About asses with King Arthur

Hi guys.
My name is Arthur. King Arthur. But you can call me Larry, as all my knights and friends do, excepting that fat lady called Guinevere, who loves to call me Archie-More-Dumber-Than-A-Cucumber. She is my wife and I have been planning all the time to kill her. I’m waiting for the invention of the atomic bomb, to detonate several usefull tones in her ass and in her mouth. Two bombs in each strategical point mentioned above, just in case…

I love to smoke and drink a beer
While fucking at Guinevere.

One day it happened that I waked up in the morning…..

Thinking deep like a stammer ship...

…. I waked up in the morning with some comunist ideas: let all the people to be rich, happy and sexual satisfyed! Including that ugly Guinevere! Let have all of us a free summer vacation on Miami, or, because on this age there are actually only several savages eating shit of buffalos along the Grand Canion and knowing about Miami and sharks and beaches, let instead all be happy on theirs own nasty backyards, where both Maries, the wife and the cow, are singinging together a small and pretty smart song like…for instance, this one:
La-la-la-la-laaaaaaa…muuuuuuuuu
let chat, baby, on yahoo!
Give me a kiss right here with your lips
And get instead a bag of chips
.

People around stared at me with big, sad eyes and that day they locked me in the tower, together with Merlin, for curing me. You know Merlin, that guy trying to stay on the tough market controlled now by the tough Harry Potter…It’s a nice guy if he doesn’t eat beans or tomatoes. Otherwise, he is a chemical weapon himself. Killing all living beings on an area of several castles around. It seems that his ass was cursed by an ancient witch to be hated by all people, until a young princess will kiss it (the ass) and it (the ass) will be transformed into a very attractive and good-smelling ass. All people in England are waiting for that strange and misterious lady to kiss Merlin in his ass and to release an entire country.
But ok, this story is not about Merlin’s ass. And anyway, I bet that he has the most hairy and browned around ass from all of us. Excepting maybe Guinevere. Checked both. In the tower.

Guinevere,the moving ass
It's like a huge bug in the grass.
You try to target it with your pee,
It jumps like Batman in a tree ....

Another day was, of course, a better day. Did you notice that always all another days are better than whatever today would you choose? Fuck!, this is pretty messy and I didn’t get my early morning tea of ants’hat raid t mustache mixed with frogs’ nails, therefore I am afraid that I cannot sustain this complex conversation with you. Really, maybe you are too clever for them all.
Anyway, another day I decided to put my knights on a parade,just for fun. Just to make people happy that these dumbs are ready to kill each other for something very dubious, like, for instance, the handicraft of Guinevere. Or maybe for the honour to wash the bikini of the same Guinevere. Actually, I am pretty inventive, I remember that once I put them to kill each other just for a fart of this really, really skilled Guinevere.

Here bellow are my beloved knights, Lancelot du Lac and Sir Percival, the survivours of that tournament.

Actually, Lancelot du Lac
Was in love with Donald the Duck
Nothing about Guinevere, my queen,
Which layed drunk in Aberdeen

Sir Percival the knight
Was chatting all the night
With very hot contesses, on yahoo,
Unfortunatelly, this is the truth

These two guys did fight a lot and, finally, I decided to them both in jail, for one week. Because it was boring, boring, boring. And their horses actually shitted a lot on my yard. Yuck!

When I don’t put my knight to kill or to go drunk, I like to play a little bit the romantic role of a lonely king which is in love with a lonely queen. And where could be a queen more lonely than in a cold, dark English tower?
This is why I travel with Guinevere a lot, looking around for proper towers for our small perverse game.

I - king, you - Queen,
Have here a banana, my dear,
Have also a huge cup of beer
While travelling to Aberdeen

Sometimes I just stop in the middle of something (generally it happens when I’m shitting) and I start to deeply think at the meaning of life. What is life?, I ask myself. If I am still awake after 20 secs, I generally offer to the world my favourite answer: Life is like a condom: strange..
This one came into my mind when my sister, I forgot her name, visited me once, to introduce her set of Mordred twins. Or clones, I really forgot. Anyway, there were about four Mordreds, pal, not only one. I am not completely sure about the real number, because I cut myself some fingers, while I extract Excalibur from the stone, and since then math was a really, really huge problem for me. But there were at least four Mordreds, because… let me see… yep, because I still have my four long nailed fingers…

This looks a little bit as random,
It's just an argument for using condom...

And yes, I killed them all, including their damn horses.
Those little creatures were shitting in the middle of my yard, one by one, as in a secret ritual of a secret society of a secret diarrhea! But too many secrets drives me really mad! ‘Cause I am an artist, and not all colours of shit fit with the architectonics of Camelot.
Only mine and the one of my horse.

Looking around for a welcome pub,
I have to build a world from stub...
I'm pretty good on modelling the world,
'Cause I'm portioning stubs using my sword.

Seriously, I can send one to you for free, to scientifically analyze it and to pass your testimony to the next generation.
Or keep it as souvenir.

 

(c) marius09.wordpress.com

		Paparazzi diary Pics above were shot on June, around a Romanian castle called Rashnov. It was the perfect day to drink some beers, to eat some hot-dogs (called here mici) and also to evaluate the various quality of shit, coming from the noble races of some pretty extraordinary creatures, usually called horses. As we use to say peace makers, when we talk about cartoons (what else…?), we would say also shit makers. You know what I’m talking about, right…?

(c) 2009 marius09.wordpress.com

Terrorism with two elves who spit

All you need is love... And a cigarette after.

The ballad of Poppy McCoy and Coya McPop is a nice song and it would be very interesting if you heard about it, because I’ve just composed it this morning, in the bath. Maybe you have heard me, over the Atlantic, and the beauty of it just made you to be ready to read this post. Which is a small love story of two incredible ugly elves. I allowed them to live a decent hidden life on my refrige and, to be honest, I am ready for several good days to share my proudness for my kindness with you.
I just asked them to pee from time to time in the soup of my neighbours, during the night. Which is a fair deal, I suppose.

		Let introduce them first. He is 50% an Irish guy and 50% a Congo guy. Just because his mother, the famous witch Balooba Foofoosh loved a full season set of actors from Kunta Kinte movie. She had to use a lot of incantations to make possible the sex between her, a being of about 8 inches tall, and a
pretty solid guy of about 120 kilos harmoniously distributed around his genital organ. Miss Coya McPop was born somewhere in a station of the New York railway. She lost her parents at age of about 20 minutes, because they just get the very first train after the little Coya was succesfully ejected. She heard that her mother was an unlucky russian fairy, while her father, called Abdul Zaziz, was a mad genie looking all the time for his lost lamp. She didn’t ever meet them, and she used to say about this: Grrroohm upzuli fahum!. A good translation from elf’s language could be Fuck them now / with my charmed saw! Two young elves trained hard to survive in a cold, tough world.

		Poppy McCoy and Coya McPop have met some good years ago, while he was trying to spit on all windows from a skyscraper of 142 floors. At floor #132 he was almost ready to quit, when she, the pure and always smiling Coya, appeared and gently said to him: Hi, champ! Please let me to continue your honorable work!. Hummm. Ok!, said Poppy, and he enjoyed a lot to see how his future girlfriend started to spit all around from floor #132 up to the anthena from the roof. When all the roof was covered by a layer of about 5 inches of spit, Poppy said, full of joy: I love you!, and she said I love you too!.
And they’ve gone in honeymoon somewhere in South America. It seems that in that period the Amazon increased with several good inches, which should be a clear sign that the two young elves had a real good time.

		In that morning I was drinking my coffe, looking with a sad feeling at the refrigerator. It was two weeks since the memorable moment when I had good reasons to open its door, to take the last beer from it. But soon, I thought, good times should come again. There are only ten days more until
the shinny day of salary would come, I said to myself, ready to accept an Oscar for the role of the good guy starving full of dignity. Of course, it was a lie. That salary would come after three years, when I planned to start to work. But, you know, sometimes is nice to lie and to be lied.

Suddenly, a voice around said:
Hi, boss!
Get lost, Darius!, I said, believing that it is my dog begging again for some food.
Why are you so grumpy, boss? You should celebrate the miracle that they didn’t detonate the atomic bomb. Yet. Be happy, dance, sing and make sex, boss! You are really lucky to be still alive!
That moment I realised that actually this is true. More than that, it should not be Darius the one that was speaking, simply because Darius doesn’t care about atomic bombs. Actually, he use to detonate one per each damn hour, and even often in the days when I cook beans food.
Then I saw them. Two small elves looking around for a good place to be targeted. It was pretty clear that I had in my house a new terrible weapon, the spit bomb! Two bombs, to be more exactly (I loved math, once upon a time…)
Who are you guys, and why do you spit all the time?, I asked, with a very scientifical approach in scratching my nose.
We are Poppy McCoy and Coya McPop and we spit because it’s funny.
Hummmm…!, I thought, ….interesting, I will try it myself later.
Ok. Be it your way. Here it’s the deal: you can stay on my refrigerator the next four centuries, without any rent pay. Instead, you have to spit in whatever direction I want.

This way I got two elves who spit for me.
My target for tomorrow will be the Pentagon. Of course, for one billion bucks I can forget about it and target Moscow instead. …You know what?!, let it be only two bucks. Deal?

Because the life is tough
We fart and pee enough.
Because we love to blink
We pee and sing and drink.
(Hannibal 'Retarded' Hurricane, the champ of wrestling.
Poem was firstly read when he got the Pulitzer. From an
old guy who had a heart-attack in a railway station.)

 

(c) marius09.wordpress.com

(c) 2009 marius09.wordpress.com

Invasion movie

 
This script was written in a dark room, where electricity was gone far, far away, due to a too alive boy called Falub Foofoong , who used to play a lot with the saw around the power poles.
That time I decided to use the escuse of darkness to justify my original grammar and also to reveal my deep, hidden inside, hero… while hunting the poor Falub Foofoong. Let me just mention that I kicked several thousands times his smart ass, …and I am prepared for another thousand. Because light is important. Especially when you are writing a script to get an Oscar.
No, it’s not about fertilizing the noble mother of Falub Foofoong, hoping to get a boy called Oscar. Which should come out, in our world, with a banner on his body: Hi, I am Oscar, get me!. Nope. Nope at all.
It’s a about that Oscar.

There are many ways to get an Oscar. The fastest way is just to steal one, but unfortunatelly all good ones were already stolen. It should be simplyer just to win one.
This is what I’m doing here, just putting together some issues to build a script and to get my own Oscar. So please be quiet while reading, I’m working here, ok?

Ok, first scene will be about a gang of aliens talking about how to fuck some terrestrial females:

Aliens talking about modern ways of fucking people of planet Earth

A lot of aliens are screaming:
Let invade Earth and fuck whatever we will see there!,
while some of their more experienced leaders are advising all around:
No! Pay attention to rocks, stones and solid objects! Don’t hurt yourself for nothing, you stupid!.

Meanwhile, terrestrial females were using to talk all day and all night, planing together on how to become happy widows. (It could be that their husbands contacted the aliens for invading the Earth and kill the above mentioned females. No one knows. Mistery. Suspence. Paa-baaaaaaaaammm!! Splash! Fleoshk!)

Terrestrial beings, happy to be invaded.

Next scene it’s about invaded Earth. All females were captured ant they got a very sexy extra-terrestrial ring on their tongues. Each time when they were wanting to talk, the ring was just starting to vibrate pulling out of the mouth the tongue and making the available valid teeth to move and crunch that pretty stupid tongue. Pretty clever, right?, maybe I’ll put some work to develop such a ring, market seems to be prepared to absorbe about three billion of rings…

But ok, what now? Invasion was done, terrestrial females , are pretty fucked by the tough aliens, terrestrial males just stays in pubs drinking beers and playing darts. It looks like a family movie, while I promissed an invasion movie!

Ok, some of the readers will start instantly to hate me, but I have to introduce the saviour of our females, the terminator of aliens, the exterminator of all good momments, the hulk from the bulk … It is about Falub Foofoong. Yep, I decided to forgive the saw boy from the beginning of my post and to make him the hero of the heroes, the one that will make Bruce Willis to cry in the closet, the one that will force Jet Li to simulate a seppuku, and, with a little luck, he will make the rest of Hollywood actors to commit suicide as a sign of respect and dignity.

Falub Foofoong, the new 007 agent in the town.

While we, the spectators, will drink a Cola and eat some kilos of pop-corn, my hero Falub Foofoong will have a pretty tough time. He will be killed several times by mistake by: (1) an alien called Varunj Mbulah Pooroi, who thought that Falub is a genetical experiment of some retarded scientists; (2) by me, the author, just for fun; (3) by a crowd of funs, who believed that he is Michael Jackson ressurected.
Anyway, each time I guarded him and make him to come back to life.
This way he was able to rich the alien starship and to destroy it. But how? How did it?

Walker. Johnny Walker.

Well, he spitted and shitted on that starship all night long. The aliens just made a heart-attack when they waked up in the morning and see spit and shit all around.

Final scene will reveal the human values of my hero. In the shadows of the sunset, he looks to the stars with a warning in his eyes: Fuck you and all your stelar gates! With a bonus for Bill Gates!

Peeing in the dark

This is my movie.
When I’ll be on the scene, to get my Oscar, I will not forget to thank you for reading this.

 

(c) marius09.wordpress.com

(c) 2009 marius09.wordpress.com

Norwegian stuff

 
I decided to postpone to reveal the evidences of etra-terrestrial life. I really hope that my eccentric decision will make the life more and more miserable for some men in black, red or yellow, …and I am very happy about this, together with my pal Quujee Hooomp, which is a baker from Alpha Centauri traveling around.

Have here instead some evidences that Norwegian fjords do exist.

…I also postpone to reveal the existence of fishes in that damned fjord…

The way of warrior. Time of bikes for nowadays vikings.

A common fjord for some common people.
Only us, the green men, are specials, isn't it?.

Here is the end of the Atlantic Ocean.
Or maybe the origin of it, mainly because of the thousands of vikings that
did pee in this place, during the whole history of mankind.
Plus/minus several happy tourists.

 

(c) marius09.wordpress.com

(c) 2009 marius09.wordpress.com

Some theorems about Joe

 
Joe had a toe and he was pretty proud about this. But this is out of our business, we will not spend our time by counting Joe s toes. Not at all, relax!
I have the most beautifull toe on this corner of galaxy, yep! yep! yep! Me! Me! Me! he used to sing all the day, especially right before the moment when his uncle, Gomez, was using to target Joes buttocks a little bit with his horns, in a such gentle and educative way that the young and smart Joe was usually starting to to spit his tail, having two sparks of madness in his big, big eyes. One spark in the green eye and one spark in the yellow one. Harmoniously distributed. The sparks.

This is the young Joe, a smart guy from Norway. He is the one who was the beta-tester for the famous Lady Muu-Muu. She tested her voice on him and he survived.

This is a good opportunity to talk a little bit about Joe’s family, about his education, dreams and, also, about how he will be finally murdered by a nice man called Ola Gustaffson. This one was originally called by his wife, noone knows why, with a very strange Hola!, Pedro!. But ok, maybe somewhere in the future of your kids we will approach also this issue.

Now, have here some pics with the parens of little Joe.
His father (the little bird) was and still is a very deep poet, and you can read his favourite haiku.

Poem
by Joe Poe Kookoe
Fucking such a huge ass
Makes life beautifull inside the grass.

The mathematician of the village, the famous Lie The Spit, built also an equation describing the answers for the basic, ancient questions Why? How? Where? Oooops!! about the mistery of life:

Joe = Mother + Father – Condom

The equation is famous mostly for statistically reasons, as unfortunatelly you maybe already experienced.

Lie The Spit and some of his theorems
(1) Father + Mother - Condom = Joe
(2) Mother + Father = Love
...and from (1) and (2) it results
(3) Joe + Condom = Love.
....pretty strange, isn't it? Hummmmm....

Community of mathematicians declared the young Joe a living conclusion of a theorem without any hypothesis, and this way Joe won his place in the hole of fame from the public toillets, all over the world. Of course.
Have, finally, a pic with some authors that mentioned previous theorems in theirs papers, at the daily congress on Mathematics on RFM (Random Fuckin’ Models)

Aliens looking for stealing a toe from the innocent stub player Joe.

 

(c) marius09.wordpress.com

(c) 2009 marius09.wordpress.com