because yeah, dude, sex is, like, so uncool

This from :

This is an Abstinence site, tongue in cheek, and the pledge is awesome. An excerpt:

I, [MY NAME], hereby pledge:
1. To stay massively cool by not having sex. Because only major losers have sex – which everyone knows is only for fags.

2. To never let any slutty girls peer pressure me into touching their vaginas – because vaginas are totally gay.

3. To ignore my raging hormones and burning drive to fondle, suckle, and thrust furiously into a hot gooey pit of creamy-soft fleshy ecstasy.

Also, the sister site:

A testimonial:

Muffy P.: “OHMIGOD, like, Iron Hymen taught me to respect myself way too much to ever let some hairy creep hock man-lugies on my Godly cervix like it’s some gross subway platform!”

I told you it was easy to confess your sins

It’s time to let me breath, let me take a minute to remember what it’s like. It’s time to lay a breadcrumb trail back in time but not too long ago, else the birds will eat them and I’ll never find my way home again. The first time Hansel and Gretel went into the forest, they left behind pebbles. These are my stones, my solid pieces of molten core.

When I met him the first time, it should have meant nothing, but it preyed on me. My awareness clawed at and scarred by gracious laughter. I sat with the wrong person, physics was twisting, leaving my heart to pound inside my chest. The discrepancy feeling, the emotion which floods your cells to tell you that you are to be somewhere else. It’s like rage in that it’s formless, shapeless, a cloud made of nagging demon. I felt his presence like a candle in the dark room. I kept myself from looking around with an effort of will. The screen lit up, washing us in beautiful light, tried to distract me but didn’t succeed. How shallow of me, I thought, that I want to touch that man. Hold his hand to my lips and drink his smile. To be realistic, there was a seed of something planted in our three minute interaction. I intended to ask my acquaintance who that stranger was after an appropriate amount of time had passed. The film cried by like a dream, a science fiction declaration of passion, animated sex dolls surging past like a choir of gandharvas. Warmth dove through me at her camera eyes, and I considered what colour his might be.

I had never been in love when I was younger, only when I grew closer to adulthood. I was an empty emotionless child. When the girls were entranced with boys, I was alone, learning about minerals and stars, learning dead languages and pieces of italian poetry. Eventually I fabricated a first crush, enacting layers of desire I never felt to defend against the waves of misunderstanding surrounding me. I considered it to be what everyone else did, no-one being honest with emotion but aping what we supposed to know. This was dropped as soon as I was able, never to be returned to. Later, I occasionally liked someone. A man or a woman, they were always older, always with more knowledge. It was the mind that called to me from it’s frail flesh casing, but I found that I somehow warped what I enjoyed. My personality brought out their worst, carefully reached inside hearts and pulled the darkness out until I couldn’t see them anymore through the blackened glass of their eyes. Violence, anger, antagonism, jealousy. There was nothing to hold onto and no reason to want to. I didn’t know who they were anymore.

Seeing this man, I recognized him immediately. Disposition, ambiance, it clicked. He found me, the next time, as I sat on stairs in the dark. Comfort immediate, I knew his moods, his mien, his mind. When we talk, we are treading the same mental paths, lighting the way with similar brands of fire, however trivial the topic. I bring moments of language clarity as he brings moments of vision and history. Together we weave a predatory tapestry that is somehow more accessible for the sly pieces we did not know. When we wear matching black it’s as if Clotho walks in our shadow.

We didn’t kiss until just before it was okay to break the rules. He wears my dressing gown to pad to the kitchen and I like that. It is strange to enjoy being possessed by a handsome stranger, as it is strange to lay a claim that I would fight for. We never had any say in the matter, as our tongues met it was if all iron bindings shivered and broke, releasing me to fall into our binary nucleus and taste his heart. I’ve been a romantic in denial for several years now, deciding over and again that to continue with it is wasted foolishness, but it’s like I’ve finally found an outlet. Electricity dreaming, I never knew I required such fancy stimulus. In a way it’s like I’ve always been waiting, like everything that came before was preparing me for this. I’m chained, I’m charmed. There is no way to leave, as I captured myself.

It’s sexy, trusting someone. I might finally tap into my damned young girls libido which I put so carefully away. It’s time. Time to devour someone and hold them by me. Strip them of every inch of skin and lap them as they bleed screaming dear god and yes. Pale skin running like water with fingertip precision creating an arch of back and eyes closing. Unravel myself into a honed and skilled body, as if I never was in any accident. Claim my right, set muscles to writhing, trembling. Unleash hunger and consume it. Need really is my only aphrodisiac. It’s time I want to taste it. Carve with sweat, erosion stripping thought away. I’m setting this in stone. One day he’ll take me home.

smooth rich

Again I’m opening my eyes to sunlight. Trapdoor imagery of light falling into a black hole forever, that’s how it feels on my skin. I’m pale and I glow with it. I need an event horizon. Suction of warmth, I’m a little animal crying for heat. I hear it’s raining again in California.

Dressed in blue with gold hair, it’s like I time-warped. I will step outside and find dead birds on the sidewalk, I will step outside and be sixteen. I feel somehow like it’s time to go sailing again. Barefoot against white hull, pulling the ropes with my weight. Suspended over the water, leaning, wind.

Gavin is arriving on the 22nd. The party is on Saturday, the 26th.

Time to celebrate the moment where I laid eyes on happiness, comfort and cream. There was a porch, an interesting place, between earth and sky. Something solid and something high in the air. The skilled ladyjaida posted a piece today which has instilled a deep delicious need for painfully expensive chocolates. I think it might be about time to create a kitchen again, to spend afternoons concocting my decadent desserts, my painfully rich chocolate fantasies.

said the dog, I’m looking for the man who shot my paw

This is what my mind throws at people when I’m too tired for conversation.

A physicist is speeding along the highway and a siren pulls him over. The policeman asks, “Excuse me sir, do you know how fast you were going?” The physicist looks around, “No, but I know where I am!”

So why was Heisenberg’s wife unsatisfied?

When he had the time he didn’t have the energy, and when he had the position, he didn’t have the momentum.

.. and two elephants and a snake fall over a cliff badda bump ssss.

Speaking of elephants, what do you get when you cross an elephant with a grape?

Elephant grape sin{theta}

Just like asking what’s gray and proves the nondenumerability of the Reals?

Cantor’s Diagonal Elephant

Sheerly in self defense, Dee added, “why do elephants put springs on their feet?”

The answer: to rape monkeys

Next, what is the monkeys most feared sound?

boing boing boing boing

Yeah, I should go to bed…

There’s a precarious marriage between reading and intelligence.

It’s cold. Nightclub in my hair, I can taste hipsters and black t-shirts with ironic slogans.

Once upon a time in a far off land, past the horizon yet closer than your next breath, there was the flavour of earth when she sighs in her sleep, the inner workings of a fires orgasm, wind at a molecular level.

Heavy handed angels sing themselves to sleep in my head when I’m alone. They can’t help the shrieking or the battering of wings against my skull. I dream of my love with open eyes, how it is a solid thing. My voice cracks into dust to blow from my lips like cigarette smoke when there’s no one to talk to. My brittle mouth, my painful eyes. It’s a face made up of description, snowscape blinding because when you catch me when I’m not paying attention, there’s nothing there. Defined by grace, it’s all interaction. Wit rapier parry slash, never an organized dissent, but spontaneous. It’s a prelude to nothing deeper, nothing more than a mapped mirror visible. You make me real, yet I’m still an aside.

Joey Comeau, the writer behind the A Softer World, is serializing a novel on-line to be available by donation. A new chapter is being put up publicly for every goal amount of money received. The first chapter is already posted.