People are Awesome. Wait, No They Aren't.
Warning! Disgusting Written Material!
Why is it that whenever a decent book, film, song, or T-shirt comes out, some asshole needs to write about it, poorly, and publish it on the internet? I'm aware of the irony here; what I'm doing here amounts to the same thing, except that they're all assholes and I'm not. Here, look at this:
Eustace felt he would never get enough of just walking on two legs. (Though in years to come he did miss being able to fly.) He climbed up a ridge, just for fun, and grinned when he tripped over a stone. And he was tired too! A perfect day.
He looked around for a place to rest and there was a perfect seat: a large, smooth rock, flat and wide, with a view of the bay. Only Caspian was already sitting there.
Eustace thought first of turning round and going back. But there were things he knew he ought to say to Caspian and his new leaf was so freshly turned that it didn't take much extra courage for him to go and sit at Caspian's side.
"I say," Eustace began and then his courage flagged a little.
Caspian turned and looked at Eustace. His face was neither welcoming nor forbidding, it was merely stern and attentive.
"I've been...I've been an ass," Eustace said. "I've behaved rottenly and I can't tell you how sorry I am. I won't be such a nuisance in the future. It's all different now."
"Thank you for your courtesy," Caspian said, his expression still grave. "You have already shown us your new heart these last days. Go on as you are and we will make a man of you." And then he smiled at Eustace.
It made Eustace remember his dream. The kingly glow that had surrounded the lion now seemed to touch Caspian's face and Eustace was drawn to it. He meant to say "thank you very much" and perhaps shake Caspian's hand but what he did was reach up to Caspian and kiss him.
Caspian seemed completely unsurprised. Nor did he pull away. He put his arm about Eustace's shoulder and bent his head. Caspian's mouth was warm as the sun on Eustace's face and behind the sweetness of the kiss was a hint of something deeper.
When they drew apart, Eustace knew that he was grinning like a fool.
"Different indeed!" Caspian said and touched Eustace's cheek with the back of his hand.
"I'm still a Republican," Eustace said. A wholly unfamiliar feeling bubbled up inside of him and the day seemed even more perfect than before.
Caspian laughed and leaned in for another kiss. They heard the sound of rocks sliding and they looked up.
Edmund stared at them with stricken eyes.
Now, what the fuck was that all about? Was this necessary? Has it contributed to our culture? Has it expanded the horizons of the writer's craft? Wait, look at this now:
He learned fast, like I thought he would. We went on from floating to paddling almost right away. After a couple of hours, he was stroking respectably. I kept my hands to myself, mostly, and it wasn't that hard.
Luke stood and shook some of the water out of his hair. "Well, professor? Do I pass?"
"You'll do for now. Final exam isn't until day after tomorrow. You might pass, if the teacher likes you."
"What about I pass or the teacher gets a black eye?"
"You just try it, Hotshot." I wanted to duck him again, but his skin was starting to redden a little. "We should put on more UV cream."
"Yeah." He looked at his arms. "You'd think I'd be used to the sun, but I never was."
We splashed back up to our packs and Luke let me do that spot between his shoulder blades. I pushed my thumbs into the muscle and felt him move into it just a little. Maybe I'd try that later.
He turned back to face me. "Do you want to swim some more?"
Hmm. "I think I just want to sit on the beach for a while." I fished my shorts out of the pile. No need to get sand up my ass. I settled down, a little closer to the water. Luke didn't move for a bit and I sort of hoped he'd go back in to swim some more. Easier to watch him that way.
He dropped down beside me, though, and that was fine too. It had been a long day. We didn't speak, just stared out at the sea, the horizon. I dragged my fingers through the sand, combing it into ridges. I dug a little deeper, pulled out a shell and a stone, patted the sand into the beginnings of a castle. Soon we were both working on it, a building high as we could make it. We argued about fortification -- I wanted a moat, he wanted a fence. We compromised on a trench with stakes.
As we knelt to our work, the sun was behind Luke, throwing his face into shadow. "Having fun?" I asked him.
"Yeah." He looked up at me. "I am."
His hair had dried funny -- it was too long anyhow -- and the breeze blew it back a bit. "Any time." Any time, Luke. Dammit, I hated feeling this way. I couldn't afford to feel this way. Like I was fifteen again and writing poetry to toss through Sisu's window. I hated it, but I looked at him and it was too late. I was going to kiss him, going to push him down onto the sand, going to lie beside him and touch him just like she'd touched me, that first time.
I was and I started to lean forward and I put my hand down right on the sharpest twig in the fence. "Damn!" I stared at my palm -- a red mark, but the skin was unbroken. Unlike the moment.
Yes, some hopeless douchebag wrote stories (this is the third of seven) about Luke and Wedge gallivanting across the universe after the first Death Star battle. HE JERKS OFF LATER! Yes, this degenerate ballsack has WEDGE ANTILLES, the baaadest Rogue Squadron motherfucker, pleasuring himself to thoughts of Mark 'aww, i wanted to go into Tosche Station' Hamill!
And it's not all gay. Don;t get me wrong here. I'm cool with the whole gay thing. You should see some of the guys I pick up. On my bus. Me and gay is like this, son. Those two excerpts were just the first two I saw. Literally. Here's the third, and while it's hetero, it's even more disgusting than the others:
Take care of your sister.
Those were the last words Éomer heard from his mother when she died, and the first he heard from his uncle when he came into that house.
And so he had. He'd dried Éowyn's tears in her grief, fed her bread in her hunger, given her strength in her need. She would not leave his side to do as the women did and so he taught her on the field as well, with sword and shield and bow.
Take care of me, brother, she would say, her hand in his, and he could deny her nothing.
When Éowyn was a woman grown, men's eyes began to follow her. But always she turned her head away, for she had no need, she said, for any other man. And Éomer would smile, but sadly, for he knew some day she would not turn away.
Then one night, when the north wind was bitter with snow, she came to him at night and roused him from his sleep.
I am cold, Éowyn said. I would not be alone. She lay down beside him, her head pillowed on his shoulder and her unbound hair spilling over his chest.
Her body stretched alongside Éomer's and he put his arms around her. She shook and to Éomer she seemed to give off heat, so that he thought her fevered.
I will fetch the leech, he said, but she embraced him and would not let him go.
Take care of me, brother, she said, and put her arms about his neck and kissed his mouth.
This was wrong, Éomer knew, a brother did not lie with his sister. But her mouth was warm and her arms clinging and he loved her more than anything else on the black earth.
The taste of her filled him with hunger. He pulled her close and stroked her face and throat, kissed the hollow of her neck, her shoulder where her gown had pulled aside.
She kissed his face over and over, his cheeks above the beard, his temples, the corners of his mouth. She loosened her gown and took his hand and held it to her breast.
Éomer learned her body, intent upon each curve, as though he were a skald and Éowyn a verse that he was making. He touched her and she cried out softly. He wished that he could see her face.
Take care of me, she said again, and Éomer could wait no longer. He raised her gown, his hands sliding over her strong thighs. He entered her and she cried out again, this time in pain. It grieved him, but she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him as he moved against her.
He spent before too long, and when he rolled aside, Éowyn put her face against his neck and wept. And Éomer wept too, wetting his beard with tears, and they lay sleepless in each other's arms until dawn.
The next night, she came to him again.
FINIS
You saw it here first, folks. Somebody wrote, and then probably abused themselves to, a story about Eowyn and Eomer, BROTHER AND SISTER, getting it on. Oh, hey, there's one with Gimli and Galadriel. No shit, there is. Mulder and Scully. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan. Hermione and The Weasley Twins. Captain Janeway and Seven Of Nine.
My God. I know Seven Of Nine is hot, but I don't know that I've ever even met anyone that hard up. And I didn't even really look for this; i just Googled Narnia fan fiction; I was going to write about the movie today (pretty cool, good creature CG, excellent treatment of the battles and the Stone table scene, Peter looks uncannily like Prince William), but I had to see if there was something. And there was. This shit is disturbing, and poorly written. Go back and read this shit. 'The skin was unbroken. Unlike the moment." What the fuck is that? He better be an old Korean guy, that's all I have to say. Jesus, English had better not be his first language.
Oh, wait.
This is the capper.
Anybody who needs some erotic TRANSFORMERS fan fiction, here it is. And I just googled transformers fan fiction, people, I didn't have this bookmarked or anything... seriously, that's fucked up. I didn't. Seriously.
I'm gonna stop now before I get in more trouble.
Why is it that whenever a decent book, film, song, or T-shirt comes out, some asshole needs to write about it, poorly, and publish it on the internet? I'm aware of the irony here; what I'm doing here amounts to the same thing, except that they're all assholes and I'm not. Here, look at this:
Eustace felt he would never get enough of just walking on two legs. (Though in years to come he did miss being able to fly.) He climbed up a ridge, just for fun, and grinned when he tripped over a stone. And he was tired too! A perfect day.
He looked around for a place to rest and there was a perfect seat: a large, smooth rock, flat and wide, with a view of the bay. Only Caspian was already sitting there.
Eustace thought first of turning round and going back. But there were things he knew he ought to say to Caspian and his new leaf was so freshly turned that it didn't take much extra courage for him to go and sit at Caspian's side.
"I say," Eustace began and then his courage flagged a little.
Caspian turned and looked at Eustace. His face was neither welcoming nor forbidding, it was merely stern and attentive.
"I've been...I've been an ass," Eustace said. "I've behaved rottenly and I can't tell you how sorry I am. I won't be such a nuisance in the future. It's all different now."
"Thank you for your courtesy," Caspian said, his expression still grave. "You have already shown us your new heart these last days. Go on as you are and we will make a man of you." And then he smiled at Eustace.
It made Eustace remember his dream. The kingly glow that had surrounded the lion now seemed to touch Caspian's face and Eustace was drawn to it. He meant to say "thank you very much" and perhaps shake Caspian's hand but what he did was reach up to Caspian and kiss him.
Caspian seemed completely unsurprised. Nor did he pull away. He put his arm about Eustace's shoulder and bent his head. Caspian's mouth was warm as the sun on Eustace's face and behind the sweetness of the kiss was a hint of something deeper.
When they drew apart, Eustace knew that he was grinning like a fool.
"Different indeed!" Caspian said and touched Eustace's cheek with the back of his hand.
"I'm still a Republican," Eustace said. A wholly unfamiliar feeling bubbled up inside of him and the day seemed even more perfect than before.
Caspian laughed and leaned in for another kiss. They heard the sound of rocks sliding and they looked up.
Edmund stared at them with stricken eyes.
Now, what the fuck was that all about? Was this necessary? Has it contributed to our culture? Has it expanded the horizons of the writer's craft? Wait, look at this now:
He learned fast, like I thought he would. We went on from floating to paddling almost right away. After a couple of hours, he was stroking respectably. I kept my hands to myself, mostly, and it wasn't that hard.
Luke stood and shook some of the water out of his hair. "Well, professor? Do I pass?"
"You'll do for now. Final exam isn't until day after tomorrow. You might pass, if the teacher likes you."
"What about I pass or the teacher gets a black eye?"
"You just try it, Hotshot." I wanted to duck him again, but his skin was starting to redden a little. "We should put on more UV cream."
"Yeah." He looked at his arms. "You'd think I'd be used to the sun, but I never was."
We splashed back up to our packs and Luke let me do that spot between his shoulder blades. I pushed my thumbs into the muscle and felt him move into it just a little. Maybe I'd try that later.
He turned back to face me. "Do you want to swim some more?"
Hmm. "I think I just want to sit on the beach for a while." I fished my shorts out of the pile. No need to get sand up my ass. I settled down, a little closer to the water. Luke didn't move for a bit and I sort of hoped he'd go back in to swim some more. Easier to watch him that way.
He dropped down beside me, though, and that was fine too. It had been a long day. We didn't speak, just stared out at the sea, the horizon. I dragged my fingers through the sand, combing it into ridges. I dug a little deeper, pulled out a shell and a stone, patted the sand into the beginnings of a castle. Soon we were both working on it, a building high as we could make it. We argued about fortification -- I wanted a moat, he wanted a fence. We compromised on a trench with stakes.
As we knelt to our work, the sun was behind Luke, throwing his face into shadow. "Having fun?" I asked him.
"Yeah." He looked up at me. "I am."
His hair had dried funny -- it was too long anyhow -- and the breeze blew it back a bit. "Any time." Any time, Luke. Dammit, I hated feeling this way. I couldn't afford to feel this way. Like I was fifteen again and writing poetry to toss through Sisu's window. I hated it, but I looked at him and it was too late. I was going to kiss him, going to push him down onto the sand, going to lie beside him and touch him just like she'd touched me, that first time.
I was and I started to lean forward and I put my hand down right on the sharpest twig in the fence. "Damn!" I stared at my palm -- a red mark, but the skin was unbroken. Unlike the moment.
Yes, some hopeless douchebag wrote stories (this is the third of seven) about Luke and Wedge gallivanting across the universe after the first Death Star battle. HE JERKS OFF LATER! Yes, this degenerate ballsack has WEDGE ANTILLES, the baaadest Rogue Squadron motherfucker, pleasuring himself to thoughts of Mark 'aww, i wanted to go into Tosche Station' Hamill!
And it's not all gay. Don;t get me wrong here. I'm cool with the whole gay thing. You should see some of the guys I pick up. On my bus. Me and gay is like this, son. Those two excerpts were just the first two I saw. Literally. Here's the third, and while it's hetero, it's even more disgusting than the others:
Take care of your sister.
Those were the last words Éomer heard from his mother when she died, and the first he heard from his uncle when he came into that house.
And so he had. He'd dried Éowyn's tears in her grief, fed her bread in her hunger, given her strength in her need. She would not leave his side to do as the women did and so he taught her on the field as well, with sword and shield and bow.
Take care of me, brother, she would say, her hand in his, and he could deny her nothing.
When Éowyn was a woman grown, men's eyes began to follow her. But always she turned her head away, for she had no need, she said, for any other man. And Éomer would smile, but sadly, for he knew some day she would not turn away.
Then one night, when the north wind was bitter with snow, she came to him at night and roused him from his sleep.
I am cold, Éowyn said. I would not be alone. She lay down beside him, her head pillowed on his shoulder and her unbound hair spilling over his chest.
Her body stretched alongside Éomer's and he put his arms around her. She shook and to Éomer she seemed to give off heat, so that he thought her fevered.
I will fetch the leech, he said, but she embraced him and would not let him go.
Take care of me, brother, she said, and put her arms about his neck and kissed his mouth.
This was wrong, Éomer knew, a brother did not lie with his sister. But her mouth was warm and her arms clinging and he loved her more than anything else on the black earth.
The taste of her filled him with hunger. He pulled her close and stroked her face and throat, kissed the hollow of her neck, her shoulder where her gown had pulled aside.
She kissed his face over and over, his cheeks above the beard, his temples, the corners of his mouth. She loosened her gown and took his hand and held it to her breast.
Éomer learned her body, intent upon each curve, as though he were a skald and Éowyn a verse that he was making. He touched her and she cried out softly. He wished that he could see her face.
Take care of me, she said again, and Éomer could wait no longer. He raised her gown, his hands sliding over her strong thighs. He entered her and she cried out again, this time in pain. It grieved him, but she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him as he moved against her.
He spent before too long, and when he rolled aside, Éowyn put her face against his neck and wept. And Éomer wept too, wetting his beard with tears, and they lay sleepless in each other's arms until dawn.
The next night, she came to him again.
FINIS
You saw it here first, folks. Somebody wrote, and then probably abused themselves to, a story about Eowyn and Eomer, BROTHER AND SISTER, getting it on. Oh, hey, there's one with Gimli and Galadriel. No shit, there is. Mulder and Scully. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan. Hermione and The Weasley Twins. Captain Janeway and Seven Of Nine.
My God. I know Seven Of Nine is hot, but I don't know that I've ever even met anyone that hard up. And I didn't even really look for this; i just Googled Narnia fan fiction; I was going to write about the movie today (pretty cool, good creature CG, excellent treatment of the battles and the Stone table scene, Peter looks uncannily like Prince William), but I had to see if there was something. And there was. This shit is disturbing, and poorly written. Go back and read this shit. 'The skin was unbroken. Unlike the moment." What the fuck is that? He better be an old Korean guy, that's all I have to say. Jesus, English had better not be his first language.
Oh, wait.
This is the capper.
Anybody who needs some erotic TRANSFORMERS fan fiction, here it is. And I just googled transformers fan fiction, people, I didn't have this bookmarked or anything... seriously, that's fucked up. I didn't. Seriously.
I'm gonna stop now before I get in more trouble.
posted by I am being paid to do this at 9:06 AM
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