanent Residence! Hells yes! No more bullshit from the Immigration Service. Well, until I apply for citizenship in five years.
OK, so after last time with the shitty brothel, I decided to go for a little class this time.
Rather than being down in the city centre, this place is up the hill in the suburbs. I called ahead to make an appointment and to explain my situation. They were very understanding on the phone and said they could help.
When I got to the address I was a little confused as it looked just like a regular house, until that was I saw the cheesy faux-class matt gold sign in the shape of a naked woman. Dithering a bit on the driveway it took me a few minutes to get to the house.
I was welcomed at the door by an attractive middle aged woman with too much makeup well applied, and wearing a floor length kimono. She took me through what looked like a cross between a doctor's office and a cloth and bauble shop to the waiting room. I could feel a tiny part of me on the inside bursting at the seams with laughter from the pastiche of it all, but none of this showed on my well disciplined mask of nervous bewilderment.
She opened the door and there standing with various degrees of nakedness displayed were about thirty high class whores. All of them an imitation of the Madam, with skill clearly matching age. The contrast of age versus experience most assuredly lost on the patrons which match those of the previous brothel exactly but for income.
Standing in the doorway and taken by surprise I feel myself gaping and silently wishing for a way out of this situation. As the colourful flesh dolls turned their attention on me, the Madam introduced me as 'the young man I was telling you about'. A blush that had no doubt been creeping up on me since the phonecall sprang full force onto my face. I consider that to have been the cause of the first giggle. The giggle needed little help to become a roar of laughter as fingers were pointed and a few not so metaphorical thighs were slapped, with a silent sigh of relief I stumbled from the room with big, hot tears stinging my reddening eyes and the Madam following with her kimono hitched up as she apologised and tried to goad me to come back.
[18:25] Mr. Bonson: boooooooooooo
[18:25] Mr. Bonson: change the ending
[18:25] Mr. Bonson: this time you're a black gansta
[18:27] Pub Lover: As they turned towards me I began to realise something was wrong, pulling out my uzi and my cock, I fired one into the ceiling and used the other to rape then kill each of those bitches till the morning sun turned their death blood from midnight purple to earthy red.
[18:27] Mr. Bonson: NONONONONO
[18:27] Mr. Bonson: you're supposed to whip out your massive 15 inch cock
[18:28] Mr. Bonson: and beat them with it
[18:28] Pub Lover: I like the image of cumming on the ceiling and then raping them with my gun. :(
[18:29] Mr. Bonson: i give this story a D-
On Friday August the Fourth in the two-thousand and sixth year of our Lord, I got my Permanent Residence! Hells yes! No more bullshit from the Immigration Service. Well, until I apply for citizenship in five years.
OK, so after last time with the shitty brothel, I decided to go for a little class this time.
Rather than being down in the city centre, this place is up the hill in the suburbs. I called ahead to make an appointment and to explain my situation. They were very understanding on the phone and said they could help.
When I got to the address I was a little confused as it looked just like a regular house, until that was I saw the cheesy faux-class matt gold sign in the shape of a naked woman. Dithering a bit on the driveway it took me a few minutes to get to the house.
I was welcomed at the door by an attractive middle aged woman with too much makeup well applied, and wearing a floor length kimono. She took me through what looked like a cross between a doctor's office and a cloth and bauble shop to the waiting room. I could feel a tiny part of me on the inside bursting at the seams with laughter from the pastiche of it all, but none of this showed on my well disciplined mask of nervous bewilderment.
She opened the door and there standing with various degrees of nakedness displayed were about thirty high class whores. All of them an imitation of the Madam, with skill clearly matching age. The contrast of age versus experience most assuredly lost on the patrons which match those of the previous brothel exactly but for income.
Standing in the doorway and taken by surprise I feel myself gaping and silently wishing for a way out of this situation. As the colourful flesh dolls turned their attention on me, the Madam introduced me as 'the young man I was telling you about'. A blush that had no doubt been creeping up on me since the phonecall sprang full force onto my face. I consider that to have been the cause of the first giggle. The giggle needed little help to become a roar of laughter as fingers were pointed and a few not so metaphorical thighs were slapped, with a silent sigh of relief I stumbled from the room with big, hot tears stinging my reddening eyes and the Madam following with her kimono hitched up as she apologised and tried to goad me to come back.
[18:25] Mr. Bonson: boooooooooooo
[18:25] Mr. Bonson: change the ending
[18:25] Mr. Bonson: this time you're a black gansta
[18:27] Pub Lover: As they turned towards me I began to realise something was wrong, pulling out my uzi and my cock, I fired one into the ceiling and used the other to rape then kill each of those bitches till the morning sun turned their death blood from midnight purple to earthy red.
[18:27] Mr. Bonson: NONONONONO
[18:27] Mr. Bonson: you're supposed to whip out your massive 15 inch cock
[18:28] Mr. Bonson: and beat them with it
[18:28] Pub Lover: I like the image of cumming on the ceiling and then raping them with my gun. :(
[18:29] Mr. Bonson: i give this story a D-
Joe
21-07-06 12:46 - Joe
"If you're bored then you're boring". That's a fun phrase to put into Spanish: "Si estás aburrido, eres aburrido". - Seth Pace
Well, how to start? A few years ago the New Zealand government for whatever reason legalised prostitution, but of course it had to add a bunch of rules of it's own like any Liberal vipers nest. Having made it half way through my 23rd year & still having failed in the eyes of society to "prove myself a man" by having penetrative sex with a willing woman, I decided to partake in one of the services that my island nation home provides.
Driving into the city I managed to forget my motivation for the trip, lost as I was in the beauty of my fair isle. However as my car crested the hill at the edge of the city, and it's shanty town of poorly maintained shed-like houses came into view stretching all the way from the dingy harbour all the way to the hill top at my side, my premeditated actions didn't seem such a good idea, but before I was able to lose too much of my initiative I had arrived at the brothel. Inside it had all the looks of a cheap motel, the carpets were frayed and curling up at the edges, the windows were grimy and cobwebbed forcing the internal lights to be on despite the bright winter's day outside. A sullen man with a worse moustache than my own was at the counter, he hadn't looked up when I entered, no doubt because whatever other patrons that miserable hole attracts all know were to go. Deciding against acting like a boisterous jerk because I hadn't yet started drinking, I switched to my Plan B for dealing with people that I would rather see dead. Posing as the bewildered Englishman that I very probably am, I asked if this was the place where I could endeavour to purchase intercourse with a lady of negotiable virtue. He looked at me as if I had just taken a shit on his face and told him it was candy, so I restated my question closer to how a person would. With understanding the sullen look returned to the man's face, he pointed up the stairs and I tried to not look at his soiled clothes with disgust as I thanked him. At the top of the first flight of stairs it looked like someone had vomited not only their lunch but one of their vital organs as well, so I delicately stepped around the mess, and carried on up the stairs.
A cardboard sign simply saying "Sex" had been stuck to the second door on the floor, and it was on that I knocked. The door was answered by an angry and rotund Polynesian woman who rudely instructed me to sit on one of the foldout garden chairs inside the room and wait my turn. I hadn't expected there to any other patrons at ten in the morning on a Friday, or even that the place would be open, so the four other men in the room received the full of my disinterest as I studied my shoes and the carpet around them with occasional bursts of hard stares at the ceiling. If I was to construct a list of the most uncomfortable hours of my life, I would hope to have that fifty-four minutes somewhere near the top. In hindsight the haste with which I left the waiting room was probably equally matched a few minutes later by my haste to leave the... boudoir would be too classy, and bedroom a tad too pedestrian. I think the only word that'll fit is 'sexshop'. I'd describe the actions I took, and the relative positions of the naked & mildly attractive thirty something woman, but it'll be best to say that I left with both my money & virginity intact. With the money I bought several crates of beer, and I enjoyed drinking them immensely. In conclusion, I would rather be drunk and alone than sober with the consequence of whatever.
Or so I hope I would decide if the fanciful story above was true.
"If you're bored then you're boring". That's a fun phrase to put into Spanish: "Si estás aburrido, eres aburrido". - Seth Pace
Well, how to start? A few years ago the New Zealand government for whatever reason legalised prostitution, but of course it had to add a bunch of rules of it's own like any Liberal vipers nest. Having made it half way through my 23rd year & still having failed in the eyes of society to "prove myself a man" by having penetrative sex with a willing woman, I decided to partake in one of the services that my island nation home provides.
Driving into the city I managed to forget my motivation for the trip, lost as I was in the beauty of my fair isle. However as my car crested the hill at the edge of the city, and it's shanty town of poorly maintained shed-like houses came into view stretching all the way from the dingy harbour all the way to the hill top at my side, my premeditated actions didn't seem such a good idea, but before I was able to lose too much of my initiative I had arrived at the brothel. Inside it had all the looks of a cheap motel, the carpets were frayed and curling up at the edges, the windows were grimy and cobwebbed forcing the internal lights to be on despite the bright winter's day outside. A sullen man with a worse moustache than my own was at the counter, he hadn't looked up when I entered, no doubt because whatever other patrons that miserable hole attracts all know were to go. Deciding against acting like a boisterous jerk because I hadn't yet started drinking, I switched to my Plan B for dealing with people that I would rather see dead. Posing as the bewildered Englishman that I very probably am, I asked if this was the place where I could endeavour to purchase intercourse with a lady of negotiable virtue. He looked at me as if I had just taken a shit on his face and told him it was candy, so I restated my question closer to how a person would. With understanding the sullen look returned to the man's face, he pointed up the stairs and I tried to not look at his soiled clothes with disgust as I thanked him. At the top of the first flight of stairs it looked like someone had vomited not only their lunch but one of their vital organs as well, so I delicately stepped around the mess, and carried on up the stairs.
A cardboard sign simply saying "Sex" had been stuck to the second door on the floor, and it was on that I knocked. The door was answered by an angry and rotund Polynesian woman who rudely instructed me to sit on one of the foldout garden chairs inside the room and wait my turn. I hadn't expected there to any other patrons at ten in the morning on a Friday, or even that the place would be open, so the four other men in the room received the full of my disinterest as I studied my shoes and the carpet around them with occasional bursts of hard stares at the ceiling. If I was to construct a list of the most uncomfortable hours of my life, I would hope to have that fifty-four minutes somewhere near the top. In hindsight the haste with which I left the waiting room was probably equally matched a few minutes later by my haste to leave the... boudoir would be too classy, and bedroom a tad too pedestrian. I think the only word that'll fit is 'sexshop'. I'd describe the actions I took, and the relative positions of the naked & mildly attractive thirty something woman, but it'll be best to say that I left with both my money & virginity intact. With the money I bought several crates of beer, and I enjoyed drinking them immensely. In conclusion, I would rather be drunk and alone than sober with the consequence of whatever.
Or so I hope I would decide if the fanciful story above was true.
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