......................................I was once known as Aquarians Love To Fuck (ALT-F). I am now Vagina Dentata (VD)......................................


Sunday

The New Novel

Me: “Wanna hear the opening line of my new novel?”

The Tutor: “Sure. Let’s have it”

Me: “There was not a sound about me save the susurrus of my feet and froufrou of my silk dress as I trod upon the corpses.”

The Tutor: “Catchy. What’s it going to be called?”

Me: “I’ve not decided. I’m vacillating between: ‘À la Recherche du Mal Perdu’ and ‘Thé danses du Khmer Rouge’.”

The Tutor: “The title’s in French, but the text’s in English?”

Me: “No”

Saturday

Dearest Cunt

As per my promise, below please find my witty retorts to your audacious queries. Your pixellated nonsense - barely articulated crude grunts, by the way - is rendered in bold red; to reflect the vivacious nature of your alleged Anglo-Saxon(1) ardour. My responses, rendered in bold black; to reflect the Stygian nature of  my Über(wo)mensch soul.

Anonymous Fair Anglo-Saxon said...

So far, so good.  Fair Anglo-Saxon you say?  Ha!  Yins are probably a fecking Ginger - in hopeless denial about it too I reckon.
Dearest Aquarians like to cuddle - aka "Vagina Dentata",
It's fucking 'love' to cuddle, not 'like' to cuddle.  Is your reading comprehension that fucked?  Do you perhaps consider the two words/concepts to be synonymous and therefore interchangeable?  Do you not know there is a difference?  For instance, I like Michael Caine, especially as he was in Zulu, but I love him in The Quiet American.
See the difference?  In case you've not seen the film, our Hero smokes a lot of opium and occasionally 'Irrigates the tight Mekong Delta' of a lithe Asian tart.  I can forgive him for making the two-backed beast with a Vietnamese-er though - 'cause that was all that was available and our man's got needs after all.  We Burmese have a special word to 'describe' the Vietnamese, but I would not be so indelicate as to reveal it here. 
I like my women like I like my coffee, er feisty…
Fuck off.  Coffee's for cunts.  And feisty?  I'll show you feisty when I go all Rorke's Drift with an Ulfberht on your sorry Anglo-Saxon ass for comparing me to caffeinated women.
I don’t think a doctor’s coat or scrubs would work as well as the ‘naughty nurse’ outfit.
Are you fucking mental?  Naughty nurse?  I am unsure from whence you hail, but if from the UK; that's just puerile Victorian bollocks.  And if from the Revolted Colonies; that's so Puritan flappy gee.
Still, from your photos I suspect you would look good in a plastic bag.
Jaysus fuck, ya moron, it's 'burlap sack', not 'plastic bag'!  Get your fuct anglospheric idioms right will ya?  Plastic bags, when re-purposed as accoutrement, especially the Tesco or Whole Foods variants, make me perspire.  Women should not be made to perspire - it's unwise.
Horses sweat.  Men perspire.  Women glow.
Very artistic and tasteful by the way.
Thank Ray Caesar, not me.  I merely usurp his vision for my own purposes of a curious conflation of utter self-loathing and sublime narcissism.
You wouldn't be in the market for a moderately wealthy ‘sugar daddy’, would you?
Define 'moderately'?  The Tutor, my current 'sugar daddy', purchased me from my father back in '05 for two goats and a bushel of shiitake mushrooms.  And they weren't your average ordinary goats either, they were those weird tree-climbing fuckers they have in Morocco.  Fuck me, those things creep me out!  Read my archives to get an idea of the dynamic between The Tutor and yours truly and then make him an offer - no goats.
I also spent an inordinately long time in ‘big school’ and unlike your delectable self I have a couple of proper degrees.
Proper degrees?  'big school'?  Fuck you!
My MD is not recognized in the Americas because I can't be arsed to file a petition - paper-work only - to get it!  Besides, why the fuck would I want to treat North American fat-fucks who deserve to die?  In the UK, I can ram 50 kilos of cold, flatulence-inducing proctological video equipment so far up a Brit arse I'll be able to tell if the cunt flosses his/her teeth or not - and get paid to do it!  The NHS recognize my credentials.   My BSc and MBA are well recognized the world over, the former from a Canadian 'big school' and the latter from a Yankee 'big school', so fuck the fuck right the fuck off!
Education is overrated don’t you think?
No it's not!  From whence I come, education can mean the difference between living a very short and brutish life eventually succumbing to starvation or getting the fuck out of there and into the pecuniary embrace of a neurotic westernized Caucasoid who believes 'love' is something other than a marketing concept invented to sell piña coladas(2) and snow tyres.  Your world view is so fucking Western-centric - it irks me to no end it does.
Unless it leads to a well paid job as a senior professional that is.
Fuck off again.  What is wrong with education for education's sake?  An elderly ball-bag sagging septuagenarian who does shit for money while keeping his collar white?  That's what the phrase 'senior professional' means to me.
When you have simmered down could you send me the other three links- just for the pursuit of my research into advanced pulchritude you understand.
What other three links?  Simmered down?
What the fuck kind of phrasal verb is that?
What about just 'calmed'?  There is no need for the preposition 'down' at all.  Besides, ending a phrasal verb in a preposition is something up with which Sir Winston and I will not put.  Advanced pulchritudinal research is it?  You electrum-tongued devil, I bet you say that to all the girls?
I thank you kindly. Furthermore your blog title doesn't mention ‘cuddle’ at all.
You noticed that?  Good for you.  Cunt!

ΦΥΧ  ΟΦ
Φ!

(1)  I am, of course, being kind, and a tad charitable I might add.  You Sassenach cunts are no different than those autochthonic Celtic cuntribbits of pre-Roman times in Blighty - only content when in your natural state of being drunk and fighting with each other.


(2)  I must admit though, I loves me some piña coladas and snow tyres are rather prudent here in the Canadas - for eight fucking months of the year prudent.  I do love swooning about and being whisked away on horseback and made love to on a secluded beach amidst crashing surf.  I especially enjoy the extra bonus of getting sand in the crack and sand fleas in my ears. 

Friday

À La Recherche Du Cunts Perdu

To the enuretics at CUNTS CORNER!

NOTA BENE
If you, dear reader, are the resident Alpha at CUNTS CORNER, please to scroll to the ultimate paragraph.  The dross that lay between this and that contains no revelations not already known to you.

I was told that if I was to alight at CUNTS CORNER, I'd find a cream of exquisite cunts worthy of my profound and literate wit and raillery.  Instead, what do I find?  I find a shower of toadyingly sycophantic, probably sexagenarian, slack-scrotumed, Caucasoid milksops with nary a cogent neuro-synaptic transmission between them - fucking acetylcholine-dodging, feculent and feckless homunculi!(1)
To be fair though, perhaps the many sparks of piquant that may have been birthed in these alleged feeble minds were unable to transit the Event Horizon (a barrier begat by the gravitational pull of their super-massive, yet extremely fragile, egos) to fly free and entertain me!  And let's be honest, these egos, I might add, have no legitimacy for existence in the first place.  I have witnessed no intellect which could be even remotely distinguished from that which I would normally find in a troop of peri-pubescent Boy Scouts - and 'Special Needs' Boy Scouts at that!(2Nowt but Lilliputian intellect and Brobdingnagian egos to be found here!(3)
Where were the bon mots?  The wit?  Scintillating palaver?
Well fuck me from behind with the combined pee pees; in parallel, not series, of the lot of them - the badinage was fucking bad!  Where were the confident and cocksure Western white boys I was promised would be here?
I hesitantly arrived at CUNTS CORNER the other day, all dewy-eyed and bushy-tailed, innocent as shite, and inadvertently posted a 'Cunt Nomination' in error.  An error to which I admitted and for which I subsequently apologised.
All I was trying to do was create a Ray Caesar, Bat Girl avatar for myself.  And what was the result of my neophytic transgression?  I was immediately set upon by a legion of liquored-up Beta and Gamma males, and, it would seem, a vermiform Delta Minus (that 777 cunt).  Falling, as they were, all over themselves in a rush to pixellate very unfriendly dullardry to, and at, me.  Frankly, I was terribly hurt.  AND then when I steel myself; gird my ever so inviting loins and foster the courage to defend myself with brilliant coruscating invective and spumescent vitriol - and in the most beauteous of prolix circumlocutious prose imaginable - the little fuckers scurry about like roosters-come-capons declaiming how horrid and beastly I am, and have been, to them.

Once more unto the breach, dear VD, once more;
Or close the wall up with our Girlish dead!
In peace, there’s nothing so becomes a girl,
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tigress;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood.

And that fender777 git, what a piece of shite he is, ventures out from the aegis that is the Alpha's codpiece - a very large and no doubt girthy one I should imagine......sigh - to throw a lexical spit-ball at me now and then when he thinks the coast is clear and he is safe to do so.  That little 777 twerp threatens that I should enjoy my short-lived unfettered freedom to pixellate now 'cause when his mom - the person with whom he lives and by whom he is dressed - comes home, I'm gonna get it!  I'll be deleted and banned.  What a fucking cuntbutler.  Nay, a fecking piscine staccato cuntribbit.  Period.  Full stop.  End of.  Lord t'underin' jaysus b'y, but flappy gees like that really get on my very shapely and perky teats!(4)  This merkin operates under the assumption that a deletion and banning from CUNTS CORNER is some sort of penultimate punishment - the ultimate being just the opposite; being left to freely contribute to this cloaca. Nyuck, nyuck, the fuck, nyuck.  Like as if my entire self-worth is predicated upon my ability to gain acceptance into this alliterative corpulent Caucasoid cunt clique.  I'll have you know my self-loathing does not require your approbation.  In fact, unless I perceive in short order, a measure - even a modicum would suffice - of the vile miasma of Caucasoid intellect I was promised, I'll be off on my own volition like a whippet after a hare.  I will not deign to waste my wit(5) on Thalidomide stump-sucking cretins.


How can the resident Alpha tolerate this sorry state?  The commentators here are a wank-circle populated with ignominious imbeciles.  Low-status Caucasoid males who every now and then muster the courage to charge out and strike at me.  All in valiant attempts to supposedly defend the Alpha.  And in doing so, they fall prey, one by one, to my weaponry and then run back to shelter as their mother's little helper.(6)  The funny thing is, the Alpha is in no danger.  No one is in any danger, actually.(7)  All y'all need to do is cut the Gordion Knot that binds the jet-engine of your intellect to the ox-cart of your ego and let your genius race off unencumbered.
Do it.  You'll thank me.


(1) I suspect I am going to have to re-evaluate the validity and efficaciousness of my sources.
(2) And believe you, me, I've fucked and fellated my way through many a Boy Scout troop.  I know about which I speak.
(3) And to further this Swiftian metaphor, but as a simile now, I reckon the Alpha is hung like a Houyhnhnms.  Well fuck me from behind with a Modest Proposal, I's quite proud of that one.  Ha!  Clever, doncha think?
(4) And the Girls are not water-balloon blimps either, they're quite pleasing to the eye and hand - car seat texture.  Size?
Meh!  As the late Frank Zappa would say, 'Anything more than a mouthful is a waste.'  Innit?
(5) I admit, I am clever, very clever, but not actually funny.  Alas it is an albatross I have long born.  I've lived with this shame for near-on 36 years now.  I am not bitter.  Now in the unlikely event a particularly bright fucker has bothered to read this crap and has arrived at this note, I suspect she would have noticed I balderised that idiom; a cross I have long born. To her I would riposte,
Oh well a'day what evil looks
Had I from old and young.
Instead of the cross, the albatross,
About my neck was hung.'
(6) Yes, I know, I've mis-paraphrased the Stones tune.  Fuck off!  Sue me!
(7) Except that 777 eromenos. I mean to capon-ise that little worm - if I haven't already done so.  I mean to immasculate him!  Ha!   How's that for a neologism - a conflation of the words immaculate and emasculate  As I'm sure you're not aware, with this malapropism I imply, and from which smart folk will correctly infer, that being separated, either physically or figuratively, from one's pee pee is the decidedly pure state of existence for which one should strive and indeed yearn to embrace.

I feel a little bit of Nilsson Schmilsson is in order:

You're breaking my heart
You're tearing it apart
So fuck you!



I can only hope that the Alpha is astute enough to realize that the wordsmithy above was wrought and keened with my tongue, (or a cock, I can no longer differentiate between the two for some inexplicable reason), placed firmly in my delicate, Asian cheek. I mean no Lese-majeste, and with all due contriteness, present in the lordotic position to accommodate your droit de seigneur. I await your favours with anticipatory glee and damp knickers.


UPDATE

Jaysus fucking christ!
The Alpha at CUNTS CORNER is just as thick as his minions!  He keeps 'banning' me and I just keep re-registering with a different name and email account.  Fuck!  What a dullard!  Then again, perhaps the manly man values his circle of idiots and their dullardry over my wonderful palaver - quantity over quality as it were.  It appears he can't have both - not because of me, but because of them - they's very sensitive it seems.
Fair enough I figger.

UPDATE II

Okay, he's now disabled my Google Chrome vector to his awesome site.  I went in using Internet Explorer instead - what a maroon!  I'm bored now though.  I can't have the imbecile hovering about his Internet Access machine for the next 8 hours waiting to delete me when I appear - that's just cruel.  Innit?  I hope my readers will understand if I leave the retard alone now.  It's like beating up on a cripple.  It's just not nice to do.

Wednesday

I love This


L S D

Is this cool or what?
I hate the tune, but the video is an half century ahead of it's time.
Innit?



The Tutor would've slept with all the chicks in this video, except for the one in the lime green pants visible in the video from 2:19 to 2;33 or so, and then again from 3:06 to 3:16 - she's like, wasted on the LSD for sure.(1)
Innit?



(1)  I'd muck her out though.

Saturday

Take Five

I once slept with a guy simply because he correctly pronounced the names, "Goethe" and "Camus". (1)

I don't know what I would do if I met a guy who could do this.......



I love Al Jarreau.  Innit?



(1)  He was rubbish.

Foreplay


The Tutor remembers who, exactly, he was sleeping with when he first heard this tune.  She went on to become, a decade or so later, a VP at Mellon Bank Corporation(1) in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.(2)  The Tutor only slept with the crème de la crème.
Obviously.


Hence me?


Right?



(1)  Now since 2007, I think, known as BNY Mellon.  I could be wrong - on account I just don't give a shite about the "goings on" in the New Military Industrial Complex.  Innit?


(2)  Where The Tutor blessed Fisher Scientific - Instrument Service Division - (part of Allied Corporation at the time) for a short time before realizing he was destined to be self-employed in The Canadas in order to meet me.




Later that same year, by the time this tune was released, The Tutor was already ministering to another damsel - who, by the way, did not go on to become a 'mover and shaker' in the World.


P.S.

The Tutor knows some cunt from The Big Easy who does not adore Boston!
Can you believe it?
Well fuck me from behind with a Tea Party, but is this NOLA Cunt a cunt, or what?

Wednesday

Make The World Great Again

When  Mr. President (1) is finished being The President of the United States, I think he should endeavor to become Mr. Secretary-General of the United Nations.  If anyone can put 'teeth' into the original U.N. mandate, it's himself.

Innit?



(1)  Morons love him, and if you don't, you're also a moron.  

Stop Right There!

As far as Non-ABBA songs are concerned, Bohemian Rhapsody is my absolute favourite, but this tune is a close second.






Tuesday

Iron Man?

Iron Man?
Indeed!
The fucker is still alive!

The Tutor was in the audience for all of these concerts.  He was on acid so he has no memory of them, but he was there nonetheless.
That is enviable.
But!  His friend saw Iron Butterfly live in LA in 1968.
Now that is enviable.



Wednesday

Memories?

Ha!
Twelve years before I was born, but heh?  Good Innit?


You Decide Innit?




I love the original Flower Child, Mr. Leitch, but Buffy wrote it after all.  Glen?  Nowt but Rhinestone Cowboy if you ask me.  The Tutor tells me that the damsel at 1:37 in the Donovan video looks just like his first love.
Ain't that sweet



P.S.  Did you notice the Toronto thing?  The Tutor done got borned there.  Innit.

From the Jaws of Victory


I don't often listen to Meatloaf.....but when I do, so does the whole fucking neighbourhood.

As far as the wolf request, I would proffer too.....but only if the lupine whelp is a non K-Pop, stout-hearted Flowerboy of attested means.