Snacks (467 hits)
Category: UberMadness! EntryRating: 2 on 5 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Thor (View user info) at 2004-09-14 05:58:09 EDT
This post was an official UberMadness! entry. Click here to view the original matchup.
....................................... (Ubermadness Entry) ...........................
There are frankfurters in the fridge and hotdog buns in the bread-bin. There is onion and processed cheese and a bottle of BBQ sauce.
I think I will have two, three or possibly four hotdogs.
Alternatively, maybe I should boil up a huge pile of spaghetti. Enough for two heaped plates. I have some very nice parmesan cheese, butter, salt and pepper. Or I could add a tin of chili tuna.
Of course, I'm not actually hungry.
I'm sad. I'm angry. I'm confused. I'm lazy. I'm weak. I'm frustrated. I'm a failure.
And I'm a coward.
I haven't got the guts to walk into my office with a baseball bat and smash that bitch in the teeth. I haven't got the guts to take my wife over my knee and smack her bottom. I haven't got the guts to cover myself in petrol in front of Parliament House and set fire to myself.
I feel like some cinnamon toast.
No problem.
Look - here's a jar in my cupboard, full of cinnamon. Cinnamon, for fuck's sake! In an old jam jar. Once the most exotic and treasured spice in the world. How many ships were lost with all hands in the pursuit of cinnamon?? How many natives enslaved?
I feel like a hamburger. I feel like some french fries. I feel like some pizza. I feel like some sausages. I feel like some chocolate. I feel like some potato chips.
No problem.
I can just drive my car down to the local shop. Maybe not now. I think I will have those hotdogs now. Yes, I will. But later. Tonight. Or Tomorrow. Or the next day.
Now I'm going to watch the football and eat my hotdogs. I love to stuff myself with food while I lie on my bed watching fit muscular athletes do exciting things.
I haven't got the guts to take a sledgehammer to this fucking house. I haven't got the guts to smash this fucking computer. I haven't got the guts to assassinate a politician.
25,000 children dead every day from hunger.
My wife nagged me about bathroom renovations. It's never OK to hit a woman. It's never OK to hit a woman. It's never OK to hit a woman. It's never OK to hit a woman. I saw that on a TV advertisement. Many times. A 'federal government initiative'.
Then she told me to get out of HER house. As I left I said to my little four year-old boy 'goodbye, I hope you have a happy life'. He waved goodbye. He looked confused and worried.
Of course, this is just a passing thing. I'm a little bit down now. I'll get back on track soon, before I've really bloated up. I'm only about ten kilos overweight. I'll start exercising. I'll start eating apples and fruit and all that other stuff in the supermarket that I avoid now.
Imagine what those starving cunts in the poor countries would make of a tour of our local supermarket. I'm sure they would be quite taken aback. Gleaming mountains of apples and potatoes. Brussel sprouts. Cauliflowers. Shelves and shelves and shelves of dogfood. Fridges full of pies. Meat everywhere. Child safety car seats. Child safety helmets for bike riding. Disinfectant. Sun dried tomatoes. Toilet paper. Not to mention all the cinnamon.
Terrorists are evil, never forget that. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil
But here's a tip - no fuck it why bother if you don't know by now me telling you won't help.
25,000 CHILDREN STARVING EVERY DAY, that can't be true I bet the evil terrorists made that up.
It's a just a phase. I'll pull out of it soon. Ten kilos is no big deal. Do some laps of the pool. Eat some tabouli. No more snacks! Once I get through this little phase, I mean, then I'll stop the snacks. I might even tackle the bathroom renovations myself. I'm certainly not paying twelve thousand fucking dollars to have some incompetent deceitful prick lay a few tiles. Everyone thinks I'm a complete cunt, but as a matter of fact when I put my mind to it I can DIY with the best of them. I painted this whole house and polished the floorboards, I bet you didn't know that.
They're kicking off in ten minutes, so I better get those hotdogs ready.
I really DO recommend hotdogs with cheese, onions (diced, not sliced) and bbq sauce.
Ps: Here's how you make cinnamon toast: mix cinnamon and sugar fifty-fifty in a little bowl. Sprinkle generously on buttered toast. It IS delicious.
............................................... Snacks ................................
.............................. (Optional Supplementary Material) ..............
I trudged along past all the familiar shops - the same franchises that fill every fucking mall in the country. I was only dimly aware of them because as usual my attention was robotically focussed on the arses of the women who walked ahead of me and the tits of the women who approached me. I was also trying to decide what kind of cheap and greasy snack I should stuff into my mouth when I reached my destination, the Food Hall.
Preoccupied in this way, I almost didn't notice it.
I walked along for several more shops then stopped and thought "Did I just see that?". I turned around and walked back, and it was indeed there.
Where there had once been a well-known bookstore franchise, open and inviting like all the shops in the mall, there was now an opaque wall of black glass and a black wooden door. Written on the door in grey lettering were the words:
"VINTAGE LIES
Please Enter"
I stood for a while staring at this strange door, nervous tension building up inside me. On impulse, I grasped the door handle, turned it, pushed the door open, and stepped through.
I found myself in a spacious rectangular room, paved with stone, a small stone fountain at its center. All four walls were lined from floor to ceiling with bookshelves. In the corner to my left was the only other occupant of the room - a young woman who appeared to be asleep on a chaise lounge.
I closed the door behind me, shutting out the noise of the mall. I walked over to the woman.
She had thick black hair and Italian features. She looked very comfortable, stretched out on the couch. An open book lay face-down on her tummy. The top few buttons of her shirt were undone, revealing a plump cleavage.
Next to her couch was an antique desk with a computer monitor and a modern looking cash register. I picked up a business card from a clear plastic holder:
Sophia Chiavenna
Manager
Vintage Lies
Antiquarian Book Dealer
(Fiction Only)
So it was a bookshop. I walked around for a while, marvelling at the beautiful old books, at the same time feeling like I was in an Italian piazza. The only sounds were my footsteps on the stone floor and the gentle cascade of the fountain.
In the sanctuary of this room I felt a different man to the rough beast that moments ago had been slouching towards the Food Hall. Greasy snacks were now the last thing on my mind.
I was drawn back to where Sophia slept. I reached down and gently lifted her hand from the book on her lap. I picked the book up, my fingers brushing her abdomen as I did so.
The book carried only a single word on its plain white cover: "Snacks".
How odd. How extremely fucking odd.
Just as I was about to open it a sleepy voice said:
"Ah, benne! A customer!"
She reached up with a smile and took the book back from me. "This is a rather special book. Shall I tell you what it is about?"
"Please do" I replied, taken aback by the color of her eyes - I had never seen such dark blue eyes before.
She lifted herself to a sitting postion, at the same time stretching in a languid, flirtatious way that emphasised her breasts.
"Well, this is a book documenting the history of snacks. Within these pages, you can discover the kinds of snacks enjoyed by a Roman emperor, a German peasant in the Middle Ages, a Chinese scholar from the Tang Dynasty, a Masai warrior, an Eskimo, or a child in 1950's USA. Did you know, for example, that the ancient Egyptians drank a beverage very similar to a chocolate milkshake, and they did so with straws fashioned from papyrus reeds?"
"I did not, and that does indeed sound fascinating. But I thought this bookstore specialised only in fiction?"
"It does! This book is complete fiction! None of the snacks in here are actually real. It's all lies"
"Oh"
"You sound dissappointed" she said and paused for a moment. "Actually, I was just teasing you. 'Snacks' is really a novel about Jenny, an American teenage girl, and her courageous struggle with bulemia. It shows how the media creates unrealistic expectations that young women today simply cannot live up to. Such insight! It's a sad and moving book, but also very empowering. In the end, Jenny not only overcomes bulemia, rape by her drug-abusing stepfather, ADHD and inappropriate peer group pressure in her high school, she also discovers her g-spot and the beautiful liberation of masturbation with battery operated appliances and lesbian pornography. Ah, bellisimo, bellisimo!"
"Er.."
"You think it's cliched? Yes, you're quite right. Of course it is! I was only teasing you. 'Snacks' is really a shocking horror story about a mad serial killer called Ralph who, wait for it, eats his victims! Can you imagine that!" She clapped her hands with delight. I noticed that as she got more enthusiastic and spoke more quickly her faint Italian accent became more pronounced. "The cops are tied up in red tape. But thank goodness the hero, Josh, an unconventionial detective, throws in his badge and with the help of his wisecracking retired former partner tracks down Ralph, just as that sick motherfucker is about to snack on Josh's little 5 year old boy! It's a thrilling read, and there's also this great vein of Seinfeldian humour running through it, like in Pulp Fiction. You know the kind of thing - hardcore criminals chatting about the quirks of inflight catering while they torture people. Very sophisticato".
"I see, er..."
"I was only teasing you again! Come and sit next to me and I'll tell you what it's really about." She patted the couch and I complied. I was in some kind of state of shock.
"Okay. A depressive young man is trudging along through a shopping mall on his way to a habitual greasy snack when he discovers a very unusual looking shop. Within the shop he finds a sleeping beauty."
She gave me an exagerated 'meaningful look', and continued.
"The sleeping beauty awakens and they sit on the couch together while she tells him a story from a mysterious and possibly magical book. In this book is a story about a depressive young man who is trudging along through a shopping mall on his way to a habitual greasy snack when he discovers a very unusual looking shop. Within the shop he finds a sleeping beauty"
She paused again. "Are you following me?"
I nodded.
"The sleeping beauty awakens and they sit on the couch together while she tells him a story from a mysterious and possibly magical book. In this book is a story about a depressive young man who is trudging along through a shopping mall on his way to a habitual greasy snack when he discovers a very unusual looking shop. Within the shop he finds a sleeping beauty
"The sleeping beauty awakens and they sit on the couch together while she tells him a story from a mysterious and possibly magical book. In this book is a story about a depressive young man who is trudging along through a shopping mall on his way to a habitual greasy snack when he discovers a very unusual looking shop. Within the shop he finds a sleeping beauty
"The sleeping beauty awakens and they sit on the couch together while she tells him a story from a mysterious and possibly magical book. In this book is a story about a depressive young man who is trudging along through a shopping mall on his way to a habitual greasy snack when he discovers a very unusual looking shop. Within the shop he finds a sleeping beauty"
And so on.
.......................................... .. Snacks
............................Extra Supplementary Material for the Masochistic
She put a hand on my knee and looked with playfull earnestness into my eyes "Shall I continue"
"Well, er..."
"Good. Now the story gets interesting. The sleeping beauty awakens and says to the man 'I expect you're wondering what the fuck is going on'.
"They sit on the couch together. She talks about fiction. Isn't it just lies? Or could it possibly be that there is actually some reality, some existance, to fantasy? Is it, like religion, a matter of faith? Of belief? Make believe. Is it really possible to make believe?
"When the girl asks these questions, the man suddenly feels doubt. This whole thing - this bookshop, this girl, this magic book - it's all MERELY a fantasy or a dream. A story. A lie. He no sooner thinks this than 'poof' it all vanishes in a puff of smoke and he finds himself returned to the grim reality of the Food Hall, his snout deep in a snack box of greasy KFC.
"When the girl in the previous story tells the man in the previous story about this he is dissappointed. 'I had hoped it was real' he says 'I don't like fantasy stories that end that way'. The girl replies 'No, nor do I, but that's the point. Do you REALLY believe in stories? They are just stories aren't they, after all?' When the girl in the previous story asks these questions, the man in the previous story suddenly feels doubt. This whole thing - this bookshop, this girl, this magic book - it's all merely a fantasy or a dream. He no sooner thinks this than 'poof' it all vanishes in a puff of smoke and he finds himself returned to the grim reality of the Food Hall, his snout deep in a snack box of greasy KFC"
Sophia's hand, with an artful casualness, has now moved up to my thigh.
"The man in the original story is not pleased when he hears this. 'I had hoped it was real' he says 'I don't like fantasy stories that end that way'. The girl replies 'No, nor do I'
"Did I mention that the more the girl talks the more sexually excited she becomes?" she asks me.
"Yes" I reply
"Good, well, anyway, the girl in the initial story is much the same.
(Impressive literary allusiion to yeats, but no apparent meaning. Blah blah, , comes on her tits then fucks her blah blah. Literay talk about aim of fiction being truth. Belief. Is he the chosen one, destined to meet sophia, a messenger from the world of fantasy, a muse a goddess an envoy the bookshop really the Embassy For the Kingdom of Fantasy? What is fiction. Is fantasy actaully somehow real, like forster's celestial omniubus? It is a matter of belief. Or is it just lies written down by people, just like religions is all lies. At this point, the story predictably ends in the way of magic realism, with the man losing faith, losing the abitly to believe in fantasy, the bookshop dissapers, and he finds himself in the food hall, his snout in a snack box of greasy kfc - the whole episode apparently just a daydream, a fiction, a lie")
Hmm, I said, staring at her breasts, 'I'm not sure I lke the ending, but the rest of the story is very appealing. Except I think my penis could be better descirbed as "
My dear fellow, here, wjy don't ou writre it yourlefs
I took hold of the pen, all thoughts of the Food Court and chilli quarterpounders with side orders of a dozen mcnuggets and all the mall sluts with their exposed arse cleavages and nipple rings forgotten.
"Snacks! Why settle for a snack when a feast is before you, if you only know where to look"
Sophia leans over and reads my first two sentances.
She passed me the book called snacks, and a nice pen. Blank pages.
Well, do you want to write something?
snack on your sausage.
snack on your sausage
What do you think, is it the kind of thing you like?
Lies.
Chekov: aim of fiction is truth
My turn comes, I fail, stumble out in disgrace, decide on a supersize quarter pounder meal deal with a side order of 12 mcnuggets.
MAYBE CELESTIALOMNIBUS THEME - UNABLE TO BELEVE? BACK TO BURGERS AND MALL? Ie, in stories like this, doesn't the shop vanish in puff of smoke? Or it turns out it was all a dream??
Well, I still trudge the mall, but cross to the other side to avoid that door. It's still there.
......................................... ... .. .......Snacks
....................................Final Indigestable Supplementary Material
She had thick black hair and looked Italian. She appeared very comfortable, stretched out on the couch. An open book lay face down on her tummy, still held by her sleeping hand. The top few buttons of her shirt were undone, revealing a plump cleavage. Was there even a hint of pinkness there, peeking out from the top of the bra? There was!
I felt a rush of sexual excitement - I love bossums burgeoning out from a white bra, with just a tease of aeroli on display, and have many such images in my soft porn collection. For a moment I was back in front of my PC, tissues at the ready, about to unzip my fly and oil up.
The girl stirred in her sleep and I was brought back to reality with a shock. I looked quickly away.
Next to her couch was an antique desk with a computer monitor and a modern looking cash register. I picked up a business card from a clear plastic holder:
Sophia Chiavenna
Manager
Vintage Lies
Antiquarian Book Dealer
(Fiction Only)
So it was a bookshop. But what a fantastic book shop! I walked around for a while, marvelling at the beautiful old books, at the same time feeling like I was in an Italian piazza. Strangely, it also felt like I somehow belonged here. I felt like a different man to the rough beast that moments ago had been slouching towards the Food Hall.
So it was a bookshop. But what a fantastic book shop! I walked around for a while, marvelling at the beautiful old books, at the same time feeling like I was in an Italian piazza.
Strangely, it also felt like I somehow belonged here amongst this venerable collection of authors. Conrad, Dickens, Eliot, Fitzgerald, Gogol, all the way through the alphabet to Vance, Wodehouse and beyond. I took a volume of the Voyages of Dr Doolittle off the shelf. A 1926 first edition in superb condition. I browsed through a few familiar scenes, enjoying the exploits of the 'good' Doctor and his companions, such as Mathew Muggs the ex-convict cat's meat man, Polynesia the parrot, Jip the dog, Luke the fugitive, Cheapside the sparrow and Gub-Gub the pig.
Would my works one day stand side by side with all these masterpieces? Yes! Of course they would! Why wouldn't they! Like the Doctor, I too was a good fellow.
After a few minutes in the sanctuary of this room, I realised I was no longer the rough beast who moments ago had been slouching towards the Food Hall. Uplifted by my surroundings I had transformed into my rarely seen alter ego: The Gifted Unknown Writer Destined For Greatness.
Uplifted by my surroundings I had transformed into my rarely seen alter ego: The Beautifully Gifted Unknown Writer Destined For Greatness.
I was drawn back to where Sophia slept. Her chest rose and fell with each breath - something the pictures on my PC could never do. Her sleeping face was as peaceful as a child's. I reached down and gently lifted her hand from the book on her lap. I picked the book up, my fingers brushing her tummy as I did so. This physical contact almost instantly gave me a hard on - the first erection not induced by porn since ... since as long as I could remember.
I was drawn back to where Sophia slept. Her bossom rose and fell with each breath - something the bossoms in my PC could never do. As I watched, in a kind of trance, my heartbeat grew faster and stronger and warm blood surged into my penis. It felt very good. My first erection not induced by porn since ... since as long as I could remember.
And it was a good, strong erection.
And it was a good, strong erection.
I reached down and gently lifted her hand from the book on her lap. I picked the book up, my fingers brushing her abdomen as I did so.
The book, leather bound and obviously very old, carried only the words " " There was nothing else on the cover; no mention of an author or publisher.
The book, an incongrously modern looking paperback, carried only a single word on its plain white cover: "Snacks". There was nothing else, no mention of an author or a publisher.
Just as I was about to open it a sleepy voice said:
"Ah, benne! A customer!"
Normally, when faced with a beautiful shop-assistant, I would have glanced quickly at her with a grimacing attempt at a smile, looked away, and with a strained voice made a predictable comment along the lines of: "Has this shop been open long?".
Now however, I looked into Sophia's dark blue eyes with an easy pleasure, that, like the bulge in my trousers, I made no attempt to conceal.
Like the bulge in my Gifted trousers
Like the bulge in my Beautifully Gifted Trousers
"This is an odd book that you were reading" I said, as if speaking to an old friend "It doesn't seem to have an author or a publisher"
She reached up with a smile and took the book back from me. "This is a rather special book. Shall I tell you what it is about?"
"Please do" I replied.
She lifted herself to a sitting postion, at the same time stretching in a flirtatious way that emphasised her breasts and created further expansion of my trousers.
She lifted herself to a sitting postion, at the same time stretching in a flirtatious way that emphasised her breasts and created further expansion of my Gifted trousers.
"Well, this is a story about
What do you think, is it the kind of thing you like?
Lies.
Chekov: aim of fiction is truth
My turn comes, I fail, stumble out in disgrace, decide on a supersize quarter pounder meal deal with a side order of 12 mcnuggets.
Did you know, for example, that the ancient Egyptians drank a beverage very similar to a chocolate milkshake, and they did so with straws fashioned from papyrus reeds?"
It's all lies"
"Oh"
"You sound dissappointed
but she also discovers her g-spot and the beautiful liberation of masturbation with battery operated appliances and lesbian pornography."
"Sounds a bit cliched"
You know the kind of thing - hardcore criminals chatting about the quirks of inflight catering while they torture people. Very sophisticated".
"I see, er..."
"OK, I was only teasing you again! Come and sit next to me and I'll tell you what it's really about."
"It's a romantic comedy with magic realism overtones and a touch of ribald obscenity. A depressive young man is trudging along through a shopping mall on his way to a habitual greasy snack when he notices a very unusual looking shop. Stimulated by this novelty, he overcomes his fear of the unknown and enters the shop, where he discovers a sleeping beauty.
The beauty of the girl, the charm and strangeness of the décor, and the presence of so many great works of literature have a liberating effect on the young man, and he feels confident and free. Tits. Impressive literary allusiion to yeats, but no apparent meaning. Blah blah, , comes on her tits then fucks her blah blah. Literay talk about aim of fiction being truth. Belief. Is he the chosen one, destined to meet sophia, a messenger from the world of fantasy, a muse a goddess or whatever? What is fiction. Is fantasy actaully somehow real, like celestial omniubus? It is a matter of belief. Or is it just lies written down by people, just like religions is all lies. At this point, the story predictably ends in the way of magic realism, with the man losing faith, losing the abitly to believe in fantasy, fearing madness, the bookshop dissapers, and he finds himself in the food hall, his snout in a snack box of greasy kfc - the whole episode apparently just a daydream, a fiction, a lie"
Hmm, I said, staring at her breasts, 'I'm not sure I lke the ending, but the rest of the story is very appealing. Except I thinkthe penis could be better descirbed as "
I took hold of the pen, all thoughts of the Food Court and chilli quarterpounders with side orders of a dozen mcnuggets and all the mall sluts with their exposed arse cleavages and nipple rings forgotten.
"Snacks! Why settle for a snack when a feast is before you, if you only know where to look"
Sophia leans over and read my first two sentances.
She passed me the book snacks, and a nice pen. Blank pages.
Well, do you want to write something?
snack on your sausage.
I want to snack on your sausage big boy
What do you think, is it the kind of thing you like?
Lies.
Chekov: aim of fiction is truth
My turn comes, I fail, stumble out in disgrace, decide on a supersize quarter pounder meal deal with a side order of 12 mcnuggets.
MAYBE CELESTIALOMNIBUS THEME - UNABLE TO BELEVE? Fear of madnsess? BACK TO BURGERS AND MALL? Ie, in stories like this, doesn't the shop vanish in puff of smoke? Or it turns out it was all a dream??
I don't like that.
I still trudge the mall, but cross to the other side to avoid that door. It's still there.
User Reviews
Submitted by ParlorTrick (user info) at 2005-09-27 14:43:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Yeah yeah....
Submitted by rad1101 (user info) at 2005-02-23 04:47:04 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Brilliant!
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2005-02-23 04:35:52 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Ah yes.
Submitted by polyamorousaj (user info) at 2005-01-28 01:13:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Pure awesome.
Submitted by youarsoghey (user info) at 2005-01-16 12:36:38 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
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