Sunday, January 24, 2010

just an interesting thought (or a bit of a rant disguised as an interesting thought perhaps...?)

i am sure it comes as no surprise to the non-existent readers who still stop by this droplet of piss in the ocean of the world wide web (and i know you're out there) that i think sex is a beautiful thing.

yes, i understand that certain aspects of sex are ugly and disturbing and/or morally wrong, but for the most part, i think sex in all its different styles and proclivities is an amazing, beautiful, and yes, even exciting, thing.

except in the presence of children, i generally feel my own nakedness is not something to be ashamed of or hide. i don't feel that anyone else's nakedness is improper or inappropriate. i feel if it shocks you, bothers you, disgusts you, or offends you, you have the right to not look, leave, or even, in some cases, ask the offender to leave.

i guess in one form or another i have felt this way my entire life.

now, to the rub, o my droogs and only friends:

yesterday i was watching a movie with a group of friends. it was an effects blockbuster full of explosions, blood, gore, foul language, nudity, and sex acts. oddly enough, no drug use that i could recall, though it is implied that several of the characters are whacked out of their noggins. but i digress.

the thing that i find strange about all this is that a small group of young teen girls was also present as we watched the movie. every time a pair of boobs flashed across the screen, or characters were depicted in acts that might be considered sexual, their father would say, "eyes!" and they would dutifully cover their eyes and look away and wait for him to tell them it was safe to look again. and i am not judging the father at all for that. that's his right as a father, and in many cases the sex was what might be considered "deviant" and "wanton" and not necessarily the kind of input you would want a young teenage girl receiving.

but here's the deal: when soldiers were depicted getting blown up by rockets and their bloody parts scattered to the four winds; nothing. when one of the characters' head was exploded from her body in a scattering of gristle; nothing. when another person gets mowed down by a vehicle; nothing.

it is traditional in this, the united states of america, to be blase about violence. to be inured to it's sting. it's ok for a 13-year-old girl to watch characters on a screen not only battle each other and die, but to do so in violent and extreme ways. we almost cheer it on. and maybe that's fine.

but suddenly it's not ok for a girl of thirteen, who is already beginning to sprout her own set, to see a pair of breasts bared on the screen? to see two ladies kissing without their tops on? to see someone moon others out of the window of a car?

again, the sex and nudity portrayed in this movie had a bent to it that i also agree is not appropriate for a young teen girl. but then, i would deem the whole movie inappropriate for a young teen girl, hence the rating of "r". but i have watched many movies with this group of people and it is always the same: the violence is acceptable, almost lauded. but nudity and sex, regardless of how loving and open and innocent and reaffirming it might be, is not.

and i personally believe, o my beloved non-existent readers, that therein lies the quintessential problem with the u.s. violence is good, acceptable, the appropriate measure; love, lust, and sexual excitement never is.

i sure hope that one day we can tip that scale the other direction.

thanks for playing along.

darth sardonic

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Saturday, January 16, 2010

random thoughts like wounded butterflies...

i have been sick the last few days.

anytime i go through a big climate change or the weather plummets and then rises again, i get sinusy stuff that then drains down the back of my throat, coating it in sandpaper and lit petroleum and making me exhausted every few hours.

the other night as i was making sure no. 2 bathed properly (you have to be on him or he will just pat soap suds onto his hair, face, armpits and crotch) and no. 1 was waiting (naked already, for some inexplicable reason) to bathe next, i look over my shoulder and no. 1 is going potty behind me.

only he's not. he's is examining himself as if he has just discovered this dangly thing between his legs and can't for the life of him remember how it got there.

"what're you doing?"

his answer should be set to beautiful print on colored cardstock and framed, to be given to new parents at the birth of their first son for hanging on wall of their bathroom:

"sometimes i am curious about what it looks like."

as if it hasn't been with him, available, so to speak, for the last eight and a half years.

"well, don't pee in your face."

a few days later, the same boy is in the bathroom, with the door open. i thought the kids had, yet again left the light in the downstairs bathroom and went to shut it off. he didn't see me, but i saw him.

he was seated, with my wife's victoria's secret catalogue open across his lap. he turns a page and says to himself, "oh, i guess mom wouldn't want anything in here."

mainly, i am guessing, because all the ladies are lithe, tall, nordic-looking mannequins with oversized eyes and long flowing hair, and mom is a short, sexy spitfire with stout body n legs and boobs that push the larger edge of vs' rather limited size range. i dunno.

we have a new addition to our clan. over the christmas holiday, we brought home ponyo, my oldest's class fish, to care for.

and nearly killed it.

well, actually, it was sick before it ever entered our care, but we thought we were going to deprive no. 1's class of their mascot through our complete well-meaning ignorance of betta fish.

so we bought medicine, and a replacement.

good news is, ponyo survived. this means, however, that we now have our own lovely turquoise and blue betta.

we passed on the names mercury (mine) and nemo (no. 2's) and chose the name "7" (my wife's) because he is the seventh member of our family. i am number 1, wife is number 2, no. 1 is actually number 3 (confused?), no. 2 is number 4, pepper the demon cat is number 5, pele the helmet cat number 6, and 7 is, well, 7.

7 is fiesty. he'll be lazing at the bottom of his tank, but if you get near he perks up and swims around, dashing back and forth almost like a dog waiting for you to throw the stick. needless to say, we like him.

i am back in school, and enjoy my two autocad drawing classes, but am rapidly becoming not a fan of my pictorial drafting class. the teacher is disorganized, and half the class has absolutely no drafting experience whatsoever, but rather than spend a couple weeks catching us up on the basics of hand drafting, she is instead dumping our first project on us (a cardboard chair we are to build in groups of five) that is due in another week. like all the other classes with which i felt overwhelmed, my goal is to do my best, pass it with a c or better, and move on to something else.

little else is happening on the sardonic home front of late, o my beloved non-existent readers. i hope to be better about posting this semester, since my writing creativity won't be getting used up to write essays.

but as the song says, "if you don't expect too much from me you might not be let down."

darth sardonic

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Saturday, January 09, 2010

With a face like this I won't break any hearts...

...and thinking like that I won't make any friends

lazy saturday around the sardonic household, and the wii rock band hobby kit we spent our christmas money on is beckoning to the kids like a balloon of china white to a junkie, but we are forcing them to wait a bit.

so they are watching "fairly odd parents" which is rivaled only by "spongebob squarepants" for sheer idiocy and the ability to cause my brain cells to begin committing suicide.

my kids find it hilarious; i always wonder how many and what kinds of illicit materials the creators have consumed to come up with the infantile tripe that then finds its way onto the screen and into the collective memories of my offspring. long and at great length have i raved against its stupidity, childishness, and distance from anything even remotely resembling a poor facsimile of what might be described as "real life." to no avail, of course. don't we know it, o beloved non-existent readers.

next to me, i hear my wife; my loving partner; my other, better half laugh. yes, laugh. at some juvenile ridiculousness being beamed by particles from satellites into our front room.

i put on the stern face, brows knitted together and tugged down to the bridge of my nose like a sweater with one pulled thread, and level at my wife what can only be described as a glower.

she transitions quickly from giggling cutie to the innocent face and says, "what?" with a who, me? look painted all over her face like a fresh coat of white to hide the blood spatter.

my frown deepens and i say, "we are sposed to be a team. a united front. joined in one purpose when it comes to raising the kids. and you are laughing at 'fairly odd parents'!!"

the innocent look changes not into the contrite look as i had hoped but instead back to the giggling cutie face, and she says, "but it is just so silly."

clearly, o beloved non-existents, o thou stalwart and true, my droogs and only friends, i am in way over my head.

darth sardonic

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Wednesday, January 06, 2010

passenger (fiction inspired by the deftones' song)

warning: the following story is erotic fiction. it describes and/or hints at sex acts. moreso, it is easily the kinkiest thing i have written. sometimes i don't write the story, the story writes me. read at your own risk. you've been warned.

he stood beside her car in the enormous parking garage underneath her apartment building. she was slightly bent, taking her time inserting the key into the door, a wicked smirk playing across her blood-red lips.

everything about her was dark. her hair, the black sunglasses she wore in defiance of the half light in the concrete structure. she was encased in a black blouse and tight skirt; the hem riding high on her luxuriously long legs, her calves pushed up into tight knots by the heels of the shiny black stilletos.

the car was like the last cock he had sucked, sleek and black. built for speed. the flourescents cut angular lines of blinding white across the highly-polished enamel. he noted with a quick gunpowder flash of agony that the windows weren't as tinted as he had hoped. at each stoplight, passersby might be able to see inside.

much like they might be able to see him right now, should they choose this moment to leave the garage. he was clad only in her favorite ball-gag and a pair of cuffs. the cool underground air brushed his skin like dead lovers, and he agonized again over how long she was taking to unlock the car.

she knew this, and for this reason had chosen the key instead of simply pressing the button on her fob. now, one fanglike tooth sneaking out to bite her swollen bottom lip, she pushed the key into the hole and pulled it back out over and over again, watching him as he tried to shrink into himself. the more he tried to be invisible, the more his organ asserted its presence.

finally, he was in the passenger seat, the leather cool and smooth on his naked thighs. she produced another set of shiny silver cuffs and attached his wrists to the pull handle of the door, then leaned across him to buckle him in, her breasts dangling close to his face and filling his nose with sandalwood. the buckle clicked and sent an icy shiver through him as he had a momentary flash of the humiliation he would face should they be involved in an accident. his erection pushed upwards, bobbing at the thought of all those people catching him in this state.

she noticed, and laughed; a dead, brittle sound that bounced back at them from the pillars in distorted echoes.

a cold sweat broke out on his brow and shoulders as she slowed down to a crawl as she passed the guard hut. he looked straight ahead into the night, but was sure he heard one of the guards chuckle as she waved pleasantly.

his balls were aching.

the twilight and traffic afforded a certain anonymity, but without removing the obviousness of his situation. she powered her window down to smoke, and cracked his sufficiently that his face and the vinyl of the gag straps would be visible to anyone who pulled alongside and turned their head.

the thought pained him in his stomach and genitals. he feared to make eye contact, but yearned to view the other vehicles' occupants: businessmen negotiating mergers on their cell-phones, truck drivers, families eating fast food from paper bags. all the normal people passing by with their normal lives, almost too busy to notice the toy riding shotgun in the black mercedes.

she reached up languidly to adjust the rearview mirror, and he gasped past his own drool upon seeing that she had turned it sideways to watch his face as they drove downtown, where the friday night traffic and stoplights every two blocks would assure they would never drive faster than thirty miles an hour.

his pupils were dilating. his breath was burning in his chest. the head of his cock was smearing a mercurial stain across the smooth skin of his belly. his testicles were pulling tight to his torso.

he feared he might come simply from the thought of his own situation, and tried to drag his mind away from himself for a moment. she had promised him she would put her own panties on him and tie him to the hood and proceed to drive slowly through the seedier parts of town should he ever get any semen on her interior.

the thrum of the motor teased its way throughout his body. the gleam of empty lenses over the devil's smile greeted him in the rearview. the dull ache in his hands and gonads caused tiny prickles of sweat to bead all over his body.

he groaned, bubbles forming at the corner of his mouth.

"shut up!" she hissed in a twisting cloud of cigarette smoke, "or i will pull over and offer rides to people on the corner like a taxi."

he took a deep breath, trying to calm the barrage of thoughts and anguishes and needs that riddled his mind and body like a sickness.

a stoplight painted him as red as her nails, and he glanced to see what show might play in the car adjacent, only to find that the vehicle was full of frat boys who were slapping each other on the shoulders and pointing at him, laughing at the show they had discovered next to themselves.

he felt faint. his cheeks puffed in and out. sweat stung his eyes. he broke contact with occupants of the car and looked down at his lap. tears pooled with his spit on his lips, and formed droplets that joined the shining river that ran down his chest to join his precum. his glans was swollen beyond anything he had imagined. the skin of his shaft was tight and glistened in the sparkling streetlights. his sphincter and the skin of his scrotum contracted until his lower back ached.

"if you get any come on my leather, i'll fucking stop the car and shove my fist up your ass over the trunklid for all to see. you understand me?"

he nodded, his vision swimming. she smiled her venomous smile into the mirror, and reached over to brush a fingertip across one of his erect nipples.

like a dying butterfly, he felt pinned somewhere between the dazzling lights of the clubs and the soft leather of the seat. he hung there, babbling to god, like his entire body had become one vibrating sex organ, coated in the lubricants of his own spit and sweat, hard and ready to spill forth his seed. his eyes rolled back to white and he gibbered, no longer needing the thought of the other travelers or how they might point and laugh. no longer aware of the steady forward progress of the black cock piloted by the sexy demon that laughed at his torture, a smaller part of a larger whole all fucking the cunt of the city; pushing to be the tiny car that penetrates the egg; a conglomerate of men and women laughing, talking, pointing, crying, fucking, shoving, angling, fighting, screaming, dying.

"hey, you pussy, wake up and get out of my car before you bust your load all over!"

he felt coated in gelatin, too thick to comply. only vaguely aware of outward stimuli.

she slowly placed her lips around one of his tiny areola, the vampire teeth engulfing his hard nipple, and bit down.

the hard rubber ball stifled his scream and he fell out of the open door onto his knees, immediately spewing gouts of brilliant white sperm across the dirty black of the tarmac.

panting, he leaned forward, feeling like he might be sick. her hand was cool on his back. "you feeling better now?"

he nodded. she opened the trunk. slowly, he became aware of his surroundings. she had pulled down a narrow alley, with only one outside light. again, he was exposed without really being exposed.

the cuffs clicked open.

"here, towel off. god, you sweat a lot. here's your clothes. drinks and dancing at the mercury?"

he pulled the ball out of his lips. "yes, that would be amazing."

"fucking drinks and dancing though. you get us into another goddamn orgy and i'll fucking pack up and leave your ass there to get fucked by anyone that so chooses, got it?"

he smiled for the first time of the evening.

"got it."

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Saturday, January 02, 2010

wish i had an excuse...

lately i have been rubbish about updating this thing. my posts are shitty at best. weeks go by and i don't even have a small conciliatory paragraph to offer.

and i don't have a reason really. i have thoughts. funny things happen. it's not a proper writer's block, it is a simple case of unmotivation in the writing department.

and it doesn't matter as much as i might initially think. why? well, i would guess that the majority of my non-existent readers, my faithful few, my droogs and only friends, have wandered off to more verdant plains wherein they might find the kind of regular stimuli they crave. and in complete fairness, i have been a complete dick about keeping up regular with the blogs in my pals list. i do still read. just not regularly, and i don't comment as much as i should.

those of you that still toddle by this piece of sun-baked used chewing gum on the sidewalk of the world wide web, worry not. i have ebbs and flows when it comes to all my hobbies and habits, and i will again be prolific, if nothing else, about writing here.

i am still battling with the publishers for availability of my book. it has been a rather fun rollercoaster. if you have a credit card issued in the uk, you can purchase my book, The Unfinished Work (though it is in the list as simply Unfinished Work, so you have to scroll all the way down to the u's in the list). however, i myself, as well as the majority of my friends and family, are in the states, and are still unable to purchase the book. not only that (they are working on it, they tell me, and i believe them, but with a grain of salt), but recently the book disappeared completely from the list. when i pissed and moaned about that, they restored the book to the list, but now the author's name says "ron sardonic" instead of "darth sardonic." not that there is anything wrong with the name ron i spose, just not what i would've picked as a nom de plume. (and of course it goes without saying that when listed properly my name will neither be "darth" nor "sardonic." i often contemplate just outing myself in this blog, as anyone that buys the book will know my whole name, but then it is so much fun being "darth sardonic" that i am loath to lose the moniker. i will keep it up with the publishers, and keep you posted as new details emerge. (i am letting them have the new year to start bugging them about the "ron" bit, as i have been a near-perpetual thorn in their side since they made the magnum crappus available.)

the kids have been home from school for the holidays, which means lots of wii, and few breaks for myself. my oldest and my wife both have the same personality when it comes to playing video games, and they argue constantly and try to steal mushrooms from each other whilst playing games. it's fun to watch for the first say, 30 seconds? then promptly wears one thin.

while attempting to burn down our house wasn't on our to-do list for new year's day, we managed to squeeze it in anyhow. we were helping in a cove-wide dinner for last night, and had put the potatoes that b's daughter had prepared in our oven to bake. now, the daughter, being a bit lazy and not really knowing a whole lot of useful cooking tips had poured olive oil straight into the foil with the potatoes, which meant that we had quite a surplus of oil at the bottom of the oven.

comme ce, comme ca, o beloved non-existent readers the end result was that the tin foil we had put in the bottom of the oven to make clean up lazy (err, easy. freudian slip.) got soaked in oil and ignited.

in the time it took me to ask where the gas shut off valve might be, my wife had the extinguisher (that, quite frankly, i had no idea we had) out and had shot a quick burst of spray that immediately quelled the conflagration.

which, of course, launched a gray-green cloud of noxious fumes into the kitchen. "get your goddamn shoes on and run over to mr. b's house!" the wife and i yell simultaneously to the kids.

now, a tangent. if i had a dollar for every time the wife or myself have told no. 2 to do something and without missing a beat he asked "why?" followed by a lecture from myself about how in the time it takes a rascally kid to ask "why?" the truck is already mowing him down, or the rock already crushing his skull, or the fire already removing the top layers of his skin; i would be able to produce my own porn movies.

now back to our regularly scheduled program.

"get your goddamn shoes on and run over to mr. b's house!"


the billowing cloud of evil is already spreading from the galley kitchen into the living room and dining room and adding sandpaper to the backs of my wife and i's throats as she turns the overhead fan on and opens windows and i drag our two standing fans to the back door to draw the foul gases straight outdoors.

so naturally, our next sentences were rife with inappropriate language:

"get your fucking shoes on and get out of the motherfucking house before you start choking like a goddamn beached fish, NOW!"

we were not far behind them, and strangely, despite all the chemicals raging around them, not only are the potatoes properly baked, but taste amazing.

an hour or so later, stuffed with jamaican jerk ribs, baked beans, and the wonderful baked taters, the wife and i wander back to our house and discover that her quick thinking and my johnny-on-the-spot with the fans have assured that absolutely no damage was done to anything; not the house, not the kitchen, not even the inside of the oven. oh, well, i mean the tinfoil suffered greatly.

but some dusting, some vacuuming, and a little oven cleaner, and we are currently baking no. 2's birthday cake.

and i am pretty sure he won't ask "why?" when we tell him to have a piece.

darth sardonic

i posted this and then realized i didn't even bother with a "happy holidays and a prosperous new year!" it's official, i really am a cunt lately.

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