Instead of being a Burberry model I really wanted Emma Watson to become one of two things:

• My wife or
• nah, probably just that.

Also stupid: the hawtness footer/stamp over the actual source footer/stamp.

EDIT:

this might be nsfw, I’m not sure.

In addition to Tumblr I have this thing that kind of goes hand in hand with it, called FormSpring, which is a forum for people to leave you anonymous messages re: you, them and “how many drugs have you taken lol”. But sometimes you get questions asked that make it kind of worthwhile, like stuff about porn stars! I thought this would be relevant to sleep500′s interests, since you all love a good tag team fucking.

Dear Katie, As a hip young thing and, more importantly, an intelligent young woman, what are your thoughts on Sasha Gray (the ‘new breed’ of pornstar)?

I actually watched a video of Sasha Gray so I could try answer this well (not that I have answered it well at all). I don’t have a PROBLEM with porn, I just don’t watch it, because I don’t have the urge to and because every time I’ve watched it I can’t get past how overwhelmingly fake it is. I guess guys are too busy focusing on their dicks to bother with the “OH. OH. OHHHH. FUCK. Oh.” apathetic ~outside voices~ the girls use.

Sasha Gray freaked me out a bit, I watched some video where two guys fucked her at once. When they both had their dicks in her vag (they started off one in each hole but I guess that wasn’t extreme enough) she looked directly into the camera saying things like “Oh. Baby. I am dirty.” completely monotone. It mainly just left me worried for her mental well being. In her mind she probably sees it as some kind of weird feminism – she’s being fucked and dominated by creepy guys in a pretty demeaning way, but she’s still in control of the camera and it’s hard to stop looking at her intense dead sex eyes. She’s a fierce independent woman with cum in her eye. I think that’s what she’s going for.

I’m not really sure where this is going. Porn is fucking weird. I think meeting Sasha Gray would be pretty interesting though, and seeing how she acts with a cup of tea in her mouth instead of a dick.

PS. Does it make me a real journalist because I did research? After the Sasha Grey video I watched a huge bald guy get his WHOLE HEAD in some chick’s vag. I didn’t really have any journalistic intentions while watching it, but that shit is messed up. If you want to watch it, I think it was called something like ‘man attempts to re-enter womb’.

This evening I read this and nearly died laughing.

I’m trying to share it everywhere so just bear with me.

Context. More context.

I like small boobs; it is a measure to censor imagination; it will encourage more breast ‘enhancement’ surgery; I bet it’s because old dudes fucking love big, floppy tits and who writes the rules? Old dudes, that’s who.; small dicks aren’t banned from porno; because next they’ll ban ‘school’ uniforms; because small tits will become more fringe/fetish porn and therefore probably hairier and full of stuff I don’t care about (like footjobs); it will make porn even more sexist; Sasha Grey will get pissed off; girls in porn will look even more similar; big, floppy tits are gross and belong in the U.K. / aren’t nicer than small, pert tits (no joke).

Thought you’d like it.

The first centre of influence was her sometimes-friend, Ames. Ames was basically one giant mood swing wrapped in a six-foot-tall body. She wore her hair in a pony tail everyday and she could cut a person in half with a glance. Lucy was very aware of how delicately Ames would need to be treated. Once Ames was on board, Lucy could do largely what she pleased.

The second centre of influence was Jake. Jake was a very simple boy who had reached the apex of his life, the climax of his being in his last year of high school. Right now he was untouchable but in two years he would just be some stupid jock and in ten, discarded and forgotten. As the alpha-male around school, Jake commanded a formidable army of like-minded morons. Lucy knew she would have to fuck and suck her way through at least a few of them before she gained the key to the top of the heirarchy.

The third centre of influence was the common room. This was the proving-grounds where all social decisions were finalised by the council. Like an exam, there was little one could do once in the common room to change their fate. All alliances and favours would be worked out elsewhere. Currently Ames reigned supreme but Lucy knew that within a few cold weeks, a month at the most, she could get that Cleopatra to lie at her feet. How? Well, she was going to start by lying at the other’s feet and looking up her skirt.

***

Lucy thought her scalp was going to separate from her head and cover the bed in blood as Ames yanked the pole around which her hair was tied. Being treated like a dog on a leash was fine, as far as Lucy was concerned but why was her owner being such a bitch? She’d cut fine lines in her tighs and dripped wax on her, as ordered, and now this? Fuck this shit, it’s time for reaction.

Bent on all fours, as she was, Lucy could feel Ames’ bent leg crouched and press against her bruised hip. In one fluid motion she grabbed for the leg and pulled. Fists of red rained down upon her scalp as Ames fell back still holding onto the pole. Lucy whipped around and slapped Ames across the face. Ames stopped moving and stared. On command, Ames opened her mouth and allowed Lucy’s spit to enter her. Ames opened her mouth again when she felt Lucy enter.

***

Of the three centres, Ames had been the hardest, and the most important, to convince. The three guys she’d had to fuck to get her mouth on Jake’s crotch were different shades of boring flavoured, respectively, with big, stupid and violent. Once she’d completed these politi-sexual manuvers the common room had gravitated to her red lips and slender fingers.

And now she was here she was going to throw it all away.

***

He’d responded fairly non-commitally to her advance but his message on her phone read had narrowed down the options very quickly. They would meet in his bedroom and when he was finished she would leave. Lucy allowed herself a small smile. She would leave, and she would take something to remind her of the time she’d spent climbing.

His door swung slowly open at Lucy’s pressure. It had been left ajar, no doubt Jake wanted to know when his guest set foot on the stairs. Jake had turned the lights down an was listening to what sounded like R-Kelly over a facial compilation. Cumpilation? Only a sad jerk-off would know that and here he was. Naked, reclining on a mound of pillows, holding his ruddy dick in his hand right down near his balls and grinning. He was the horny version of fighting strangers.

***

She felt the razor-blade in the garter of her stocking when he was trying his best to choke her with his dick. It was all the same, same set up, same porn, same boring line, same sexual aggression. This lame dick was exactly how Ames painted him: brutal and cocksure. He’d hit her early on when she wouldn’t fuck to the porn he’d put on just for her and that was all she needed.

He lay her over the side of the bed and thrusted his cock into her face. In this position, not only could she see his asshole, she could reach the tranquilizer in her bag. She’d rather have stuck it in his neck, but there was no reaching that. Crumpled in a heap on the floor, needle sticking out of his buttock, he looked pathetic. Not as pathetic as he would look in years to come, but for now it was a good start.

Lucy removed the needle from Jake’s body and the razorblade from her garter. Moving with care, she rolled Jake onto his back. He was still hard through the sedative so she had to act quickly. She took the razorblade and applied it just under the head of his dick. She had to push quite hard to cut all the way through and she’d neglected to improvise a chopping board. As such, not only had she cut off the head of his penis she’d cut into his stomach. Unintended, sure, but there were more important matters at hand.

***

She walked out to the Velvet Underground. The speakers crooned to the soaking carpet.

But anyway – some company (who cares) have developed something called “Suma”. It is a little thing that you hold in your hand that responds to pressure (like squeezing) and has an accelerometer (so it can tell when you throw it across the room). They’re marketing this as a controller for 3D games but this is just another step in developing a nerve centre for computers that you can threaten. I bet they put a heat sensor in it so “the game can respond to exertion and fear levels” but you fucking know it’s for retards who are trying to render video and watch porn on their low-end systems, “Fucking hold the lighter under it again. That’ll make it work better.”

I like Lady Gaga. She writes her own music about loving dixxx and designs her own clothes to show her bits.

I’m sort of wondering if she’s been going a bit far for attention lately?
Is flashing your tamp string the new flashing your vag?

How about a faux lesbian romp for the photographers?

Wonder when they’ll “find” her sex tape.

Dear Girls,

I you don’t look like the above I don’t think I’m going to bother anymore.

Yours,
Zach.

When I read your blog for a month or so I thought it was really funny. Now I don’t.

Yours,
Zach.

EDIT: Apparently HRO (the real HRO – not those blogspot.com versions of it) blogged about this ages ago – whoops.

["Wonderwall" lyrics]

“Wonderwall” = dental dam

Thank you for reading my presentation.

We played this club where they charged everyone €20 before putting them through a screening process to see whether or not they’re going to let them into the club. Once inside the club every single drink costs €12 and every single person is trying to fuck something. James walked in on some sweaty buttsecks, I saw some chicks grinding on each other up against the rail of the “VIP” area and there were a bunch of hetero couples as well but straight sex is boring, so let’s not go there.

The guys in Italy seem to be very aromatic – they don’t smell bad, they just smell more, I guess. I believe they have evolved this to make themselves more apparent to the chix in the cities. I didn’t feel like a man at all, more like a boy. Actually, more like I did in my first kitchen-handing job on the strip when I was 15: Lost, alone, inept and covered in left-over food.