Of course, logically I know this couldn’t be the case… people are, in addition to being sick and horrible creatures that will always find new and different ways to get off, only human. Plus, anyone who has ever been 12 years old has more imagination about sex than the average Jane Austin novel would lead us to believe.

But I digress. I stayed home from work recently and spent quite a bit of time hopping through the internet in a way I haven’t done in quite some time. While reading about James Joyce and Finnegan’s Wake (which I still have very little desire to read) I happened upon a reference to love letters that the author and his lover had written to each other. Apparently only Joyce’s letters remain, though his lovers letters were apparently even more graphic and descriptive.

Below the cut, an excerpt of the Joyce letters.

Joyce’s estate has managed to keep the letters from being published since 1970, but there are many excerpts available online. The most complete collection I’ve found is HERE.

As for graphic descriptions, it beats the hell out of anything the era of instant messaging has given us. Although I have to admit some of the lines kind of make me queasy.

Here is just an example:

My sweet little whorish Nora I did as you told me, you dirty little girl, and pulled myself off twice when I read your letter.

I am delighted to see that you do like being fucked arseways. Yes, now I can remember that night when I fucked you for so long backwards. It was the dirtiest fucking I ever gave you, darling. My prick was stuck in you for hours, fucking in and out under your upturned rump. I felt your fat sweaty buttocks under my belly and saw your flushed face and mad eyes. At every fuck I gave you your shameless tongue came bursting out through your lips and if a gave you a bigger stronger fuck than usual, fat dirty farts came spluttering out of your backside.

You had an arse full of farts that night, darling, and I fucked them out of you, big fat fellows, long windy ones, quick little merry cracks and a lot of tiny little naughty farties ending in a long gush from your hole. It is wonderful to fuck a farting woman when every fuck drives one out of her.

I think I would know Nora’s fart anywhere. I think I could pick hers out in a roomful of farting women. It is a rather girlish noise not like the wet windy fart which I imagine fat wives have. It is sudden and dry and dirty like what a bold girl would let off in fun in a school dormitory at night. I hope Nora will let off no end of her farts in my face so that I may know their smell also.

So I thought I had a quest: Pornographic love letters throughout history! Then one of our faithful forum members linked me to this. I made it through about a third of the book before I gave up and began to weep for mankind. Then I used to tears to lubricate my self abuse.

I suddenly want to grudge-fuck the whole of humanity.

I found that night soil is the soil recovered from places outhouses used to (or still currently) stand. During the period of time that outhouses were in use, they had to be cleaned frequently (or moved to a new location). Cleaning became more common as the ‘night soil’ was found to be valuable for crops. Even more valuable once they started to compost or treat it before application so that disease and worms stopped spreading through the food

It was supposedly called night soil because the workers collecting it would do so at night. Basically it was a polite reference to a product that may not always have been completely composted when it was collected.

As more and more houses got plumbing through the 1960′s, the pits were sometimes cleaned one last time…and sometimes they weren’t.

So, that led me to find that there is a whole culture in ‘privy digging’. Who knew there were so many young bottle collectors digging up old outhouse pits?

My first though was that its strange what people will do for an off chance at finding some old bottles. My second thought was that they must not find much since I had just read about how valuable ‘night soil’ was for a period in history. My third thought was wondering if they could still find any kernels of corn. Heh. Corn.

Well, it turns out even the emptied privy pits had a lot of bottles… someone picked out the bottles from the (sometimes soupy) mess when they emptied them, and frequently threw them back in. Plus of course, even when there was a market for night soil it doesn’t mean that a family didn’t still just dig a new hole and move the outhouse, particularly if they were in the country and lined their pit with wood rather than stone/brick.

Finally, let me just say for the record: It is crazy how many websites are dedicated to outhouses, pit toilets, and privy digging. Holy Crap (pun intended).

Yes, its an old story. I just read it recently. Get the fuck off my lawn.

Just in case you’re missing Reddit during their outage I’d like to share a lovely screenshot that came from there thanks to the fine folks at the pen forum. Besides, it kind of fits in with what this site is sometimes known for… dirty old men and incest.

(Click the image for the full size).

So on Sunday I noticed one of my cats had stopped pooping, and I realized there may be a problem. On Monday it started to produce again, but unfortunately its output dial seemed to be stuck on vomit instead of poop. I gave in, and resigned myself on a visit to the cat mechanic.

Thankfully there was an opening for Monday afternoon, and the mechanic was able to identify the problem after a minor examination.

It turns out that the cat must have had some… digestive problems… that resulted in poop getting stuck in the hair around its anus. This happened enough times in a row to form a strange hair-and-poop plug over its anus, and eventually prevented the cat from pooping.

This is apparently known as an anal cap. I prefer to call it an ass hat.

Suffice it to say I was happy that the poop machine was easy to repair. I’ve grown attached to this one, and this really isn’t the time of year to go shopping for a new one.

20 minutes later I had a very relieved cat and a bill for shaving the ass cap off the cats ass.

Now if (for some reason) you are curious about what could have happened to the cats internal systems during this ordeal, imagine what happens to a car when a banana is shoved in its tailpipe.

On a related note, I present to you, Beverly Hills Cop in one minute:

For example: Last weekend, one of the “Recall Walker” signature-gatherers knocked on my door. I answered the door in my normal Saturday morning outfit: Wearing the scent of booze and my wife’s bathrobe.

In retrospect, I have finally realized that may be crossing a line of decency. Still, the man taking signatures handled everything professionally, and agreed to come back later to get my wife to sign. Thus, I was able to go back to sitting naked in my living room and forgot about the entire event until a few days later.

Why a few days later? Well, I wasn’t expecting another visit so soon and I had worked overnight the night before. When the doorbell rang, as usual I just made sure I wasn’t naked and just went to answer the door. The problem is that I was wearing boxer shorts, black socks and nothing else.

Now, as an aside, I’ve been told that my visage in nothing but boxer shorts frightens children. Its actually a little strange how often that comes up. As for the socks thing… I’ve got no excuse. I was just too lazy to take them off before I passed out at 5am.

So back to the door… It turns out that the same recall worker from Saturday was at the door. It was very obvious that my appearance frightened him. He was quite shaken and barely managed to ask if my wife was home before he said “OK… Um… Don’t worry sir, I wont come back!” and sprinting out of my front yard.

It is because of this that I express my sincere apologies to that recall worker, and to all political canvassers that visit my house in the future. I’ll be frank: I’m not going to change my behavior, but try to take solace in my admission of guilt.

I have to say there is some good advice there. I found myself critiquing their technique at several points, but overall their dedication is admirable.

Our forum also included a quote from another sites review of the article:

To elaborate: the human equivalent would be performing a colon cleanse by cutting yourself open, removing your intestines, turning them inside out, and washing them in the dishwasher. With Drano.

posted by Deathalicious at 12:37 PM on September 13 [3 favorites]

From now on I am going to refer to all of my screwdrivers as datachisels. All of them except for the vodka and orange juice screwdrivers of course… That would just be crazy.

Then this morning I actually looked in the mirror while shaving and noticed an eyebrow hair out of place. I thought that was strange, since normally they don’t really move at all. So I touched the out of place hair, and it felt different.

Upon closer inspection, I discovered that the hair was more like the chest, armpit, or pube variety. I quickly tweezered it out.

As if it wasn’t bad enough that my back hair and my chest hair finally met at my shoulders, now its involving my eyebrows.

So then this evening, while brushing my teeth, I looked again… I swear the motherfucker was back! I tweezed it out again, but I’m dead sure that I’m going to wake up tomorrow with a bad case of old man creepy eyebrows.

I just wanted to post something here just in case that happened, because I swear to god I’ll bathe in depilatory cream to make that shit stop and I don’t know if I’ll survive the experience. Still, I figure there is a small chance I’ll become like the Joker in the Michael Keaton Batman movie, and have to start a life of crime.

I spent about an hour walking the route, and noticed that at several points along the route local residents had set up sprinklers to allow racers to cool themselves off.

At one of those points While watching several participants drench themselves the following words came out of my mouth:
“This is definitely not the crowd I expected to participate in a wet T-Shirt contest.”

It was definitely one of those “Oh shit, did I just say that out loud?” moments. There was some nervous laughter and more than a few glares in my direction. The glares prompted one of the people I was walking with to say “You know, that may not have been appropriate to say in this crowd.” I guess I should be happy that I didn’t just start chanting “boobies boobies boobies boobies boobies” like the voice in my head was doing.

I guess next year I’ll have to pull out the Save the Ta-Tas shirts.

But I digress. There were over 12,000 at the event, including 900 breast cancer survivors. By all accounts the event was a success and raised over $850,000. Not much gets me out of bed before 11am on a Saturday, but this is a worthy cause and I was proud to be a part of it.

So… Why are there protests?

That’s the interesting thing. It started with collective bargaining rights, and has moved on to a scandal with the Koch brothers, giving direct control over the most liberal state University campus to the governor, potential fraud with supreme court elections, recall elections for both parties, health care and pension scandals, school funding, wind farms, voter ID, child support collection, tax breaks for the rich, and claims of vandalism to the state capitol. Those are just the ones I remember!

I thought I’d share some of the pictures I took of Madison protests during the weekend of March 12th when 100,000 people were there. I have also included pictures of the capitol itself from three weeks later.

I’ve been to a number of the Saturday protests since this started, and went back a few weeks ago (April 2nd) mostly because I wanted to see for myself the7.5 million in damage to the building from protests… supposedly from tape damage to soft stone walls. Of course I didn’t see any at all. The damage estimates have since been lowered to more realistic numbers.

Anyway, I don’t have much to say about the protests, elections, or recalls at this time. Its still too hard to sort the fact from the rhetoric, plus I have to clean spittle off my monitor whenever I start to type about it. For now just enjoy the pictures. Or make fun of them. Or ignore them.

The pictures can be found here.

I’ve also included a few links below in case anyone needs some background:

Interesting article about how the state has become divided.
Article about potential petition fraud
The push to get legislation through before the recall elections (including Voter ID)
The Wisconsin Supreme Court recount disaster.
Breitbart tells Madison to go to Hell

Finally, I just want to say that I wish the best for people in Michigan, Ohio, Florida, and any other state where there has been a major neocon/teaparty power grab to take power away from municipalities and give it to corporations.

Thanks to forum member Flashdim, we now have another fun BBS for playing some of those classic door games.  Join the pen community in a game of L.O.R.D., Baron Realms Elite, LORD II, Userper, and Tradewars 2002.

You can reach the door BBS:

telnet: games.manfish.net

The manfish game server (http://www.manfish.net) also hosts a ton of other games (Including a Minecraft server).  Join your fellow Pens in some good hearted fun.

(Call transcript here)

My main concern at this point: Even if Walker manages to convince everyone he’s going to accept compromise, he has a line item veto that requires a 2/3 majority to overturn. He can strike individual words, phrases, or sentences to completely change the meaning of a bill. Any bill that does pass through the legislature needs to be worded very carefully.

But then, how can it get worse than its already worded? Killing the public unions and guaranteeing that employees will always get less than inflation rate raises. Eliminating the oversight of the public service commission or legislature in public power plant sales. Splitting the University of Wisconsin into two pieces, one of which will be primarily run by 11 Walker appointees. Wording that leaves a blank slate for state medicare changes, with few changes spelled out in advance and reportedly no checks and balances on how Walker can change medicare in the future.

On the bright side, at least Wisconsin governors no longer have the power to remove individual letters. The “Vanna White” veto power was removed in the early 90s. Serious changes are still possible though: The previous governor actually eliminated over 700 words from one budget and changed the distribution of funds from transportation to education. I happened to support that particular use of it, but I also understand its an example of the practice being abused.

I have to say I’m proud of all the people that have stood up for what they believe in peacefully over the last few weeks, and I fully intend on taking some time to walk among them in the coming weeks.

Man1: I love my truck. I think if I had to choose between my truck and my wife it would be hard to make up my mind.

Man 2: Really? Your wife? When is the last time your truck gave you oral?

Man 1: What is this, my anniversary?

Man 2: Oh, you’re on the once a year plan too?

Unfortunately that’s probably the most interesting thing I heard during my week long trek across the Corn Huskers state. I think I picked the right time of year to do this trip, because despite the cold I actually had a view of something besides corn. This is actually a pretty state when you can see something besides cornfields, particularly in the West where the bluffs begin poking out of the ground.

I’m sure my mind will change rapidly; I’m going back at the end of February to do it again. I may get tired of hills, cattle, and water-pumping windmills really quick

On an unrelated note, the snow in Nebraska needs to start behaving the way snow is supposed to behave. I’ve known snow in a lot of states, and it always has the decency to fall down and then maybe drift along the ground. Snow in Nebraska, however, tends to fall up, then sideways, and only occasionally down. This makes even a light snow start to turn into white-out conditions.

Yet, eat them I do. Even after coming across the horrible “Friend me” or “Text me” hearts right next to “U R Rad” or “too cool”

On a side note, I have to wonder what genius thought it would be a good idea to put “Jump 4 me” on a candy heart… In what world is that not dirty? For added lulz the ’4′ in “Jump 4 me” is normally so light that it may as well not be there.

“Pick Me” should not be read too fast either.

At first I’m just confused because I seem to be fully dressed, and still wearing my shoes. But then I notice that the walls are pink, and that the bed I am laying in is not long enough. In addition, there is a computer in the corner with a screensaver of SpongeBob SquarePants, and the floor is littered with art supplies. After absorbing the décor for a moment more, I suddenly come to the conclusion that this room must belong to a grade school aged female. I manage to suppress a panic attack, and refocus on finding the alarm clock. As soon as I do however, a hangover headache decides to stop by and visit.

Hangover headaches are very rude. They barge in without calling or knocking first, and they wont leave when you ask them too. This one not only ran around my brain roughing up the place, it went right up to my frontal lobe, turned around, and announced to the rest of my brain that every portion was going to suffer for what I did the night before. This did not go over well, and much of my brain decided to call in sick for the remainder of the headache visit.

At some point during this inner monologue I manage to step out of the room. First on my agenda is to find some Excedrin. Second thing on my agenda is to remember who’s house I’m in. Third thing on my agenda is to stop making lists because its only making my head hurt more.

Thankfully the nearest bathroom yields pain-reliever gold, and I gulp down three Excedrin with a few handfuls of water. I leave the bathroom and continue down the hallway, only to step in something slippery.

It looks like puke. It smells like puke.

…Yep, its puke.

So, I remove my shoes and continue walking out into the kitchen, where I manage to step into something wet.

It looks like water. It doesn’t smell like water.

…Its not water.

I leave my dog-urine covered socks where they are, and continue out past the kitchen into the living room.

Looking out the living room windows I notice that it is already getting light. The distant view is beautiful, full of trees and bluffs. The nearby view is more sobering, consisting of mud, dirty snow, and suburban housing. Turning around, I see my wife laying on the couch. She is in her pajamas and is sound asleep. There is a suitcase on the floor and a bottle of beer next to her. She has a content smile on her face.

There is no way in hell I am going to wake her up at 6:30am. Death narrowly averted, I decide to rifle through the suitcase and find some different clothes. Thats when I step in a pile of dog feces with bare feet.

Of course, at this moment my memory decides to return and hit me full force.

Oh fuck…
…I’m in Missouri again.

I also apparently need to apologize to some people.

Its going to be a long weekend.