What a terrific thread and creativity in this lot, nice find Johny. I'll post something from elsewhere that I wrote in response to a survey on missing body parts. Preserved here in the original format.
You know, I'm glad we're on teeth now because the missing body parts business was getting a little queer. They started asking for 'tampered goods', unpasteurized tanned kiwi skin naturals, genital warts, 'coco' napes, birthmark digits, vitiligo, organs with their own biographies.
Sure, nothing a seasoned honeybucket charlamagne couldn't stomach.. you only really have to smell every kind of shit once, then your defenses take over and frantically catalogue the source of the shock that the smell mustn't forever be like the immortally ammoniac piss of the dog or like a stench seeping up from the cracks in the ground, of gods great smoking arterial lobes marinated in diesel and hellfire. Some automatic visceral adaptations are really quite useful sometimes, huh? some. No, really the smell wasn't so bad, it was the calls. Every other client was either stock, thick mouthless Indian mono maroni or it was what I call the breath of the killer, a throaty whisper with hints of the gappy whistle you will know from geriatric LGBT's or hairlips. Else it was the voice of madonna, and that was the worst -- Whoever these people are wherever they come from, they like their receptionists unreasonably blonde.
But seriously, creepy guys, creepy. And as though teeth people arent already serious macabre themes, when I think of the dentist I think of jekyl and hyde, it's shaved hair fingernails fingerlings and fondlings with you! The dentist though. You know it's got to be the sadistic torture artist that has his hand in your mouth, they enjoy that shit right? you see it in their eyes. no, in the glinting of them, as they say. . . and that's how they got there in the first place, in your mouth, with a screwdriver and scalpel one pain stricken helpless victim at a time. Teeth, but then by association we are treading also the spheres of autopsy, cancer, paraplegics, dyspeptics, harlequin fetuses, nightmare shit. All because dourma wanted to stick her finger in the pie. THIS IS YOUR FAULT.
wan't know what else gave me the creeps once? that scene from fire in the sky I saw when I was seven. Mommy and daddy, in their rush into the bedroom to play doctor forgot to switch off the television and I had come out to drown the groans from my mind with some midnight tv. To my horror, I got a dose of something worse than mommy's winnying.
Yeah, that movie left some permanent scars. That I'd have gladly traded a few more teeth.
You know, I'm glad we're on teeth now because the missing body parts business was getting a little queer. They started asking for 'tampered goods', unpasteurized tanned kiwi skin naturals, genital warts, 'coco' napes, birthmark digits, vitiligo, organs with their own biographies.
Sure, nothing a seasoned honeybucket charlamagne couldn't stomach.. you only really have to smell every kind of shit once, then your defenses take over and frantically catalogue the source of the shock that the smell mustn't forever be like the immortally ammoniac piss of the dog or like a stench seeping up from the cracks in the ground, of gods great smoking arterial lobes marinated in diesel and hellfire. Some automatic visceral adaptations are really quite useful sometimes, huh? some. No, really the smell wasn't so bad, it was the calls. Every other client was either stock, thick mouthless Indian mono maroni or it was what I call the breath of the killer, a throaty whisper with hints of the gappy whistle you will know from geriatric LGBT's or hairlips. Else it was the voice of madonna, and that was the worst -- Whoever these people are wherever they come from, they like their receptionists unreasonably blonde.
But seriously, creepy guys, creepy. And as though teeth people arent already serious macabre themes, when I think of the dentist I think of jekyl and hyde, it's shaved hair fingernails fingerlings and fondlings with you! The dentist though. You know it's got to be the sadistic torture artist that has his hand in your mouth, they enjoy that shit right? you see it in their eyes. no, in the glinting of them, as they say. . . and that's how they got there in the first place, in your mouth, with a screwdriver and scalpel one pain stricken helpless victim at a time. Teeth, but then by association we are treading also the spheres of autopsy, cancer, paraplegics, dyspeptics, harlequin fetuses, nightmare shit. All because dourma wanted to stick her finger in the pie. THIS IS YOUR FAULT.
wan't know what else gave me the creeps once? that scene from fire in the sky I saw when I was seven. Mommy and daddy, in their rush into the bedroom to play doctor forgot to switch off the television and I had come out to drown the groans from my mind with some midnight tv. To my horror, I got a dose of something worse than mommy's winnying.
Yeah, that movie left some permanent scars. That I'd have gladly traded a few more teeth.
