He hasn't responded yet, so I guess I'll keep sending them...
Email 1:
Subject: HAI!
------------------
hi john morse i just want 2 rigt cuz yur fractils are so neat! and also becausem y name is also john morse!!! LOL. we should share website or sumthin!@
have a g00d d4y!!
-john morse also LOL
Email 2:
Subject: agin!
-------------------
againe ang again I am sending U an 3-mail and you are nt evr r3sp0nd. I think im very lucki to have you as a name partner!!!!!1 fhow do you spend yur fr33 time? i like to draw and paint and im tryin out to make yur fractils! there VERRRRY hard LOL!
LOL hhahah i love it all but it makes akym reallyl safd when you donat respond to 3-mail bekuz im a slower type an this takes me very lopng and im at the public librar and people are screeaming about use this comp to search for books LOL IU DONT REALLY READ HAHA DO YOU?
anjyway if you want me to help outw tih the site i cna do that for you because LOL we have thee same name we shud stick together u kno??
write back becaue im very so lnly !
-john morse also agin! LOL
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Friday, February 22, 2008
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
“The light’s on,”
Observed the morbidly obese detective,
“But no one’s home.
Hhhh-uh…
Odd!”
His partner took a deep breath, lit a cigarette, and
Spat.
“For the last time, we know that no one’s home.”
“Come again?” questioned the detective,
More puzzled than ever.
“You ate him, you fat mother fucker.”
“Right!” chuckled the
gigantic detective,
wiping the blood
from his cheeks.
Observed the morbidly obese detective,
“But no one’s home.
Hhhh-uh…
Odd!”
His partner took a deep breath, lit a cigarette, and
Spat.
“For the last time, we know that no one’s home.”
“Come again?” questioned the detective,
More puzzled than ever.
“You ate him, you fat mother fucker.”
“Right!” chuckled the
gigantic detective,
wiping the blood
from his cheeks.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
The Coitus Collection, Pt. 2 (2006)
Coitus fuck
Up my ass
If you love me.
Coitus!
Screamed the librarian in rage
As she simultaneously spilled her coffee
And started her menstrual cycle.
Coitus
Toothpaste
Makes me want to commit suicide.
Coital
Drawings
Were discovered on man’s
First erection.
Coitus
Signifies
The Times.
She thought it was acne
But the doctor knew
It was coitus.
Coitus
Master
Flex.
Coitus Gymnasium.
Her name was
Coitus Penal-Hemophiliac McItchyscrote
And she was dating Dick Richardson.
Coituses
On a plane
Starring Samuel L. Coition.
He was overwhelmingly
Comfortable
With their coitus…
It was the circle of grizzly bears
That made him nervous.
Up my ass
If you love me.
Coitus!
Screamed the librarian in rage
As she simultaneously spilled her coffee
And started her menstrual cycle.
Coitus
Toothpaste
Makes me want to commit suicide.
Coital
Drawings
Were discovered on man’s
First erection.
Coitus
Signifies
The Times.
She thought it was acne
But the doctor knew
It was coitus.
Coitus
Master
Flex.
Coitus Gymnasium.
Her name was
Coitus Penal-Hemophiliac McItchyscrote
And she was dating Dick Richardson.
Coituses
On a plane
Starring Samuel L. Coition.
He was overwhelmingly
Comfortable
With their coitus…
It was the circle of grizzly bears
That made him nervous.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
The Coitus Collection, Pt. 1
I can't believe
it's not
coitus.
Coitus
Coitus
Coitus
Ka-ka-ka-ka
Coitus-Coitus.
Fuck your diversified portfolio
and your future projections--
I've got my coitus.
Latte $4
Mocha $4
Double Espresso $4
Coitus $4
Santa Coitus $4
My Little Coitus $4
Clown Coitus $4
Coitus Flambe $4
The Criterion Coitus $4
Coitus Painting $4
Coitus Monster $4
Special Agent Coitus $4
Fuck My Coitus $4
Reverend Coitus $4
Spring Coitus $4
Coitusophoclesian Philosophy $4
If causation
is just
constant conjunction,
then coitus
is just
constant coitus.
("<3>The Natural History of Coitus, vol. 1, pp.1-878)
Sticky
itchy
coitus hoodie--
no thank you!
Found: Coitus gremlin.
V. irate
V. cute
approx 18" in height
300" in girth.
DO NOT FEED AFTER MIDNIGHT.
For Sale: Vintage Coitus (circa 1965)--
camper van
and
paraphernalia
for display only.
Coitus
in the sky-yyy
with Coitus.
Paper made from
the coitus tree
smells like
salmon.
it's not
coitus.
Coitus
Coitus
Coitus
Ka-ka-ka-ka
Coitus-Coitus.
Fuck your diversified portfolio
and your future projections--
I've got my coitus.
Latte $4
Mocha $4
Double Espresso $4
Coitus $4
Santa Coitus $4
My Little Coitus $4
Clown Coitus $4
Coitus Flambe $4
The Criterion Coitus $4
Coitus Painting $4
Coitus Monster $4
Special Agent Coitus $4
Fuck My Coitus $4
Reverend Coitus $4
Spring Coitus $4
Coitusophoclesian Philosophy $4
If causation
is just
constant conjunction,
then coitus
is just
constant coitus.
("<3>The Natural History of Coitus, vol. 1, pp.1-878)
Sticky
itchy
coitus hoodie--
no thank you!
Found: Coitus gremlin.
V. irate
V. cute
approx 18" in height
300" in girth.
DO NOT FEED AFTER MIDNIGHT.
For Sale: Vintage Coitus (circa 1965)--
camper van
and
paraphernalia
for display only.
Coitus
in the sky-yyy
with Coitus.
Paper made from
the coitus tree
smells like
salmon.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
<3
Happy Valentine's Day.
I'm sorry for eating you.
If it's any consolation,
you tasted great.
To be fair, though,
you aren't sitting too well
with the chocolates.
I hope you don't give me
the runs.
What a crappy Valentine's Day
that'd be, right?--
the runs
on Valentine's Day.
Un-frickin'-believable.
I'm sorry for eating you.
If it's any consolation,
you tasted great.
To be fair, though,
you aren't sitting too well
with the chocolates.
I hope you don't give me
the runs.
What a crappy Valentine's Day
that'd be, right?--
the runs
on Valentine's Day.
Un-frickin'-believable.
Advice to the Weary
When I'm about to ask someone out,
I make sure to leave my fly undone
so they don't
think that I'm prude
or boring.
Typically,
I avoid staring
directly at a woman's breasts,
but if I do,
and if she catches me,
I'll tell her that they'd look like eyes if she took off her shirt--
and then who'd be staring at whom?
I make a big deal about men with breasts
and hairy chests;
I call these sorts of racks
camel-backs--
they're much more frequent
than the testicular camel toe,
which is a premeditated sort of thing,
or a thing for men
with very tight jeans
(or very large balls, I suppose).
Several years of failure have taught me
that you shouldn't ask them if their face is swollen
even if it actually is.
Really, don't remove a flask
from your jacket
and pour vodka all over your salad
unless you think
they'll think
it's funny;
if they don't,
laugh about it--
"It's a joke! Ha! Ha! Ha!"
--
And immediately order another salad,
"This time, no olives,"
even if it didn't have olives to begin with.
Tell them,
"Olive you,"
and repeat, slowly,
"Ah-luv Yiu!"
I make sure to leave my fly undone
so they don't
think that I'm prude
or boring.
Typically,
I avoid staring
directly at a woman's breasts,
but if I do,
and if she catches me,
I'll tell her that they'd look like eyes if she took off her shirt--
and then who'd be staring at whom?
I make a big deal about men with breasts
and hairy chests;
I call these sorts of racks
camel-backs--
they're much more frequent
than the testicular camel toe,
which is a premeditated sort of thing,
or a thing for men
with very tight jeans
(or very large balls, I suppose).
Several years of failure have taught me
that you shouldn't ask them if their face is swollen
even if it actually is.
Really, don't remove a flask
from your jacket
and pour vodka all over your salad
unless you think
they'll think
it's funny;
if they don't,
laugh about it--
"It's a joke! Ha! Ha! Ha!"
--
And immediately order another salad,
"This time, no olives,"
even if it didn't have olives to begin with.
Tell them,
"Olive you,"
and repeat, slowly,
"Ah-luv Yiu!"
Monday, February 11, 2008
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Human After All?
The Engineer is a very serious man who commits himself wholly to his projects. He rents a two-bedroom apartment and lives there alone. He spends most of his time at the lab. At home, at night, he cooks himself pasta and pretends to be an alchemist. He watches the Discovery Channel every night before bed.
The Engineer is a very serious man, indeed.
* * *
The Engineer is annoyed with his neighbors. They’re having sex like elephants and they’re enjoying it like Roman emperors. They’re making it difficult to hear the Discovery Channel, which, at present, is showing a special on robotics. The Engineer stomps on the floor. “Get a room!” he shouts, spitting a little. He stomps again. “Get a different room is what I meant! In a different apartment!”
* * *
The Engineer was inspired by the special on robotics. He is inspecting engines in an automobile graveyard. A hungry-looking man in blue overalls owns the lot, and he has jokingly offered to pay the Engineer a dollar to figure out which engines still work.
“What do you mean you’d pay a dollar?” the Engineer chides. “For God’s sake!”
The owner laughs and flails his arms and rattles off a series of expressions that escape the Engineer’s understanding.
“Shit,” the Engineer hisses. “What good are you?”
* * *
It has been six weeks and the Engineer has constructed a robotic slave. Its body is the tower of a Macintosh LC3, and its head is an LCD monitor. It can express nine emotions, which are indicated by pictures the Engineer drew himself in four minutes’ time. It has never been activated. The Engineer is sweating. He extends a fluttering hand and pokes the slave’s power button. His second bedroom—which he warmly refers to as his “private laboratory”—takes on the delicate odor of heated plastic. The slave beeps four times. Its monitor-face flickers into a smile.
“Howdy!” it shouts, and the Engineer’s body becomes very suddenly erect.
* * *
The Engineer is sitting at his kitchen table, opposite the robotic slave.
“Fetch me a glass of wine, slave!” he commands.
“Mur-lawt er’ Pee-nawt No-wurr?” the slave questions, eager to serve. The Engineer is visibly jarred by its “butchered words.”
“Must you speak that way?” The Engineer steals a glance of his tools. “You sound like fucking Slingblade!”
* * *
It has been six weeks and the Engineer has not been able to “fix” the slave’s slow, southern drawl. At present, he is disassembling his creation with terrifying intensity. The robot’s monitor-face alternates between panic and despair.
“Cain’t yuh’ lub me? I serves ya’ good ‘nuff! Cain’t yuh’ lub me?”
The Engineer pries the LC3 processor from the robot’s chest. The robot’s voice warbles away. The Engineer stares coldly at its monitor-face, now fading quickly to black. For a moment, the Engineer is still. He checks his watch and retires to his bedroom. He turns on his televisions and begins to watch the Discovery Channel. His royal elephant neighbors are at it once again.
In six weeks, the Engineer will die of a heart attack and his coworkers will boast of his accomplishments.
The Engineer is a very serious man, indeed.
* * *
The Engineer is annoyed with his neighbors. They’re having sex like elephants and they’re enjoying it like Roman emperors. They’re making it difficult to hear the Discovery Channel, which, at present, is showing a special on robotics. The Engineer stomps on the floor. “Get a room!” he shouts, spitting a little. He stomps again. “Get a different room is what I meant! In a different apartment!”
* * *
The Engineer was inspired by the special on robotics. He is inspecting engines in an automobile graveyard. A hungry-looking man in blue overalls owns the lot, and he has jokingly offered to pay the Engineer a dollar to figure out which engines still work.
“What do you mean you’d pay a dollar?” the Engineer chides. “For God’s sake!”
The owner laughs and flails his arms and rattles off a series of expressions that escape the Engineer’s understanding.
“Shit,” the Engineer hisses. “What good are you?”
* * *
It has been six weeks and the Engineer has constructed a robotic slave. Its body is the tower of a Macintosh LC3, and its head is an LCD monitor. It can express nine emotions, which are indicated by pictures the Engineer drew himself in four minutes’ time. It has never been activated. The Engineer is sweating. He extends a fluttering hand and pokes the slave’s power button. His second bedroom—which he warmly refers to as his “private laboratory”—takes on the delicate odor of heated plastic. The slave beeps four times. Its monitor-face flickers into a smile.
“Howdy!” it shouts, and the Engineer’s body becomes very suddenly erect.
* * *
The Engineer is sitting at his kitchen table, opposite the robotic slave.
“Fetch me a glass of wine, slave!” he commands.
“Mur-lawt er’ Pee-nawt No-wurr?” the slave questions, eager to serve. The Engineer is visibly jarred by its “butchered words.”
“Must you speak that way?” The Engineer steals a glance of his tools. “You sound like fucking Slingblade!”
* * *
It has been six weeks and the Engineer has not been able to “fix” the slave’s slow, southern drawl. At present, he is disassembling his creation with terrifying intensity. The robot’s monitor-face alternates between panic and despair.
“Cain’t yuh’ lub me? I serves ya’ good ‘nuff! Cain’t yuh’ lub me?”
The Engineer pries the LC3 processor from the robot’s chest. The robot’s voice warbles away. The Engineer stares coldly at its monitor-face, now fading quickly to black. For a moment, the Engineer is still. He checks his watch and retires to his bedroom. He turns on his televisions and begins to watch the Discovery Channel. His royal elephant neighbors are at it once again.
In six weeks, the Engineer will die of a heart attack and his coworkers will boast of his accomplishments.
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