cellini's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Crack Bird Singin' on the Isle of Wight Nerve has a really great M/F/M three-way story up right now. Have I ever voiced my 3-way opinion here before? I think M/F/F three-ways are over-rated. When someone says 'three-way' that is usually the combination that people think of for some reason. But the mechanics require a lot of extra effort to ensure that it doesn't become lop-sided. Ask most people who have had them and they tend to agree. There's just the one penis for all of those orfices. The options are pretty limited. Two men and a woman makes ever so much more sense. Two penises for 3 orifices as opposed to one penis for 6 orifices. Plus each of the gentlemen have a few orifices of their own if they care to go down that route. [The word 'orifice' has ceased to have any meaning to me through repetition and the sound of it is starting to gross me out. There must be a better term for this.] M/F/M three-ways just make sense. It's MORE penis for one woman at one time and what could possibly be wrong with that? Oh, this probably deserves it's own separate entry but whatever. Behold my retardedness in the below gmail chat excerpt from yesterday: 10:39 AM me: I just realized something really fucked up
Oh, whatever. Here goes. It involves my using crazy sympathetic magic to prevent my infant son from dying on the operating table following an ill omen; the identical omen having only weeks before fore-shadowed the death of a friend's brother ('a bird in the h0use me@ns death'). After consulting Frazier's 'The Golden Bough' at great length, I determined that the only way of stopping the curse was to kill the bird that had flown into the house. Then I burned it as a sacrifice in order to effectively kick the problem upstairs in whatever celestial bureaucracy might be running things. See, I couldn't figure out even exactly what my most basic cosmology is, which would be a fundamental requirement for devising a magical approach to placating or fighting the bird spirit that brought the curse into the house. This is assuming that the bird wasn't just the messenger. So like anyone at the bottom of a large, confusing bureaucracy, I made the whole thing someone else's problem by burning the body of the bird and, according to the beliefs of many primitive people, sending the spirit of the animal into the sky along with the smoke. I guess you sort of had to be there. Anyhoo, that was the bird thing. Back to the crack. Yeah, I seem to have this bag of crack. Is it just me or is the concept of crack really funny somehow? The whole idea of actually smoking this shit is just ridiculous based on the accounts I have heard. It supposedly gets you really high for 3 minutes and that is always followed by hours of jittery, nervous paranoia. Maybe if you lived, like on the Isle of Wight or something and there is just nothing else to do. But really, why would anyone want this experience? I said as much to Erin in an email and she wrote back with the following observation: "I dunno, I think you just described a lot of people's experiences with True enough. People do some ridiculous shit sometimes even though it is obviously irrational to any disinterested observer. Smoking crack. Having uncomfortable sex with strangers. Shooting birds and burning them on improvised pyres in order to reverse some absurdly superstitious death curse. Last night Trish and I just looked at it in it's little bag and thought it was the funniest thing. The crack, that is. I have to get rid of it somehow. Meanwhile, it's like having some sort of silly gag gift around. Novel, amusing and useless. This is probably about $200 worth of crack for anyone who cares. According to the internets, anyway.
11:56 a.m. - 2007-08-29 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||
|
||||||