Scott and Max 6th April This Year

Huffing cat-piss. Shitting in bottles. So wrong...

Hats off to Extender Bat.
He’s an apache made of clay.
Apples for legs.
Extender Bat... Extender Bat...Comanche motherfucker.

He rides his steed along the prairie,
Full of breakfast.
Searching for lunch,
Extender Bat... hunter.



Joyous bounty smashes away the stupid sentence that goes nowhere.
Why write words that make no sense Pep-Pep?

Papa Dom tries to curry favour with my nan. Saucy. Gets fingered, digitised, and palms me off. Time for dessert, face value. Handy. And although ive never had a lunch like this before, i blithely accept my fate. Remind me never to do this again... i lie, with contempt.

Fliggely-dip the wobbly deer
Wiggles his hips when danger is near.
Creatures vile,
Crocodiles,
Lions, tigers, bears, oh my,
Stop to think ‘Why?’
And fuck off back home.
Fliggelly-dip is happy.

I met the ‘Arkinsaw Confederates’ at a White Pride rally in Tuscon. We drank coffee and talked about politics until noon. Then it was time.
I had never won a fight, so I needed a weapon, despite it being forbidden by the AC. I went to the bathroom and stashed a small toothbrush with razor blades taped to the handle into my coat.
There were millions of the fuckers on the hill. As I stared at the huge, loud mass gathering and stomping on the hill I felt a rush of fear and panic strike me right in my fat fucking cock. God I was so fucking horny! I can’t wait to fuck these crazy shit heads.
So I went to work, with a hop and a skip, despoiling the protestors with my luscious man-thrust.
The Arkinsaw Confederates shared my ideals of reintroducing segregation, school bussing and harsher penalties for minorities convicted of crimes. However my open willingness to fornicate with these savages meant I had to be ex-communicated.
I now fight my battle alone.


Cursing and cussing I slid through the the heaving mass of bodies like a knife through butter, relishing the spill of blood as some splatters onto my tongue, savouring the stench of sweat and flesh. This is what I was born for, where I belong. I could only curse myself for spending most of my man-fat in the ecstasy of the build up, intoxicating, thrilling, dangerous. How much pleasure can a man take before he’s arrested or worse. Fuck it. They’ll never take me alive.
She’s been tied to the gurney for fifteen days. Her skin is brittle and bruised and her face is almost unrecognisable from all the slash marks. Her name is Deborah. She had the secret to the wizard key in a book in her study.
‘But where is your study?’ I screamed at her. She gurgled a half intelligible response that sounded like a swear word. I punched her in the stomach to relieve some tension.
Suddenly she shouted out loud, nice and clear;
‘West Lanarkshire! 15 Swan Drive!’ and my mission could continue. I wrapped her in pretty coloured cotton and big bandages with dancing little ladybirds on. She looked better with some basic first aid. I patted her on her little, bald head and kissed her once on the left hand.
Now the bloodshed could begin. I was stupid to use my ladybird bandages on the woman, she will die soon anyway, and ladybirds cheer me up in the field of battle.

And then the full loss of the little creatures dawned on me, and I felt my insides twist in mourning. A stupor came upon me as I felt one of my headaches coming on. Jesus, I should get away somewhere, out of sight of friends or family. When one of these moods take me, I don’t differentiate. Its so sad a world when ladybirds must die, and I will reap my bloody vengeance.
Oh shit, oh shitohshitohshit. I cant find my pills. The light suddenly seems painfully bright, a drilling through my retinas. I feel a fit start to rack my frail emaciated body, and then all is black.

I wake up with blood on my face. How long have i been out? The corpse next to me is still warm, so I take the opportunity to snuggle up, comforting myself in her still bosom as I think of mother. Ho ho, if only mummy dearest could see me now. Would she punish me? I suspect so.

She soon grew cold and I had to wear her clothes and skin to keep myself tolerably warm. More warmth was provided by a quick wank onto the bare, dusty ground. Her face made it easy and pleasurable.

Dreams of mother again...

‘Get the fuck up,’ shouted a horrible, burly man covered in guns and bones.
‘I will shit on you if you fucking don’t,’ and I didn’t want to test this. He was nearly nine feet tall, with a distended paunch, so his average faecal load would be far too large to cope with.
As I stood I noticed I was now a girl. The operation had been less than perfect, the mutilated, bruised, loosely stitched flaps of peis and tezticles stung in the cold rain.
He lead me into a large room, newly decorated, covered in white paint, buffed chrome and leather office chairs. In the centre of the room was a cube, about one square meter in size, made apparently of an orange and blue plastic. I sat in the room and he left, locking the door behind him. As I sat I noticed the cube was shaking slightly. I stood and approached it with caution.
Warm to the touch, it felt like angels would feel, but it smelt like the devil. How would my new, female form react to these new sensations? Too wetly was the answer, as I slid on my own juices dripping from my diseased badger. I smiled a snake’s smile, and prayed.
I used my moist, stinking hand to touch the cube and it gave me a slight electric shock. This made me feel like a whole woman so I quickly frigged myself frothy. At the point of climax the cube’s plastic shell fell and within was a square humanoid figure. Its face took up the whole of its front, limbs had clearly been amputated, and the gurgling, fat, crushed square beast gave a mighty moan.
The guards ran in and asked me what I had done.
‘What have you done?’ a large man shouted.
‘Nothing at all... I was passing the time and then this... horrible beast appeared before my big blue eyeholes.’
‘You are not meant to touch your new vagina for another two weeks. It may develop what’s known as ‘Dorkin’s Hubbub,’ making it yellow, brown and slathered in thick mucus.’
And with that I was shot with a tazer gun and I slipped into a deep slumber.

Too much sleep can drive a man crazy. My dreams echoed my mood and images of hell and mother tortured my unconscious mind. God i wish i had my pills, to assuage the sickly guilt that forced me into sadistic revenge on myself. Will these scars never heal? No, not today. Never today. Better to sleep, to cease completely, will my heart to stop beating. But the fear of hell keeps me alive. Consciousness calls...

Conscious call crawl through mires of shit and lye, pain, agony, screeches, my hair burning, my flesh drying, the same pathway to the gigantic fat whore of shit and broken dreams. She strides leather and rocks and her tits hang pendulously, swaying in the hot breeze.
And when I reach there, every time, she asks me to use my hands, my cracked, burnt, terrible hands.