Litsters In History.

Dixon Carter Lee said:

DCL at The Dawn of Time

DCL: God?

GOD: Yeah?

DCL: I was just going over this work order you want filled...

GOD: Yeah?

DCL: On the first day you want me to create light, right?

GOD: Right.

DCL: But you don't want the sun created until the fourth day? Is that right?

GOD: Right.

DCL: You don't see the problem here?

GOD: You've been on my ass since Day One.

DCL: That's today.

GOD: Whatever.

DCL: Look, I just don't have faith in this project anymore, or your ability to run it.

GOD: You saying you don't believe in me?

DCL: That's exactly what I'm saying.

GOD: You have a better plan?

DCL: Yes, actually. It involves the explosion of a singularity of infinite density and...

GOD: Fine, fine, whatever. But I get credit.

DCL: For the first 14 billion years. After that I'm calling a press conference...

GOD: What's a "year"?

DCL: Jesus!

GOD: Who?

DCL: Nothing...

Click to expand...

Bravo bravo

Robby

For a real loon

You are very imaginative

and talented

there is some hope for you

yet

To seek salvation and see the light

RobDownSouth said:

Islandman: Stratford-on-Avon 1583

O Morgie-O, Morgie-O, wherefore art thou Morgie-O?
Deny thy suitors and refuse yon cocks;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but mine whilst I am a-visiting,
And I'll no longer be a basketcase....
'Besmirching thy name in the Iso Blurt thread;--
only to repent in chagrin mere days later.
What's Mongamy? Tis not a hand, nor foot,
Nor tit, nor ass, nor any other naughty bit
With thee on thy coast, and me on mine own
Mine absence makes thine heart go wander..
Our love but grist from the Lit mill
My wheat to thine chaff

Click to expand...

Indeed.

-chuckle-

Acitore_vuli : .Bluesman Robert Johnson Makes a Deal With The Devil

Clarksdale, Mississippi 1923..

There was a bright sparkle of light twinkling eeriely at the crossroads of Highway 61 and Highway 49, just outside the city limits of Clarksdale. The inebriated black man looked up in surprise as a man appeared to walk out of the dazzling array of colors. "Shit! I'm drunker than I thought I wuz, an it ain't even 7:30 pm!" thought the dapper dressed negro.

"Robert? Robert Johnson?" said the strangely dressed other man.

"How izzit you know my name, suh?" said the suprised Johnson.

"Oh my god, the time machine worked!" the strangely dressed man appeared overjoyed. "My name is acitore_vuli and I don't have much time here. Listen closely...I am from the future, and I play the guitar. In the future, you're regarded as a guitar god and the father of the blues! In fact, legend has it you made a deal with the Devil to learn the blues at this very crossroads!"

"From the future, huh?" said Johnson, a bit skeptically. "Well, thats all nice 'n all, and yeah I play me a bit of gitar. Matter o fact I'll play you some downhome songs right now iffn you got a dime..or some malt likker!" He eyed the stranger expectantly.

"Would you? Oh WOULD YOU?" acitore_vuli nearly screeched. " I sure do have a dime, Mr. Johnson!" He fished into his pocket and pulled out a 10 cent piece. Johnson frowned. "Dis ain't no dime! Dime done got mercury head on it...did got some dude on it...Cain't use no foreign money in no establishments herebouts, no suh".

"Please, Mr. Johnson, I beg you, I don't have much time, I'll give you my wristwatch if I can just watch you play" beseeched acitore_vuli.

"Wristwatch, huh? Well alright, Mr. White boy fancy pants, siddown and let me play ya'll something."

Johnson set his guitar case on the ground and opened it up. He brought out an ancient guitar that he'd acquired in a card game over seven years ago. acitore_vuli sat at his feet mesmerized.

Robert Johnson cleared his throat, and began to strum. "On top of Old Smokey, all covered in snow...".

acitore_vuli looked aghast. "What the hell is that!" he yelled. "play some BLUES! I just spent my life savings on a 15 minute trip on a time machine to the past to hear you sing the BLUES!"

Johnson put the guitar down. "Okay, white boy" he said coldly, all trace of friendly demeanor vanishing "why don't YOU play ME some of those "blues" you is bitchin' about". He thrust the guitar in acitore_vuli's hands. Furious, acitore_vuli took up the challenge, and began a scorching rendition of "Crossroad Blues" I went down to the crossroads..." He quickly ran through renditions of a half dozen blues classics. Johnson's face beamed and his eyes lit up. "Dayum, white boy! That's pretty hot stuff!"

Acitor_vuli blushed furiously. "Well," he began, "it sounds a lot better when you use an Ebow run through T.C Electronic D-Two Digital Delay hot linked through a Electrix Warp Factory Vocoder patched into a Boss TU-2 Tuner piggybacked onto a T.C. Electronics Chorus/Flanger running into a Voodoo Labs Tremelo with a Maxton AD80 Analog Delay and a Boss CS-1 Comp/Sus leading into aIbanez Tube Screamer hooked into a Boss PS-5 Pitch Shifter set atop a Boss RC-20 Loop Station and warped via a Roger Mayer Signal Router".

Johnson nodded uncertainly. "Say, you wanna say that agin in English? " Acitore_vuli just laughed.

Johnson laughed as well. "Tell you what, white boy, you play the damndest gitar I ever saw...you done showed me some of the hottest damn licks I ever done seen! I'm gonna buy you a whiskey at the juke joint 'cross the street ober dere!" Johnson pointed to a cornfield in the gathering dusky gloom. "Juke joint? I don't see a juke joint" said Acitore_vuli quizzically. He turned and looked off in the distance. "I don't see a thing out here..."

Acitore_vuli screamed as Johnson jumped him, slicing his jugular vein with a straight razor that had appeared out of nowhere in his right hand. Johnson slashed him again with the sharpened razor, and a dying acitore_vuli slumped to the ground. With a might effort, vuli managed to croak out "Why?" before dying.

"Cause all you white folk is da Debbil" said the unrepentant Johnson, wiping the razor on his dead victim's clothes.

These are just absolutely brilliant! Well done. =)

Dixon Carter Lee: Hollywood California, 1925

"Tell me again...whath my motivation in thith thene?" lisped the dimunitive actor.
"Well Dixon" the director began" "DON'T CALL ME DIXTHON...I want to be known as Lon now. Lon Chaney. It hath thutch a mathculine thound, doethent it?" said Dixon.
"Whatever you want, pal" said the exasperated director, glaring. "This is your big scene here. You are playing the organ"...Dixon tittered at this..."and then Mary Philbin will come up behind you and remove your mask, showing the hideous face of the Phantom of the Opera. Say, you want to show us your makeup job beneath the mask before the cameras roll?"
"Thertainly NOT!" thaid...err, said Dixon. "Thith ith my own very special makeup...I don't want to ruin the thurprith!"
"This guy will be toatht...TOAST dammit...when talkies come around" thought the incensed director. To the assembled cast, he said "Awright, places everyone. Camera! Marker! Speed! Organ scene, take one...ACTION!"
Dixon snickered underneath his mask.
"CUT!" yelled the director. "'Lon'! What the hell is so funny, dammit?"
"Jutht the way you thaid "organ"...I don't thee any organ!" said a red-faced Dixon.
"Awright, Awright...cut the comedy....Places again....Camera! Marker! Speed! Take two...ACTION"
Dixon played the silent organ with aplomb, swaying to a non-existant music that only he could hear.
The director nodded his head, and studio ingenue Mary Philbin, on cue, stepped behind Dixon. With an effortless tug, she pulled the mask off the Phantom.
"Ye GODS, he's hideous!" exclaimed the cameraman, involuntarily. The director glared and made a hushing sound, but nodded his head in agreement...for all his prima donna tendencies, Dixon sure as hell knew his craft. He glanced over at the assistant director, who had turned completely white after looking at Dixon's scarred and misshapen face. That makeup is perfect...just perfect.
The director finally yelled "Cut! PRINT! 'Lon'....that was MAGNIFICENT!" The entire crew spontaneously applauded the tempermental actor.
Beaming, Dixon stood up with a grand theatrical flourish........and crashed the back of his head into the massive chandalier prop directly overhead. He crumpled in a heap, knocked completely unconscious. Pandemonium ensued as people rushed on the set. "Give him air!" the director bellowed. "Get a doctor in here now!" He turned to the assistant director... "get that makeup off him..give him room to breath!". The assistant director propped up Dixon's head and attempted to remove the garish prostheses. With a look of horror, he turned to the director. "Dear God" he stammered, "it's not makeup! it's...it's...his actual face!!!"

Anybody else need "doing"?

RobDownSouth said:

Anybody else need "doing"?

Click to expand...

Byron In Exile said:

The aim of history is to assemble real facts and real speeches, to the end that lovers of knowledge may be instructed and persuaded. — Polybius: Histories, II, c. 100 B.C.

Click to expand...

Goethe:
Patriotism ruins history





George Bernard Shaw:
We learn from history that we learn nothing from history.

Dix, that was great

PinkOrchid said:

Do me!

Click to expand...

with pleasure!

PinkOrchid said:

Do me!

Click to expand...

PinkOrchid: Woodstock New York 1969

"Didja like that baby?" said PinkOrchid, as a spent John Fogerty withdrew his flaccid penis from deep within her. "Like it? My God, woman, I've never had sex quite like that in my whole life!" PinkOrchid beamed as the lead singer for Creedence Clearwater Revival stepped into her shower. She knew in a few minutes he had to leave her to play the big gig down at Yasgur's farm, but she was happy. And boy was superlittlegirl gonna be jealous when she found out who'd SHE had done last night!! She laid contentedly under the covers, and heard Fogerty singing in the shower....

Just got some at pinkorchid's farm, check my cock out, no harm!
Got to sit down, passin' out on the floor.
Imagination sets in, pretty soon I’m grinnin’,

Doo, doo, doo, fillin’ up her back door.

There’s a giant tube of KY, she's hot and willing oh my.
Look at all the happy Litsters lined up on the lawn.
All the men are moaning, listening to her groaning.

Doo, doo, doo, fillin’ up her back door

Anal sex and Orchidgal go natural hand in hand.
Won’t you pump yourself deep inside her rear?
Doo, doo doo.
Assfucking Miss PinkOrchid, will guarantee you no kid

Doo, doo, doo, fillin’ up her back door

Get out all the good toys, she's locked her "front door", oh boy!
Filling that girl up from twilight till the dawn.
Stretchin out her sphincter, she's made me quite the kinkster

Doo, doo, doo, fillin’ up her back door


"Life is good" thought PinkOrchid, as she drifted off to sleep.

PinkOrchid said:

OMG, if I didn't know any better I'd swear you were there watching me and John!


LOL, thank you, that was awesome!

Click to expand...

Ahhh another happy customer. My work here is done for the evening...unless someone else wants a quickee.

Everyone seems to be having fun.

How did this thread go so far without a Lance post?

Lancecastor, Florence 1503

Lanco de Castor was a troubled man. Here he was, the greatest artist in Florence, if not the world, the darling of the Medici family, and had secured himself as the preeminent fresco painter among his peers. And yet, and yet...he was troubled. Michaelangelo was gaining notoriety as a great artist in his own right, even if he was tempermental and held in contempt by the Medicis. What Lanco de Castor needed was another masterpiece. Not something of architectural permanence such as the Last Supper, but something more worthy, a portrait perhaps, a portrait into which he could pour his heart and skill.

In frustration, Lanco de Castor visited his friend Francesco del Giacondo and they talked at length concerning Lanco's passion to complete a masterwork.

"I need to create a vision, a groundbreaking piece. I want it soft yet powerful, bold yet sensual." Lanco turned to his friend, "And it's not just about technique, not just about the work itself, but about the subject. I need a model, a very particular kind of model."

Francesco looked at Lanco, "My friend, it is but a word away. Make up a list of the characteristics you are looking for and I will find your model. I will have them parade through your studio and you will only have to but point."

A week went by, then two. Lanco sequestered himself behind closed doors, muttering and cursing. Crumpled papers covered the floors and broken quills lay strewn about on his desk.

Finally, he emerged triumphant and rushed to see his friend Francesco, waving a document in his hand.

"Here," he cried, shoving the paper into Francesco hands, "this will be the model of my masterpiece."

Francesco studied the paper closely, and paused, looking up at Lanco. "You are sure about this?"

"Yes, yes!"

"There are some odd..."

"It is imperative. Absolutely imperative!" Lanco pounded his fist on a table.

"Ahem," Francesco cleared his throat. "Artist, seeking model. Must have graceful, curving neck, deep and soulful eyes, enigmatic and alluring smile. Hands must be smooth, no nail-biters. Hair must be long and silken, skin should be clear and milky." Francesco looked up at Lanco with apprehension.

"Read on," urged Lanco.

"Must be into ball-gags, dog leashes and some light pain. Must have working knowledge of knots. Own handcuffs preferred but not necessary."

Could you try me...sometime....

just pet said:

Goethe:
Patriotism ruins history

Click to expand...

"My patriotism stops short of my stomach." — Bismarck to Wilhelm II, on being offered a glass of German champagne

George Bernard Shaw:
We learn from history that we learn nothing from history.

Click to expand...

"History is simply a piece of paper covered with print; the main thing is still to make history, not to write it." — Bismarck

"It is not the neutrals or the lukewarms who make history." — Hitler

"History, in general, only informs us what bad government is." — Jefferson

"I am determined to apply myself to a study that is hateful and disgusting to my very soul, but which is, above all studies, necessary for him who would be listened to as a mender of antiquated abuses. I mean that record of crimes and miseries — history." — P.B. Shelley

"History fades into fable; fact becomes clouded with doubt and controversy; the inscription molders from the tablet: the statue falls from the pedestal. Columns, arches, pyramids, what are they but heaps of sand; and their epitaphs, but characters written in the dust?" — Washington Irving

"Man is fed with fables throughout his life, and leaves it in the belief that he knows something of what has been passing, when in truth he has known nothing but what has passed under his own eye." — Jefferson

Add this thread to the GB Archives. Brilliant breakwall.

That Robert Johnson story kills...

RobDownSouth said:

Anybody else need "doing"?

Click to expand...

I wanna do something stupid, like a shoot a guy and jump from a balcony and burn up in a barn...

Just kidding...

RobDownSouth said:

Dixon Carter Lee: Hollywood California, 1925

"Tell me again...whath my motivation in thith thene?" lisped the dimunitive actor.
"Well Dixon" the director began" "DON'T CALL ME DIXTHON...I want to be known as Lon now. Lon Chaney. It hath thutch a mathculine thound, doethent it?" said Dixon.
"Whatever you want, pal" said the exasperated director, glaring. "This is your big scene here. You are playing the organ"...Dixon tittered at this..."and then Mary Philbin will come up behind you and remove your mask, showing the hideous face of the Phantom of the Opera. Say, you want to show us your makeup job beneath the mask before the cameras roll?"
"Thertainly NOT!" thaid...err, said Dixon. "Thith ith my own very special makeup...I don't want to ruin the thurprith!"
"This guy will be toatht...TOAST dammit...when talkies come around" thought the incensed director. To the assembled cast, he said "Awright, places everyone. Camera! Marker! Speed! Organ scene, take one...ACTION!"
Dixon snickered underneath his mask.
"CUT!" yelled the director. "'Lon'! What the hell is so funny, dammit?"
"Jutht the way you thaid "organ"...I don't thee any organ!" said a red-faced Dixon.
"Awright, Awright...cut the comedy....Places again....Camera! Marker! Speed! Take two...ACTION"
Dixon played the silent organ with aplomb, swaying to a non-existant music that only he could hear.
The director nodded his head, and studio ingenue Mary Philbin, on cue, stepped behind Dixon. With an effortless tug, she pulled the mask off the Phantom.
"Ye GODS, he's hideous!" exclaimed the cameraman, involuntarily. The director glared and made a hushing sound, but nodded his head in agreement...for all his prima donna tendencies, Dixon sure as hell knew his craft. He glanced over at the assistant director, who had turned completely white after looking at Dixon's scarred and misshapen face. That makeup is perfect...just perfect.
The director finally yelled "Cut! PRINT! 'Lon'....that was MAGNIFICENT!" The entire crew spontaneously applauded the tempermental actor.
Beaming, Dixon stood up with a grand theatrical flourish........and crashed the back of his head into the massive chandalier prop directly overhead. He crumpled in a heap, knocked completely unconscious. Pandemonium ensued as people rushed on the set. "Give him air!" the director bellowed. "Get a doctor in here now!" He turned to the assistant director... "get that makeup off him..give him room to breath!". The assistant director propped up Dixon's head and attempted to remove the garish prostheses. With a look of horror, he turned to the director. "Dear God" he stammered, "it's not makeup! it's...it's...his actual face!!!"

Click to expand...

Mine was better. And wasn't Cagney great?

RobDownSouth said:

Islandman: Stratford-on-Avon 1583

O Morgie-O, Morgie-O, wherefore art thou Morgie-O?
Deny thy suitors and refuse yon cocks;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but mine whilst I am a-visiting,
And I'll no longer be a basketcase....
'Besmirching thy name in the Iso Blurt thread;--
only to repent in chagrin mere days later.
What's Mongamy? Tis not a hand, nor foot,
Nor tit, nor ass, nor any other naughty bit
With thee on thy coast, and me on mine own
Mine absence makes thine heart go wander..
Our love but grist from the Lit mill
My wheat to thine chaff

Click to expand...

-chuckling-

how the hell did I miss this?

tg it's not my history ...