Johnnersintheraw's Blog

April 27, 2010

Today I Murdered My Porn Collection

Filed under: Comedy,Comedy Rants,Rancid Comedy,Really Dumb,Twisted Fables,Uncategorized — johnnersintheraw @ 9:19 am

“Today I Murdered My Porn Collection.”  What a delightful opening sentence!  It is, in fact, the perfect opener to the perfect prologue to the perfect, old-fashion whodunit.  It is, as is to be expected, written in the first-person.  Needless to say, the author – probably named something like Beverly ‘Major’, was the largely-forgotten and overlooked eleventh son of  an impoverished peer, who himself probably (though not necessarily) went by the name of Sir Malcolm MacSphincter-MacDangle.  The mater of ‘Major’ was the tragical Lady Penelope MacSphincter-MacDangle, née MacDervish-MacTavish, the eleventh and almost completely invisible penultimate wife of Sir Malcolm, and also his richest.  Lady Penelope, who had never come down for dinner (for she was always confined to the birthing bower), eventually expired of ennui and postpartum depression.  Her demise, following the birth of her largely ignored (and possibly misplaced) eighth set of twins – most probably named Bertram and Beverly ‘Minor’, was hardly noticed.

Beverly ‘Major’, who took umbrage over such slights as being served the burnt edge of the pudding at tea, was the only forgotten member of his family who never forgot.  He had loved his mother, but because his mother had never been sure of who he was and once mistook him for a garden gnome, he had developed a chip on his shoulder. And so it was that, one summer’s afternoon, while the sun shone and daisies billowed in the breeze, ‘Major’ stole a sheet of parchment from his father’s library. And he started to write.  And it was while he was penning his four-hundred thousand word magnum opus, The Fall of the MacSphincter-MacDangles – using quills plucked from his childhood sweetheart (a goose called Wanfried) and blood from his own veins – that he slaughtered in cold blood the twenty-five extent members of his immediately family.  Including both Bertram and Beverly ‘Minor’ who he found hiding behind the croquet lawn and torturing the dog. 

When not actually writing or murdering the members of his family, our narrator found the time to dispatch (in sundry, amusing ways) various annoying hangers-on, including forty indoor and eighty outdoor servants, the vicar, seven choirboys, the president of the local Women’s Institute, and the adenoidal shop assistant from behind the ‘fancies’ counter at the portable sub-post office on Wrath-Beside-The-Sea.  It goes without saying that ‘Major’ was finally apprehended, but during his arraignment…..

Now, gentle reader, you might be wondering what all this has to do with the demise of my porn collection.  Absolutely fucking nothing; the words simply flew from my fingers, and who am I to refuse my fingers anything?

But just so you know, I have now regained control of the computer.  So Let The Porny Bit Begin!

As I wrote in my first sentence (as well as in the title), I murdered by porno collection.  Or rather, I deleted it.  First thing this morning.  And no, it wasn’t through a deep-seated guilt.  Or even shame. Mind you, it had occurred to me that if I suddenly died, the first item to come to anyone’s attention would be that one fucking flash with all the porn on it.  And I don’t why that bothered me, but it did.  Sort of like dying after slipping in the bath and knocking my head.  I suppose, it has to do with dignity.  I mean, if I died in the shower, and had lain under an icy stream of water for an hour or so, I don’t think my poor willy would be at its best.  And he does have his pride.  Personally, I don’t give a fuck how I die (as long as it’s a soft and pleasant death), but I don’t want my willy – who, after all, is my best friend – to be laughed at when I’m not around to defend it.  My willy is personal.  It in mine and nobody else’s, and nobody else’s business but mine.  He is shared at my discretion, and only with those with whom I wish to share it.  Yes, I know, I am a naturist, but that is different.  When I am swanning around with other naturists, willy is not interested; he is more concerned with not getting a sunburn.  But when I am alone, willy is free to do what it wants to do.  As Julia Child famously said, “Remember, you are alone in your kitchen.”

But none of this was behind my ruthless disposal of my porn collection.  I found to my horror, that although I had some four or five hundred images on my memory stick, they suddenly bored me.   After all, they were all of dazzlingly attractive young men (yes, I do l love women as well, but not in pornography). They were clean, incredibly fit, and well-endowed (though not so much that they resembled buff young elephants). Most of them were blond, but that was because they were from the Czech Republic, and for no other reason (next time, I shall rootle round a different site – if there’s a next time, which there is sure to be).  After all, a few good brunettes help to make the willy stand up and pay attention. 

Willies are very strange, predictable creatures.  After all, they are male. They are male, ergo, they have the moral character of stoats; they have a very short attention span, cannot multitask, and seem to have a disconcerting problem with  monogamy. Yes, for a week or so, a dozen or two pictures will pique their interest. In other words, they will come out to play. But then, they get bored, and when they get bored, they refuse to respond.  They say, “no thank you,” and so you go online, hoping that various computer viruses and trojan horses are occupied elsewhere at the time, and that no one in the cyber cafe looks over your shoulder at an inopportune moment. You download yet more mouth-watering eye-candy.  And so it goes on.  And on.  And on.  And pretty soon, you have hundreds of images.  But even then, is your willy satisfied?  No, it is not.  For by now, it has become a raving, ranting, spoiled brat.  Always wanting a new toy, and refusing to look at you if you don’t go out and get it.  Thank goodness, my willy does not like violence.  Nor does he like filth.  Hallelujah, be praised! 

But never mind all that, because I don’t think anyone out there really cares about my willy’s wants or needs, and so I shall keep them to myself.  At least, during this blog.

But back to my Porn Collection and the reason I murdered it!  It’s  rather pathetic, really. I needed a new flash drive  in which to store bits and bobs of miscellaneous drivel, but I was too fucking cheap to go out and buy one!  Would you believe that?   I sacrificed by willy’s porn collection!  I stole my willy’s personal Megabytes!  Oh, yes, I can always justify this! Yes, I always like to have everything backed up and portable at all times.  Yes, travelling with a laptop can be a pain, plus a laptop can get lost or smashed or stolen, whereas memory sticks are easily packed away and are ready to be plugged into almost any attractive port hole at any time.  But why my willy’s memory stick?  Are my personal rants so much more important?  As religious leaders like to say, “It’s a mystery.” 

Of course, it’s now on strike.  But never fear, willies are very much like memory sticks, and a memory stick is very much like a willy.  All they need is the right hole.

And the moral is, having a memory stick is very much like having a second willy.  And I bet you didn’t know this, did you?

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