Good evening, everyone. I hadn't had a drink in 76 days, and decided to get a bottle of 13.5% ABV pinot noir tonight. Half-way through the bottle, tolerance is low, so I'm definitely tickled.
I will be vocaroo-ing anything and everything that is posted in this thread. So have at it, I gotchu senpai.
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nigger.
OP delivers
Pynchons my fav writer for sure because my fav thing in books is goofs, gags, jokes and rambunctious behavior, and his books are full to the brim of it. Every novel is like one of those novelty snake cans, you open the book & POP you get a face fulla snakes and you fall back cackling. The mad mind, the crack genius, to do it! and then you think hmmm whats he gonna do next, this trickster, and you pick the book back up and BZZZZZZZZZZ you get a shock and Hahahahahah you've been pranked again by the old pynchmeister, that card. "Did that Pynch?" he says, laughing yukyukyukyuk. Watch him as he shoves a pair of plastic buck teeth right up into his mouth and displays em for you- left, right, center- "you like dese? Do i look handsome???" Pulls out a mirror. "Ah!" Hand to naughty mouth. And you're on your ass again laughing as he snaps his suspenders, exits stage right, and appears again hauling a huge golden gong.
>I hadn't had a drink in 76 days
if you're counting that means you probably quit, which means you probably are an alcoholic, which means you just relapsed, which makes me sad
also not literature
You had an arse full of farts that night, darling […] big fat fellows, long windy ones, quick little merry cracks and a lot of tiny little naughty farties ending in a long gush from your hole. […] I think I would know Nora’s fart anywhere. I think I could pick hers out in a roomful of farting women. It is a rather girlish noise not like the wet windy fart which I imagine fat wives have. It is sudden and dry and dirty like what a bold girl would let off in fun in a school dormitory at night. I hope Nora will let off no end of her farts in my face so that I may know their smell also.
Goodnight, my little farting Nora, my dirty little fuckbird! There is one lovely word, darling, you have underlined to make me pull myself off better. Write me more about that and yourself, sweetly, dirtier, dirtier.
JIM
This is the Pynchon copypasta.
I want to hear you talk about Nora’s farts.
Nice.
Here user read one of mine it's called
Cat's'n'bubbles
A long lasting bubble plapped, with the swift boop of a cat.
And The cat ratted its tongue and asked without any rasp
Blow another magic bubble with your blue long bubble wand
And so the man got played by the cats paw like a untwined fiddle
This is how we found trouble come onto another bubble with a crash
Frazzeled by the cats sass, it popped too
With a spish and a splash
The man readied for his next magical task
He fiddled and rasped at the bubbling wand, and drew another one
but at long last we come to a pass, the mighty cat ran and turned past, out to neverwhen
There then was no more magical bubble blast as then there lived a fortunate forever bubble at long last
oh fuck, my bad, here it is
Thanks user :)
that was a needed joy
Good luck
'bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnuk'
I vow to try my best to always treat myself with compassion. I understand that there are people that will help and support me if I need it. I am grateful for the awareness of my suffering as it is the first step on the journey to salvation.
“Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta. She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita. Did she have a precursor? She did, indeed she did. In point of fact, there might have been no Lolita at all had I not loved, one summer, an initial girl-child. In a princedom by the sea. Oh when? About as many years before Lolita was born as my age was that summer. You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns.”
wtf im erect
So found heth, he hasth holieth desire in thee, fire.
So holieth, sounds of hith, in thy slumbering choir.
So foundeth, of thy treasen, of fallen have transpire.
Boi, so fire, God gaven a holy pyre
Boi, down in gyre, sounds of golden lyre
Foyer commeth from fire, onto hearth
So sendeth inner, he climbs down into earth
Tender nurished, branded and mullished
He ith pert
Damned from squires, lost frometh land
Famed by his desire, posted to lambs
Boi, so genuine, with ideas so divine like an internal pendulum,
His position an eternal drive
Their word gaunt like a tumor
They said it was only time
They implied it with a humor
His life destined for a crime
He steppeth through fire,
As their judgement
Is thy game
Wrong post dork
Well, I wish you good night
But first shit in your bed and make it burst.
Sleep soundly, my love
Into your mouth your arse you'll shove.
