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When I Dream, I see Bill Clinton's Penis...
18 years ago
Hey, all! Computer's up and fixed, so I'm back online! Joyous of joyous joys!
I do believe I also promised
Ryuka that I'd start posting some journal entires around here, so, uh... here's on my better entires from the DA! Enjoy!
My dreams are teases. They tease me.
No, not in the sexual sense. I almost never have wet dreams, quite regrettably. What I mean is that somewhere, lurking deep in the murky confines of my subconscious, is a GENIUS. A genius who shines the ray of his creative brilliance upon the landscape. In my dreams, I have dreamt of honey golden artistic ideas and the most hilarious of jokes. If I were to harness the ideas contained within, I could “rule”. I could become “Da Man.” I could be considered “The Shit.” And yet, I can glimpse only briefly at these magnificent examples of supreme craftsmanship, as, like most human beings, I can only remember hazily what it was exactly that I had dreamed about once I’d awakened. All I can usually remember is that it was AWESOME. Every morning, I feel like the mythological Icarus, who flew too close the shining sun, only to be shot down by red-hot ultraviolet rays. Or my alarms clock.
The big problem? My conscious mind is NOT a genius. My conscious mind is the dim-witted dullard you see before you, who has produced most of the crap that you also see before you. I’m hampered by whatever forces of nature comprise the state of my mind when I’m awake, inhibiting it from its potential splendor.
Then last night, I have a dream which I remember QUITE explicitly… and now I’m convinced that my subconscious may be a genius, but in the same way that Hannibal Lecter and Genghis Khan were geniuses. If you’re willing to gamble what respect you have for me, read on.
I dreamt, first, that a giant penis was attacking a city. A Godzilla sized penis. No, not like the penis Godzilla’s probably packin’, but a massive, disembodied, sentient shlong that could actually physically challenge the King of all Monsters in an all-out smackdown. It rampaged through the city without mercy, knocking down buildings and terrorizing the populace.
That was part one. What was part two? BILL CLINTON. I dreamt that amidst all this chaos, the former president of the United States bravely stood up to the 50-story penis, glaring defiantly at it from the smoking, ruined streets below as it towered menacingly over him. The police had been defeated. The army had been decimated. Clinton was all that stood left between the giant cock and the destruction of civilization.
“There’s only one thing to do.” He courageously announced in his Southern rasp. “Fight it back with MY giant penis!”
With ninja-like, practiced precision, Bill undid his belt, zipper and from his pants emerged what I can only describe as OPULENT. Like a broken dam, from his loins burst forth a veritable rocker of flesh and masculinity. Easily outweighing and out sizing the rest of his body hundreds of times, those tiny, pasty-white thighs gave birth to a mammoth appendage, rising several stories high before achieving its peak at roughly fifty stories.
Audaciously, Bill’s cock stood erect and defiant against the invading penis. A battle was about to begin which history would never forget. Not even after Bill died. Not even after thousands of years. Not even after humanity itself died out. Alien species from galaxies light years away would regale their young with the tales of the ultimate battle between the giant human reproductive organ, and the single greatest man who ever lived.
Then, I woke up. Thank fucking god.
I do believe I also promised
Ryuka that I'd start posting some journal entires around here, so, uh... here's on my better entires from the DA! Enjoy!My dreams are teases. They tease me.
No, not in the sexual sense. I almost never have wet dreams, quite regrettably. What I mean is that somewhere, lurking deep in the murky confines of my subconscious, is a GENIUS. A genius who shines the ray of his creative brilliance upon the landscape. In my dreams, I have dreamt of honey golden artistic ideas and the most hilarious of jokes. If I were to harness the ideas contained within, I could “rule”. I could become “Da Man.” I could be considered “The Shit.” And yet, I can glimpse only briefly at these magnificent examples of supreme craftsmanship, as, like most human beings, I can only remember hazily what it was exactly that I had dreamed about once I’d awakened. All I can usually remember is that it was AWESOME. Every morning, I feel like the mythological Icarus, who flew too close the shining sun, only to be shot down by red-hot ultraviolet rays. Or my alarms clock.
The big problem? My conscious mind is NOT a genius. My conscious mind is the dim-witted dullard you see before you, who has produced most of the crap that you also see before you. I’m hampered by whatever forces of nature comprise the state of my mind when I’m awake, inhibiting it from its potential splendor.
Then last night, I have a dream which I remember QUITE explicitly… and now I’m convinced that my subconscious may be a genius, but in the same way that Hannibal Lecter and Genghis Khan were geniuses. If you’re willing to gamble what respect you have for me, read on.
I dreamt, first, that a giant penis was attacking a city. A Godzilla sized penis. No, not like the penis Godzilla’s probably packin’, but a massive, disembodied, sentient shlong that could actually physically challenge the King of all Monsters in an all-out smackdown. It rampaged through the city without mercy, knocking down buildings and terrorizing the populace.
That was part one. What was part two? BILL CLINTON. I dreamt that amidst all this chaos, the former president of the United States bravely stood up to the 50-story penis, glaring defiantly at it from the smoking, ruined streets below as it towered menacingly over him. The police had been defeated. The army had been decimated. Clinton was all that stood left between the giant cock and the destruction of civilization.
“There’s only one thing to do.” He courageously announced in his Southern rasp. “Fight it back with MY giant penis!”
With ninja-like, practiced precision, Bill undid his belt, zipper and from his pants emerged what I can only describe as OPULENT. Like a broken dam, from his loins burst forth a veritable rocker of flesh and masculinity. Easily outweighing and out sizing the rest of his body hundreds of times, those tiny, pasty-white thighs gave birth to a mammoth appendage, rising several stories high before achieving its peak at roughly fifty stories.
Audaciously, Bill’s cock stood erect and defiant against the invading penis. A battle was about to begin which history would never forget. Not even after Bill died. Not even after thousands of years. Not even after humanity itself died out. Alien species from galaxies light years away would regale their young with the tales of the ultimate battle between the giant human reproductive organ, and the single greatest man who ever lived.
Then, I woke up. Thank fucking god.
I dont have that kind of interesting dreams.:D
Therapy.
Like you, most people have suggested that, but with a second word: "Electroshock"
.........
Wait, so my version of therapy isn't normal?
Well, hell, if it WORKS...
XD
*notes and gives the note*
Diet from porn, only one hour movie and one picture for two days, sir. and NO CHEATING X3
*Grumbles and takes medication*
So, aren't you curious how the fight between Bill Clinton and the monster penis went? Maybe there'll be a sequel.
I guess I AM (cautiously) curious to find out what happens next... it's been suggested to me that Hillary shows up and defeats them both with her REALLY giant penis.