From: wojdylo@maths.uwa.oz.au (INFIDEL)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.books
Subject: Re: Books in the time of love
Date: 10 Oct 1992 13:41:06 GMT
Organization: The University of Westrn Australia
NNTP-Posting-Host: madvax.maths.uwa.oz.au

Mike Morris writes:


>``Professor Morris, I've wanted to meet you so much. I've really admired
>your work. _Stephen and Me_, yes, of course, but I think your
>later films are so dark, and, yet, on the other side of it, they
>are so deeply...voluptuous, wouldn't you agree?''


Already, in his fantasy, he's complimenting himself. 

If they're so voluptuous, make her suck your dick... it's the least she
could do for you, handsome, esteemed hero.


>And, yes, she was stunningly beautiful, ...

Already, after her opening line, Mike Dick-brain Morris has imposed his
adolescent vision on the innocent, she's now as fragile and superficial
as a pretty glass bauble... no wonder we know how it's going to end.

Her thighs stink with sweat from the car seat, her eyes are
yellow from smoking, she's painted like a whore, she talks like a tart,
the one across the room is itching for a screw, as is the one in the
corner, but this stupid bitch in front of you is talking about your own
films, trying to suck your cock. 


>  			... but almost before I'd
>had a chance to register that fact, we were simply hitting it off.

Wrong. You are hitting it off in your own adolescent fantasy but not in
real life. Self-centred cunt Mike Morris can't bear to think that her
cosmos is bigger than any of his pithy fantasies.

You begin to hit it off when the blood of her cunt trickles down
the sides of your dick.


>``Yes, but you can call me Lola.''

"I call you Bitch."

And Mike Morris is a delicate, self-centred little flower that trembles at the
thought of having to enter the cosmos of another human being.

Because he loves himself and no one else, and masterbates with fantasies
of "being significant" in other "stunningly-beautiful" people's worlds.

What a loser.



>``Allah be praised. Please call me Mike. And please tell me some more about
>what you think about my films.''

Tell me more about me, how do I look, hmmm ? Really good, huh? Delicate
and pretty like a pretty little fwower, hmm, hmm?

I feel so so much closer to you, you stunningly beautiful thing, you,
when you tell me about my films... so much closer,
it's like being in front of a mirror. Let me jerk off for a minute...Oh
yeah, that feels oh-so-good.

But I know I'll get bored with jerking myself off, so
I'll get a nice pretty boy that looks like me to do it for me... oh
yeah, feels so good...

The sweet smellllll of jiggety-jigging... cigarettes, amyl and cum.



>Well, I was head over heels even then. 

Head over heels in love with yourself,  self-centred cunt.



>But, this is a sad story, perhaps the saddest that there is. 

Sad how pricks like Mike Morris can't see anybody's world but their own.


>For
>how was I to guess then, or even later, when she had seemingly given
>herself wholly over to me, 

"I should be so luck-y, luck-y, luck-y, luck-y..."

She gave herself to me at the smell of my oily cock. I didn't even have
to do anything really, just told her about myself, then listened to her
tell me about me.

There's no gulf between people... in reality, we're all one. Me. That's
why we  don't have to waste time getting used to other individuals. Just
jiggety-jig, jiggety-jig, jiggety-jig...



>that she was really calculating and cold, ambitious
>to make a name for herself in film, even at my expense? 

My expense. Always my expense. Woe is me.

She used me. Oh oh oh. I never used her oh oh oh. Everybody's using me
oh oh oh. 

In this delicate, lovely world my mind resides in, there's never any
room for mutual using. It's a terrible, awful thought... dirty as a dick
emerging from a menstruating cunt. 

She's like a beetle with a cunt in its back, hard, shiny chitinous
outside. A dried husk on the inside. Like all women.


>It was foolish
>of me to say yes, when she asked me if she could make her own docufeely,

Yes, yes, oh yes...


>documenting the making of _Sit and Deliver_, and it was foolish of me to
>introduce her to Dustin and then to Daniel. 

Woe, woe, is me...


>They seemed so superannuated,
>harmless, tame even. It didn't even cross my mind they might hold me a grudge
>about the money.  

Everybody has a grudge against me... can't there be a world without
grudges ? What if we all sing in praise to John Lennon...


>And yet, come to think of it now, every time I couldn't
>find her, I'd look and I'd look and then she'd be coming out of one
>of their dressing rooms. Sometimes with the two of them together, laughing.

Fucking, fucking, fucking, fucking, fucking, fucking, fucking, fucking,
fucking, fucking, fucking, fucking, fucking, fucking, fucking, fucking,
fucking, BITCH.



>How was I to know the fourth and final love of my life had fled
>and was hiding among the stars?


"This earth is no place for one as beautiful as me."




>                     Mike Morris
>              (msmorris@watsci.uwaterloo.ca)


John Wojdylo