S.W.A.T. Team: Resurreccion

[Shuram Gudatetris]

Bad Writing:

Scientifically speaking, Word is a program. And so is love: the love of the program.

Interspecies lovers make exceptional couples. John and a, uh, tapeworm. Anna and the Gypos.

John gets sent into vibration of exceptional forces. He is shaken out of
existence!

Kibble and Cob come from the spaecial folk, the gypsie pixies of deep space. Wandering, wonderful nomads from before there was time. Ooops look at them! They stumbled into our timeline.

"Oh, honey," whispers Kibble to John. "We been gone so long in deep space, we come from beyond time."

"Is that why you are magic?" John begs to know, his eyes twinkling with delight.

Kibble is a dick to everybody on the ship, except for John.

"Special Kibble! What is the meaning of this?" John screams into his face. "I have a report that declares you sent henchman after my yeomen, and had his testicles crushed with a hammer!" John's face was beat red. He was sweating profusely, shaking the papers in Kibble's face as he shouted. "Guess what, buddy! I'm about to have your balls right now!"
Kibble looks ashen and mournful. "Ah, Captain, I'm upset, don't you know, that you would be so demeaning and commandeering to me." Kibble snuffles and rubs his eyes. "Why, after all I've done for you! I would never have guessed_."

John spun his head in a circle, his neck bones grinding and tearing as he did so. "Special Kibble, God damn it, I'm about three seconds away from taking two seconds to blast you a good one. Now explain yourself, and do it right this second!"

Kibble places his hand on John's shoulder and gently squeezes. "Captain Honey dear, I have only been looking out after your safety! And you know this! I would never, ever, take away a man's integrity."

Kibble looked meaningfully over his spectacles at John, and batted his eyelashes together accusingly.

"Now, as I am sure you already know, there is nothing at all wrong with your yeoman but a little bit of hurt pride. Why, back in my day, the seniors rubbed a stiff rope between my legs and poured turpentine on me during freshman initiation! Ha!" Kibble chuckled, and clapped John on the back in comraderie. "What I wouldn't give to have traded raw turpentine ass for a little slap and tickle like your precious little Yeoman got today. And, you know, that is all he got: a little slap, a tickle . . . and a warning."

Kibble batted his eyelashes together accusingly again.

"A warning that he should respect his superiors, and to not go snooping around where yeomen's poopers ain't supposed to be stooping, if you know what I mean."

John continued to stare Kibble down, growing slowly more unsure-looking. "Special Kibble, I'll take your suggestion under consideration," John finally growled.

John spun on his heel in a huff, and stormed his way out in an un-tuff huffy puff.

[Shuram Gudatetris]

Resurreccion: Episode -3
Back 2 Square One



In one rendition, Map is a tapeworm which John gives birth to through his urethra. The tapeworm develops a sexual relationship with John, and John feeds the tapeworm his semen for nutrition. The tapeworm grows big, and strong, and magical. The more semen it eats, the more feminine it becomes, until it becomes the living embodiment of everything John desires.

In another rendition, Map is the physical living nightmare of everything John fears and abhors (i.e. rape, worm sex, etc.).

In yet another rendition, John and Map are partners in crime, stealing through Worm holes.

John Thompson is Charlie Sheen's Topper Harley.

Youzou is Young Guns' Lou Diamond Phillips.

I'm a Mexican Indian!

John's right eye begins dilating and contracting uncontrollably. The pupil grows and shrinks, grows and shrinks. The bigger it gets, the faster it gets, the more extreme it gets. John begins to look insane, with his one eyes shaking uncontrollably.

Eventually, a black hole takes place of his eyeball, slowly grinding his brain to oatmeal, and eating his brains alive!

John is drunki, and cryee, and on Kibble's stoop.

"Hey there, captain Honey," mumbles Kibble to the prostrate shadow on the floor. "Come for a little sugar did you? Well, you'right on time. I've summoned you for a Magical Reading!"
Kibble is Tracey Morgan in drag.

A Black Hole. It is literally a hole. Reality is spilling into it. Non-existency is spilling out of it.

Something magical and wonderful happens when all that matter gets smashed into nothingness. It goes to another side. There is light.

Black Hole. Hole. Worm hole.

Strange creations, and misadventures of mischief.

The MisAdventures of Mystery and Mischief.

Mystery and Mischief are in the Police's Station. They see the Poster. "Mystery and Mischief, we're on it!" they crow.

The Police Seargent growls, "Hey, god damn it, you're not even supposed to be back here! You just forget you ever saw that Wanted Poster! Hear me? Forget! Before you Regret!"

"It's too late," they intone ominously. "We are on it."

And a mystery squirrel in the shape of a giant rabbit swoops in and they vanish.


Mystery and Mischief are aboard the Abysmal Fury.

"That's Mrs.tery, to you," says Mystery.

"And you shall refer to me as Ms.chief," doles out Mischief in a wicked tongue lashing.

The crew aboard the Abysmal Fury looks uncomfortable. They are not used to seeing anyone stand on equal footing with Smarvak, even temporarily. But Smarvak surprises them all by clapping his hands together excitedly and summoning his boson.

"Charlie, isn't it wonderful? Please take them below, to the Special Suites. You know the ones, my private, luxury Suites." Smarvak gives Charles a swift hard slap on the posterior, and old Charlie boy gets scooting in a hurry. He leads the misadventurous ladies off the bridge.

Smarvak begins dancing and swooning, and he leaps over to where the ladies were seated. "Oh, is it wonderful!" Smarvak takes in a big breath of air through his nose, savoring the aroma of the female passengers. "Vagina! I smell vagina!"

Yarvak swoons and faints, and he lands on his back with his erection pointed towards the ceiling.

"See," says the elder ensign to the junior ensign. "Told you, he's not gay!"

[Shuram Gudatetris]

A Friend Until the End

Cat blank-subjected me. Fucking plucked the idea from my head. I saw her eyes glint, the fan seemed to bog down for a cycle or two, and then: nothing.

Nothing what?

Nothing nevermind.

Nothing ill-begotten fate. Nothing ill seeming mushrooms. Nothing nothing. Nothingmore.

Nonetheless, we must be moving on now. Moving forward, as it were. Moving were-ful, as it was. Moving never-when-be's when necessary.

Captain John. Aye, that's right, Captain John, himself, the old inscrutable bastard. Captain John sat upon his throne, and he was thinking some thunderous thoughts. He was thinking, and he was wondering, what would happen if he wormed his way into a Worm hole. He grinned at the thought of rubbing his chin in victory.

Oh, what I wouldn't give!
-to save a life?
-to be reunited?
-to keep a promise?

If you could have it all, could you even help yourself from being a little selfish?

(And green devil horns grow out on your invisible reflection.)




Erection.
Reflection.
Resurrection.

First, she puts your penis into her mouth.
Then she puts one of your balls between her finger and her thumb.
Next, she puts your other ball between her other fingers and thumb.
Then, she squeezes as hard as she can without losing her grip.


===============================================

The Applesauce Clause


Independent thought leads to reckless creation.

Captain John again. There he is. Here we are, and there he is, and off we go.

We look in upon this lost man, this heartless soul of a bastard, and we find a lonely, pathetic weeperly weepers' son. There he is, laying sad, laying all cuddled up in a ball, as if he's ashamed he might get an erection if he relaxed. He is crying, and he is weeping. He is tearful as he sobs into his pillow.

His pillow is gross. It is covered in unwashed slobber stains. It is yellow with old sweat. It stinks of reek. Yuck. Infestation. Ziplock this bitch until we can burn it gross.

He breathes in deeply, breathing his fetid grossness out of his own pillow. He breathes, he breathes it in deeply, and he deeply breathes all the nastiness and yuck. So gross. So full of parasites. It is ew and gross for sad lonely crying man.

Worms. Worms of infestation. Worms can infest our existence. Worm; worm hole; string theory.

[Shuram Gudatetris]

Double Crunch

Independent ore-miners. Illegitimate back room deals. Evil devil cat eyes glowing in the dark. Maybe if there was a spider who was special, she would have cat eyes. Undelivered promises.

Captain John was a steadfast man. He was determined to get things right, to pay his debts, to make good on all his promises. His swagger and confidence had left him, but grim determination remained, unmasked and unbalanced.

He squeezes his juice box in his fist, making a mess of himself and his surroundings. Code red! Er, I mean Code Blue! Party foul!

A life has unraveled in the blink of an eye. John stares down at his crushed juice box. He washes away a drop of the juice with one, sad, lonely tear, a tear abominably birthed from an eye who betrayed him. He threw the juice box down in disgust and stepped on it.

With his emotions as near under control as they were likely to remain, John pulled his chin up off his chest and confronted the room.

The mess hall was packed and crowded, full to its capacity. Near fifty percent of his ship's Crew were here nibbling on their rations. Not a soul dared to look at him.

Do they fear me?

Do they hate me?

John hawked down the crowd and found the most innocent and naive face he could discern. "Ensign Luck!" he yelled and the sandy haired youthful woman bounced to her feet, snapping her hand in a salute with a spiffy preciseness.

"What is the meaning of this mess?" He gestured at his feet. "I want it cleaned up, on the double, or you'll be cleaning up muck double-trouble! Got it, miss?"

"Enisgn Barbara Luck, sir, aye, sir, yes, sir, I read you loud and clear, sir. I'll clean it all up, lickety split, and I'll be quick and spiffy, and spot clean every bitty bit of it, sir!"

Grrrrr_.

"You better just watch that little lip of yours, you little Luckless Luck of a twit."

John gleaked her in the eye with his last spit.



Sad Catfish Stuck in a Swamp

Planes fly and the wind blows. She is always there, watching me, just over my shoulder. Every once in a while, I catch a glimpse of her out the corner of my eye when I turn my head quickly.

She has thick, lushes, wavy, overflowing red hair. Burgandy? Dark red. Reddish dark brown. Maybe...red? Miles and miles of wavy, luscious, flowing red hair. She does her best to keep it under control by tucking it under an oversized sun hat.

Witness claims state that her sunset hat is a purplish color. Maybe magenta. Maybe indigo. Maybe lavender.

Not much else can be said about her, except that she hides herself under an over-sized over coat. This overcoat might be gray, or tan, or brown. They are never very sure of it's exact color, except it seemed that she wore bright red clothes underneath. They seem to recall perhaps a sleeve, or maybe a pant leg, sticking out from under her overcoat. Bright red.

The strange thing about the "over-sized" overcoat is that it almost didn't seem overly large at all. It just seemed to contain an awful lot of essence.



Indy Fizzable Wet Sands

There is something rotten in the state of Portland.

It is John's favorite city to visit. He smiles hugely as he walks along, taking it all in. But some people tend to look back at him with anger and contempt.

The first time John saw Pearl, he was on a plane to his favorite city: Portland (Oregan). Nothing happened, except that he noticed her, and she winked at him out the corner of her hat. But after touchdown, he felt like a stranger in his favorite city. He kept walking into dead ends, and there was a sinister quality about the strangers in the street.

John was a young man then. And , for the first time in his life, everything seemed to be going really good for him. But it was the beginning of the end. Portland was simply the first place to start unraveling.

There is a spider at the end of a web. She catches the pieces of reality as they fall apart.

The unraveling of space is sort of like the construction of a spider web in reverse.



I've said it once, and I've said it for the thousandth time. The worst part about John's betrayel is that he feels so bad about what happened [to Ace?]. John loves Ace, like a brother.

What would be John Thompson's name if he moved into a reality in which his name was different?

Something like Arch Harborson. Chester Tollhouse. Archibald. I keep going back to Arch. Arch Rocksteady. Arch Ramsteel. Arch Harborson.

Archie Harborson. Arch. Archibald.

Joe DiVioli, meet Arch Harborson.

Arch Harborson, meet Dr. Kripke. *They shake hands*

Arch Kripke.

I really like the name Rich Kripke.

John sees Arch, and runs up to him enthusiastically. "Eggs!" Johns smiles and claps him on the back. "Ha, you old dog! Where you been? Whatchsa been up to, huh?"

Rich, reddens, looking sullen, "I, uh, actually hate being called 'Eggs'."

"Oh, no," John looks disgusted with himself. "Oh, Eggs--Arch!--I'm so sorry! I had no idea!" John paces pathetically back and forth in front of Rich. "I'm sorry. I really am. I never meant anything by it!"

Rich was furiously red, and squirming to boot. "Actually, I go by Rich now. Rich Kripke. I, uh, don't answer to that other name anymore. I'm, uh, a changed man." Rich coughed his throat in embarrassment.

John, arches his eyebrow, and pounces on his chance. He jumps up, grabs Rich by the arm and shoulder, and begins congratulating him furiously. "Oh, I see. Oh, I see. Good for you! You show 'em!" John ruffles Rich's hair. "Atta boy, Rich!"

John is grinning broadly now, giving Rich the thumbs-up gesture.

Rich stares back with smouldering hatred. There is real steam rising from his ear canals. He spins stiffly about on his heel, and storms off in a tight stomp.

[Shuram Gudatetris]

Lost Betrayals

Philibusters, nutmeg, maple leaf sodas. These are the things that I thought of as I drove down St Joseph Avenue in the middle of winter. My tires were bald. Like, racing slick bald.

Fuck this, fuck, fuck everything.

Microbial infection in the hip area. Infestation sites include leg bone, leg muscle, hip bone, hip muscle. Nervous tissue. This is NO laughing matter. Be ashamed.

John knew he was going to die. Everyone else did. Why wouldn't he? The hole in his heart grew bigger every day. His heart became frail.

Cuba was blind, and old, and bald, and sitting in a chair sporting a beard. He was drooling over his bottom lip as he leaned heavily on his cane. But that one lazy eye was fixed fixedly on John's forehead. "You gonna die! Hear me? You gonna die! Now, get on out here and get! Don't want NONE of your business. So go on, get going, get on out here!"

"But, Old man!" John was shocked.

But Cuba would have none of it! He began screaming and wailing, and waving his stick around menacingly. He was the sight of nightmarish terror.

John began sobbing and dropped to his knees. Old man Cuba got crookedly to his feet and raised his cane as high as he could over his head. "Yeah, that's it!" he slobbered. "Lay down and die like the dog that you are!" Cuba was spraying spittle and foam from his mouth, covering John in a spritz of foam and blood.

John looked up in terror at the last second, and saw the lightning strike in Old man Cuba's eyes as fangs and forked tongue sprouted from his mouth. Rats and bats began chewing and clawing their way out his hunched back, flooding the air and floor with bloody panicked vermin and flying menaces.

In his last act of consciousness, Old man Cuba decided to quit fighting the urge to throw up. What was happening was going to keep on happening, now matter what he did: he might as well accept it. He vomited earthworms and baby mice all over his feet. They immediately began to claw and burrow under his toe nails. He died.

Shatterred aftermath:

John crawled. Slowly. Inch by inch. All he had left was his robotic arm, slowly dragging what was left him to the Worm hole. The shattered puzzle piece of his life, the chip of the mirror to which he now clung, was flipping over and fading away. If john did not let go, he would be pulled [away] with it. He could do nothing.

But wait for one more moment of gravity.

And crawl.

And wait. For one more .. ... moment ... of...

Existence.

And crawl. And crawl. And crawl.

And cling to the struggle.

(cling to existence)



Meanwhile:
(Elsewhere In the Universe)

Anna is fighting to convince her ship and her crew to sacrifice aeverything. For the sake of John. To them, some (nonexistent) man named John Thompson who meant absolutely nothing to them.

"Who the fuck is John fucking Thompson??"

Anna responds (stupidly) like she didn't hear the question (Linden Avery style). John is going to cling on, and keep on going on. He is going to struggle. He is going to do aeverything he can to try to get back to us, and we need to do aeverything we can to get him back. Trust me on this!


The Intanglible Reality:

No mistake about it, we're getting serious this time. So watch out. Here we go:

The Intangible Reality:

Phase I:

The Aftermath of the After Math.

Part One: Present Day

Chapter One: The Sixth Book of the Prophet Roanokiovicz

(The Later Years of Hyuman Life)


~A Study of Roanokiovicz's New Mexican heritage: Did she or didn't she? The Controversy that shook the entire state of New Mexico, from San Fran Cisco in the border lands, to Mississippi Mud Slide Pie, a restaurant in Albequerque.~


John realized he was royally fucked even before he opened his eyes. He smelled a strong scent of mixed human and canine urine and feces, and he was sleeping in something that felt...unsettling.

Spice man, spice hero, spice worship. Rrrrrrrussian Spice Station (spice warship! ha!)

[Shuram Gudatetris]

Spinster Pothead

Why write about failure? No one wants to read about failure.

I made myself believe. I guess that's pretty good.

I have to take the failure in stride. It's the end of the story.

But I did believe.

If I can make myself believe, maybe I can make other people believe.

I do believe I served a purpose.

I think I'll be just fine. I'm going to drink a cup of coffee, have a smoke, sip some beer, and get myself ready to talk to the cute Cognitive Research gal.















John walks into a room whistling and twirling his thumbs. He chokes on his whistle and trips over his thumbs when he looks up and see a couple of hot bodies, dressed in sexy cocktail dresses and perfumed to the gills. His whistle whistles into a cat-whistle whistle.

The women turn around and--

John falls over his own feet when he sees their faces!

"Map! Anna!" John is shocked. "What is this? What is the meaning of this?"

Map cocks her hips defensively and and inquires sassily, "What's the meaning of what?"

She is wearing a fur coat as a scarf and holding a model of a fancy cigarette.

"This!" John gestures about wildly in front of him. "Why you dressed up like girls for?"

Map arches her eyebrow offendedly. Anna's face is blank. "John, we are girls."

"Ha!" John barrels over in laughter. He is really guffawing, slapping his knee and choking on bibbons.

Map throws her model of a fancy cigarette on the ground and stomps on it, like she is putting out a real cigarette. "What the fuck is so funny?" she demands acidly, right before throwing her foot into his crotch as hard as she could-

NO! He dodged, damn it!

"Ha!" shouts John again. "Ha, ha! Missed! Missed like a girl! Oh, ha!"

"I am fucking girl, dick," she snarls. "I'm about to tear your fucking throat out."

This makes John laugh even harder. Map is pissed, her face is red, she is tapping her foot in irritation. John notices her tapping her foot, is reminded of her threat, and starts laughing even harder. But he puts his hands up in surrender as he laughs.

"Map!" he pleads. "Wait! I can't help it!"

He makes a noticeable effort to stifle his giggles and Map is placated for the time being. She dismisses John with a sigh and turns back to Anna. Her bow is crooked. Map reaches up and straightens it.

Anna's face is blank.





















John is weeping in the dark, clutching at his sheets, begging for help.

"Kibble!" he cries into the darkness. "Kibble, it hurts!"

John is alone. He is so utterly alone. He is lonely, a loner, and a lonesome roamer. A lonely boner is his only forlorn form of comfort.

He wants so bad to BE with someone. Anyone. He is lonely.

Am I doing right?

No answer.


If it wasn't for Josie and Rocky, I would probably do something stupid. I am very tempted, in fact, to just dump them off on Sarah. I probably need to have her move out soon, so that this scenario won't exist for me.

I liked myself a little bit today but I always hated myself.

[Shuram Gudatetris]

Jag You Are.

Chapter One: Jag You Are

"I've had enough!" shouted John. "No more! I just can't take any more!"

John sobbed with grief.

The worm arched it's back and bristled with laughter.

Before John could experience dread, the worm manifested itself once again within John's mind.


John lays naked upon a slab of stone. His erection is painfully hard. The worm is arched over him, gigantic now, looking the embodiment of a nightmarish dragon. It has huge breasts a third of the way down it's body, along its neck, under the head. The breasts swell forth from its body along the outer arc of the snake's arched body. Its tail is wrapped around the front of the base of the worm, and a huge, gaping, gushing vagina throbs in front of John, blowing moist heat upon John's erection with every pulse. The slit of the vagina is truly enormous, nearly as long as John's prostrate body. The clitoral tip of the of the vagina manifests itself much like a giant erection. It is swollen and hard.

"Please!" cries John. "It hurts! No more!"

The snake booms with laughter, and the tip of its tail flashes out like a whip and flattens John's testicles with a might slap. John squawks with pain, and the snake worm laughs louder, and throttles John with scornful [words]: "You say one thing, but you mean another. You are enjoying this, I can tell by your erection. You are swollen with arousal. Do you deny it?"

"I deny it," squeaks John miserably. He is a truly pathetic sight, laying naked, cradling his testicles, his giantly swollen penis throbbing with violet passion. "It hurts!"

"You enjoy it!" accuses the snake. It's giant nipples are erect and dripping a venomous, milky cream.

The worm disengages the manifestation.

John found himself sprawled out on his bed, naked, once again trapped within the worm.

The worm had John's penis and testicles gorged into its mouth. Its worm body was wrapped tightly around his genitals like a bloody condom. The worm had turned itself inside out. John's penis skin was rubbing against the worm's normally external epidermis, now internal ribbed condom. Super sensitive skin to supersensitive skin, the worm became one with John's penis.

It undulated with excitement, and John writhed into forced orgasm. The worm drank greedily of the semenal outpouring. John moaned and wailed in agony.

"Please," whispered John. Then, once he was breathing on his own, he pleaded, "I just want it to stop."

The worm wrapped itself closely around John's testicles, holding them firmly, but not tightly. "You've orgasmed. Orgasms are the fulfillment of desire. You want this. I am going to give it to you, over and over again, until you stop orgasming. Now shut up and go to sleep. I am going to take a nap, but soon I will wake up again, and I will be hungrier than ever. You will feed me."

Chaptertoo
"John's Brick-a-Brack"

It was fail. It was failure. It was a complete and total, utter failure. He died. He died while dying. And he died after he was already dead. He was deader than dead.

He was lost in a swirling emotion of hate and angst. Mangst. Manly angst about the state of his manhood. And also skangst: the fear of never having another easy lay.

These were desperate times. And John had taken desperate measures. Now John might not ever come again.

He was lost and doubtful. And doubtless. Full of doubt and fear and angst, no doubt about it.

And so he wandered into the woods. They were a lonely and dark woods. There was a lot of lonely, lost, miserable, fearful, and mournful morning-woods, but these morning woods were John's own personal morning woods. Woods of yearning, woods of painful awakenings, woods of private thoughts and dreams which no one would ever dare trespass--but open to trespass. Woods of deep, green darkness, ever enduring dark nights, dark evenings, and dark, stormy mornings.

Deep, evergreen vistas of broken oaks, poorly chosen roads, over grown poison oaks and ivies and sumaccian cloaks. John's outcome was his only chosen fortune, and so he was doomed to wander northless, ever unknowing the direction forced upon him by his poorly chosen, unfortunately poor and hopeless choices. He was forced to transform into a soldier of his own poor fortunes.

Soldier he was. Soldier he had chosen. And soldiering on was his only soldierly option. And so he went forward. He was open. And he openly faced his fears and failures and forbidden nightmares.

He was swollen. He was sorely worn upon. And still, he swore an oath to remain sturdy and board-worthy throughout the whole orgasmic torture ordeal.






Chapter 3 Reliant
The worm was still working John's penile shaft in a pumping motion. It had gotten one last drop of semen several seconds ago, but it was going to continue to pump for several minutes more, wanting to be sure that it was all removed and there was no further chance of repeat orgasm.

Eventually, the worm was satisfied, and it finally released John's shaft and crawled up to his shoulder. The worm curled itself into a ball and lay down in John's breathe exhalation path. The worm breathed in deeply of John's exhalation, wrapping the warm, wet winds around it in a comforting fog. The worm purred with contentment.

John lay in torment underneath the worm. His penis and testicles throbbed and ached. His penis was raw, and swollen, and bruised. The worm was relentless with its ability to force the brain to think pain was a pleasure. And so it relentlessly forced orgasm from worn and torn tissues.

"Worm," whispered John. "Please. Relent. I can't take anymore."

The worm rattled its tail excitedly in a whir of delight. It took John's request as a challenge. It squirmed its way down along John's belly and began excreting its special sex cream: a thick, viscous, clear liquid...warm...and superfluous. The worm rolled itself around John's penis several times, smearing its thick liquid generously up and down the length of his penis. Once John's lap was a swimming mess of swampy sex, the worm contracted itself tightly around John's penis, and began squirming and undulating with vigorous intent.

John's sore and swollen penis was once again forced into contorted stiffness. The pumping motion of the serpent's relentless twistings engorged John's spent member with cruel, cramped pressure.

"Worm," begged John, tears streaming down his face, making a hot, steamy mess of his ears and neck. "Please, worm. Please. Relent. I can't take anymore."

The worm continued to twist and pump John's penile shaft, but it raised it's head over the shaft and looked John in the eyes, judging the depths of his pain. His Pleasure. It expanded its head, opening its mouth hole the width of John's crooked, swollen penis head. It enveloped John's skin tissue with suction and a new, more durable viscous fluid spewed forth, and the worm forced slick sensation all over his spiritless prick.

Through relentless, neverending dedication, the worm eventually forced another drop of semen to be spent. By the time the worm had vigorously coerced the miserably begotten jizz to the penile tip, there was more blood than semen in the raw, wet, slushy mix, a mix which the worm sipped from John's red, swollen penis lips.

Sated, but breath soon to be baited, the worm slithered up near John's quivering lips. "Oh, dear," whispered the worm in its quiet, intoned lisp. "You've made yourself cry again." The worm gently scoops up a tear and sips it earnestly. "I've given you all the pleasure I can give. And it's still not enough. What do you want from me?"

John cries and weeps, and wets the sheets. "Please, Worm," begs John in a shuttered breath, "it hurts. It's torture. No more. Please. No more."

"No more?" the worm hisses in haste. "I can show you more!" The worm wraps itself tightly around John's shaft once again. "Do you dare me?"

"No!" shouts John, in a weak, panicked squeak. "Please! Please! I beg! With all my heart! Please!"

"You daaare deny me?" the worm grows larger in John's lap. It's head rises up off John's chest, scaly and serpentine. The worm's eyes glow red. A thousand tiny tentacles rush forth the worm's central chest, and they wrap and wriggle John's penis with greedy, slimy insistence.

But John proves to be truly, completely, utterly spent. The worm rides him out until he is a soft and bloody mess. But no more semen did the evil serpant ever entice John to again spend.

And thus, the demon's promise was fulfilled, and John was set free in a nearly uninterrupted six days of slumberous content.

[Shuram Gudatetris]

It is the story of Map and John. In one rendition, Map is birthed from the amniotic wetness of John's internal intestines. That worm grows up and goes on to become a humanoid demon, full of sexual need and desire. The worm learns to hate John, and John learns to love the worm with all his heart.

In another rendition, the do become lovers.

Map and John take over the Russian Spice Station, steal a ship, and take off for deep space. Map and John take over the Appalling 13. Map john and Anna.They want to: time travel, space travel/ m ake a wish, create a miracle.

John and Anna.

Here is a tricky one.

Anna is John's step mother. Anna was 24 when she married John's father. John was 11. John's father died a year later. Anna slowly seduced him over a period of about four months or so, this would be around a year after the father's death. John learned to lust over her. She encouraged the lust, but kept her distance. Then, one night, she crawled on top of him, put his erection inside of her, and told him not to come, no matter what. She then proceeded to masturbate with his dick inside of her. She convinced him that he should never come again, or else it would make him a pervert for having sex with his mom.

John turned into kind of a weird kid after that. Weird, but mature.

Anna gets turned into a cyborg? Why? What the fuck?

The original story is that Anna is John's ex-wife. John gets cybernetic arms from the government. The government doctor, who developed the arms and took care of John, gets investigated by Anna. Anna finds out how Dr. Euraough performs his miracles, and she is outraged. But she is also in danger. The governing bodies will stop at nothing to silence her. Then, Dr. Euraough gets his hands on her, and he silences her forever.

John will stop at nothing to free Anna from her living death..

John finds Map. Map and John find Anna. Map, John and Anna go on a quest to find a cure for Anna's condition. Map gets sent back to Hell. John goes to Hell after freeing Anna. This leads to the Divergence.

Anna gets freed, but she is still trapped inside a non-working machine. She and Ben go on a quest to find Kibbille's brother Caub (Cauibongo?). Anna and Caub go on a quest through time....

John goes to Hell. John meets Map in Hell. Map helps John escape from Hell. Map finds John in Hell, once again. Map finds John in Hell, she finds him once again, and she helps him to escape from Hell. She leads him to the Doorway.

"This is it, John," Map is holding her ribs. She is bleeding profusely. "This is the way out. I can't go with you, though. You're on your own, now."

"Map?" John is dumbstruck. He has a look of horror on his face. "Map? What do you mean, Map?"

Map sat down wearily against the tombstone. She really has lost a lot of blood. "I can't go across. I already did, once. Remember?"

"Rember? What's rember?"

"Remember."

"Reeber? Rembeeber?"

"Remember."

"Rembember. Rembeeber. Reebmeeber."

"Remember, John. REMEMBER who you ARE."

John is ludicrous. John is ansane. John throws his hands in the air and stomps in a circle. He can't remember how to say 'remember'. He pulls his hair. He goes white with grey. He grows green with envy.

"Map!" John is stomping, and barking, and spinning in crazy little circles. "Map! Gad damn it! Map! I'm not leaving without you, dumbitch!"

"You have to. This is where we say Goodbye. So, go on. Say it. Say it, to me. Tell me Goodbye."

"No!" John stomps his foot, harder than ever. The tombstone shakes. Demons begin howling in the shadows. "Never! I'll never you!"

Map shakes her head sadly, cries a precious tear. She can't afford to cry right now, she has lost too much blood. "John, you big, dumb fool. You are going to leave. You always leave. You've even already left. So, go on. Go ahead. Go on ahead and do it. Say it. Say Goodbye."

John is red with fury. There is steam rising off his sweating head. He is a red Chevy pick-up truck, huffin and puffin along. He stalks over to Map's limp, prostrate form, and throws her onto his shoulder.

"John? What?" Map rolls her eyes crazily. "What are you doing?"

"We're getting the fuck out of here, Map."

"John, it's not possible. I'm dying anyway."

The lightning strikes in John's eyes, and Map knows that she knows he knows.

This is bad. She knows it is. But she is paralyzed with onset death.

She has bleed to death.

But John had her, and he was not going to let her go. She could feel his hold on him, firm with love, gently insistent, and hard with determination. Oh, God, how she loved John's hardness. She knew she was his, and she could no longer stop him, or what was about to come.

John was not going to going to leave with out her. And he was not going to stay, either. No, he was going to go.

All Hell was about to break loose.

[Shuram Gudatetris]

Dear Mr. Reese,

Your candy bars stink.

Sincerely,

The End



No, sir. No, ma'am. If you will all please calm down, I will explain. This is not the end. Nor is it the beginning. Rather, this is the beginning of the end.

But, before we can begin to end things, we must first end the beginning. So, let us now, with solemn pleasance, begin to end the beginning.

And so, we find Map lounged out on the couch. She is wearing short, oily brown hair. A red tube top. A leather miniskirt. Long black leather boots that begin on the thigh, and end with a long, high heel. She is smoking a cigarette, and the menthol smoke exhales past bright painted red lips.

John is sitting across from her, staring her down with white need. He looks angry, but he merely tries to contain his aching. Map looks the other way, smoking her cigarette, oblivious to the other presence in the room. Now she has a feathery white scarf wrapped lazily around her neck and shoulders.

John is confused, clenched with tight dread. He cannot understand how she can sit there, so careless.

"What the hell was it?" he finally asks.

She looks sideways at him, then blows smoke to disrupt their gaze. "Your wife," she states simply. When the smoke clears, she is looking the other way again.



---------



It is the thunder of the struck. The lightning of the fly. These are the days of hour lives.

Anna can only remember him as a man in a field of flowers. He stands up. He is wearing a brilliantly clean white T-shirt and blue jeans.

"That's it?" Tom Hilton, the hipster pilot, was incredulous. "That's what you want to risk our lives and our ship for? Some fucking vision?"

Before the last word was out his mouth, Caub was behind him, twisting his arm and escorting him firmly forward. "That's your Captain you're talking to, whelp." Hilton found himself locked off the bridge before he could even find voice to complain about his arm. The doors slammed shut past his opening mouth.

Anna sits in the Captain's seat. John's seat, Anna corrected herself. She rubbed her forehead and sighed wearily. "I know it doesn't make much sense. I'm asking a lot. I'm asking you all for a lot of trust. But I know it. We have to find him."

The year is 1976. The world is a paradise. Humans never evolved in this world. John wakes up in a field of flowers. He is bloody and dirty and soiled. He hears the distinctive snapping and pulling of the Universe folding in on itself. The air was left with a snappy ringing of newness.

John stands up. And sees Anna.


She is whole, and healthy, and utterly beautiful. There is an aura of life encompassing her, and John knows before him stands a new being, one forged from Anna's lifeforce and other mysterious and [powerful forces which John had no concept].

He smiles through his wearniness [worn weariness] and his happiness [happy penis] is genuine and unexpected. Anna! Before he could even think of what to say or do, an unmistakable snapping and crinkling filled the air again. The smell of camphor and castor oil filled the air, and flames shot forward from behind John, who found himself knocked to the ground with a concussive force of explosion.

John looked back towards the source of evil new ringing. The Universe had let unfold a nightmare of unfathomable proportions.

Cyborg Anna stood amid a wall of flames, holding Map's limp body casuyally in her left hand. The nightmare world she came from had set fire to this field of paradise. The zombiac cyborg threw Map's body away in disgust and stared down John. Her eyes were glowing with unnatural cybernetic energy, casting a redish hue across Anna's whites. She spit out a bloody chunk [up-chucked hunk] of Map's flesh and began stalking John, stomping ominously, marching with an unnaturally powerful cyborg rhythm.



Anna's heart stopped short in her chest.

Anna saw herself, sick and twisted, casting nauseating radiation all around her. It was her corpse. Her own corpse. She was looking at her own dead body, hideously transformed into a machine of destruction. She had never seen herself like this before.

There is some sort of saying about fear, and you standing in your own way, and all that. This saying was perfect for Anna's new plight. She stood looking at the most terrifying thing she had ever seen-and it was her own animated corpse!

Of course, an animated corpse was nothing that would put much concern into Anna's mind. Furthermore, she wouldn't even necessarily balk at the thought of handling her own corpse from another timeline. But in this moment, she was terrified.

The monster that stood before her was more powerful than anything she had ever seen before. It was more powerful than anything she could comprehend. It was more powerful than she knew even herself to be. It was blood-thirsty and almighty powerful.

And it was going to kill John Thompson.

[Shuram Gudatetris]

A financier: funds pranks and schemes and such.

Hey! I'm looking for a new gang!

(Thank you Always Sunny)

Kibbille Columnbou: the Ship's Specialties' Officer.



"Hey," snarled Columnbou, drunk as a snail, "I'm looking to join a new crew. What'd'ya think, uh?"

"Well," John rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "What are your Specialties, sir?"

"Huh," laughed Cloumnbou gruffly. "Huh, uh yeah. Specialties. Just you wait and see."

Kibbille glared dark promises.

John scowled in consternation. "What is your name, sir?"

"Kibbille Columnbou." A wink and nod. A little spark went off in the corner of his eye at the peak of his smile.

"What are your Specialties?"

"Well," Kibbille whistled and hiccoughed. "I'm a financier, of sorts. I like to invest in ideas and schemes, the riskier, the better. I'm looking for a new crew to roll with. My old gang lost their nerve!"

John was slightly impressed and partially concerned.

"Just what?" asked John incredulously, " Are you proposing here?"

"Treasure!" Kibbille smiled like a shark and smelled like match spark. "I'm trying to outrun the Pirate Nation. They want to steal my thunder!"

"What do you get out of all this?" John gestured around him, indicating his ship and the lives of his crew. "What do we get?"

"Oh!" Kibbille's eyes lit with the thunder of battle. "Not convinced? Fine! Maybe I will sell my secrets to the Pirate Nation! I've got no place else to go!"

John spun in a quick circle, over-dramatically spinning to confront his crew face on. "If I die, kill him." John managed another quick spin, a three-quarter circle, and it cycled him in the general direction of Kibbille. "Listen here, damn it! I'm the Captain! The life of the ship and the crew are my own! I will thank you to respect my authority, please!"

John spun back towards his crew again. And winks at them .

John spins quickly on his heel and faces down Kibbille, once and for all.

"Listen Kibbille! I'm the Captain, and I'm willing to offer you passage aboard my ship. It is not a passenger ship. You come to us to serve a purpose, your Special abilities. I'll ordain you under Special circumstance, and offer you an Office of Special Exceptions. You will answer to me, at all times. But you will hold Special Office over the crew. We will know this secret of yours, Mister Columnbou."



-------------------------------
-------------------------------
+15
-------------------------------
-------------------------------

Hello?

Is this real?

Am I alive? I thought I felt the current of the keyboard running through my leg hair. Oh my. I think I figured it out again. This is weird.

It is kinetic energy.



His crystalline blue eyes wept with tears. "I am so sorry," he whispered. "I don't know what to do."

She jerked. And she twerked. She was nearly dead anyway. Bjess doobbbit....

Her meaning was clear. She could see understanding in his eyes. She could see his misery and earth pain. She knew she had to be brave, and strong, just one last time.

She forced her arm up, jerking it from its dead sleep like a fish on the flip. She snatched greedily at the Cow Boy's shirt. She forced her dead eyes into focus one last time. "Just do it."

And Caub was released. Forgiven. Permissed.

He sighed and he wept, resting his head heavily upon his chest. He could not force himself to look up. He was too terrified. But he forced himself forward, tiptoeing steadily onward, until he was within reach of the corpse-like woman engulfed within a broken robot corpse.

He could see maggots burrowing within her flesh. Flies buzzed around her head, crawling in her hair. This was no way to live, and the sight of her sent a shiver of terror deep through Caub's inner fiber. He had a bad feeling about what lurked dormant within her useless robot shell.

He knelt before the awful horror. He took her hands into his, and he wept. The tears fell coldly onto her lifeless flesh. He dropped her arms and grabbed her head, looking deep into the ominous voids which were her eyes. There was nearly no living presence there. Anna was deep within herself, falling deeper and tempting loss.

But he could feel it.

A shiver shook Caub's body and he jerked violently in his place, sending himself and corpeus Anna tumbling in sickly tangle of living and dead limbs. Caub used his vice-lock grip on Anna's head to gently guide their foreheads together.

Another shiver shook Caub's body, but he was prepared for it this time, and he rode the waves of it deep into Anna's sleeping cyborg programming.





-----------------------------
+15
----------------------------


Intravenous treatment. Leeches to needles.

"Map," John looked horror stricken. "I think you are taking me the wrong way, Map!"

Map was noticeably irritated. She tapped her toe and swung her hips in agitation. "I literally can't even."

The blood drained from John's face. This was too much. He felt his heart struggle to beat for a few moments. "Map!"

The horror of the grammar!



"Map," John was sad. He was tired. He was at his wit's end. "Map, we are going the wrong way, Map. I can feel it. I know you can, too. What is going on?"

Map rolled her eyes and spit lazily into the fire. "Eat shit, John. Eat shit till you die." Map hopped to her feet and walked over to stand in front of John. She squatted. "I'm going that wa-y-" she indicated with her finger "--but you can do what the fuck ever you want to do." Map was giving him a significant look. Her urine was thick and yellow, full of hormonal pungency. John's feet were getting wet.



On the third night, John could not take it anymore.

"Map!" John stomped. He spit. Oops, he bit his lip. "Map, I've had it. I've had enough. I'm going to get some answers, damn it."

Map dropped her back pack to the ground with a heavy thump. John's eyes widened with amazement. He always forgets just how heavy her bag is. Knowing his train of thought, she assured him, "You're not man enough for it."

Her rejoinder caught him snoozing, and John was surprised to find that she may have meant he could not handle her answers. But John was pretty sure he knew where they were going. Her hints and evasions only further confirmed his suspicions.

"We're not trying to get out of here anymore, are we?" John's voice was tight with certainty. Map was thoroughly unimpressed with his posturing. She was considering various ways to kill him where he stood. But John was undeterred. "Map, I think I know where we are going. We're going in a straight line. Down."

Map stood staring at his crotch. She still never had gotten him in the balls. She was going to get him, one way or another, somehow, someway, and she was going to get him good. It was a promise on her life.

"John, you stupid sonofabitch, if you crush your balls in your hands, right now, I'll take you anywhere you want to go."

She could tell by the dark look on his face that he wasn't going to comply.

So she shrugged and continued, "But as things stand, you are a big fucking pussy. Keep your precious little testic-balls. I've got a path out of here, and I'm going to make it. Easy peasy. But you won't be able to go with me. Pussy."

"Are you saying I'm on my own, then?"

The two of them still stood in front of each other. Map forced her gaze away from his crotch. She looked into his eyes.

"John, I'm telling you for the last time. I am getting out of here. I have a way. You can come with me, but it will cost your balls. One now, and one slowly till you die." Map paused, and looked deeply into John's eyes. "Can you see me, John? Can you hear me?" Map opened her soul to him at that moment. John could see an orifect of light promising passion. "All I've ever wanted is to have you by your balls. I want to hold you, hold your entirety, in my hands, and have you completely."

Map could see nothing but horror on John's face.

So it was true, then, John did not love her.















Dear Mr. Reese,

Your candy bars stink.

Sincerely,

The End

No, sir. No, ma'am. If you will all please calm down, I will explain. This is not the end. Nor is it the beginning. Rather, this is the beginning of the end.

But, before we can begin to end things, we must first end the beginning. So, let us now, with solemn pleasance, begin to end the beginning.

We find Map lounged out on the couch. She is wearing short, oily brown hair. A red tube top. A leather miniskirt. Long black leather boots that begin on the thigh, and end with a long, high heel.

She is smoking a cigarette, and she exhales menthol clouds from her brightly painted red lips.

John stares across the room, drinking in the sight of her with white need. He attempts to contain the aching in his chest, making him look angry. He appears cross eyed as he tries to contain himself. He is gripping the arms of the couch tightly, his forearms are tight with tension and veins.

Map looks the other way, smoking her cigarette, oblivious to the other presence in the room. She has changed her appearance again.

She now wears a red sparkling tube top, and a black feathery scarf is wrapped lazily around her neck. Her legs are covered by a long denim skirt. She is wearing long diamond earrings, and a countess' scarlet hood. Her lipstick is pale venom now. She has an overall lilac-esque quality about her, sort of an enigmatic lavender mystique.

John is confused, clenched tight with dread. Her reckless abandon baffles him. She sits across from him without a care in the world. As if nothing had even happened.

"What the hell was it?" he finally asks.

She glances briefly sideways at him but quickly returns her attention to her cigarette smoking. She is making a labor of love out of it. "It was your wife," she states with a quick exhale of smoke. She legs are wrapped in light purple footie leggings.

He gapes. He gasps. He gulps.

He tenses into a retention of stressed tensions. He is a wretched wreck of stressed flesh, his face wickedly stretched into a repressed grimace. He growls deeps in his throat, grinding his teeth and engorging his jaw with clenched-shut aggression. His vehemence envelops him.

But it does not take what remains of him.

He swallows hard, and sighs, and stifles his heart.

"We have to kill it."