Doob LaVey

A clever combination referencing three of my favorite things: Marijuana, The Church of Satan, and the french alphabet.

My Photo
Name:
Location: Kelowna, British Columbia, Canada

Long story, but briefly: I once saved a town from Dractyl, the vampiric pterodactyl.

Thursday, February 15, 2007

O Sweet Valentine

"When true love is unrequited, the whole world is a load of crap."

Dylan Thomas, 1987

Yesterday was Valentine's Day once again, and I was all by my lonesome once again. That's okay. Not only did I expect this, I welcomed it. After all, it gave me the opportunity and motivation to write something special here for that special day.

Twas to be a true and heartfelt declaration of love eternal, no thought unvoiced, no emotion unsaid.

But then, tragedy. Anna Nicole Smith up and dies on me. Everything I'd written sudden was rendered meaningless, not to mention slightly inappropriate. You'll have to trust me on this; the things I said are definitely things I do not want to do to a dead woman. To do so would be in remarkably poor taste;)

Now in a peculiar bind with a deadline, I wracked my brain for enough material to post something to my other true love. You know of whom I speak... My world famous Paris Hilton scrapbook isn't world famous for nothing! But a few hours later, having written nothing but a lame joke about who weighs more now, Nicole Ritchie or Tinkerbell (LOL), I realised this wasn't the right direction to go in, either.

Which pretty much leaves me dead in the water, as far as Valentine's day material goes. All I have left to offer is to tell you about a dream I had. It's kind of a cheat, I know, but' it's marginally related to Valentine's Day in the sense this is a day of copious fucking. February 14 is the day, more than any other day, that I wish I had a trusty pair of binoculars, and lived in a high rise apartment, facing another high rise apartment building. Although, truth be told, there isn't any actual fucking in my dream, either. But enough about that... on to this dream I had.

The Pie Eating Championship

Yes, I dreamed that I was in a pie eating competition, but no, it wasn't that kind of pie. I'm talking about poontang pie! I think we're on the same page now.

I don't recall the particular territorial jurisdiction of said championship, whether it was world or national or local. Nor do I recall their being any prizes for the winner beyond, I suppose, bragging rights of being the premier pussy eater. After all this was an officially sanctioned contest. I would think that such a champion would find no shortage of women willing to present the stage upon which he performed, as it were. However, I dare say that this is a mixed blessing at best, a point on which I'll elucidate later.

The tournament was divided into four rounds. In each round, there was one judge for every two contestants. The two contestants would then have to eat their judges' pussy (not at the same time). She would then judge one of them to be the superior, in accordance with known and established criteria, and send that fellow on to the next round. The whole tournament took place over the course of a single afternoon.

While the naming of a new muff diving champion is certainly a momentous occasion, the contest was taking place outdoors amidst a "county fair" sort of atmosphere, and seemed to be only one of a number of events taking place.

In any case, spectators were more than welcome, as each pussy eating took place in one of several tents set up around the grounds. These tents were made from some transparent material, like plastic or mosquito netting or something, so the throngs could watch their preferred judge/contestant combo in action.

At the point where I start remembering my dream, I was poised to enter the finals. Pussy X4 I'd already eaten that day; and only one more vagina stood between me a victory. One thing I don't recollect clearly is at what point I learned the identity of the final judge. I think that she was only described as a celebrity judge until last minute before the final round began. Then, finally, the grand unveiling revealed her to be none other than... Alanis Morissette.

Now, to clarify, I cannot count myself among the legions of Ms. Morisette's rabid fans. At best, I am only slightly familiar with some of her songs from a decade ago. Additionally, I never have described her as being particularly attractive and have never had anything like a schoolgirl crush on her. Nevertheless, this is the situation my brain saw fit to create.

So here I am in this translucent tent, eating Alanis Morisette's pussy, while a crowd watches. While I went to some lengths in dismissing her songs and her looks, there is no need for similar denigration of her vagina. In all respects was it perfectly adequate. There were no offensive smells or tastes, although the deep and vibrant pink colour brought to mind fleeting suggestions of "recently used". Hair, of course, had to be removed in accordance with regulations, but that the small remaining patch of hair was shaped like a heart, suggested to me that this was her own preferred condition.

Sounds okay, right? Wrong. All was not well in Cunnilingiland.

Here's the problem. Eating pussy is hard work. It makes my tongue hurt, and there's a limit to my endurance. I don't even like eating pussy, really. With each new cunt, it's fine the first time or two, but by the third time, I'm bored. Which is why I speculated earlier that winning this thing may only be a mixed blessing.

But the problem in this instance is that I've already eaten four different pussies that very afternoon! I'm exhausted. And despite my obviously masterful repertoire of skills and techniques, I am just physically incapable of performing at the level I need to. I know it, and I can tell she knows it too, from the way she just kind of limply lays there and is obviously totally not into it at all. So I had no choice but to concede defeat.

In doing so, I denied the other finalist a chance to taste Alanis, as he was automatically crowned champion when I conceded, which I guess is a small victory for me. And for Alanis? She came to get her pussy eaten by a champion and didn't enjoy it at all. Isn't it ironic?

So now you know the tale of the dream I had... and knowing is half the battle!

Good night. Hope you have sexy dreams, too.




Saturday, February 10, 2007

Kingdom of Malaise

God, I am so lazy.

Did you know I have to leave the house just to do my laundry? So I must wonder, when is it time to do the laundry? Is it when I have one last pair of clean socks? This last pair I would wear to the laundromat, dirtying then even as the others are made clean. Then, when I get home from the laundromat, I already have one dirty pair of socks. Do you see what I mean? Gah, the futility of it all... it surrounds me.

My old pal, Darren Pisni. I don't think I ever understood more than two words that came out of his mouth. That's fucked. What were we even friends for? It certainly wasn't because of mutual respect and interests, because I've no fucking clue what he was all about. Nor can it be said that I respect the taking of liberties with the Queens' good English.

If I saw a pair of tits sticking out of the ground, I'm not sure how I'd react. They could be attached to a womans' corpse, lying in a very shallow grave. Or perhaps, somewhat analogous to the angler fish, perhaps they are the lure of some as yet unknown predator? Then again, maybe it's just a freebie.

Imagine if sharks were the next fish to turn into amphibians? Man, that'd be a terror! Crawling around and biting men in twain... I shudder at the thought of it. Imagine if there were so many fish in your local reservoir that caviar came out of your kitchen tap? Or your shower head? Sickening.

Over what kind of time frame is it healthy to gain fifteen pounds? Two weeks?

There was, at one time, a warrior culture easily distinguished by their distinctive metal kilts. Underneath these copper skirts, the men would affix to their dinks a metal copper ball of some sort. Then, as they crossed the battlefield in with a peculiar hopping gait, their cockball would clang noisily against the metal kilt. These fighters were known as Bellhops. You can play as a Bellhop in the latest edition of the Dungeons and Dragons game.

Are there any blank spaces left in the periodic table of elements? Does anyone know the half life of hot dogs? Are wieners made of anything besides wieners? If not, doesn't that make "wiener" an element?

All this and more, for one whole year, with a paid subscription of only $13.95!