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Gutteral Vomit E-zine/November 2002
This week's update by: Gutteral Vomit    Last week's feature I Smell Bacon


Aeroplane blonde
One who has bleached or dyed her hair but still has a 'black box'.

Badly packed kebab
A vulgar (but still excellent) term for the female genitalia

Beer compass
The invisible device that ensures your safe arrival home after a booze cruise, even though you're too pissed to remember where you live, how you got there, and where you've come from.

Body Off Baywatch, Face Off Crimewatch.

Budgie's tongue or Small man in a boat, or Tongue punching bag
The female erection.

Free the tadpoles
Liberate the residents of the Wank Tanks.

Hand-to-gland combat
A vigorous masturbation session.

An attractive girl in tight shorts or jeans, etc i.e. you can see the 'lips' moving but can't quite make out what they're saying.

Trying to draw a smile on a woman's face by twiddling both her nipples simultaneously.

Everyone loves a brown eyed girl

I was sitting there loaded with grog, boredom and the pointlessness of it all. I'd been trying to work out the meaning of life. was it some brain-crippling algorithm or was it as simple as having some guy tell you to 'fuck girls with big tits'? I wasn't sure. maybe the meaning of life was in the moment. Or, is.


People were escaping from the terrors of the working week. Me too. Alcohol provided the key to the whole drama. People fucked, fought, dreamt and fell apart in the process.

No one wanted tomorrow so much that they'd be prepared to get there sober and in one piece.

I got a couple in and sat down in a booth near the band. I can't remember their name or what they were good at. but I do remember how fucking average they were. Two slightly fat blonde chicks sang out in front, shakin the cellulite. but what should have i expected from a suburban piss-barn in the middle of nowhere?

"Here's one you know!"

They launched into 'Sweet Home Alabama'. It was a cynical song choice. the crowd instantly got excited. Call it Pavlov's dog in action if you will. Everyone seemed to get into screaming 'Sweet Home Alabama' but i questioned whether any of them had actually been there or could find Alabama on a map.

The song ended. the dance floor started to empty and people became self-conscious without the music.

It was time for the band to act. they needed to control the mass.

"I hope you like Van Morrison!"

They kicked right into Van Morrison's 'Brown Eyed Girl'. Oh, man, that was a brutal follow-up of even more cynical proportions. But the band were there to get people to dance, to sweat and then to drink. they didn't give a fuck about taste or style. The song choice worked a charm. The crowd surged towards the stage. everyone loves a brown eyed girl. No one wanted Radiohead.

A 40-ish looking couple were amongst the swollen faces. They were both on the wrong side of ugly. still, they seemed to love each other and that's what it's all about.

The song goes onward.

The woman was drunk. She started to grind her arse against her man's groin. This was soon replaced with blatant ramming as she slammed her arse right down onto his cock. I couldn't see her face, but the guy had long lost any inhibitions about what was going down. he was right into the theatre. Ramming, thrusting and pushing away.

The crowd gathered closer as the couple writhed. people seemed to forget the band. But the musos didn't care because they knew enough to encourage the floor show. The song ended but they just rushed back into the chorus without regard. Sounded like shit, but then so did everything else they did.

The guy was primed. His drunk wench decided to bend right over so she could touch her toes. He pushed her body down so she couldn't move and started pumping her ass hard. The band played on. Her top fell over her head, revealing drooping, flabby tits. we all cheered. She grabbed her toes to show how lithe she was. Maybe it was an ego thing. the old girl was a performer for chrissakes. The guy kept reaming her ass. But it was beginning to get nasty. he was trying to assert what little masculinity he had. he thrust hard, knocking her off her feet a tad. We didn't care. We cheered on. We found that moment.

And we wanted sex in our violence.

A quick peek at camgirls

Quite often, the world is male-domainated. But when it comes to hooking your webcam up to a PC and streaming to the world, the women have the upper-hand. Many camgirls make a handy income from their sites via advertising or live 'shows'. Plus there are the wishlists, where stupid blokes check out the products their fave camgirl wants and then buys up in the hope that the chick will put out in one way or another.

Obviously, there's a nasty side to all of this. Cyberstalkers and outright freaks are known to be out there. Still, here are a few personal camgirl sites I've come across. Don't blame me if you're offended. It's not like I can control what's going on in some Belgian bedroom. Not unless I pay...

Carl Sagan on pot

"My initial experiences were entirely disappointing; there was no effect at all, and I began to entertain a variety of hypotheses about cannabis being a placebo which worked by expectation and hyperventilation rather than by chemistry. After about five or six unsuccessful attempts, however, it happened. I was lying on my back in a friend's living room idly examining the pattern of shadows on the ceiling cast by a potted plant (not cannabis!). I suddenly realized that I was examining an intricately detailed miniature Volkswagen, distinctly outlined by the shadows. I was very skeptical at this perception, and tried to find inconsistencies between Volkswagens and what I viewed on the ceiling. But it was all there, down to hubcaps, license plate, chrome, and even the small handle used for opening the trunk. When I closed my eyes, I was stunned to find that there was a movie going on the inside of my eyelids. Flash . . . a simple country scene with red farmhouse, a blue sky, white clouds, yellow path meandering over green hills to the horizon. . . Flash . . . same scene, orange house, brown sky, red clouds, yellow path, violet fields . . . Flash . . . Flash . . . Flash. The flashes came about once a heartbeat. Each flash brought the same simple scene into view, but each time with a different set of colors . . . exquisitely deep hues, and astonishingly harmonious in their juxtaposition. Since then I have smoked occasionally and enjoyed it thoroughly. It amplifies torpid sensibilities and produces what to me are even more interesting effects, as I will explain shortly."

--Gutteral Vomit
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