"Space Eroticism."
-George Lucas describing why he made C-3PO's codpiece so big
-George Lucas describing why he made C-3PO's codpiece so big
Yes, I gave in and picked up that often-mentioned book on the making of Star Wars. How could I not? Before all that selling out by George Lucas in the past few years, it was a romance that spanned many galaxies. Yes, there were bad guys and, yes, there were smugglers' blues as the captain of his ship had to avoid vast amounts of bad guys, the evil Empire. All in all, Star Wars was really a romance where a boy helped clean up his father's mess.
It's not bad, this book, The Making Of Star Wars. You can really see in the pictures a different time period. George looks so young and healthy rather than that giant chin he has now. From the looks of the people that worked on the movie, you'd swear they were having the times of their lives not knowing how this one flick would lead to greatness. For me, it's how the director helped make vast improvements in the surround sound. Back then, it was 2 speaker stereo but now it's 5 speakers or more. Oh, if only I kept those rare Star Wars fan-club fliers.
While scanning in Barnes & Noble for the book, a friend I haven't seen for a long, long time came up to me. Rodney, a guy I met while picking up comics each Wednesday was just as shocked as I was. It's been a long time so I was very curious as to why a guy I saw once each week suddenly disappeared.
Comic book addiction. It seems to happen to various nerds, dorks, geeks, and losers. For Rodney, it was a $45/week habit. I'm not joking because I remember waiting in line with him as he paid for his latest pick-ups. While I'm in at the $10/week, that $45 really puts a sting on things. What I'm guessing is that his wife had a say in things: "The comics or me." There is only so much geekiness a girl can take. If you ever think I'm bad in allowing my inner nerd to come out, you haven't seen Rodney's collection, 12 longboxes filled. I'm at 7 and annoyed with how much space these things take in a room. You'd think there would be pictures of various comic book heroes all around the room but, no, it's just a white room. Hardly anyone knows I read those damn things as I'm slowly losing interest. Fans like me deserve better than artwork that looks like a melted painting.
It's no surprise to say this. I'll be heading on out to Indiana on Friday. You know the drill. This boy will be gone for a short while. It's a good thing, too, because reading Kelley Armstrong's 'No Humans Involved' has been hard to take. Those lovely words that describe how a character's panties are getting too wet to keep on or how the necromancer wanted to surprise her werewolf boyfriend in the morning by getting on her knees to unzip his pants are hard to take when Sara's over an hour away.
Well, it shouldn't be a shock to you that there are times I see a bit of myself along with Sara in a book with occult themes. Me, the guy that can bench-press 300 pounds would certainly be the werewolf while Sara, the darker of us, would be the witch. There's just something about the supernatural that brings an inner sexiness that seems to lay dormant in humans. All that scratching til you bleed? Been there and, yes, it feels good. Being smacked around? How many times has Sara almost broken my fingers while flying around in exctasy as I finger bang her? There's just something about feeling like I'm a werewolf as I walk out wearing only pajama pants and causing Sara's mom to do a double-take thanks to my time in the gym.
No, I am not obsessed with thinking I am a supernatural figure. It's just fun to play around in my mind, a place of my own horrors where I'd certainly be a good werewolf. I'd save the world by catching and then eating murderers and rapists. No pointless courtcases because I shit out an enormous pile of the defendant in someone's rose garden prior to peeing on the daffodils. My personal hatred for how this world is being run has me wondering or dreaming of how great it would be to help make it right. Wouldn't the religious fucks look mighty tasty while basted with herds and spices as they are turned over on a spit?
Giselle Bunchen, the supermodel for Victoria's Secret, has a newer reason for me to be interested in her. While this woman has a fantastic figure of toned tummy, unbelievable tits, and an ass, she can spit out venom with thought I wish everyone else could. As far as I know, Giselle called out the church on its stupidity in preaching about virginity and condoms. She asked to be shown why it is that important for virginity while the clergy are well-known for rapes. The church's telling us that condoms need to be rid of is ridiculous and out of touch. People fuck. It's that simple. Fucking is enjoyable and not all of us want kids or AIDS.
I could go on and on about my hatred for the church and its hypocrisy towards the world and life. It's just that I have this insane image in my head over my little brother's porn obsession. Of course, I'm not one to talk because porn, to me, is good. It's just that my computer is fucked up due to all the crap downloaded onto it.
Why can't my brother look at good porn? The image I have that weirded me out was his need to see videos or images of women drinking large amounts of semen. I'm not talking about the usual oral sex but large amounts of guys squirting into a wine glass, chalice, or beer stein and then having the woman down it. The thought just weirds me out, billions of sperm fighting each other until they realize there is no egg but tonsils to cling to. All but 1 girlfriend I've had has swallowed mine but I seriously doubt they'd be interested in doing something where 20 different guys deliver the ghosts of their balls.
But good porn? Fun stuff like everyone having a great time. Good time fucking involves something where both sexes are going at it. Then again, I like a goofy plot and mild bushes. Kids today are more into the completely bare and bowling balls for tits. Doesn't anyone just fuck anymore instead of seeing how many objects we can stick up a girl?
Alright, so I leaveth you here. This summer is turning out to be quite a doozy. Not only do I have the possibility of a Harry Potter event to see in Chicago, a geek convention to possibly meet Veronica Mar herself, Kristen Bell, but I've promised Bald-O that I'd help paint his new house. Yup, deep in CowTown, I will be going to visit a few more times since it's summer and a boy has a deep oath to his mates. As I said before, we guys don't squeal or giggle but drink, paint, and talk shit. Somewhere in between all this is some guitar playing and baseball games. Like Sara said on turning down the attendance of the last trip to see Bald-O: "I wouldn't fit in." The bathroom just isn't female-friendly seeing as t.p. is a rarity at times. Just wipe with Bald-O's towels but don't tell him. *Wink* Happy twats all around.
It's not bad, this book, The Making Of Star Wars. You can really see in the pictures a different time period. George looks so young and healthy rather than that giant chin he has now. From the looks of the people that worked on the movie, you'd swear they were having the times of their lives not knowing how this one flick would lead to greatness. For me, it's how the director helped make vast improvements in the surround sound. Back then, it was 2 speaker stereo but now it's 5 speakers or more. Oh, if only I kept those rare Star Wars fan-club fliers.
While scanning in Barnes & Noble for the book, a friend I haven't seen for a long, long time came up to me. Rodney, a guy I met while picking up comics each Wednesday was just as shocked as I was. It's been a long time so I was very curious as to why a guy I saw once each week suddenly disappeared.
Comic book addiction. It seems to happen to various nerds, dorks, geeks, and losers. For Rodney, it was a $45/week habit. I'm not joking because I remember waiting in line with him as he paid for his latest pick-ups. While I'm in at the $10/week, that $45 really puts a sting on things. What I'm guessing is that his wife had a say in things: "The comics or me." There is only so much geekiness a girl can take. If you ever think I'm bad in allowing my inner nerd to come out, you haven't seen Rodney's collection, 12 longboxes filled. I'm at 7 and annoyed with how much space these things take in a room. You'd think there would be pictures of various comic book heroes all around the room but, no, it's just a white room. Hardly anyone knows I read those damn things as I'm slowly losing interest. Fans like me deserve better than artwork that looks like a melted painting.
It's no surprise to say this. I'll be heading on out to Indiana on Friday. You know the drill. This boy will be gone for a short while. It's a good thing, too, because reading Kelley Armstrong's 'No Humans Involved' has been hard to take. Those lovely words that describe how a character's panties are getting too wet to keep on or how the necromancer wanted to surprise her werewolf boyfriend in the morning by getting on her knees to unzip his pants are hard to take when Sara's over an hour away.
Well, it shouldn't be a shock to you that there are times I see a bit of myself along with Sara in a book with occult themes. Me, the guy that can bench-press 300 pounds would certainly be the werewolf while Sara, the darker of us, would be the witch. There's just something about the supernatural that brings an inner sexiness that seems to lay dormant in humans. All that scratching til you bleed? Been there and, yes, it feels good. Being smacked around? How many times has Sara almost broken my fingers while flying around in exctasy as I finger bang her? There's just something about feeling like I'm a werewolf as I walk out wearing only pajama pants and causing Sara's mom to do a double-take thanks to my time in the gym.
No, I am not obsessed with thinking I am a supernatural figure. It's just fun to play around in my mind, a place of my own horrors where I'd certainly be a good werewolf. I'd save the world by catching and then eating murderers and rapists. No pointless courtcases because I shit out an enormous pile of the defendant in someone's rose garden prior to peeing on the daffodils. My personal hatred for how this world is being run has me wondering or dreaming of how great it would be to help make it right. Wouldn't the religious fucks look mighty tasty while basted with herds and spices as they are turned over on a spit?
Giselle Bunchen, the supermodel for Victoria's Secret, has a newer reason for me to be interested in her. While this woman has a fantastic figure of toned tummy, unbelievable tits, and an ass, she can spit out venom with thought I wish everyone else could. As far as I know, Giselle called out the church on its stupidity in preaching about virginity and condoms. She asked to be shown why it is that important for virginity while the clergy are well-known for rapes. The church's telling us that condoms need to be rid of is ridiculous and out of touch. People fuck. It's that simple. Fucking is enjoyable and not all of us want kids or AIDS.
I could go on and on about my hatred for the church and its hypocrisy towards the world and life. It's just that I have this insane image in my head over my little brother's porn obsession. Of course, I'm not one to talk because porn, to me, is good. It's just that my computer is fucked up due to all the crap downloaded onto it.
Why can't my brother look at good porn? The image I have that weirded me out was his need to see videos or images of women drinking large amounts of semen. I'm not talking about the usual oral sex but large amounts of guys squirting into a wine glass, chalice, or beer stein and then having the woman down it. The thought just weirds me out, billions of sperm fighting each other until they realize there is no egg but tonsils to cling to. All but 1 girlfriend I've had has swallowed mine but I seriously doubt they'd be interested in doing something where 20 different guys deliver the ghosts of their balls.
But good porn? Fun stuff like everyone having a great time. Good time fucking involves something where both sexes are going at it. Then again, I like a goofy plot and mild bushes. Kids today are more into the completely bare and bowling balls for tits. Doesn't anyone just fuck anymore instead of seeing how many objects we can stick up a girl?
Alright, so I leaveth you here. This summer is turning out to be quite a doozy. Not only do I have the possibility of a Harry Potter event to see in Chicago, a geek convention to possibly meet Veronica Mar herself, Kristen Bell, but I've promised Bald-O that I'd help paint his new house. Yup, deep in CowTown, I will be going to visit a few more times since it's summer and a boy has a deep oath to his mates. As I said before, we guys don't squeal or giggle but drink, paint, and talk shit. Somewhere in between all this is some guitar playing and baseball games. Like Sara said on turning down the attendance of the last trip to see Bald-O: "I wouldn't fit in." The bathroom just isn't female-friendly seeing as t.p. is a rarity at times. Just wipe with Bald-O's towels but don't tell him. *Wink* Happy twats all around.
1 comment:
The History Channel has been running a new documentary series on Star Wars that was really interesting. It compared the stories and themes intergrated in the series to myths and other classic themes in literature, mythology, etc. Very cool.
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