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In This Issue:
GOD�S WILL REVEALED !
(how lucky can you get?)
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Hamilton? Sturges?
http://www.amazon.com
Issue No. 358
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Dungeon of Desire
Epilogue
�Tsk! Then you�ll need to be restrained and gagged,� Shantila
replied. I said nothing. She went back to the dresser. She returned with a
rope. It was white and soft but I feared it all the same. Shantila bound it
round each of my wrists as I lay with them at my face on the table. Then
she pulled both my wrists out in front of my head. She bound the free end
of the rope tightly around an old radiator behind the desk. It didn�t work,
but it was very firmly bolted to the floor.
Shantila fetched a gag. She urged my lips apart and carefully fitted
the gag between them. Then she tied the ends of the gag behind my head,
in my hair. She stroked my hair down off my back so she could see all of
me.
Shantila stepped behind me again. She was about to restrain my feet
when the doorbell rang.
I froze. This had happened once before. It had been a mere salesman,
and Johnson had turned the person away, but I had felt mortified lying over
his desk, just out of view of the door, with my hands tied to his radiator.
Shantila, sensing a unique opportunity, went to the door. �Yes, may I
help you?� she asked, opening it.
�Hello, madam. Have you had an uplifting experience today?� I heard
a voice ask.
�No, but I know somebody who�s about to...� Shantila said. �Would
you like to talk to her?� I felt fear grip my tummy. How could she? This
was unspeakable.
I heard a sniffle, as if the salesman had a runny nose. �Well,
actually, I don�t mean to intrude. Perhaps if you�d just purchase one for
her,� the voice continued.
�Come in, you dolt. Do you have to be dragged in?� Shantila snapped.
I don�t know if she grabbed him or not but, a moment later, to my intense
embarrassment, I found myself glancing back over my shoulder and coming
face to face with the nerd! It was the same one who�d drooled over me as
I checked my skirt on my way up here. How had he managed to...?
I gazed at his rumbled shirt and his (non-matching, of course) short
pants. He must have followed me! He had a big handful of sales literature
for something or other. I yanked at my bonds. I kicked one of my legs
back, trying to break free of my totally awful predicament. Who knew
what this book worm would say about me? Could I ever park in the garage
again, knowing he might be lurking there, waiting for me and hoping to
score a peek at my ass?
�She does have a lovely ass, doesn�t she?� Shantila asked the nerd.
She could see his fixation with my heinie and it bothered her not when he
failed to reply at all. His mouth hung open and his tongue seemed to have
trouble staying behind his teeth. I watched to my mortification as a
drooling drip of saliva formed on his tongue and dropped toward the floor.
�Are you...are you...� the nerd stammered.
�Am I going to spank her? Yes. She gets spanked here once a week.
She�s paid for it. Would you like to watch? She has little say in the
matter, as you can see...�
�Um, yes. Do you think she�d like to buy some MiracleGlow brass
cleaner too?� the nerd asked. �It�s good for polishing... your brass.�
�I�ll polish your ass if you speak to me again of buying anything,�
Shantila said. �What do you think this is, the Internet?�
�Um, no. Though it�s sort of like...� the nerd said, gazing at my ass.
�Could I take pictures of her and upload her ass to all my buddies? I need
some new porn to trade and stuff.�
�Just watch and enjoy,� Shantila said. She put a finger to his lips to
quiet him. Then she made a face and drew her finger away and shook it in
the air. �You�re drooling!� she scolded him. �Confine your drooling to your
member, please!�
�Do you have a magazine I could use or anything?� the nerd asked. He
unzipped himself. I felt like a lavatory!
�Zip up, boy. It�s bad enough you�re drooling your spit all over the
carpet. I don�t need to clean up your jism too. I�d advise you not to cum if
you intend to wander all around inside this building selling your...�
�MiracleGlow Brass Cleaner! It�s the best!� the nerd said. He
proffered his booklets again.
�I don�t see any...� Shantila said. She grabbed the booklets from him.
�You have to ORDER it! I just collect money and give you a booklet to
show you�ve bought and how to use...� the nerd followed Shantila to the
window. She raised it and flung his booklets out into the open air. I felt
the warm air of the city flow in and touch me upon my heinie.
�What are you doing to my literature?!� the nerd shrieked. He
watched in horror as all his booklets went flying out onto the wind, to
compete with the pigeons in the air.
Shantila closed the window. �They�ll all still be down there on the
pavement waiting for you to pick them up after you�re done,� she smiled.
And it was true, I knew. They�d all be down there, lying in the alley.
�Well...� the nerd paused. His eyes darted from the window to my
bottom. He put a contemplative finger beneath his chin.
�Here. Clean your glasses,� Shantila said to him. She ripped a
kleenex from its paper box and handed it to him.
Shantila came up behind me. I struggled in my bonds but it was
fruitless. She directed the nerd to bring her a spreader bar from the chest
of drawers to keep my legs apart. He complied. He found the bar and
brought it to her but he couldn�t open its telescoping ends. She had to pull
it apart for him. Then she had him bend down and affix it between my
ankles.
�Ow!� the nerd cried. He injured his finger trying to buckle my
ankles into the bar. Finally, after much effort, he succeeded. I felt like
kicking him but Shantila was standing right there with the paddle.
-----
The Age of Innocence, by David Hamilton, $31.50. (Retail: $45.00)
Large-sized Art book with many black-and-white photos, and some
color photos. Many pages. Web: http://amazon.com or
http://barnesandnoble.com
You would not believe what happened to me today. I met this guy. He
calls himself, �Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle.� (I realize that may be a
trademarked name of the Edgar Rice Burroughs estate, but that�s what he
calls himself-- what am I to do?)
�Tarzan,� in addition to calling himself that, looks rather like the
real article. He doesn�t wear a shirt. He has broad shoulders. He has long
hair. He wears a loincloth. (Maybe he�s really �The Naked Man,� that guy
from Berkeley. I�m not sure.)
Anyway, I was sitting next to Tarzan on the bus. He had a book with
him. I asked what he was reading and he showed it to me. It was David
Hamilton�s �The Age of Innocence� !
�I can�t read, but I like looking at the pictures,� Tarzan told me.
As we rode along on the bus I asked Tarzan about his life. He said he
was from Africa. He said he had come to America to find a wife, to take
back to Africa with him. But he was disappointed, he said, because �all
your women folk here are already fucked.�
(Tarzan�s not the most diplomatic person to talk to.)
�Well,� I said. �At least you have one consolation. None of the girls
in that book you�re carrying around have been fucked. Maybe you�ll get
lucky and meet one of them.�
�I hope so,� Tarzan said. He explained to me how he would be totally
humiliated if he brought back to Africa a bride who had already been in bed
with another man. Things are more old fashioned in Africa, I guess, than
they are here in America.
Figuring I had, perhaps, a sympathetic listener, I explained to Tarzan
my belief that God is an 8-year-old girl. I told him I felt God looked like
Barbie, but a junior version of Barbie.
�Yes!� Tarzan said. �I have had that same belief myself.�
�You have?!� I asked. This really shocked me. I thought God, as an
8-year-old girl, was my own invention. Tarzan pulled a crumpled sheet of
paper out of his loincloth. It was a little sweaty from being next to his
dick. (I don�t think he had any underpants on.) He spread it out on the flat
surface of his David Hamilton book. He looked at it reverently. Then he
handed it to me. (I took it with delicate fingers, as it had the sweat of his
groin on it.)
�I�d keep that next to my heart, except I don�t have a shirt,� Tarzan
told me. I nodded. The slip of paper had been photocopied by somebody.
Tarzan asked me to read it aloud to him. Here�s what it said:
GOD�S NEW COMMANDMENTS
Greetings! Today I am going to share an important truth with you. It
is this: God is an 8-year-old girl!
What does God look like? That�s hard to say. She�s God, after all.
But it has been revealed to me that by studying the book, �The Age of
Innocence,� we may see God in all her many forms and varieties. No one
girl in �The Age of Innocence� is God herself. But each one is a �humanized�
version of the divine being, God.
How does one worship such a God? By reading the book, �The Age of
Innocence� ! What an excellent book this is for such a purpose. Lots of
little girls are contained within its pages. All types and varieties of
girls, so that every man may find one or more to his liking to worship. I
might look at one girl, and worship her. You might look at another girl, on
another page, and worship her. But we will BOTH be worshipping the same
God!
All of this was revealed to me today, as I speculated upon the
photographs compiled by David Hamilton, of beautiful young girls in �The
Age of Innocence�.
Why has God chosen to reveal her true essence at this time?
Because she is dissatisfied with the way we men have been living here on
earth.
In the beginning, God created heaven and earth. Then she created
man. She created man in her image. However, she gave man an extra
appendage, to give him something to do with his hands, and to amuse
herself.
Later, man insisted that he have someplace to put his extra
appendage, especially at night, when it tended to harden. So, as a
receptacle for man�s appendage, God created woman.
But God is dissatisfied with how things have developed here on
earth. We men have put the receptacles in charge of our lives! This is
greatly displeasing to God. She intends for us to worship Her, but instead
we worship the receptacles!
The time is ripe, gentlemen, for a new religion. Recently I heard one
of the receptacles speak. It was the president of NOW, the National
Organization for Women. She said, �Sexual harassers are everywhere.�
She wasn�t asked about date rapists, but we all know what her response to
that would have been: �Date rapists are everywhere.� And so on, with all
the other legal categories which have recently been created by the
receptacles to control and manipulate men.
God does not want us men treated like this! Receptacles, in charge
of our lives! For this reason did God command that �The Age of Innocence�
be made, celebrating HER form, so that men might learn to love Her again.
It is hereby commanded by God that all men purchase �The Age of
Innocence,� and read it on a daily basis. It is also commanded that ye go
forth and convert others to a worship of God. Stand on the street corners
and proclaim Her religion! Demand that it be taught in the schools! And
don�t forget to deduct your purchase of �The Age of Innocence� on your
income taxes. You are making a charitable contribution to God when you
purchase this book. Buy several copies. Hand them out to friends and co-
workers. And deduct all of them on your taxes.
Thus sayeth the Lord.
p.s. The proper offering, if visited by God, is a lollipop. (Preferably
a cherry lollipop.)
(humbly transcribed by the disciple perply.)
�Perply?!� I cried. �He�s stolen my religion.�
�He said he read about it on his computer. Whatever that means,�
Tarzan told me. �Turn the paper over. There�s more on back.�
I turned the paper over. Here�s what was on the back:
PRAYING TO GOD
It is essential, as a believer in God, that you pray to Her. Here is
how it shall be done:
1. Prepare for bed.
2. Kneeling at your bedside, place �The Age of Innocence� upon your
bed.
3. Look at the pictures in �The Age of Innocence.� Fill your mind
with the beauty and grace of God. Whisper to God of your secret passions,
hopes, and desires.
4. Proclaim loudly your love of God, while looking at your favorite
picture(s) in �The Age of Innocence.�
5. (Optional): Make tribute to the Lord God. (Be sure to have a box of
kleenex handy if you do this.)
6. Retire to bed, rid of all thoughts of the receptacles, your mind
filled with the glory of God.
Thus sayeth the Lord.
�Clever,� I said. �But I still don�t like Perply stealing my religion.�
�The monkey�s out of the tree now,� Tarzan said to me. He took back
the paper. He folded it up and stuffed it back in his loincloth. Its
presence there made his loincloth bulge out a little more than it was
already doing.
�So,� I said. �Are you a believer in that claptrap?� (I was starting
to dislike my religion a little, now that Perply had stolen it from me.)
�Of course,� Tarzan said. �Praise be to God!� Then he opened up his
David Hamilton book and began looking at it intently. �Personally, I think
that one is God,� Tarzan said to me. He pointed to the girl on page 48, in
the upper right hand corner.
�I�d pick her too,� I said to Tarzan. �But I think I�m going back to
being a Lutheran.�
�What did that ever do for you?� Tarzan asked me.
�Hmmm. Nothing,� I admitted.
�See?� Tarzan said. �No wonder you didn�t get any results. You were
praying under a false religion. Anyway, who looks better? This girl, or
Martin Luther?�
�The girl,� I answered.
�How about if you were a Catholic?� Tarzan asked me. �Would you
rather worship the Pope, or this girl?�
�The girl,� I admitted.
�How about if you were a Mormon?� Tarzan asked. �Would you rather
be with this girl, or with Joseph Smith?�
�The girl,� I said.
�You see?� Tarzan asked me. He pointed to his chest. �In my case, I
used to pray to a giant monkey. Thank God I found out about this new
religion! Maybe it will even get me a wife!�
�That would be better than fucking a monkey... or spanking one, too,�
I said.
�That�s right,� Tarzan said.
We got off the bus singing hymns to our (new) God and shouting
�Praise the Lord!� People smiled at us, until we held up the David Hamilton
book. Then somebody called a policeman.
AND IN THE END...
NEED AN OSCAR?
�Academy members are suckers for sentiment. They will
sometimes crown an actor as much for personal misfortunes as for the
performance given. It is wonderful what afflictions, unhappy love
affairs and tales of child abuse surface in the window of time between
an Oscar nomination and the voting for the awards.�
- The Economist, March 14, 1998, pg. 96.
-------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------
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-END OF 358 EMISSION
Glory to God! Death to all unbelievers!