Thursday, March 31, 2005

Erotic Imprint on Volvo

Mushroom's Story
"Explain This To Your Wife"

Sue Donim's Story
"It appears, Holmes, that the police arrested a young woman and took her away in handcuffs. See, first they stretched her prone over the bonnet of the vehicle, searched her, then brought her up so she could lean against the bonnet with her hands. They then cuffed her and took her away."

"Ingenious, Watson, but incorrect. Clearly the woman was engaged in an act of passion with her male companion."

"But, Holmes, her pantaloons are still about her waist."

"Only in the front, my dear Watson. Her companion sought acess to her posterior."


"Alimentary, my dear Watson. Alimentary."

Weirsdo's Story
Splorp! The sound came from the alien's protruding eyeballs colliding with the hood of the car. His handlike second feet as well as the claws and front section of his first pair of legs also made violent contact, and his third legs scrabbled against the bumper, trying to push the rest of his thorax onto the smooth, metallic surface. He wished the Earthling inside would stop screaming. For the first time he realized this wasn't going to be easy. She might not believe the story of how he, along with the rest of his team of scientists, had kidnapped her mother 19 Earth years ago for bizarre sexual experimentation. Hurriedly, he readjusted his eyeballs, trying to get a better view of her. Only two sets of appendages, but he thought she had his eyes. . .

Doug's Story
A man walked into a bar and saw a beautiful blond sitting alone. He introduced himself and told the blond she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen and could he buy her a drink? She said "Wait just a second, I only date men of means."
He told her "I'm an accountant in private practice."
"And I only get involved with men who aren't afraid of commitment."
"I've been married for 25 years and have two young children."
The blond thought about this and said, "OK, but I only practice safe sex."
"Don't worry," the man said, "my Volvo's parked right out front."

M.P.'s Story
She had kept that pic for some time now. She had no proof of it but perhaps there had been rape. Or just some uncontrolled coupling for which time had been too short.
Whenever she observed that very pic - one of the hundreds she had in her collection of odd exposures - she always came to feel a strange vibration she could hardly explain. Some sex prevert for sure and the body could have belonged to one of the victims.
She felt attracted to think of what sort of truth this pic might hide but that strange vibration had always led her to avoid getting into any sort of investigation of her own.
Easter Sunday.
At that right moment she was sitting at a café, one of the very few open in the city-centre the morning.
She had just finished drinking her coffee when a male voice whispered into her ear: "Don't turn! Stand up and go striaght on to that red car on the other side of the street! Get in and wait!"
What a chill through her spine! That voice had made her feel as strange as that vibration coming from the photo in her collection of odd exposures she was so proud of.

My Story
With all those bodies breezing about out there it was destined to happen. Doug and Marsha got together. Warm skin against warm skin caused blood flowing parallel to tepid blood to sizzle in the veins. A mile-high feeling of dizzying ecstasy charged through them. With each pelvic thrust they shot into unfolding realms of altitude, hotly defying the futile "no's" of gravity. The carnal splendor saw them swirling through boundless tangents, an intertwining one with the stratosphere.

Subsequent to an extremely bumpy ride George inspected his jet car, wiping clouds from the chassis. It never ceased to astonish him how the random formations invariably culminated in some kind of meaningful gestalt.

Sunday, March 06, 2005

Sleeping Girl with Zzzz's

Mushroom's story
Esperanza was always a wishful thinker, even in the bleakest of circumstances. This wasn't a condemned building, this was a historical home that needed a bit of replastering to restore its luster. She wasn't homeless, she was one of those idealistic youth who took a year off from college to hitchhike across Europe, but staying within her means she wasn't far from her landscape and took her journey while still in high school. She wasn't sleeping on a discarded piece of foam with a dirty sheet around it, she was roughing it like a camper in the wilderness but with the resourcefulness of a silverback gorilla. This life wasn't killing her figuratively if it was doing so literally; her days were restful, peaceful, and exciting, and she even had a cartoonish sign to represent that she was merely going to sleep for a bit.... She wouldn't actually leave if she were smiling, she believed. When the authorities found her in rigor mortis the next afternoon, like Carroll's Cheshire Cat the smile was all that remained.

Lady J's story
The Zs, you see, are the ticket. They're the only way off this rock. Tara scored hers earlier tonight, in the unisex pit of a bathroom at Ministry, from an androgynous figure in a grey silk shift and black leather knee-boots.
It was the blond spikes that gave it away.
"I know the path to the unicorn farm," Tara told the conductor, her ice blue eyes meeting those black wells with a level certainty that belied her age.
The conductor smiled -- an old smile, smiled by David Bowie and Cleopatra and Benjamin Franklin -- and produced a torn pink slip of paper.
Tara accepted the ragged pamphlet, presented with gravity and a certain reverence.
"You know what to do," the conductor said. "Just don't let them see the blues of your eyes."

ReaZ's story
It had been a month now since the deafness epidemic had started. Now 99% of the worlds population could not hear anymore. How would people communicate was the question of the day. The answer was stumbled upon quite by accident by a simple girl who was trying to get some sleep while her borther insisted on taking some pictures of her. She just wanted to be left alone, but no matter how much she yelled at him, he couldn't understand her. The answer finally came to her, pretend to sleep and he'll get the idea. It might not have worked if she didn't move to cover her face with the gift her friend gave her. Luckily her friend really liked Zorro and had covered her gift with Z's. If it wasn't for that, the world might have spiralled into maddness.

Retarius' story
the kidnappers wanted to send pictoral proof that they had her, so they could demand a high ransom and live for the rest of thier lives in comfort on the beaches of the phillipines. they weren't evil or mean, they just didn't feel like working hard and long for only a small chance at retirement. they didn't want to be known as "bad guys" so they asked amanda to hold up a little sign, something whimsicle, lighthearted, that would prove she was alive but also show she was in a playful happy mood. the pink paper was her idea.

M.P.'s story
"There she was. They had eventually discovered her in her shelter. Marilyn had decided to live far away from the madning crowd because she could not bear the noise of snoring.
Since she was very small, she had grown used to that awful sound: her father snored so loudly that it could make the whole house shake like under earthquake effect.
It had taken a long time to find her.
Meanwhile Marilyn had turned into this pretty young lady they could see in the photo they had been sent as answer to the different public appeals to find her.
They were all very happy and went there to bring her home.
They wondered why she was holding that zzzzzzz card though. How could they have realised that??? Marlyn had now a handicap: she had lost the capacity of even producing the zzzzzzz noise when she was sleeping!
But even so they were awfully happy to have her back to the still shaken-up house with the earthquake like snore sound of her father which had made her become that unsually different!"

D's story
Inside the main operations conference room (OCR1) of the secret NSA surveillance post, a party was in progress. Champagne had been uncorked. Cigars were being lit. One of the office assistants had found some party hats from the last new year's celebration. Even Charlie Moss, the team leader and a hard-line relic of the cold war had stretched his normally frozen face into a slight grin.
The root cause of this rare atmosphere lay in the events of the previous hour. After two and half years of surveillance, the team had finally managed to capture a meeting between the Zebra, a notorious con woman and black market smuggler, and one of her contacts. Using satellite video technology they had recorded a meeting in which the Zebra had pointed out the secret location of her next black market deal, a sale of stolen archeological treasures unearthed in western China, on a map for her client. Even as they celebrated, the unit of special operations commandos placed at the team's disposal was on their way to the site. It would not be long now.
Suddenly the door to the room flew open, and Jamie Reed, the one team member left to man the operations floor, rushed in with a print out of a surveillance photo gripped tightly in her hand.
"Sir," she yelled to Moss over the din, "I think you should see this!"
The picture that she handed to Moss showed a young woman, the Zebra, lying in the roofless ruin of a bombed apartment building in Serbia. She appeared to be sleeping, and this observation was made even more clear by the pink note held in her right hand beside her head like a word balloon in a comic book. The note said simply, "zzzzzzz."
Moss looked long and hard at the photograph bringing it right up to within an inch of his glasses and turning it back and forth. She left a note, he thought. It's like she knows someone is watching her. He looked hurriedly up at Jamie.
"Get back to your station. I want to know the second the Zebra moves."
Half a minute later, she raced back in.
"Sir, she's gone!"
"What? How?"
"We don't know. One moment she was there, the next she was gone."
Moss looked down at the photo then stood up slowly.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, meeting each of their eyes, "we've been made." He picked the photograph up and tossed it into the middle of the table where it settled on a box of cigars.
"The Zebra is gone."

My story
Only three had come to share in the farewell. And soon it would be officially over. The camera and other equipment were destined for a film museum, the seats were too old to interest anyone anymore. Everything else had been promised away to the usual caring scavengers catching wind of a cache of history. The beam of light through celluloid streamed from the projector across the span of the theater, spreading out into moving images on the screen. Victor, who sat towards the back, nodded off, lulled by the sound of the organ music accompanying the antique visuals of a silent movie. His dream became a spark of light mingling with the light of the diva flowing through the air. It gave her life and form flavored by his modern imagination. He awoke as the film ended, the dream but a vague memory. He left with the others, but in one hidden corner of the soon to be abandoned theater slumbered the diva he had created, waiting to be imagined again.