The first episode of Pussy High is now available on here. Just in case YouTube decides to ban everyone! Please check it out and share!
The first episode of Pussy High is now available on here. Just in case YouTube decides to ban everyone! Please check it out and share!
A lot has been going on since I got banned from Twitter and Chuck Wendig got me banned from every publishing platform. I’ve recently gotten more focused on doing visual art instead of writing fiction, and people seem to respond really well to my drawings.
I also find that Instagram is a lot more fun to use than Twitter, it’s more of an arty platform for artsy people like me, it’s not a mean hellhole of political crap the way Twitter is.
I am excited to be retiring the Kitty Glitter name once and for all, and I have decided to create a print book. One single volume that collects all the writing I did under that name. I imagine this book could end up being more than 1,000 pages long. An old fan of mine, a musician in Canada, suggested that I make this book. I will probably just self-publish it on Lulu.
So RIP Kitty Glitter, you were a good kitty, and a good writer:
I wrote one last story under the Kitty Glitter name, it’s pretty crappy so I don’t want to include it in the book. So I decided to post it here, the story is called Strung Out On Cum, and it tells the story of another failed kitty writer who had his dreams totally destroyed and raped:
Strung Out On Cum
Time Is Up, by Poppy, played on the radio in Blark Blergin’s Dodge Challenger, as he drove down the California highway. He’d just gotten into town from Cincinnati, and his time wasn’t up; it had just begun.
Blark Blergin was a tuxedo kitty. He had white and black fur. He was little, and he had a black smear across his white face that looked like a Hitler mustache. People used to call him Kitler, but he wasn’t Kitler. He wasn’t evil; he was a good kitty.
“I can’t wait to get to L.A.,” Blark Blergin said. “When those studios read my screenplay, they’re gonna go crazy!”
Blark Blergin looked at the screenplay on his passenger seat while he was driving. It was called Absentia 2. He’d written it as a sequel to Mike Flanagan’s horror film Absentia, about a giant interdimensional bug that kidnaps people in a tunnel in L.A.
Blark had always wanted to explore the world of Absentia and expand it. With his totally awesome idea, he was bound to become the most famous screenwriter ever.
Blark Bergin turned his Challenger down Rodeo Drive and pulled up to a record store called Spin City. He figured he’d look for some CDs to play in his car. He was getting tired of Poppy and was hoping he’d find The Gun Club, so he could listen to Sex Beat on the long trip.
Blark walked into the record store, with his screenplay in his paws, snuggled up against his chest. Everybody in the record store was hot. He’d heard every girl in L.A. was a ten, and it was true. Pretty much all the girls in the store had double Ds, and sexy legs. All of them looked like some variation of Katy Perry, but hotter, and younger.
The girl behind the counter of the record store looked kind of like Camila Cabello.
“I’m looking for some Gun Club CDs,” Blark Blergin said.
“Gun Club,” the girl said, “you in the NRA?”
“Nah, man,” Blark said, “The Gun Club’s a punk band!”
The girl came out from behind the counter, and Blark noticed she wore a short skirt and high heels, and was totally hot.
Pretty soon, she found The Gun Club CD, and then she motioned to his screenplay and said, “What’s that?”
“This is my screenplay,” Blark said, “I’m gonna make it big in Hollywood with this.”
“Really?” The girl said, “What’s it about?”
“It’s a sequel to Absentia.”
“Absentia?” The girl said, “I never heard of it.”
Blark was trying to explain it to her, when all of a sudden the jingle bell on the door started ringing, and a guy walked into the record store. The guy had Donny Osmond style hair, aviator sunglasses, and he wore a green, military, surplus jacket.
He came up to Blark, slapped him on his kitty ass, and said, “They’re gonna find that screenplay dead in a ditch, man!”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Blark Blergin said. “Why are you talking shit about my screenplay?”
“Listen, man,” the guy said, “name’s Chance McKay. I’m the hottest agent in town. I turn writers into superstars. I’ll get that screenplay made, or else it’s gonna be dead in a ditch, and nobody’s gonna know why it died. It’ll be an unsolved mystery!”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Blark asked. “How’s a screenplay gonna die in a ditch? It’s just a bunch of paper stapled together.”
“You don’t know L.A.,” Chance McKay said. “You need to run with me to see, man!”
“I don’t need an agent,” Blark said.
Blark walked out of the store with his Gun Club CD and his screenplay, got into his Challenger, and drove right down Rodeo Drive, until he saw a big gold sign that said Movie Studio on it.
When he approached the gates of the movie studio, there was this fat, Mexican security guard, and he was like, “Eh ese, we ain’t allow no kitties in here without an invitation yo!”
“I’m gonna be the greatest screenwriter ever,” Blark said. “I don’t need an invitation!”
“Yeah you do ese,” the security guard said, “so get out of here, chola!”
“What the hell?” Blark exclaimed, “I’m not a chola, I’m a kitty!”
Blark backed his Challenger out, and the parking spikes ripped his tires open.
Blark got out of the Challenger, and was like, “Fuck, man! I don’t have money for tires; I barely have enough for a motel!”
So Blark took his screenplay and suitcase and started walking down Rodeo Drive.
The bright L.A. sun was burning his eyes, and then he heard a screech.
Blark looked up to see a purple Plymouth Barracuda at the curb, and then its driver’s side window rolled down.
“Hey man, you in trouble?”
It was Chance McKay.
“Looks like Los Angeles has got you on the skids, man! Sure you don’t need my help?”
“Fine,” Blark said, “you can be my agent.”
“Get in,” Chance McKay said, as he threw the passenger side door open.
Chance turned the radio up to max volume, and the sound of Camila Cabello’s Never Be The Same filled the car, and the bass vibrated through Blark’s fur, making it puff out.
“Damn, this song’s awesome!” Blark said.
“I know,” Chance said. “Tell you the truth, I banged Camila Cabello. Banged her so hard her vocal range increased twenty octaves.”
“Let me take a look at that screenplay,” Chance McKay said, and, as he pulled the Barracuda onto the Pacific Coast Highway, he read the script for Absentia 2 and said, “Damn, man! This screenplay’s good. With my management, you’ll go to the top. You’ll be the next Rian Johnson!”
“Rian Johnson sucks,” Blark said, as his fur puffed out even more, “I’m gonna be the next Lena Dunham!”
“Here’s the deal,” Chance said, “my fee is usually a million dollars, but I’ll take you on for five hundred smackeroos.”
Blark Blergin shook his kitty head and looked in his wallet; all he had left was five hundred bucks. But, he figured, he could take a chance on Chance McKay. He needed to make it, so he could get rich enough to fix the tires on his Challenger.
Blark held onto the five hundred dollars, stared at it for second, and then was like, “Alright, man,” and he passed it over to chance. For some reason, he felt this dark cloud descend over his head, like a rain cloud, but then he was like, Nah man I’m just being paranoid. I’m taking a chance on Chance and it’ll pay off when I’m the most famous writer ever!
Chance McKay flipped through the bills and started grinning. Then, he pulled the Barracuda over to the curb.
“Alright man, I’ll find you when I need you,” Chance said. “I’m gonna start making some calls. You hold onto this script and maybe make some revisions, spruce it up.”
Blark Blergin didn’t have any money for a motel room that night, so he found an old cardboard box and slept poolside at a shitty motel. He noticed there were pink, plastic flamingos all over the pool. It was weird, because every flamingo had a black smudge on its face that looked like a Hitler mustache, just like his, like how he was called Kitler and he thought, These are flamitlers I guess, but whatever man.
Blark had an old transistor radio, and he turned it on so he’d have music to calm him and help him dream. The radio DJ was like, “I’m DJ Deejers, and this next song is by a Russian band called Angelic Milk. It’s called Some Boys Are Beautiful Girls.”
The song was so good, and beautiful, and haunting sounding. It had these jangly guitars, and the girl singer sung really good. Blark felt his fur bristle up out of pleasure and started drifting off and dreaming about his screenplay…
The bug from Absentia part one still lived in that tunnel, and it still kidnapped people into another dimension. But nobody ever knew where they went.
Nobody ever knew why a dead fetus was found in that tunnel. It was a mystery.
Then, one day, this gang of kitties was riding around, and they were the toughest kitties in L.A., and they were Chicano, and they all had yellow bandanas on their heads, and gold chains, and big Reebok sneakers. They drove kitty-sized lowriders.
Five of them were driving around with Uzis in their paws, and they were chasing down a member of the Crips, because he’d stolen some crack from them, and they were like, “We’re gonna get you, ese!”
The kitties ended up driving into that tunnel and skidded on a puddle, and they were about to crash into the wall of the tunnel, but just then the bug monster from the other dimension had been sneaking into their dimension to look for snacks, and he left the portal open just long enough for the kitties to crash their lowrider through the hole into his world and end up in his weird dimension and shit.
In this part of the screenplay, it was just like the original Absentia. It was all left up to the imagination. All that was shown was an empty tunnel. You couldn’t see the other dimension. But you heard the meowing, and you heard the screaming and the gunfire, and you knew that bug was fucked. Everyone he’d kidnapped to his world was fucked, too, because these cholo kittens weren’t fucking around. The movie ended on a haunting note, because the audience would know that the kitty cholo gang was cruising through another dimension in their lowrider, fucking shit up. It would be subversive, because the audience would be like, “Wait…is the bug monster the monster, or are the cholo kitties the monsters now? What are monsters, really?”
Blark Blergin woke up thinking of his script and was like, My screenplay will ask questions that never get answered. That’s the sign of a perfect film, the kind of movie people talk about forever! You don’t get the ending fed to you, the ending feeds on your brain, man!
Blark couldn’t wait to hear from Chance McKay and see what connections he came up with. But, for the next few days, Blark wandered the streets of L.A.’s skid row, scrounging for food. Every time he looked up, he hoped he’d see that purple Barracuda pull up, and Chance McKay would be like, “Hey man, you took a chance on me, and I’m taking a chance on you! We’re gonna go to a meeting with the biggest studio person ever; he’s, like, bigger than Harvey Weinstein. He’s gonna make your screenplay into the biggest movie ever, and you’ll win every Oscar ever!”
The days passed, and the nights grew darker, and Blark Bergin got hungrier, but Chance McKay never pulled up to that curb. Then, one day, Blark saw a mouse running down the street, and Blark started chasing him, and the mouse was like, “Yo, leave me alone, bitch! You smell like shit!”
Blark chased the mouse into a fancy cafe where he saw a bunch of fat ugly guys sitting around. They looked like producers, and Blark walked up to them and was like, “Meow meow meow meow meow!”
The men looked at Blark and said, “Ah, look at this kitty! He’s cute. He looks kind of like Hitler, but he’s adorable!”
Then, they said, “What do you want kitty?”
Blark said, “Meow meow meow meow!”
Then he passed his screenplay to them, and they said, “Oh wow! This kitty has a screenplay. Why don’t we look at it?”
The producers sat there reading Blark’s script, and, when they finished it, they all said, “This screenplay is a piece of shit! You should go back to being a kitty or something, because you don’t have any talent. Cholo kitties driving through a portal? You’re a straight up fucking piece of shit! We don’t play around in Hollywood. If we told you you were good, it wouldn’t be fair. Criticism is love, man, and hard criticism is like true love, so get the fuck out of our faces!”
Then they tore the screenplay to pieces.
Blark Blergin started wandering the streets again, and he was starving, but he wasn’t gonna give up and go live in a shelter. He was gonna go find a Kinko’s, scrounge up some coins, print another copy of his script, and keep going. That’s the way Blark Blergin was, he wasn’t gonna let Chance McKay, or these producers, ruin his dreams.
As the days passed, Blark started to get sadder and sadder, and was like, Shit man, maybe they’re right, maybe I don’t have talent. He got so hungry, he started looking for jobs on Craigslist. And he saw an ad that said, “Need somebody who is open minded. A kitty. A kitty who isn’t afraid to get sticky. Five hundred cash.”
So, Blark went to Kinko’s and wrote an email to the guy, and pretty soon he got an address somewhere in Koreatown. Blark showed up to a little, brown house that night and knocked on the door. A young-looking Asian guy, with slicked-,back hair opened the door and said, “What’s up, man? My name is Gregg. Gregg Tee!”
“Grej?” Blark said.“You say it Grej, but it’s spelled G-R-E-G-G!” Gregg Tee said. “Don’t ask questions, and get in here. I got the five hundred dollars on my nightstand.”Blark Blergin entered the house and said, “So what’s this job? How am I getting sticky?”
“You’re gonna be my kitty cum rag,” Gregg said. “I’m gonna soak you in my cum!”
“Shit, man,” Blark said, “I was supposed to be a famous screenwriter, but all my dreams got destroyed. Is that what L.A. is?”
“I guess,” Gregg said. “L.A.’s basically one, giant rag soaked full of cum. All dreams are just sprayed cum, wasted. Only some dreams make their way into the uterus and make people pregnant. Your dream is cum spilled into a sock!” Then, Gregg Tee started jerking off over Blark’s head, and Blark started trembling and kitty crying. Pretty soon, Gregg Tee’s dick blew up, and cum sprayed over every inch of Blark’s body, and he was soaked and looked like somebody had dropped him into a pot of Elmer’s glue. “Damn!” Gregg Tee said, “you’re a good cum rag. I’ll hire you anytime.”
Gregg handed Blark a wadded-up roll of five hundred singles.
“I can’t believe you paid me in ones,” Blark said, and he ended up dropping the wad since it was too big for his paws. So, he rolled around in the ones, until they all stuck to the cum on his fur, and he looked like a green pinata.
Blark left Gregg Tee’s house, and pretty soon he found a catnip dealer. He bought a bag of catnip and sniffed it all. He got high as fuck and started losing his mind and crying.
What happened to me? He thought. I went from the greatest screenwriter ever to being a cum rag.
Then, Blark started crying and wandering around, without looking where he was going. At some point, his cries started to echo, and he looked up and realized he was in a tunnel.
“Holy shit,” Blark said, “this is the tunnel, the tunnel from Absentia.”
Then he thought, Absentia brought me here. The sequel to Absentia was my dream, and now I’m nothing!
Then, Blark started staring down the darkness of the tunnel and thinking, what if that dimension was real? That giant bug thing kidnapped people, and it’s because he wanted them there. Maybe that world he’s in is like another kind of L.A., a world where I could be a screenwriter.
Blark walked through the tunnel, until he saw a little plastic dish that somebody had left some chicken bones on and thought, What if this was left for the monster? Is this where the portal is?
Then, Blark sat there and meowed at the wall. He meowed for the bug monster to come and take him away, take him away to another L.A., an L.A. where he could have been famous.
Where he could have been the greatest kitty screenwriter ever.
It can be discouraging. Every time I start to get things going or build a buzz for my work I get censored. Chuck Wendig lies to get me banned from Amazon, Twitter shadowbans my account.
Two other times in the past Twitter shut my account down altogether and I had to rebuild my following from scratch. I make some good connections and then become invisible to them.
I know it’s bad to put all your eggs in one basket, but so far Twitter has been my best resource as far as promotion goes. Gab is a waste of time, people on there only care about politics, Minds is the same thing. It’s all politics, no room for people who only want to talk about art and creating.
It’s depressing and confusing. Chuck Wendig can use Twitter to incite violence against conservatives and his Tweets go viral, Twitter encourages this sort of behavior. But a silly podcast about kitty doctors is unacceptable to them, the word pussy is too dangerous for them. What the fuck?
Somebody please make a viable alternative to Twitter, a true haven for free speech.
How else do I promote my work? Can anyone give me some advice?
This is another book I wrote that won’t pass the terms of service of any Ebook publishers. It’s a Criminal Minds fan fiction. Check it out anus breath!!
AGENT HOTCHNER: FBI FUCK MACHINE
Agent Hotchner pulled his dick out of JJ Jareau’s mouth, and then he stuck it in her pussy to cum.
Jareau’s beige skirt was hiked up around her ass, exposing her sexy legs and thighs as she stood in beige Louboutin pigalles.
A man in a green hoodie and baggy Karl Kani jeans humped Jareau’s ass, while agent Hotchner got his dick hard again and put it back in her pussy.
Just then senior agent Rossi walked in, his swarthy Italian face covered in a greasy black dago mustache, his oily black wop mop looked nasty combed over his fat head.
“What’s the matter with youse guys?” said Rossi, “there ain’t no orgies allowed in the crime solving room. I thought youse knew better than that agent Hotchner. Youse da most straight-laced white bread agent the FBI ever done graduated out that Quantico joint.”
“Suck it Rossi,” said Hotchner, “my wife was killed by a serial killer. I am totally done with the straight man shit.”
“Yeah,” said Jareau, while still getting fucked, “Hotch fucks good, it’s about time someone around here appreciated how hot my legs are.”
“Well this is a little too hot to handle,” said Rossi as he pulled out his cellphone, “I got to call your mentor, Jason Gideon, he’ll give you what for.”
“Actually y’all,” said the man in the green hoodie, “I go by Gid Loco now!”
The man removed the hoodie and revealed the jewy Mandy Patinkin face of senior agent Jason Gideon, master of profiling.
“Listen Rossi,” said Gideon, “I just profiled you, and my verdict is you’re an uptight Italian asshole.”
Then Gideon and Hotchner pulled their dicks out of Jareau and came all over her shiny blonde hair.
“Uh!” shrieked Jareau, “it feels so hot and wet!”
“I will have you guys arrested,” shouted Rossi, “light skinned black guy and agent Reid come back me up!”
Agent Spencer Reid, one pale and anorexic motherfucker, awkwardly duck walked into the room like he’d just shit his khakis or something and shyly pulled out an FBI issue Magnum.
“Actually sir,” said agent Reid as he nerdily fired three shots into Rossi’s hairy Italian nut-sack, “I would rather chill with Hotch and Gid Loco.”
“Uh my nuts! Youse shot my nuts!” screamed Rossi, as he collapsed to the floor, clutching his blood soaked crotch hole.
“Gid Loco”, said Hotchner, “go gas up the Eagle Talon and bring it around back. We’re ditching this Quantico bullshit once and for all.”
“I’m on it Hotch,” said Jason Gideon, as he ran out to the FBI garage.
About five minutes later there was a car horn honking.
“Let’s split this crap-hole,” said Hotchner, as he grabbed Jareau and Reid by their hands and ran for the back exit.
Just then light skinned black guy entered, “yo Hotch I thought we was boys.”
“Of course we’re boys light skinned black guy,” said Hotch, “we got one more spot in the Eagle Talon. Come join us. We’re going to kill Casey Anthony!”
With that agents Hotchner, Jareau, Reid, and Lightskinded exited FBI headquarters, leaving behind agent Rossi, as he cradled what was left of his greasy Italian balls.
Jason Gideon threw on a pair of wrap-around blu-blockers with duct tape stuck to the peripheries and slammed his pink Reebok pumps down on the Eagle Talon’s accelerator, pushing the V6 Mitsubishi engine as hard as it would go.
“Yo Gid Loco,” said agent Lightskinded, “why you wearing those crazy spectacles with the tape all up on them, you look like some kinda Geordi LaForge ass nigga!”
“Get this,” said Gid Loco, “I need blinders to keep me from checking out JJ’s legs, else I’d crash this motherfuckin Eagle into a side rail or some shit.”
“True,” said Hotchner, as he ran his fingers up JJ’s thigh and up into her pussy, “her legs are really sexy.”
“Word?” said agent Lightskinded, “I need to sample that shit myself necca!”
“Chill,” said JJ Jareau, as she slipped a pair of aviator glasses on, “I’m flattered but if you want to hit this pussy up, you better hit the beach first and get some sun. Your lightskindedness is hurting my eyes.”
“Oh dip,” laughed Gid Loco, “bitch straight up burned you.”
“Fuck that shit,” said agent Lightskinded, as he took out an FBI issue bowie knife, and gutted JJ Jareau from pussy to mouth while Hotchner was still fingering her.
“Ouch you cut my finger,” said Hotchner, “that’s like six demerits agent Lightskinded!”
“Dag yo,” said Gid Loco, “you sensitive ass motherfucker, you got blood all over the Talon necca!”
“Should I handle this sirs?” said agent Reid, as he slipped on a five-finger diamond ring that had the words WHITE NERD engravedified across it.
“Do it necca!” said Gid loco, as he snapped his fingers.
Agent Reid turned to the back seat and punched agent Lightskinded.
BAM! Up until that white bread motherfuckin light ass skin broke into a million pieces, the hot Virginia sun reflecting off each fragment of bright white flesh like a starburst supernova.
“Jeez, said agent Hotchner as he slipped on a pair of black wayfarers, “that glare hurts my eyes.”
“Where’d you get those shades?” said Jason “Gid Loco” Gideon.
“I stole them from that serial killer Patrick Bateman,” said Hotch, “after I profiled him and beat him to death.”
“Definitely some cool shades Hotch sir,” said agent Reid.
“Yo,” said Gid Loco, “I’m a pull over by this beach here Hotch, dump JJ and Lightskinded off into the ocean ahight?”
“Of course,” said Hotch.
“Uh Gid Loco sir,” said agent Reid, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“This is Broad Channel sir, it’s an Irish neighborhood.”
“Christ,” said Hotch.
But then the Eagle Talon’s engine blew up.
“For corn’s sake,” said Hotch, “I told you not to push the Eagle so hard. Now we’re broke down in Broad Channel with two dead bodies.”
And then they heard the House of Pain music blasting from a green 2000 Trans-Am, painted over with shamrocks, which was pulling up behind them.
And not just House of Pain but Feline House of Pain.
Top of the meownin’ to ya uh yo the shamrocks meow meow meow…
Agent Hotchner couldn’t help but roll his eyes at his BFF and mentor Jason “Gid Loco” Gideon and flash back to the day he first met him, when he was doing tricks on his Mongoose back at the Virginia mall, before he was Agent Aaron Hotchner, back when he was still a hip teenager the other kids called “Hotch-man”…
The Galleria Mall…
Summer of 1969…
To be continued in “Agent Hotchner: FBI Fuck Machine Numero Dos”!!!
This is a shitty book I wrote that I can’t publish anywhere without violating terms of service. It’s a The Matrix fan fiction that’s kind of about rape.
The Matrix X: Morpheus Gets Raped
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.
Copyright © 2017 Kitty Glitter. All rights reserved. Including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the author.
A vast ocean, so endlessly deep and dark that the water looks pitch black.
This is a dangerous sea that even the worst pirate would be afraid to sail on…
This is the ocean of rape…
And deep below the water, a duo of terrible creatures float around staring at a picture of a puppy on an iPad…
A fat shark with sideburns, and big 70’s style eyeglasses scowls at the puppy on the iPad screen as the video shows the puppy raping, then snuggling several people.
“TBH Maniac of the Ocean,” said a giant sea squid who also had sideburns and big 70’s style eyeglasses, “his rape style is quite fascinating to me.”
“Careful Psycho of the Sea,” Maniac of the Ocean said, “don’t let the puppy’s style blind you to his mediocre technique.”
“With all due respect,” Psycho of the Sea said, “it would not be productive for us to try and delude ourselves into thinking that this puppy is not the chosen one, he is clearly the best raper ever.”
“I regret I have no choice but to concur,” Maniac of the Ocean said, “it would not serve us well to retreat into delusion.”
“Yes comrade,” Psycho of the Seas said, “I suspect that the two of us together, our rape powers combined, can destroy Puppy of Snuggles.”
“Yes,” Maniac of the Ocean said, “we are the true kings of the ocean of rape.”
“How the fuck is this even happening?” thought Morpheus, as he screamed from the pain of Neo’s dick fucking his pee hole.
As Neo humped Morpheus’s cock, Mr. Smith (dressed in his crisp black suit) whispered Regina Spektor lyrics into Morpheus’s black ear, “on the radio, they played November Rain, that solo’s really long, but it’s a pretty sound.”
“Dude,” laughed Neo, “I never knew Regina Spektor was rape rock.”
Then Neo doubled up his humping speed, and Morpheus screamed as he felt his inner dick being ripped up.
“You were the chosen one,” screamed Morpheus, “you were supposed to destroy the Matrix! Not leave the universe in darkness!”
“Stop crying bitch,” Neo said, “you’re gonna make me lose my nut.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Smith, “my boner is dwindling, whatever happened to the tough black guy who was like ‘Yo Neo pick the red pill, we need to take this Matrix out yo!’”
“Stop raping me!” cried Morpheus.
“Dude I know fuck fu!” laughed Neo, as he spurt a hot rope of cum up into Morpheus’s dick hole, it went so far up Morpheus’s dick that it filled his own balls with Neo cum.
The mix of Neo and Morpheus cum was too much, and Morpheus’s balls exploded in a shower of bloody cum and ball flesh!!!
“Ayeee!” screamed Morpheus in a high pitched neutered voice, “my nuts!”
“I came dude,” Neo said as he stepped off Morpheus’s dick, and put his black leather cat suit back on, “I believe it’s your turn Mr. Smith.”
“Neo,” Mr. Smith said, “if I may inquire, how exactly did you penetrate Morpheus’s dick hole? It seems my dick may be too thick to enter properly.”
“Dude,” Neo laughed, “I totally used my Matrix powers to make my dick like a needle in order to totally facilitate full dickhole penetration.”
“Ayeee!” cried Morpheus, “if you’re going to rape me at least rub morphine on my nuts! The pain is too much!”
“Morphine for Morpheus,” Mr. Smith giggled as he turned his dick into a needle shape, and mounted Morpheus’s dick.
“Please,” Morpheus cried, “I’ll suck your dick for some morphine!”
“Uh,” Mr. Smith said as he humped Morpheus’s dick, “stop crying like a faggot, and fuck you Neo!”
“Fuck me?” Neo said as he pointed to himself, “why?”
“His dick hole is too loose after you fucked it, I’m not going to be able to cum,” Mr. Smith said.
“Dude,” Neo said, “it’s not loose, it’s just my cum lubed it up too much.”
Then Neo pulled out a white dishcloth.
“Dude,” Neo said, “totally dry his dick hole out with this dishcloth, and then fuck it. You’ll totally cum hard.”
“I have a better solution,” sneered Mr. Smith, “I’ve used my Matrix powers to increase the volume of my penis, therefore increasing the friction. It may cause Morpheus more pain, but what’s more pain to Morpheus?”
Then Morpheus screamed as Mr. Smith forced his dick into his dickhole, and fucked it until he came. Mr. Smith’s computerized cum shot out of Morpheus’s ball hole in bullet time.
“Dude,” Neo laughed, “get off. I want to fuck Morpheus in his mouth now!”
“Not until after I fuck his butt,” sneered Mr. Smith.
“Totally not cool dude,” scoffed Neo.
“What’s uncool,” said a snuggly voice, “is that I just killed Mr. Smith with my computerizer gun!?!”
Then Neo heard a laser blast, and Mr. Smith screamed as he dissolved into pixels, in bullet time…
In a glassine bubble beneath the waves of the ocean of rape…
A fluffy brown British kitty named Britter sits at a computerized terminal studying graphs and radar.
Behind him, on a brown fluffy couch, sits a large blonde man who seems to be over seven feet tall, he has butt length curly hair and is naked, except for a pair of acid washed chaps, he is also totally ripped. In his hands, this blonde giant holds a book with a yellow cover. The title reads NAKED BUTT by William S. Boros.
“How reads the book my dear associate?” Britter said.
It was then that the man threw the book across the glassine enclosed room.
“I’d stake my own name, Julian D’Raper,” said Julian D’Raper, “on the opinion that William X. Boros is even more of a mediocrity than William S. Burroughs!!! Furthermore I declare that Naked Butt is inferior to almost every novel ever written!!!”
“I suppose your opinion justifies my lifelong aversion to the work of Mr. Boros, and I thank you for that dear colleague,” laughed Britter, “naked butt indeed!”
“Look at that undersea rainstorm out there outside our glass bubble,” gasped Julian D’Raper, “the black clouds filter the light in such a manner as to give the ocean a wonderful shade of purple. It’s times like these that I love the ocean of rape.”
“I once loved this ocean as well,” said Britter with a lost puppy dog expression on his kitty face, “before Maniac of the Ocean and Psycho of the Sea took power and turned this alleged ocean of rape into an ocean of intolerance.”
“You as a furborne one, and I as a landbreather,” cried Julian D’Raper, “our rights are in jeopardy. Maniac of the Ocean and Psycho of the Sea are nothing more than despots!”
“Take comfort in this my friend,” Britter said as he pointed at the radar screen, “the radar tracker has just given me the location of the chosen one, the prophecy of the sea foretold this man, a so called raper of avalon would deliver the ocean of rape from tyranny.”
“Do you mean this puppy fellow?” Julian D’Raper said, “your old friend from Phillips Academy.”
“Correct,” Britter said, “the chosen one happens to be my old school chum Puppy of Snuggles. He is the only one with the rape talent to outrape Maniac of the Ocean and Psycho of the Sea!!!”
“We must bring him here immediately,” Julian D’Raper.
“Unfortunately dear lad,” Britter scowled, “there’s a slight sniggle snaggle, and we need your estranged cousin’s help.”
“Sniggle snaggle? Estranged cousin!” exclaimed Julian D’Raper, “that can only mean one thing!”
“Correct,” frowned Britter, “Puppy of Snuggles is lost in the Matrix, and only your cousin can retrieve him.”
“Alas,” Julian D’Raper said, “the fate of the ocean of rape lay in my cousin’s hands. I have no choice but to break off our estrangement!”
Then Julian D’Raper lifted his transmitter wristband to his mouth and spoke, “Ocean control!”
“Yea Julian,” said the whiney voice of Ocean Control, “whaddya want eh?”
“We have a code sixty-seven here,” said Julian in a grave voice.
“Ya kiddin me here Julian?” said the voice of Ocean Control, “there hasn’t been a code sixty-seven since I joined the ocean force. I mean we read about it in the academy but c’mon Julian, a frickin’ code sixty-seven?!”
“Unfortunately yes,” Julian D’Raper said, “this is a code sixty-seven situation.”
“Yea?” the voice of Ocean Control said, “what is this? You pullin’ my leg here Julian!”
“Oh blast it Julian, you need to be firm with these ocean control chaps!” screamed Britter as he grabbed Julian’s wristcom and held it up to his kitty mouth.
“Ocean control!” screamed Britter, “stop this foolishness immediately and dictate a telex now!”
“Yea Britter,” the voice of Ocean Control said, “no worries, heard ya loud and clear. Begin your dictation eh?”
“Address this telex to White Morpheus, care of the Matrix,” Britter said, “Dear White Morpheus, this matter is of the utmost importance, you must enter the Matrix and find Puppy of Snuggles. Once you find him you must yellow pill him. Failure is not an option! The fate of the ocean of rape depends upon your actions. End telex!”
Back in the rape chamber…
Neo and Morpheus turned to see a puppy, a puppy who looks just like Cooler from The Pound Puppies except cooler and snugglier.
“Good day mates,” the puppy said, “they call me Puppy of Snuggles. I’m the snuggliest and coolest puppy in the universe.”
“What do you want dude?” yelled Neo.
“Not much,” sneered Puppy of Snuggles, “I’ll just be raping and murdering your dead bodies, and follow that up with some snuggling.”
“Snuggling?” cried Morpheus.
Then Puppy of Snuggles pulled out a switchblade that had the words Brad Renfro carved into the ghostly colored pearl handle and said, “This is for Brad.”
Then Puppy of Snuggles slit Neo and Morpheus’s throats, and raped their assholes with his puppy dick until he came a lot.
Puppy of Snuggles lathered Neo and Morpheus’s bodies up with blood and puppy cum, then snuggled them like they were bunny rabbits, and he was like, “Aah, nothing like a good snuggle after rape and murder.”
“Unfortunately,” said a black peopley sounding voice, “we be gots mo important matters ta be dealing wit yo!”
“What in the name of snuggles are you even talking about?” Puppy of Snuggles said, “who the snuggly snugs do you think you are to walk in here and interrupt my snuggle time? “
Then the man with the black peopley voice stepped forward from within the shadows to reveal that he was actually a whiteboy.
The man was dressed in Morpheus clothes, and he had a Morpheus goatee, but his skin was pale white and covered in freckles like an Irish, and he had a big brown Jewfro atop his head.
“Check this puppy,” the man said, “ah be’s White Morpheus and ah’m here to tell y’all we gots a serious problem wit dis here universe!”
“You mean the real universe?” Puppy of Snuggles said, “the one that isn’t the Matrix?”
“Dats be da problem exactlee,” White Morpheus said, “this don’t be the real universe yo!”
Puppy of Snuggles made a shocked face.
“This’un here universe,” White Morpheus said, “that Black Morpheus told Neo was real just be another Matrix inside the Matrix.”
“So what’s the real universe?” Puppy of Sunggles said.
“I can’t even tell y’all until you make a choice,” White Morpheus said as he held out his hand. In the palm of his hand White Morpheus held a brown pill and a yellow pill.
“What the cuddle?” Puppy of Snuggles said in a grouchy voice, “what in the snug of snuggles are those things?”
“One be a poop pill,” White Morpheus said, “the otha be a pee pill.”
“Ew!” Puppy of Snuggles said.
Then Puppy of Snuggles made the grouchiest face the world had ever seen on a puppy.
“You be gots a choice to make snuggle pup,” White Morpheus said, “y’all could poop out on the poop pill and just keep y’all eyes closed. Stay here in this fake cracker ass inner Matrix and keep doing rapes dat ain’t even real, or…”
“Or what?” Puppy of Snuggles says.
“I ain’t feel comfortable telling y’all,” White Morpheus said.
“Why the snug not?” Puppy of Snuggles said.
“Y’all are too cute,” sneered White Morpheus, “you might get spooked if ya knew who it was was gunnin fur ya.”
“Gunnin fur me?” Puppy of Snuggles growled as he pulled out his Brad Renfro switch knife and stuck the blade up White Morpheus’s ball sack…
The Ocean of Rape…
Maniac of the Ocean watches his iPad as his tears rain down on the touch screen, blurring the video that shows Puppy of Snuggles on an endless raping spree…
“What eats at you partner?” Psycho of the Sea said as he put his tentacle arm around Maniac of the Ocean’s neck and snuggled him.
“It’s my jealousy, I suppose,” Maniac of the Ocean said, “this puppy’s raping ability is so beautiful it vexes me. It’s like nothing the ocean has ever seen!”
“Untrue dear partner,” Psycho of the Sea said, “TBH we’ve both been in the presence of a raper whose skills are comparable to Puppy of Snuggles’s if not superior.”
“Unfortunately you’re quite correct dear friend,” Maniac of the Ocean sighed, “it wasn’t just the puppy who vexed me. It was my memory of the first chosen one. The raper of Lenox Hill.”
“I still remember the day you chopped his dick off,” giggled Psycho of the Sea, “the great raper of Lenox Hill, otherwise known as Julian D’Raper, dickless for life thanks to you!”
“That’s why I was crying,” Maniac of the Ocean said, “I wanted to be the best raper ever, but I cut Julian’s dick off instead. It should have been rape against rape!”
“Yes,” nodded Psycho of the Sea, “the law of the ocean, rape against rape, rape on rape’s terms and all that.”
Puppy of Snuggles stood over White Morpheus and watched him bleed to death from his balls.
“You shouldn’t have snugged around,” Puppy of Snuggles said, “with your dying breath you need to tell me what the cuddle is going on. What does the pee pill do? Who is gunning fur me?”
“It be the ocean of rape y’all,” White Morpheus cried out with his dying breath, “the muthafuckin world outside the matrix be nothin but an ocean of rape. It’s be all dats really real and you’se gots to get there and face dese niggas dat be beefin wit you and puttin you on blast! Take dat yella pill you broke ass mutha!”
Then White Morpheus died and the brown and yellow pills fell out of his hand and onto the floor of the rape chamber.
Puppy of Snuggles picked the yellow pill up and gobbled it down, trying hard to ignore the pee pee taste that made him want to vomit.
Then he suddenly found the whole space in front of him that turned swirly in blue, and he soon found himself in ocean water.
“What in the snug?” exclaimed Puppy of Snuggles as the freezing water enveloped his puppy body. But then he soon found himself being sucked by a tractor beam down into a glassine bubble at the bottom of the ocean, and he heard a voice over a loudspeaker that was mounted on top of the bubble say, “Don’t be alarmed good fellow! Tis I, your friend British friend Britter, since our last rendezvous I’ve teamed up with a rebel faction in the ocean of rape. They want to take power away from Ocean Maniac and Psycho of the Sea, they want to help restore the balance of rape in the universe.”
“What the snug does that have to do with me?” Puppy of Snuggles growled.
“Because you are the chosen one Puppy of Snuggles,” said Britter, “you were born to be the greatest raper in the ocean of rape!”
Puppy of Snuggles did not recognize the British voice, but he was not suspicious. The curse of being so cool was that everyone remembered Puppy of Snuggles fondly as a friend, but Puppy of Snuggles remembered no one, he was just way too aloof.
TO BE CONTINUED…
In Ocean Of Rape: The Matrix Wars
People are always outraged.
Everyone wants to boycott things.
I’m not even sure if I totally understand this quote by Man Ray, but I support it:
“Each one of us, in his timidity, has a limit beyond which he is outraged. It is inevitable that he who by concentrated application has extended this limit for himself, should arouse the resentment of those who have accepted conventions which, since accepted by all, require no initiative of application, And this resentment generally takes the form of meaningless laughter or of criticism, if not persecution. But this apparent violation is preferable to the monstrous habits condoned by etiquette and estheticism.”
It was on the inside of a CD by The Cramps.
It was called Flamejob.
But don’t be outraged by things, being outraged will turn you into a human queef.
Watch this video, and practice not being outraged:
Are you even ready for the most mysterious kitty ever?
Master Of Cumming is about to drop motherfuckers!
I was doing an interview with the Bizzong podcast tonight, and it reminded me of other podcast interviews I’d done, so I figured I’d make a post about them.
I also found this old tweet that the notorious Chuck Wendig made about me all the way back in 2012, and decided to share a screenshot I took of it. I had to log out of my Twitter account to see it since he has me blocked.
Having Chuck tweet about me reminded me of something Gwyneth Paltrow said in the 1999 film The Talented Mr. Ripley:
“The thing with Dickie… it’s like the sun shines on you, and it’s glorious. And then he forgets you and it’s very, very cold.”
That’s how I felt, Chuck Wendig shined the light on me for one brief moment, it was glorious, and ever since all I’ve felt was coldness.
And here are links to the podcasts I’ve been a guest on so far, the first is from Lost At Home and the second is from Mr. Deadman’s The Shitshow:
In the winter of 2012 I published my first book on Kindle, it was called Wesley Crusher: Teenage Fuck Machine.
The publication of this book made me be one of the most famous writers in the world for about fifteen minutes, this proves that Andy Warhol’s theory that everyone will have fifteen minutes of fame is actually true.
Here is a list of articles and other links relating to the Wesley Crusher: Teenage Fuck Machine historical event: