The Onder's Texts

The archive of thoughts finally available to public in a compact form

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Memories of Gooseberries

                  Some people are scared of death. Some don’t like thinking about it because they see people disappearing from their lives. They’re used to the fact that someone exists and suddenly the person is gone. Myself I’m fascinated by birth in the very same way. Not only by the disgusting fucking physicality of one person being inside another to then come out all slimey, which is seriously fucked up, but rather by the absence of younger people around me earlier in my life.

                  Sometimes when I see children running around kicking a ball or throwing a ball I think of myself before they were born and say to myself… to them: “You were NOT, you little bitch! And now you are, you fucking bitch. You’re lucky, bitch. Lucky that someone fucked. I mean there’s also artificial insemination but I will take the risk and assume your parents just plain fucked.” It then kind of comes naturally that I start thinking about people older than me, how they existed before I could even walk or see or feel or touch anything. Before I was in my mother, seriously what the fuck I was inside my mother. I was made there. Inside my mom.

                  Anyway. Old people. I used to visit my grans’ cottage and there is this garden where my grandfather grew various fruit. I don’t think I can even name all the shit that was there, he had amazing carrots for instance. Each fruit in various colors if possible. Really tasty, not like the shit you buy. But there was one peculiar fruit bush you don’t see very often. Well I don’t, for one. A goosefuckingberry you shitbag.

                  The bush itself wasn’t visually appealing and the fruit didn’t look like it wanted to be eaten by some faggot. Slightly covered with some thin something that resembled a very first pubic hair on a little girl. You feel it on your tongue and then you BITE! Splish splosh in your mouth like nothing. What is this? Is this heaven? Tastes like one.

                  We used to play hide ‘n’ seek in them gardens and I once overdid it with the old hiding part and I laid down in some tall grass, I laid among frogs and other species. I watched that surprising fauna with interest but then I noticed that my grandfather was above me, climbing a tree that was just there. At that point I saw his balls because he had shorts and I was directly below. I even saw the phallus of the past.

                  What then? My position was given away. A gooseberry? Yes. Pubic hair, then a bite, splish splosh madness and it’s fucking DONE. And then again! Yes! Pubic hair, bite, splish splosh, pubic hair, bite, splish splosh.

                  I’m not afraid to call these times good. 

Filed under gooseberries phallus hide and seek gardening prose

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Gay Dreams

                  First of all I have to inform you that I’m not gay or anything. Not that it matters and -oh well- it’s none of your business. And it doesn’t make me like, I don’t know, whatever.

                  But I had a very serious dream two nights back and the sole fact that I’m still thinking about it baffles me and is enough of a reason for me to share it. But I don’t want you to tell anybody. Just don’t fucking talk about it. Its general gender-ness was amazing. If that’s a word.

                  At first I was being hunted like an animal by a gang of sexy whores. I was running away from them through an old building and they were throwing shit at me and obviously they wanted to kill me, like some modern-day Amazons (not that internet store). Eventually they encircled me and caught me. Few of them held me down on the ground and they were laughing at me. Their mouths and cleavages were very close to me and I was starting to feel like doing them, even though I was just bullied and I seemingly had no power to change things and not get killed by them. I felt hugely intimidated by this whole impressionistic picture. But then I manned up and said something really manly. Seriously. Something like “Is this it bitch? I don’t have much more time”. And that’s where it all changed. The asian bikini token (well there had to be one) started smiling at me and said I was alright. Suddenly I knew I could fuck them all. Those whores lost our fight over domination. We arranged a date or something - with each one of them - and then I went away.

                  I felt the way I always feel when I think I’m going to fuck soon (even though in reality I would just wake up with a boner and finish that fucking faggot off).

                  But the dream continued. I met a guy and I fell in love with him. Talk about a DEAL BREAKER. This has never happened to me before and it felt really strange. At first I was only noticing how much better he was in everything. He had more clothes, more money. He had food. He had nicer body than mine - athletic figure and muscles. He had a better home. I felt like a pile of shit compared to him. But then there were other people too and as I kept watching him someone jokingly asked me if I fell in love with him. Then I had such a hard time persuading them that I wasn’t actually gay that I broke down and started crying.

                  It was time to admit I was in love with this guy. He was my first homosexual love.

                  I’m not really gay though, right?

                  It was more of an emotional breakdown. He was my idol, he had all the clean shirts! I couldn’t even find mine after we were finished and I really had to go home.

                  But I would feel so bad if I borrowed his.

                  This is a sign to change my life. This is a sign to become something better than a hunted little boy. I will be the one to hunt boys.

                  No wait.

                  Women.

                  Fuck this.

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What Then?

                  What if she rolls a cig for few minutes without a single glance at you and you watch her every move while she does that and then she lights it while looking in your eyes knowing that you’ve been watching her and you feel somewhat guilty but you still look in her eyes in search for forgiveness and you actually find it there? What then, faggot?

                  What if you don’t like her immediately but instead you notice the perfections one by one and also continuously realize that she’s not dumb as shit and that you could talk to her for hours. What if you don’t even ask her for a number because she lives in some dumb shithole village and you both know that you could’ve rescued her from that place but every emotion beween you and her is dissolving in the air with a puff of smoke coming from her cute mouth. WHAT THEN FAGGOT.

Filed under bar sex women cigarettes a fucking sensation I love fucking your mother

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Inzucht Precaution

                  Now here’s a little story for girls.

                  So you’re twenty, you have a partly shaved vagina and you just moved to a bigger city to /TRY TO/ study some university. Your only reason to go to that one was that one of your stupid friends goes there. You will have to work really hard to make it through the first year because you are fucking dumb and you’re not even pretty. You changed your hair color (nobody noticed) as a sign of a new beginning. Your parents send you some money, but you still eat crap because real food is too expensive. You live in a college dorm with some other girl who is fat and annoying (still smarter than you, but yeah she’s fat and annoying, I admit). There is nothing more than two beds and a table in there. Once a month you buy new panties for which you were saving money. Your boyfriend looks like a bear.

                  Now, the question: Is this a good moment to start a family? Either you have the trigger in your head that stops you from making stupid decisions, the trigger that makes you go “oh well, this is not a good idea, yeah”, or you just don’t see the consequences because you’re stupid. Whenever I‘m about to do something, there is some automatic thing inside of my mind that either lets me do it or not. (I believe Kant was into this shit).

                  So tell me please, why did you still do it even when EVERYTHING about your decision was retarded? If I was a new-born baby and saw a mother like this, I would just hang myself on the umbilical cord. You will fucking ruin everything. You bred me for wrinkles, whore. HMPFPMDSIFJSDPF.

                  You know, I study one uni like this. There’s a big campus and you don’t have to leave it for years because there’s pretty much everything. There’s a shop where you can buy a deodorant, a notebook and a t-shirt. Because that’s what people fucking need for the day. No bullshit. People have parties in a butchery. There also used to be bookstore with all the fucking textbooks, encyclopedias and science books chosen according to all of the faculties there. Very useful. But they closed it. They had to make room for a children’s corner. It’s called “A Little Pony”. That’s the most fucking ridiculous thing I have ever seen. It’s just inappropriate. It has nothing to do there.

-

                  This reminds me how much I hate when people justify having dogs as a preparation to have a baby (yeah some girls say that). Dogs are not like babies and if you say so you don’t understand the idea of having a baby and you shouldn’t reproduce and you should die too when we’re at it. Dogs are awful. They are not even real animals, they are bred for centuries to suit teenager whores. They are like the worst parts of genetic fond of wolves bred to absurdity so you have some furry little sick retard. They are all ill because people make them more and more idiotic. Small dogs? They can’t even fucking walk, they snooze all the time and they cough whenever they have to go for a stick or something. They are like inbred living dolls incapable of any defense. It has to be really sad to have one and look at its suffering all the time. How would you feel if you were bred for wrinkles?

                  How would you feel if you were twelve and after years of wondering why you’re the ugliest kid in class by miles you finally asked your mother. Mom, why are we so effin ugly? And your mother would answer: “You see, we have this tradition in our family. Every woman has ten babies and keeps the ugliest one, the one with the most deformed face. We’ve been doing this for thousands years and that’s why you’re so fucking ugly. We’re the best at it. It’s a miracle that you’ve survived first weeks because you’re like the ugliest person who has ever lived. But we made it through and look at yourself.”

                  Please, female humans, use your brain before using your womb. I don’t need to see this fucking sensation.

Filed under babies girls pets dogs wrinkles breeding love onder threesome uni

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Memoirs

                  I had a beer with a neighbor girl chick female who is really pretty two days back. And also clever and everything. We went to some evening open air party. I know her since elementary school and we always talk about things that happened ten years back or more. I kind of want to fuck her and she knows it, but that’s a whole different story. I told her it would be extremely romantic to start kissing and touching each other out there under the lights and she laughed at my face. Bitch. My girlfriend can’t stand her either.

                  But anyway, she reminded me of this whore teacher we had for Czech language and arts when we were around 11 year old. That woman was a neurotic, blond, curly piece of shit cunt. Whenever she heard a noise somewhere in the class, she destroyed the item that caused it. That included various valuable possessions she liked to throw against the wall mercilessly. Whenever you were looking for your homework in your schoolbag, she ran towards you, grabbed it, and emptied it on the floor. Screamed. Kicked things around. bashed the blackboard with immense anger.

                  When there was a hard thing to learn and remember, she “did the storm” - so it sticks in our brains forever. It meant terror. She was a psychopath. She started jumping around and screaming, doing the most horrible noises. She looked like a lunatic. We were scared. She was destroying things and herself, I’m sure it had to hurt. She was knocking her head against walls. Just so we remember that one grammar rule. She would be dead if she taught French.

                  We also had a dirty gypsy classmate who didn’t do anything. He was a smelly poor lazy gypsy without any rules to go by. Obviously. But he was winning the game against her. She once ran to him with apparent intentions, grabbed his school bag and turned it upside-down open. But there was nothing inside! There never was. There is no winning over a gypsy. He was sitting there and smiling like an idiot.

                  I remember one time she was angry at me too, because she found my small notebook, the one that I used solely to draw vaginas. She was baffled and I was angry, because she was screaming at me for what I had on my personal papers. It had nothing to do with school, it was just coincidentally in my fucking bag, you fucking bitch. I can draw pussy, I can draw dicks, I can even fucking draw fucking landscapes of genitalia if I fucking want, this is my personal fucking notebook. But she told me to stop doing it otherwise she would tell my parents. Poo-poo bitch. GRRRRRRHNF.

                  Luckily I passed entering exams to high school when I was 13 so I left the old class and this teacher behind. At high-school I moved on to draw pornographic scenes (it was just to pass time during the endless hours spent there). I specialized at pictures involving means of public transportation. I was still a virgin though, and I showed my works to one chick from my class. I showed her some of the close-ups (the scene took place in a bus I think, I was fascinated by all those handles and handrails, I wanted to put them to good use). After a single glare at the terrible piece of art she said “I have seen better”.

                  I was destroyed. Of course she has seen better. She had what I was trying to draw, she had what everybody was after. She had young female genitals. She could do anything with anyone thanks to that hole of hers. It was a big hit back in the day, in the room full of 15-16 year old teenagers.

                  I never drew anything again.

                  But enough of these fucking memoirs.

Filed under memoirs prose vaginas art neighbour teacher blonde curly fag sex buses onder

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Triptych: The Tale of a Condom

                                    Introduction

                  Few months ago I was at my place with my main chick. The dryer ceased to spin and I thought, why the fuck not, I will take the clothes out so my mother doesn’t have to do it after she returns from work. And also, I will look like a good boy in front of my blonde polish booty and she will want to get a flat with me and shit. But what wasn’t there, inside of the machine. A dried condom among the laundry. My girlfriend laughed, but it wasn’t all that funny. I asked her what the fuck was funny. She told me to imagine the journey. What it went through. I refused.

                  We were at the pub that evening and she kept telling her friends about how my family’s clothes were infested with semen. A girl sitting next to me asked who was the possessor of said semen. And I had enough. So I replied darkly. It was my semen, bitch.

                                    Part I. - Snowy Mountains

                  My cottage in the hills. Snow everywhere. I wanted it from behind. She said yes. Well it didn’t take long because I like it doggie style. Who cares. I took the condom afterwards and wrapped it in a Kleenex to take it downstairs and throw it in the bin. I put it in my green Adidas sweatpants’ pocket. Those sweatpants, they have a ripped emergency hole for my dick, but that’s another story. It means I don’t have to take them down if not necessary. Those are my favorite. I have them on right now actually.

                  I even used to wear them to school when I was about 14, but then my father told me to stop. It had to look ridiculous. I had to look like a gypsy. Those guys typically wear sweatpants outside. Well don’t blame me, they were comfortable and I was young. I mean, I had a big problem wearing blue jeans at that age, because I thought they looked gay and that everybody wore them. I wanted to be different and I just didn’t like jeans. That’s all. Well anyway, where was I?

                                    Part II. - The Rotating Universe

                  The cottage is about 1,5 hour away from Prague. Our heroic sperm-carrier was long forgotten, but still with us. Its journey was long and unexpected. It ended up at my place. My mother is scared of checking my pockets before putting laundry in the washing machine so she just takes the risk and puts it there I guess.

                  My washer is a pretty regular piece of machinery. Few buttons and a big fucking hole to put the things into. The things you want clean as fuck. What happened from the rubber’s perspective had to be horrible for my abandoned gametes. An abomination. My little sperms let free and rotating like stars in the deep universe. Spread around like rain on thirsty plants. Sperm everywhere. Occupy my socks. Occupy my pants. Occupy mother’s pants. Like insect without leader, like Mahler without lieder.

                  Then the dryer. Look, dryers do only one thing. They dry. So this fucking dryer dried my condom good. The rest is history.

                                    Part III. - The Consequences

                  Yesterday I got a message from the washing machine. It’s what I was afraid of. I got that poor Zanussi pregnant. Now I’m not fucking rich or anything so I can’t afford feeding a whole family of those things. My mother is mad at me and she obviously thinks I’m a fucking pig. I mean, I didn’t even fucking did it the way she imagines. Well I wouldn’t!

                  My girlfriend broke up with me. Everything fucking sucks right now so fuck off. I think I need to change my way of life. I will leave my family and just hit the road in my penetrated green sweatpants. The only good friend.

                  My beloved green sweatpants.

                  …

Filed under triptych condom girlfriend sex cum semen fucking mother not fucking mother - those were separate sweatpants cottage hills washing mashine prose

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Pub Philosophers

(Written after coming home from a pub, I think.)

                  Few days ago, in a pub where I go often, I saw a pair of meth addicts on a date. The guy was disgusting and by the look on his face you’d guess he was dead. But he wasn’t. He was moving and shit. The slut was still in that phase of meth addiction when she looks quite alright because she has lost some weight (so she’s not fat as shit), but also doesn’t look like a dead tropical lizard yet. Women in this condition appear to still have a chance not to die from drug abuse - a chance to painfully recover all the way back to sobriety. But don’t let the image fool you. Look what she’s doing. Look at her. It’s the lowest fucking shit-form of shit. She is already fucking dead.

                  But it was quite cute really. They sat at a table for a while not saying anything (10 seconds) and then the guy got up and went to a VLT or whatever you call them where you live. It’s the machine that takes your money and then decides whether to return them to you or not based on what fruit appears on the screen. The bitch was looking at him for like ten minutes as he was playing. I thought, what a fucking date this is.

                  Then it happened. He told her from where he was standing that he’d lost all his money. She got up, went to him and gave him the last fucking couple of coins she had with her, so he could lose everything they owned. She had to love him plenty to do that.

                  Not always it’s so poetic - pretty and rancid at the same time. Sometimes it’s just retarded. Few days ago, me and my father went to a pub that we both like. It’s very close to where he lives. And, now, I’m used to some drunk bastard retards, even to idiotic scum fuckface cunts, but sometimes it’s just too much. Sometimes the level of ignorance and arrogance goes beyond what’s measurable. These idiotic fucking moronic bitchdicks led discussions so retarded that I wanted to kill myself. In fact, I wanted to kill everybody in the room full of overwhelming inferiority. Two drunk old men arguing about each other’s money income and other various social shit so everyone could hear. I wish they would at least hurt each other physically, or even murder each other. That would be nice to see live presented on such low quality people. I call them pub philosophers. They are the worst to be in a room with.

                  Sometimes my stay in a pub is truly mythical. Yesterday I saw a witch playing those VLTs. I know that you don’t really have to sit there and push a button every time you want the pictures to turn around. You can turn the auto-pilot on and go sit to your table, drink beer and shit. It will tell you when you win something. I think it works like that. But this old smelly whore was alone there. Nobody to talk to. She stood few meters across the room, watching the machine from afar, as if she tried not to disturb it in its decisions. She looked absolutely concentrated and devilish. She frowned at the rotating apples and grapes as if they were virgins being sacrificed.

                  She lost all her money.

                  Today I was with my girl for a while, at my place. Earlier I sent her some songs of a band that I listen to. They are called Proclamation. Now I thought that my girl would have already made her image about what I listen to as I pretty much don’t talk about anything else. I was very confused after she’d had a 10 minute RANT about how evil and horrible the band was. She said they were wrong and disgusting and she tried to find a reason why I would listen to such music. Apparently I have to have some psychological problems that root in my childhood.

                  Suddenly my grandmother called and asked about my girl’s zodiac sign. I said it was bull. I meant Taurus. A moment of silence followed. Then there was something like “well, I really don’t know about that..”, silence again, then she hung up. Now I looked at my girlfriend and she said “I hope you know what fucking present to buy your granny”. And I said “I don’t fucking know, what the fuck do you mean”. She said “a new fucking love horoscope”.

                  I was scared.

Filed under love sex pub witch philosophers meth addicts grandmother beer prose girlfriend death VLTs

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Hedgehogs

                  Every hedgehog looks the same. They are seriously just a one fucking hedgehog. Their only impression (and the only reason why people buy them and take pictures of them) is what they do when they’re on their backs, doing this cute ball thing. The need to see it can be satisfied just by looking at a picture of it, I don’t see a reason to buy one. If three people did a hedgehog party where they would play with their pets together, they could just say “I’ll take this one” afterwards and leave.

                  Anyway, you know about people in Asia. They eat everything. I always see some show on TV and they fucking eat insect, they eat worms, they eat snakes et cetera. But have you ever seen them eat fucking hedgehogs? Well I never. Now every time I have a question like this, I go to the Internet and just write it down. Usually suggestions drop after two words to assure you that you’re not the only stupid retard that doesn’t know such an obvious thing OR that people have already asked that question so it’s not absolutely absurd. But not this time. No suggestions and no results. I even searched for “hedgehog cuisine” in hope to find a link to Amazon with a big HEDGEHOG CUISINE book to buy. I only found some article about old English people cooking hedgehogs, but that was centuries ago.

                  So yeah. I posted this question on Yahoo answers and I offended someone. Go back to fucking sucking cock. I was just asking.

-

                  I think fighting is really gay. Fighting is basically touching other person A LOT. I don’t see why I should touch a person I hate so fucking much. I’m really not attracted to interact with bodies of people that I hate. I never get into fights but I have witnessed some and let’s face it, most people can’t fight and instead of punching each other they lock themselves into this weird position where they are in a LOT of contact with each other. Sometimes they are half naked and they fall on the ground and moan together. We once witnessed a fight with my girl and I then described it to my friend over AIM. Now I’m too lazy to do it again so I will just copy what I wrote that day. I think it proves my point about fighting. Also, another reason why I think fighting is gay is that you’re basically not even allowed to use it on women. Even if you hate them. This is men’s fun. Back off, bitch. We touch each other, you watch, cunt.

21:10:04 Onder: I saw two guys fight today

21:10:17 Onder: In front of some shop where I was w/ my girlfriend

21:11:08 Onder: the guy was shouting inside of the shop at someone. he was like YOU ARE A CUNT! YOU ARE A CUNT! YOU ARE A CUNT BIG LIKE THIS and he showed it with his arms

21:11:14 Onder: like, how big of a cunt the other one is

21:11:25 Onder: hahahaha

21:11:39 Onder: then he went out of the shop but broke a glass so the security was after him

21:11:43 Onder: and got him naked!

21:11:50 Onder: I don’t know why!

21:12:01 Onder: we were paying for our stuff at that time

21:12:15 Onder: but when we got out, those guys were on the ground, bleeding

21:12:19 Onder: and one of them was naked

21:12:29 Onder: my girl was like “did they have anal inercourse?”

21:12:32 Onder: she is so great

21:13:19 Onder: so yeah, and there was some woman shouting at the guards “WHY DON’T YOU LET HIM GOOOEH?”

21:13:44 Onder: hahahah

21:13:57 Onder: and those two guys on the ground were like, locked in the position

21:14:14 Onder: and the one on the bottom was like “I’m bleeding ok? I’m bleeding”

21:14:42 Onder: and the guard still held him tight and was like “oh yeah? why are you bleeding? I’m bleeding too…”

21:14:54 Onder: it was so tender and sweet

21:15:32 Onder: they clearly didn’t want to hurt each other

21:15:41 Onder: but they just had to remain on the ground, naked, and bleeding

21:15:50 Onder: my and my chick went home

21:15:59 Onder: and I was like, yeah, this is my neighbourhood

21:16:05 Onder: haha

21:19:05 Onder: I wouldn’t want to work in a shop

21:19:10 Onder: those are very hostile places

Filed under hedgehogs fighting gay sex sex pets fuck punching hedgehog threesome

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The Worshipper of Chaos

                  I had to wake up at seven this morning so I naturally woke up at seven, postponed the alarm to 7:05 and then again to 7:15. Then I went to a toilet to say bye to a ceremony of rancid farts and all the remaining states of shitty matter hidden dwelling in my rectum. I had a slight boner but I ignored it. It was merely like a colorful butterfly whoring for attention. I know it was just a physical thing anyway as my libido is drained as fuck lately.

                  I counted virgins vs. sexy women ratio on the old bus to campus. There were 60 half-asleep passengers on the bus and zero fuckable women among them. Whenever this happens, I turn the hardcore mode on and I try to force my mind into liking at least some of those on the border, but nothing was working (sometimes it helps to imagine raping them). They were all fucking ugly, old, or just stripped of any fucking energy to fuck that would make me want to enter their dimension or whatever they have. I felt disgusted and I hoped that the bus wouldn’t crash on a deserted island.

                  It didn’t. When I arrived to the class I realized that I smell pretty fucking bad. Like a fucking bucket of sweat in a library. At first I thought it’s something else in the laboratory, but after ten minutes of investigation, I was quite sure that it was me. I usually work in a couple with this blonde girl that has a pretty good figure, but I’m not aroused by her anyway (not when I don’t force myself). I’m just curious about what would it feel like to free those cute boobies. They are always pushed up like if they were trying to escape from the exposition. I would love to stick my hands in the bra and pull them out like two twin babies from a womb and look at them like a father whose sperm is somehow connected to the unmeasurable beauty (if otherwise, I would connect it). It’s one of the girls that uses a lot of make-up for no reason - meaning that she is beginning to have messed up skin in her twenties. It’s a shame, but it’s just the inner her showing off on the outside. Anyways, my investigation of who is the smelly cunt around here ended up after I bent over her cleavage and back, forgetting to take a sniff.

                  No really, I smelled like shit. It was me.

                  Then I went outside to have a cig as I was more or less done with doing things today. I don’t smoke much, but I drink a lot.

                  My love for alcohol has grown to the point of loving bottles and agriculture as a side effect. However, it can dispatch some logical connections in brain when overused. Now I’m pretty immune to this, I’m usually just sick and fucking tired after 10+ beers, but I hate to deal with people that don’t even know where to piss because their brain is absolute fucking retarded vomit. My brother wanted to empty his bladder into our piano once, and that’s not what normal people do.

                  I’ve met my current chick thanks to booze, as she is just crazy as fuck when she’s drunk and those people are easier to get to know. She just jumps around and hits on random men. I guess I was one of them back then. I wanted to go somewhere further from the club we were in that night as she ran on me from behind and kicked me to the ground. On the fucking street. I was like, fuck, someone is trying to fucking kill me as I’m lying on the ground there (I dislike the area). Then she turned me around and I felt only a slight relief as I saw that it’s just her trying to get me naked and sleazily fuck me in public. (She rarely drinks anymore, which is good).

                  But the reason why I’m saying this is because I can’t decipher what is going in brain in this state of consciousness. We were once partying with few friends at my cottage and some time after midnight I realized that I haven’t seen my girl for some time so I went to check on her and she was in a kitchen peeling a potato. I had no fucking idea why she was doing that so I asked “what the fuck are you doing” and she looked back at me, half-crying and said “what the fuck do you think I’m doing”. As I was looking her in the eyes, I realized that what I’m dealing with here is fucking scary. I had like two seconds of this insight when I tried to recognize at least some trails of her thoughts, but all I saw was a mash-up of every negative emotion possible. Without any order. It was the most evil thing I have ever felt. Absolute chaos. She was Satan. The train that left the track.

                  Anyways, I put my little Satan to sleep and went back downstairs.

                  We were sniffing caffeine to remain awake longer - my friend studies medicine and he thinks it’s cool to buy various substances on the internet and then sniff them no matter what they are. It’s stupid because they aren’t even drugs most of the time.

                  Whatever.

Filed under alcohol girlfriend alarm fucking sex ugly women on the bus prose chaos satan evil fuck

74 notes &

Spiders

                  How are some people scared of spiders if they don’t mind various bugs? The first difference that comes to mind is the amount of legs and the ability of making webs. From my experience (I know two adult people that cry when they see a spider), the web itself is only frightening to the studied objects because it implies the presence of a spider somewhere near. On the other side, when the arachnid doesn’t have a web, it doesn’t make it any less repulsive (to the objects).

                  So the difference is clearly in the amount of legs. Now obviously the first thing coming to mind is dissecting one pair of legs from a, let’s say, Araneus (those seem to attract that kind of reputation around here), or Agalena (those live indoors around here) - would it make it less scary?

                 (Now I should inform you that we’re talking about about little pussy spiders here. This is Middle Europe, not fucking Australia. People are scared of clitoris-sized spiders here because they are fucking sillies.)

                  Let’s see it from another point of view: If you find something to be terrifying, does it help when you mutilate it? When you physically cripple it? I don’t think so. Look at all the negative figures in books, movies and comics. A lot of times they are made crippled just so they are as “wrong” visually as they are psychically.

                  My arachnophobia therapy would consist of taking all the legs. I realize it wouldn’t make a slime out of a spider, nor a snake. But what would there be to be terrified of anymore? It’s just a “living being” with no movement. Just a head with an abdomen. The process of separation would have to be disconnected to the preparation of the object, but that’s not a big deal. The human and the subject would be introduced in a very special manner.

                  Look. It’s an animal. No legs.

                  You will be together in this room for a week.

                  Watching Star Trek or something.

                  Every seven days the amount of legs would increase.

-

                  I was wondering about old people when I was taking bus into a pub and I counted them. There was about 20 senior people in there and 2 younger than 60. What is weird though is that you see a lot of shitty and evil young people, like those disgusting monkey-nazis and dirty retards. A lot of horrible dip-shits and shitheads, but not a lot of old people of this kind.

                  Is it because they are just better than us? Will so much good die very soon and leave us idiots around? I don’t think so. I think that old people are too tired to be actively evil. Their evilness is hidden under a cloak of age and experience. The whole difference is that they are more and more passive as they get older, and they are also scared of the environment - like little children. When I was little, I was scared to show my views, until I was about 12 and I told my christian grandmother that God is an asshole.

                  She still lives and she had some gynecological trouble lately. She was on a surgery of some sort (I really don’t care about it any further), so I felt like I should write her a message to hospital and I wrote something like “I hope everything goes well tomorrow, see you”. She replied after three days, with much more detail than I would have wanted, including the line “it’s still not working”. Now I really don’t know what. And I can’t ask. Granny, I don’t want to know. So I didn’t reply. I felt bad.

                  The reason why I started this seemingly unrelated topic is that I noticed that old people aren’t scared of spiders at all. They just catch it and throw it out of the fucking window. They do it with the same grace as when they wipe their grandchildren asses. I mean - I don’t want to have children and I don’t want to wipe baby ass. But they have some kind of spider wisdom. They just don’t care.

                  I will search for this wisdom and when time tells me all this secret, I will put it on here so everybody sees. Meanwhile, you can discuss this topic in the comments. I had to disable the “Ask Me Anything” option because it was showing up on the front page and that was ruining the clean look of my blog, but comment-boxes are available. The anonymous person who asked me the first question also said that I’m “fucking repugnant”. I’d like you to be more constructive than this as I’m only open for intelligent discussion.

Filed under spiders arachnophobia prose old people grandmother therapy Hospital

8 notes &

Managing Absolute Sweatpissing Hatred

(Monk-ish theory in practice, by the czech master On-der Fuk Yiou)

                 Why do I have to deal with the most insufferable whorebitchcunt at the uni and why can’t I fucking do anything about it? Her mother’s placenta had to be soaked in ammonia as she is more annoying than your parents making out in front of you during your favorite fucking movie. How does her family just not kill her or torture her and acts like nothing happened (“LUUUNCH”)? I would punch her joyfully, with the mad sort of laughter.

                 Well, I’m a student of an university - that means that I’ve gone through cca 15 years of school already. After all this time I would think that no teacher/lecturer can make my blood boil to a point when my whole body shakes with pure motherfucking hatred. I’m a calm man (I swear when food falls or when I find my guitar laying on the floor, everybody does), but this is the state when I bow my head, look to the ground and concentrate as hard as I can on not killing that fucking piece of shit-ess. She’s da biggest bietch in da whooooooole woeaauurrrld.

                 NOW:

                 Someone told me on the Internet that I should learn to manage my anger. And this is actually a fitting situation to try it so I don’t go outside and strangulate a random slut in the dark. AFAIK people find some calm thoughts or memories in their heads and breath heavily and other stuff like this. Let’s see if I can do it like those religious fucks. One. Two. Three…

                 Remember the time when I masturbated in a forest? Only trees were present. They were waving their green flags in the wind respectfully as if they were watching me and thinking “so this is your cock, that’s not bad, but what the fuck are you doing in our king-fucking-treedom”. That WAS peaceful, but I need to let my mind float freely now to visit some other memories. Monks do that and they are calm as shit. Let’s just take this as a starting point. Those hills in the north of Czech.

                 Let’s stay in the forests, just about two or three kilometers from where I wanked. Let’s fly there through the space (and time) so we don’t have to travel that distance on foot (I’ve seen that in a commercial). There is a path through the cliffs if you cross the Jizera river, where I once saw a squirrel climbing up a tree. I remember it as if it was today. It was looking me in the eyes and I didn’t want to frighten it so I slowly moved backwards and I fell down the fucking cliff. I was lucky I didn’t fucking kill myself.

                 And this doesn’t work. I only remember the stupid things. Ugh.

                 This is not possible. Those hills look so peaceful, yet I can’t find the right spot to recall, imagine and calm myself, not even flying around like a fucking gay bird or something. I have once cracked my head there in a near village and I was so fucking drunk that I didn’t even care. If there was nobody around I would just bleed to death. I remember looking at my hands as they were completely red. Some bitch called an ambulance and the doctor who stitched my head up basically wrote in the report that I was fucking annoying as fuck. I had to read that text to my whole family at home, with my head bandaged. I looked like a condom and they laughed at my idiocy.

                 My anus is itchy. I cannot continue.

Filed under hatred bitch lecturer uni monky stuff alcohol hills hospital doctor

6 notes &

Karma

                 Does fucking an ugly chick boost your ego, or does it just improve your karma? Because a lot of guys claim that they did it at some point to feel better about themselves (self-esteem issues?). But I don’t really see how that would help you. I would just feel bad about myself. I don’t want to wake up next to a walrus and think YES I’M ONDER THANK ME LATER, have a coffee and write a Facebook status with a hidden message so I don’t hurt the animal. I’m not the kind of Sylvester Stallone who does his “can do” expression whenever some parody winks at him.

                 No easy thing can boost an ego, that’s the point, isn’t it? And if karma existed, I would have a full wallet of it. I have never done anything particularly wrong. I can search my memories as far as possible and still get almost nothing. Well, I burned a moth last summer, but it was asking for it, jumping and flying around that lit candle. I just had a moment of thinking “if the flame can fuck with all this air around it, why can’t it just fuck this shitty moth?” and I helped it just a little bit. The insect shriveled, released its soul and I felt like Hitler for a moment.

                 Yes. I was a normal kid, I was scared of aliens, I thought cuddling was sex and I loved computer games where you could hit people with a shovel and then burn them alive. My karma is a virgin bitch though. A warrior with a clean shield and armor.

                 Today I was helping some ugly, older mother to get her pram and a baby to a tram. The bitch fell down going up as I put the front wheel on the last step (there are three stairs in those old trams; and the pram had one front wheel). She was stuck there on the stairs carrying the entire (entire fucking half) of her baby carriage, so I took the thing and parked it up there. She got up. I was smiling awkwardly.

                 One would think it was over now. But it wasn’t. As the tram started moving, she tripped over the three-wheeled pram and fell right next to me, partly on her child. That fucking bitch. She was breathing like an old dog and couldn’t even get up. I didn’t help her this time and I said “that pram isn’t very steady is it?” I left at the next stop and I was really glad that I left her alone in there as I expected her to fucking kill herself trying to carry the bullshit out alone.

                 Look. If I was a woman, I would be a pretty girl with nice titties. Not big, just nice and round. I would have a pretty face and I would wear colorful things and I would find myself and I would suck my dick. And I wouldn’t have babies if I didn’t have money. That’s for starters. Womanhood for dummies.

                 Then there is something I like to call fuckarma. I could elaborate further, but I think it’s better when people fucking think for themselves.

Filed under karma sex sociology self-esteem ego-boost ego tram moth womanhood for dummies bitches

25 notes &

The House of Alcoholic Terror

(Just recycling some old stuff I wrote)

                 So I had a glorious idea.

                 Basically, it’s a pub where low existences like homelesses and gypsies (those dirty ones / racism prevention) can drink alcohol for free. Wait, let me explain the marketing logic. There is a number of those “people” who just beg for money to eventually get a beer anyway, instead of food. They also beg for cigs et cetera. You know them. You are having a cig on a bus stop and they approach you like fucking zombies smelling fresh blood. You didn’t even see them before you decided to smoke but they just somewhat appeared everywhere around you after that.

                 Anyway, the place itself (i.e. the main room) would be slightly below street level and there would be, yes, alcohol for free. There would be tables and chairs, yes, everything, even a bar. The price the homeless visitors pay for drinking is that above - there are rooms and cabins w/ a view, from where people laugh at those who come. There is also a possibility of throwing stuff at them or even spitting on them (but be cautious to not become one of them, one of the lower people. The prizes in the pub above are higher than usual to overcome lower class watching itself).

                 On some evenings there would be a further program of amazing fun and degenerated people degenerating. Even a cool-as-fuck moderator who walks around and asks them questions until they are ridiculed to a point of suicide, just to have a sip of ugly, warm beer for free (often w/ piss in it, but who cares). All would be televised, Christmas special included.

                 I know, I know. Alcohol gives homelesses courage, so they would often have enough of it and they would start rioting inside the cage (did I mention the cage?) like animals - against the higher class. This would make the show even more enjoyable because they can never win. You, as a spectator, can throw them cigarettes as a gift or even give them some food as a symbol of gratitude. Some homelesses love alcohol so much that they would drink themselves to death if you gave them enough, so that would be also fun to watch. Some of them would just die there for your amusement.

                 Nobody is forced to anything though, everybody can enter the arena whenever they want and leave it anytime as well. Still, it would work somehow. Degenerated human mind works like that. It’s a miracle. A piece of crystal clear thought in sociology. A rare fucking gem.

                 I do realize that there is still danger of a bloody fucking bloodshed of degenerates who don’t have money from the cage and those other degenerates who do have some money from the first floor BUT I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing. I would only prevent loss on our side by adding ONE MORE FUCKING FLOOR above the spectator floor. This is the one for the high-society. This is for the noble people. If you act like a jackass here, they’re going to cut your dick off and throw you two floors down naked so you beg for forgiveness and suffer in low-end vomit.

                 But my hatred towards everyone is just too big - even for this bulletproof-glass-protected room with a VIP sexual-slave service and teenage whores promenading around. I would have a fucking TOWER built ABOVE the third floor where I would just sit and watch.

                 BAM, everyone is happy.

Filed under alcohol alcohol for free death homelesses idea pub sociology theatre vomit prose

19 notes &

Sexy Wizards

                 My dick is a conceited warrior, but my mind is tired of the uselessness. It’s like my pet and I’m an idiot that is supposed to think of some new fun for it all the time. I throw mental images of cunts and asses at him as some sort of garbage, but I’m not a fucking garbage collector neither I live in a fucking vaginal dump. And it’s not just a fucking frog that will jump out of the aquarium and suffocate any time, it‘s like three big dogs or something. It’s never satisfied. I have resigned on hunting a real female every time it barks, and I don’t even seek that sort of reputation (and I wouldn’t achieve it). BUT - my fantasies were never nearly as stupid and off the line as some things I see on the internet daily. I try to keep myself sane. Well, fantasy as a genre itself is pretty fucking idiotic too, to tell the truth.

                 It’s like a pre-consumed food for people that can’t even fucking eat properly. Inside of all the wizardry stuff and orcs and all the same bullshit over and over - it’s just normal shit, normal shitty storyline (usually even shittier with all that shit), same as the other stuff. So why the fuck do you need fucking elves to digest a book. You don’t have to fucking read at all you know, you can just think about all that dorky, nerdy stuff in your head and masturbate to it. All you do is imagining the creatures anyway, that‘s what you consider entertaining about it.

                 Fuck. I could write porn for fantasy lovers easily. Get a hold of your meat before I start. Ready? So, you basically kill this evil huge dragon with your best armor on (there are good dragons too, but this one was evil and dark as fuck) and then a rainbow unicorn comes from the sky and gently inserts its horn into your ass. At first it acts like your mother’s dildo, but then it blows million fairies into your ass that massage your insides. Then motherfucking Gandalf comes to the scene and puts an orgasm spell on you which makes you feel like exploding and your dick then expands into a glowing sabre thing and slays 1000 orcs. Then you are given some worthless award or something. Crown of fire, throne of ice or something elemental like that.

                 AWSUM?

                 It reminds me of this story that I heard in one of the shittier pubs I used to go to. This blonde slut goes there regularly, she is there like all the time, which sounds really crazy but she has a boyfriend there working as a bartender, so whatever. She has a really good ass. Well, she has a good figure altogether and her face is somewhere between acceptable and very good after five beers. Anyways, she was telling us this story about how her friends were drinking and smoking weed in the woods and they met a midget there in the middle of the night. They thought it was some sort of forest-y dwarf so they took him. They just caught him and took him with them.

                 He was fighting back but he was obviously disadvantaged (!!) as they were notably bigger and there was also more of them. They stole him and locked him in a wardrobe because he was still trying to escape. Next morning they realized what they did and found out that there was some disabled people camp thing going on near, with games and such. They were fucking fucked. The end. And I like the girl’s face, I was just trying to stay cool.

                 Anyways. These are the chicks that appreciate the lowest form of compliment. They don’t mind homelesses staring at their goods. They know that when they enter a room (it can be a shitty fucking pub or anything), they appear as a red glowing dot on everybody’s radar or minimap or whatever they have. On the other side of the spectrum, there are feminist women, who, for some reason, hate this system with passion. They just can’t stand it. They think it makes women whores. And they hate semen.

                 Feminism is a serious illness that sane people run away from. It’s such a fucking bummer. In modern society (or the 1st world, as some like to call it), feminism can’t really achieve anything, because it’s just organized whining. And all the shitty things become so much worse when they are organized. Think of religion for example. And also organized parties. I hate parties where you have a fucking timetable to know when to take a whiz. It’s not work. And I don’t want to play any fucking Monopoly. I’m here to drink myself into alcoholic coma, I don’t need games, I don’t need wizards and their spells, I don’t need feminist women. I sincerely just want all these things to fuck the fucking fuck off.

Filed under alcohol fantasy feminism homelesses loads of semen party semen sex weed whining wizards prose