Subject: My new piquant collection of photos outside the city From: Migdalia Meeks
Howdy, dude!
I have been dreaming to have a bare skin collection of photos outside the city for almost a fortnight.
Now I have several hot pictures showing me wearing my most fascinating lingerie
by the picturesque river and stralling all naked outside the city.
It is wonderful! I am so happy and I wish to know what you say about my pics.
Please, Write me right in my profile any time!
If only life was like this. Women sending ‘Bare skin’ photos in fascinating lingerie to random men, while ‘stralling’ all naked outside a city.
I love to strall myself.
Apparently some woman rode the NYC subway yesterday wearing only a pair of knee-high boots. The newspaper report said she was happy to pose for photos. In the very next sentence they mentioned that people were trying to locate her. The article was suitably vague about why they wanted to find her. Punishment or praise do you think? My bet is on the latter.
Subject: You have just received a new message from Bella From: Aiko Edvige
My mate told me that I could quickly locate a man in my neighbourhood for casual dates without any responsibility.
This is precisely what I desire!
It’s my account
I’m disappointed in you Bella. What happened to no sex before marriage? What about Edward?? I thought he was ‘the one’.
Listen Bella, you can’t escape responsibility. Sooner or later we must all bear the consequences of our actions. You can’t just be a Trampire forever.
Also why are you calling yourself ‘Aiko’ Bella, make up your mind. Pick an identity and stick with it. It’s confusing.
Subject: Make her shameful dating passions done From: Nola Tino
Browse your nearby partner pix and vids and hook up with her today
Make her shameful passions done what? What’s done? Who’s been done. That sentence wraps itself around my brain like an octopus. Shameful dating passions done. All those words almost make sense.
Baffling.
Subject: I decided to be a bad girl tonight, sweetheart! View my latest nude pics and vids right now From: Celsa Andree
I still remember you from that dirty evening we spent all alone.
Do you remember how mind-blowing and fantastic it was?
I still have videos in my profile where I have on that tiny black dress.
It was the best time ever – bright, desirable and great.
Come on, see my profile and you will recollect every trifle. Contact me as soon as possible!
HI…umm… I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t remember you. You must have the wrong person.
Really? Are you serious? We had such a wonderful time – It was so mind-blowing. I mean, I don’t recollect a lot of the trifles due to the medication I was on, but it was really great!! Don’t you recollect my trifles?
No, no I’m sorry, I really don’t remember any trifles. I really do think you have the wrong person.
Come on! How could you forget? I mean, Didn’t it MEAN ANYTHING to you? DON”T YOU CARE????
Uh…..
YOU SAID I WAS SPECIAL! YOU SAID I WAS THE ONE!! FUCK YOU, YOU ASSHOLE! I HOPE YOUR COCK ROTS AND FALLS OFF!! JERK!!! GO TO HELL.
Oh hey!… I do remember now…
The photos below are not related to this post. (Tentatively you could say the people behind spam are like spiders spinning intricate webs, just throwing out lures and hoping for a bite. But only tentatively. It’s pretty thin stuff.)
In any case I’m ludicrously pleased with this photo. My hand didn’t shake, and each hair on its legs are nice and crisp. (I took 20 photos to get my hand to not shake in just 1. Click on the closeup photo, it to see the tiny hairs on its legs. Exciting stuff.)
And look how golden he is, and so beautifully translucent. Like a drop of honey on a wire. (I told you I was ludicrously pleased with this photo.)
I enjoy watching spam evolve as old versions of the same grift go out of date.
The whole Nigerian Prince thing is clearly not getting these guys any love.
So now I get random emails from sober sounding names like ‘Joanne Pasqualle’ or ‘ ‘Alison’.
Sometimes they almost look legitimate.
“I need a man’s shoulder! Contact me… please”
My god. What’s she going to do with his shoulder?
Subject: I am positive I! know you! And I have some hot stuff for you. Check out my recent hot photos
Aren’t you the handsome honey with whom we had the most gripping day some time ago?
Remember, I was afraid of swimming in the river and you told me I’d be fine and we had a good time together?
You were single then and I had a jerk of a boyfriend.
We split up long ago and I am free now.
Welcome to my online profile with kinky photos and contact me right now!
See, I really don’t know what penis would fall for this. It’s not like someone reading this would just happen to have had a one-nighter with someone swimming in a river (where the hell is this set anyway?)
“Well I don’t think I ever lived near a river but…hey! she sounds ‘friendly’ I’ll contact her!”
That really can’t be that likely…can it?
From: Rock, Subject: Passionate stud is looked for for a babe romp!
Hello there, well-hung dude! We are wanting a stunningly hot dude
to entertain hens one of these evenings. We are going to a restricted birthday party
and you’ll be the only stud allowed! Join our party
The title of the email and the contents seem rather conflicting. Is the email from a passionate stud looking for-for a babe to romp with? Or is it for a stunning hot dude looking for romping babes? I’m so confused.
I still recollect you from that fascinating day we spent together.
Do you keep in mind how stunning and fantastic it was?
I still have pics in my profile where I have on that stylish black dress.
It was the best time ever n vivid, passionate and carefree. Come on, see my profile and you will remember every detail. Write me asap!
This one doesn’t even specify what happened on this stunning and fascinating day. It was fascinating. You were fascinated. I was fascinated. It was all stunning. Don’t ask me any more questions, just read the words hot hot sex big penis and reply me asap!
I happened to glance at a friend’s email this one time (…at band camp. Sorry I had to say it. It was in my brain) and it was from a legitimate person they had bonked, who wrote exactly like a spam-bot.
“Lets have sex. You are hot.”
That was pretty much all that was in the email. At the time I was kind of stunned but only now has it dawned on me that this person should really move to Nigeria. They are really wasting their talent and eloquence here.
“Hi, sweetheart.
My name is Allison Howard. I work as a sells manager in a big firm. And now I am looking for intelligent, not silly fellow to chat with some continuation.
I liked your photos and private information about you. That’s why I had an idea to write you. I always sex hungered but I don’t fuck with everyone but only with guys who could impress me. So, you could invite me to go to theatre if you like me too. I wait a message from you, darling?”
Well I’m no silly fellow! I can chat with continuation (about hungry sex, intelligently even, sure why not.)
I love that ‘big firm’ is left vague. – Just a ‘big firm’. Don’t worry about it. It’s a big firm, I make big money. No problem.
What’s the name of the firm? Oh uh its just called … firm. Big…firm. Look I said don’t worry about it ok?
Anyway I haven’t posted any work up in a while because I’ve been so in love with my camera, I’ve not bothered to scan some new drawings (or finish them up as I promised myself I would! Why??? God why do I procrastinate so much?? Come on! Finish shit!)
Ok pep talk over.
Here is the drawing.
I like to scan the final pencil sketches - in case I botch it up, then I can just print out the sketch and start over.
17th Century Lady Pencil
I bought a small box of water colours the other day for this job I just got. I detest watercolours. They never do what I tell them to. I seriously think I need to stick to dry mediums or acrylic but I really feel this urge to do soft, beautiful watercolours, of cute adorable characters like everyone else is on the internet.
In any case, I’m trying a few test water-colour runs before I tackle the paid job. This was one of them.
I don’t know if I like the colour of her dress or the way the water-colour hasn’t blended nicely. Ugh.
I’m mostly happy with the green bits. Except it turned out to be a rather virulent shade of unnatural green. (But I rather like it still)
I might work her over with a ball-pen. I’m far too controlling for water-colour.
The ex refuses to eat the ends of sausages – Cutting them off instead, rather delicately with a knife.
I remarked they looked just like nipples and promptly ate them with gusto.
The ex cringed. It’s true they did look like nipples. Not that’s unappetising - Delicious sausages! Fresh off the barbi
I haven’t ever been to a fetish/sexy-party club night.
I’d like to go just to see it maybe once in my life, but the ex said my tolerance level would be 20 mins or so, then I’d be bored and want to leave.
(Quite true. Watching other people have sex is like watching people play tennis. What’s the point? I’m not playing tennis.)
The ex said,
“Of course I would probably stay longer.”
So I don’t understand if you’re willing to watch real people, regular flabby people even having sex in public, then what’s the problem with the sausage nipples?
Imagine looking under 'Glamour' only to find 'Butt Boys' or 'Super Slutz'. The 'z' makes it an extra slutty slut.
This is vaguely related to my Visa Post, even though their waiting room had no magazines, only a flamboyant security guard. A very large black man who was squished inside the compact photo booth, accidentally kicked it so violently that the rather camp guard yelled flirtatiously from the door,
“You alright there, big man? Why, I thought I might have to come in and give you CPR!”
You know how most waiting rooms offer a selection of somewhat banal magazines?
The standard ones, like Readers Digest, OK, Hello, Glamour. If it’s a more up market waiting room – GQ, Vogue, Country Magazine, The New Yorker, The Times.
None of them recent, obviously. There’s probably a circulation library catering only for waiting rooms, recycling seriously out of date magazines. Ones that are still making Clinton-Lewinski jokes.
So what if every time you visited your doctor, dentist or hairdresser, you smuggle in a naughty mag and surreptitiously sneak it in under a few of the other magazines.
Then you go for your appointment, teeth done, whatever, you leave. Leaving behind the hidden magazine.
I like the idea of some nice Auntie who comes in after you’ve left, and while going through the Glamour, Hello or perhaps a Reader Digests finds a magazine titled
or Daddy (U.S. This sounds pretty good.You know exactly what to expect. Now that’s good branding.)
or Handjobs Magazine: (U.S. Again, good branding, but its pretty specific. Auntie might enjoy it.)
or Chastity (India. The articles are really amazing. I know that sounds like a cliché, but these really are. For the spelling and grammar alone, it’s worth investing in one of these.)
or Anal Magazine (Mexico. They really should export.)
I really love drawing penises. I realised that while drawing this.
Sure, I enjoy drawing vaginas too, but I find they don’t have the same comedic value.
This is not based on any particular sexual preference, I’m merely referring to the shapes when you draw them.
The cock with its cylinder and two circles is so much funnier looking. (see above, my seriously M.A diagram)
The vagina has a more elegant, modified elliptical shape, which makes me feel it ought to be taken more seriously.
I can’t imagine some tagger graffiting vaginas on underground passes and subway walls with the same carefree abandon as scrawling a big, giant, hairy knob. Knob drawings are far more carefree.
Also entirely hairy ones. The hair is not just on the balls, but everywhere. Like a Chewbacca of cocks.
I was doodling a hairy cock on a napkin at Prithvi ages ago and Bhangar who was sat there with Riddhi, got offended because I covered the whole cock in hair.
He said they didn’t look like that, it’s insulting. Only the balls have hair.
I suppose he had a point.
Now I just draw ones with veins, unless I want to be insulting. I find it helps to add the detail.
Eoughankindly sent me this highly amusing link to this article which I’m sure many Indian men would hate to read, but I can definitely confirm this about at least one Carter road inhabitant. Poor bastard.
Went out for a drink with A. and the ex last night.
We sat on the pavement outside the Dog and Duck in Soho, drinking and smoking most of the contents of my pack, occasionally being accosted by fag thieves (I hate them) and drunken bums who stumbled up muttering things like
“You’re talking with your hands again”only to then stumble away.
A Lex-doppleganger came up to ask us inane questions claiming he was filming for his YouTube based TV channel called ‘Community United National T.V.’ (or CUN TV)
Questions like
“Nipples or belly buttons?”
“Wheatabix or extreme violence?”
A. answered in her Greek drawl,
“Weeellll, neepples beeecaaause theeey arrrrre niiiicerrrrr to leeeeeck.”
The CUN TV man seemed thrilled with such a porn star answer.
A. additionally regaled me with horror stories reported by other smoking veterans, about the horrific conditions smokers are forced to face in these harsh times.
Fabric (a vile club) apparently makes you que to go out for a smoke. You are then stamped with a number and placed into a group. The group is taken out into a square where there is a timer. Once the timer goes off whether you’ve finished your cigarette or not, you are then shoved and pushed, cattle that you are, back into the bowels of the club.
Immediately the next marked and stamped group are put out to graze. Sort of like a cross between a cattle ranch and Auschwitz. Why people still choose to go there is beyond me.
About Cheaters & Cheating:
The ex, A. and I got into a very heated debate on cheating. A. and the ex were in one camp while I was defending the rights of non-cheaters in another.
Arguing with cheaters is like attempting to walk on a bog. No matter what you do, you’ll be dragged down into the muck of their rational.
Cheaters Logic:
It’s the convenience in attitude that excuses you from all responsibility of your actions.
Their self-excusing rational:
1. “Oh it was a mistake. People make mistakes!”
2. ”I didn’t want to hurt anyone!”
4. “I really love my partner, I really do. I care so much”
5. “But I couldn’t help how I feel…”
6. “It was beyond my control!”
7. “You don’t understand. You never know, it could happen to you one day!”
8. “It was really hard for me. Oh I’m such a victim here. Sob sob boo hoo poor me.”
The ex and A. bond over my non-cheating insensitivity to such a sad situation. It never is their fault. Circumstance conspired to do this to them. We (the non-cheaters) just don’t understand.
By applying this simple 8 step rational formula, cheaters can thus have all the ease and luxury of having their cake and eating it while simultaneously denying that free will had any part to play.
They did nothing. They are the innocent suffers.
I’m assuming that were P & M present with A. & the ex they’d have all agreed with each other (cheaters united after all) patting each other cordially on the back.
I don’t argue with being unable to control how you feel, but to go from that to claiming you are equally incapable of controlling your actions seems to me to be a massive leap in logic.
Let us challenge their argument one point at a time:
1. They made a mistake.
OK, yes. You fucked up. No argument here.
But this also depends a little on how you define cheating and how big is this ‘mistake’?
Is it just some mild flirtation at a party, or maybe drunken kissing, or full-blown intercourse. (I know someone who defines holding hands with someone else as cheating.)
I would find it hard to pass off intercourse as just ‘a mistake’. Maybe I lack the required amount of hormones that would just happily wipe out all parts of my brain that acknowledge this is wrong and allow for the insertion of assorted body parts without a qualm.
2. They don’t want to hurt anyone. If they tell, people will just be hurt and they’ll get dumped.
How inconvenient for them.
I asked A. if her boyfriend ever cheated on her wouldn’t she want to know?
No. If he still really loves her and he fucks someone else, but as long as she doesn’t know it’s OK.
What would happen if she found out regardless? They’ll have a massive argument break up.
And then what..? It would be pointless, she says.
Personally I’d like the person I’m going out with to have the decency to admit they crossed a line, but more crucially give me the option of either staying or going.
As opposed to them making that decision for me, and taking the path of least resistance and greatest convenience for themselves. This seems to me supremely selfish. I don’t even know how a relationship can work with that kind of secret.
Additionally I’d also like to know exactly what kind of person I’m actually dating, instead of the edited version that they choose to present me with.
All these people, these friends of mine, these cheaters – Their partners (or ex partners as it usually is)clearly seem have no idea who these people really are and what they are truly like. It’s probably just me, but I find it unbelievable depressing that these guys are dating people who don’t really even know them.
3. The Ex and A. go on and on about how much they may care about the person they are cheating on, that’s why it’s so hard for them (poor dears).
You can talk about love until hearts shoot out of your arse in a beautiful valentine spray but it means nothing unless your actions actually confirm it (although hearts shooting out of their arses would be kind of cool).
I’m not certain, but fucking someone else…? Is it positive confirmation…. of this so-called ‘caring’? Of course it is! It must mean they love more than people who don’t cheat.
4. A. argues passionately that I don’t know what I’m talking about, I might do it one day, only then would I understand.
“You dooon’t knoooow whaaaat will happen! If you keep theeeese ideeeeealistic opinions you will be miserrrrrable! I am teelling yoou Jaaa-neeeen”
The last part is probably true. Being idealistic means there are always lots of lovely people like A., P., M. and the ex to help shatter your faith in the basic decency of other humans.
People like me just don’t understand. Cheaters are excluded from any responsibility from actions because it’s all out of their control. Don’t you see? They can’t help themselves. They are the victims here!! They’re special and I’m just too idealistic. I have no idea!
It’s also insulting that they seem to think (and especially the ex)that an occasion where I could have fucked off with someone else has never yet presented itself and that’s why I haven’t done it. The ex at some point said I didn’t realize when people were hitting on me, as if that in some way means I’m less likely to be tempted.
But the point is not that there is or isn’t temptation, but that I simply choose not to fuck someone over until it was more convenient to dump the one I’ve grown bored with.
Really all arguments aside this is what it boils down to:
The real ‘cheaters dilemma’ is – Who should I ditch? Ol’ partner A or new partner B?
What if B and I don’t work out? Will A take me back? Can’t I just test B out until I’m sure. A will never know. If it’s just a fling it won’t matter anyway.
Ah how lovely. What a shame I’m such an idealist.
These cheaters and their fucking logic! Their lame ass cop-out that cheating isn’t within their control is what I refute so strongly. It’s actively setting off on a course of action that involves a number of conscious decisions and then excusing yourself of any blame.
Sometimes you don’t have a choice blah blah.What absolute bollocks. Fucking seriously. The day I sympathise with a fucking cheater is the day I can turn rocks into solid gold. I ought to sympathize with what they went through because I am capable of saying ‘no’??
God this cheaters logic really disgusts me. I feel myself filling with bile even as I type.
I don’t know about anyone else but I have a small list of things on principle I would never do:
Beat up an animal.
Beat up a kid.
Steal from my friends.
Seriously rat out a friend.
Cheat.
Become a stripper.
Become a hooker.
Do heroin
Approve of the Pope
Approve of Bush.
Last but not least: Shit out a bunch of kids
My list isn’t a hugely complicated one, in fact the last 6 aren’t even principles – more like general notes to myself.
If I were to apply A. and the ex’s rubbish argument that you can’t control your feelings or actions, to any of the above… then for example could I, should I steal from my friends? It would be easy. They trust me.
L. has been over enough times, passed out, the contents of her purse littering my living room. How hard would it be to nick money off her? She’d never even know, she’d assume she lost it when she was wasted. There really isn’t anything to stop me from acting on this. I wouldn’t get caught, no one would know, so no one would get hurt right?
They abuse me soundly for saying I would never cheat just on principle. Apparently having principles makes me a huge chump who is destined for misery.
I find it quite depressing that I have so many friends and a significant other whose attitude, opinions and principles I can’t even begin to scrape up a marginal respect for.
I’m really rooting for the under dog here – Those poor bastards (the various boyfriends) these people have so cavalierly screwed over.
And over
and over and over and over.
I believe the only thing that would hurt these cheaters would be if their lovely wardrobes of fabulous outfits and expensive designer accessories were completely trashed. (All of them are well dressed individuals) I don’t think anything else would affect them in the slightest.
Where will they be without the Gucci belt, the Lanvin wallet, the vintage Chanel shoes, all their precious clothes?
Material goods are really what lasts when love has faded. I almost give up hope that cheaters will ever get the comeuppance they all so richly deserve until I came across something like this. It renews all my hope in poetic justice.
There now. I’ve vented as much bile I could. I’m worn out from all the rage and tension. I think in fact it is time for a fag.
Any other cheaters (oh so sorry I meant ‘victims’) or non-cheaters (insensitive morons like me) reading this – I wouldn’t mind your added bile/denial/agreement.
Lecture by Simon Stern, the ‘master’ of copy right law, all day in the photography dungeon.
By about 4 o clock my eyes had glazed over and all attempts at concentration had flown out the door. Chris was doodling two faces in his note-book, Foz was doodling a naked woman with very hairy breasts (setting the standard). It was all very nostalgic, like being back in school again.
The lecture was excellent. Every time Mr. Stern dropped his cane he would yell loudly, “FUCK!” or “BUGGER!”. We finally finished at 4:30 and once Simon Stern was far away we all stand around admiring Foz’s scribbles of hairy breasts.
Yes it was a fine lecture, but I’m not going to talk about it. This post is entirely an excuse to gossip about the filthy things we were discussing in the pub.
We attend the Jigsaw photography mini exhibition in the dungeon. It wasn’t hugely impressive but free beer is a wonderful lure. The ‘artwork’ is largely ignored except by occasionally saying,
“Why the fuck did that one win?”
We are thrown out eventually and go to the Ivy to continue. Fer gives me a pill which combined with the beer makes me talk very fast for about 10 minutes but by the time we get tot the pub I’m feeling quite high and serene.
“Anna…”
I say,
“I’m feeling quite high.”
and Anna laughs at me.
Luckily in about 15 minutes all of this wears off and I’m relatively sober again.
Lord Foster Vader has finally seduced Dan (photography tutor) to the dark side. Dan has abandoned all his old photo buddies so that he can snuggle up next to Foz in the pub (so cute).
There is great strength in the power of the dark side (illustration). Young Dan has yet much to learn.
Some first years nearby try talking to Foz at some point and Fernanda is immediately green with jealousy that for one moment his attention is taken from us (her).
“Why are they talking to him! Its our year! We are graduating! I’m going to tell them…..”
“What do you mean no?? Don’t tell me no!! You are pissing me off! I’m telling them….”
“HEY YOU! THIS IS OUR TUTOR… HE’S OURS!! YOU CAN”T TALK TO HIM. HE’S OURS!”
“NO. NO!WE ARE GRADUATING UNTIL THEN YOU CANT TALK TO HIM OK?”
“NO. NO! DON’T YOU TALK TO HIM!!”
…all the while keep a vice like grip around his shoulders. He looked slightly bashful and embarrassed. He’s going to have to teach those first years in a few months and they won’t be too happy about all the previous territorial pissing around him.
Anna and Georgina and I giggle and try to pretend we don’t really know Fer, we just always happen to be seated on the same table. Purely coincidental. (Although, I secretly think its adorable the way she’s so possessive and passionate about Foz. That aside, she is fucking mental.)
Foz tries to escape Fernanda by jumping over the bench but knocks over a couple of glasses that shatter predictably. Everyone applauds. Foz blushes like a little girl.
Since the course is now over I have not the slightest care for any sense of restraint. I mentioned a passing thought that had occurred to me during a bored and sexually frustrated moment: I claimed (and still claim) that Geoff is so bumbling, so helpless, so completely loony that I’m convinced it’s a merely an elaborate facade masking the soul of a sexual dynamo.
Anna and Fernanda yell at me for such a blasphemy. Geoff?? No, no not Geoff! (Geoff is about 70 and bananas)
Anna says with her fingers pressing her temples,
“Janine I always thought you were mad but mostly made sense…I’ve lost all respect for you now…Geoff? Seriously not Geoff???”
“Noooooooo oh my god it’s just so sick, noooooooooooo you don’t underrrrrstand its sick! Tutors cant be sexual they are like gods! (tutors are gods?? and she calls me sick) It’s so wrong you are sick Janeeeeen oh mah god! Noooooo You don’t understand I’m going to need so much therapy what are you saying? Who’s going to pay for my therapy woman??“
This leads into everyone discussing their sexual fantasies and I’m sure once the pub staff threw us out and started to clear up 2-3 hours later, all our seats were rather moist. (ew)
Eoughan announces that his ultimate fantasy is Val throwing him down on the bed, having her wicked way with him (Val doesn’t like him at all so this makes it even better) as Geoff bangs away on the door saying “Please, please just let me in the office, Janine is right behind me!!”. Foz would be hiding under the bed taking notes while Dan moans in the next room “I can’t sleep… you guys are making so much noise…whine whine”
Hats off to Eoghan, that fantasy will be etched into my mind for all time. I’m certain his Catholic god will send him straight down to the fiery brimstone of hell for that.
Dan and Foz start telling us about how they stroke each other thighs during long, tedious course committee meetings. They’ve become lovers they say, Foz lounging on the bench in a macho, casual way while Dan gazes at him adoringly (it’s true, he really was).
This gay joke runs through our entire evening in the pub with Foz looking very smug about it (and his new toy boy acquisition). I must admit, there’s something I really enjoy about 2 straight men acting supremely gay. It’s just so naughty.
Fernanda will never again be able to think of the tutors in a wholesome, god like way ever again and neither will I.
The conversation really goes further downhill from here. Should I type any more of it I’m afraid that the keyboard and certain body parts might erupt in flames.
Leo requested that I write about him much more (he’s an egocentric boy, Leo is).
I spent the better part of and hour last night coaching him on how to flirt. It was uphill work I tell you. The H.itis has really kicked in and he needs to be rescued now or we can lose all hope.
The best advice I could give him was, if in doubt always ask.
i.e – If you’re not sure if the girl reciprocates your keen interest or likes you enough to let you kiss her, instead of just leaning in, be polite enough to say,
“Hey So and so….do you mind if I kiss you?”
or
“Can I kiss you?”
or whatever, rephrase as you please.
I’m not sure how good this advice was but personally I’d rather be asked instead of any politeness in paying someone attention is mistaken as some kind of sign.
I’m a really lousy date as you can imagine. And pretty dense too. I find hint taking and hint dropping hard as heck.
