a lincolnshire sausage plant that eats those who are mental

 

this is a lincolnshire sausage plant; over the next few days, i shall endeavour to teach it to speak, and then it can tell you itself what it likes to get up to and from where its prejudices arise….it is part pitcher plant, which should go some way as to explaining its diet….though only some way

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experiment 2 and 3

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

i fade……………………

you can all see what it’s supposed to do………why is it not doing that? please……..if anyone knows……..tell me……..i can make it look like it’s supposed to look in the pre-publish bit, but not the final bit; i’ve removed all paragraph breaks in ‘text’ and it still evades me………

the other part of the experiment was to get each section to link somewhere…..i have succeeded in this……if you start from the top left and follow the car, you will go to my first ever four posts….i could’ve chosen good ones, but where’s the fun in that……

for dawn…..

this…….is a pivoine with the face of marlene dietrich coming out of it

and is a gift for dawn over at pivoine68.wordpress.com after her dire want for a ‘stylized carnivorous flower’ – anyone other than dietrich with a more carnivorous appetite for both the sexes, in combination with the beauty of the flower, would be hard to find

you may have this flower for your blog, dawn….i have complete faith in your ability to get it on there…….

and lo…

david cameron, and all that other lot, did so say unto batman, ‘you can shove your fucking computer, right up your fucking arse…..’

for the previous two posts in the ‘deluded people, telling made up people, where they can shove their precious imacs’ series please see here and here……..

that is all…

and lo…

muhammad, and all that other lot, did so say unto allah, ‘you can shove your fucking computer, right up your fucking arse…..’

in the interests of fairness…….

please stay tuned for more deluded people, telling more made up people, where they can shove their precious imacs…….

if i haven’t been blown up by then…………………………..

or leafleted to fuck…..

and lo…

moses, and all that other lot, did so say unto god, ‘you can shove your fucking computer, right up your fucking arse…..’

stupid fucking invention…..

that’s irony, that is……………….

and blasphemy….

experiment 1

this….ladies, gentlemen, boys, girls, your highnesses, and members of the jury…..is a sacha inchi seed with the face of hugh laurie coming out of it

my wrist hurts from lassoing

but my brain is happy that it works

and looking forward to all the crap to which this should now lead

writing challenge 18 – although which tttt this is i’m not entirely sure….it’s not got pmao in it……

explanations for this epic can be found here and here and here and that‘s probably enough……oh no, here‘s the one with pmao in it……it’s fun – at least for me, but i have no life – so do one…..

My pulse quickened when I saw her…..it wasn’t her beauty – like the hair upon her head, she didn’t have any – although the limp was pronounced but not eye-catching; her squint was noticeable but not headache-inducing; whilst the teeth that protruded from her cheeks left one a little startled, the drool appeared to have a note of charm to it, as did the mole…….what in fact made the pulse quicken was the fact that she stood over me holding a scalpel and a ball-peen hammer. I was strapped to a wooden chair that was uncomfortable (probably the least of my problems at this stage) and smelt like piss and unanswered questions.

‘What ish your name?’ She slurred at me, spraying my face with spit.

‘Ziggy Stardust,’ I said, sputum dripping down my cheek.

She raised the hammer and I must say, it was in a really rather threatening fashion; I made a mental note to informal the faculty first thing in the morning thatI thought this sort of behaviour was in no way in-keeping with that expected of a university lecturer, and that some mention of these unorthodox teaching practises should at least be alluded to in the otherwise faultless prospectus.

But that was for tomorrow…..my present predicament banished all such thoughts from my mind, and I maintained only a minute awareness of the warm fluid collecting in my crotch, and that I had now possibly become a part of the assault on the olfactory system of the next poor victim…..I shall do my best to answer her questions…….

‘Let’sh shee how funny you are with a broken wrisht!’

‘Wait! Pleashe!’ I have a horrible habit of mimicry; say something else, dammit, and she may not notice! ‘I’m sorry; I panicked; the scalpel and hammer combination shat me up proper big styley; when questioned under stress my default answer has always been Ziggy Stardust, ever since I was a boy and discovered that David Bowie was my spirit animal.’

She lowered the hammer to her side and placed the scalpel into the pocket of the leather jacket she was wearing, ‘What?’

‘It was when I was young. I had been bad and my foster father had locked me in the attic and there in the darkness I heard the sound, an amazing sound.’

Someone called from the assembled class who sat below the stage we were stood on, ‘What sound?’

I smiled, ‘At first it was a guitar and then his voice called out like an angel’s.’

‘What did he say?’ Asked a girl on the front row with a side-ponytail.

‘He said, “Wham bam – thank you ma’am!” and there he was, large as life, dressed in a silver space age suit like he had just been beamed down from planet funk.’

‘Did he say anything?’ Asked an old man who was unexplicity sat next to side-ponytail girl and had his gnarled hand on her upper thigh.

‘Of course, he said that I should stop being so bad, then I wouldn’t keep getting locked in the attic; I mean, what was the poor man supposed to do when you wouldn’t say what you were doing……..what are you doing……’

‘What are you doing?’ My eyes flickered open, and I very nearly passed out again; the hammer had been lowered – but the look of threat and violence still shone in the woman’s eyes – and my wrists were still pleasantly rounded; the shape to which I’d become so accustomed.

‘I’m sorry….I fainted…..I went to my safe place and met my spirit animal-’

‘Shhut up!’

‘Sorry’

We were still in the lecture hall; the doors were no doubt locked and I was more than aware of the room’s sound-proof qualities; I wouldn’t be discovered any time soon. My eyes settled on the white board, where the quote from today’s lecture still reminded the world of what we knew and what position we held: “For after all what is man in nature? A nothing in relation to infinity, all in relation to nothing, a central point between nothing and all and infinitely far from understanding either.”

I hoped I was not to be questioned on this…..I had been extremely busy blogging…..

My mind raced with all the reasons I could muster for my being in this place and in this accursed position, powerless against this upstanding member of the local community; I could think of nothing; I hadn’t offended her in any way I knew; I’d never snickered behind her back; I was a very competent student; David Bowie was with me, but was of very little help.

Her next question muddied the waters even further, ‘Are you familiar with the worksh of late, great Muddy Watersh?’

I shrugged as best as one can while shackled to a chair.

‘He was my shpirit animal,’ she said and the memory of this seemed to be fixing the wreckage of her face until she began to shine, a diamond in the middle of the hall. The effect was short-lived though and her face quickly fell back into disrepair.

‘I think this whole weird lecture needs to end,’ I said, gingerly.

‘Why ish that?’

‘Well…’

The window behind her head exploded and a SWAT team burst into the hall. She spun around and one of the SWATs put a single bullet in the center of her forehead. She collapsed with a sound like a group of people briefly whispering secrets before they are silenced.

‘TANGO is down,’ he said into his radio. ‘Repeat TANGO is down.’

‘Am I covered in blood?’  I asked. ‘Because it feels like I’m covered in blood.’

The SWAT who had spoken to the radio came over and began to undo my shackles, ‘I can confirm that, yes, you are covered in blood.’

‘Least I wasn’t imagining it,’ When the shackles were released I stood up, holding my bruised, scratched wrists.

‘No you were not. So can you explain what happened here? From the start.’

‘Gladly, what happened was, I was walking along minding my own business……actually, would it be alright if I had a glass of water first? I’ve been shackled to a chair and threatened with a scalpel and a hammer; I’ve lost rather more bodily fluids than I’d care to admit.’

‘Absolutely, sir. Fetch a glass of water would you, Cathrinington.’

‘Yes, sir.’

As my water was being fetched, I asked the SWAT leader, ‘Is my debriefing to be conducted here, this very moment?’

‘That would seem to be what I suggested, sir.’

‘May I make another suggestion?’

‘Have you made one already, sir? I must’ve missed it.’

There was not an ounce of sarcasm on his face; his eyes had the child-like innocence of an innocent-like child; he was either an extremely astute pedant….or just a twat; ‘An alternative suggestion, then?’

Of course you may, sir. Your water, sir.’ Cathrinington bounded over with half a pint of luke warm……well it was liquid at least, and I was really too thirsty to care.

‘My suggestion is that we go somewhere more congenial to a proper interview; and as I alluded to, I could really do with a change of clothes?’

‘I’m afraid that’s not possible, sir. And may I remind you that you did actually begin to gladly tell us what had happened here.’

‘I did say that didn’t I?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘What if I refuse to say anything more until my demands are met?’

‘Then I will have no choice but to end the conversation, sir.’

‘Wouldn’t I have just done that?’

‘Then I would be a fool to do otherwise, sir.’

‘But don’t you want to know what happened here? You asked if I could explain it.’

‘It seems to me, sir, that you are quite capable of explaining what happened here, therefore my question as to whether you can explain what happened here, is answered; as to whether I want to hear what happened here, is a different question entirely, sir.’

Twat it is then.

‘Do you want to hear what happened here?’

‘That’s up to you, sir’

‘Whether you want to hear what happened here is up to me, but I have no say as to where what happened here is heard?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘That’s absurd.’

‘That’s your opinion, sir.’

‘I don’t know if you’re qualified enough to talk to me.’

‘Sir, I can shoot you between the eyes from a thousand yards in an extremely brisk crosswind; I assure you that talking to you is not a struggle for me.’

‘I wish to speak with your superior.’

‘Hello, can I help you, sir?’

‘Are you this man’s superior?’

‘It would seem odd if I weren’t, sir.’

i now sign off all my email correspondences with…..

…Sent from my PC

does that now make me pretentious…..

writing challenge 18 – tttt1 – part 6

below in green is the helping of pouring my art out‘s warped mind, then it’ll be over to sean for more stuff from his warped mind, please feel free to include your warped mind whenever you so may wish:

My pulse quickened when I saw her…..it wasn’t her beauty – like the hair upon her head, she didn’t have any – although the limp was pronounced but not eye-catching; her squint was noticeable but not headache-inducing; whilst the teeth that protruded from her cheeks left one a little startled, the drool appeared to have a note of charm to it, as did the mole…….what in fact made the pulse quicken was the fact that she stood over me holding a scalpel and a ball-peen hammer. I was strapped to a wooden chair that was uncomfortable (probably the least of my problems at this stage) and smelt like piss and unanswered questions.

‘What ish your name?’ She slurred at me, spraying my face with spit.

‘Ziggy Stardust,’ I said, sputum dripping down my cheek.

She raised the hammer and I must say, it was in a really rather threatening fashion; I made a mental note to informal the faculty first thing in the morning that I thought this sort of behaviour was in no way in-keeping with that expected of a university lecturer, and that some mention of these unorthodox teaching practises should at least be alluded to in the otherwise faultless prospectus.

But that was for tomorrow…..my present predicament banished all such thoughts from my mind, and I maintained only a minute awareness of the warm fluid collecting in my crotch, and that I had now possibly become a part of the assault on the olfactory system of the next poor victim…..I shall do my best to answer her questions…….

‘Let’sh shee how funny you are with a broken wrisht!’

‘Wait! Pleashe!’ I have a horrible habit of mimicry; say something else, dammit, and she may not notice! ‘I’m sorry; I panicked; the scalpel and hammer combination shat me up proper big styley; when questioned under stress my default answer has always been Ziggy Stardust, ever since I was a boy and discovered that David Bowie was my spirit animal.’

She lowered the hammer to her side and placed the scalpel into the pocket of the leather jacket she was wearing, ‘What?’

‘It was when I was young. I had been bad and my foster father had locked me in the attic and there in the darkness I heard the sound, an amazing sound.’

Someone called from the assembled class who sat below the stage we were stood on, ‘What sound?’

I smiled, ‘At first it was a guitar and then his voice called out like an angel’s.’

‘What did he say?’ Asked a girl on the front row with a side-ponytail.

‘He said, “Wham bam – thank you ma’am!” and there he was, large as life, dressed in a silver space age suit like he had just been beamed down from planet funk.’

‘Did he say anything?’ Asked an old man who was unexplicity sat next to side-ponytail girl and had his gnarled hand on her upper thigh.

‘Of course, he said that I should stop being so bad, then I wouldn’t keep getting locked in the attic; I mean, what was the poor man supposed to do when you wouldn’t say what you were doing……..what are you doing……’

‘What are you doing?’ My eyes flickered open, and I very nearly passed out again; the hammer had been lowered – but the look of threat and violence still shone in the woman’s eyes – and my wrists were still pleasantly rounded; the shape to which I’d become so accustomed.

‘I’m sorry….I fainted…..I went to my safe place and met my spirit animal-’

‘Shhut up!’

‘Sorry’

We were still in the lecture hall; the doors were no doubt locked and I was more than aware of the room’s sound-proof qualities; I wouldn’t be discovered any time soon. My eyes settled on the white board, where the quote from today’s lecture still reminded the world of what we knew and what position we held: “For after all what is man in nature? A nothing in relation to infinity, all in relation to nothing, a central point between nothing and all and infinitely far from understanding either.”

I hoped I was not to be questioned on this…..I had been extremely busy blogging…..

My mind raced with all the reasons I could muster for my being in this place and in this accursed position, powerless against this upstanding member of the local community; I could think of nothing; I hadn’t offended her in any way I knew; I’d never snickered behind her back; I was a very competent student; David Bowie was with me, but was of very little help.

Her next question muddied the waters even further.

‘Have you ever been to Dishneyland?’

I struggled to adjust my thinking to this strange question.

She continued with a cat-like grin on her unusual and captivating features. ‘All the answers are to be found there. You know that don’t you?’

I stammered out the first answer that popped into my mind.

‘I love the Haunted Mansion.’ I said it with all the conviction I could muster.

‘Of coursh you do!’ she screamed, spraying me with spittle.

I struggled, and thought I felt the tape holding me begin to…