The Curse of the Queen (FF)

© Connie Gayer

Professor Kropotkin was elated!  There in the sand he made an incredible find.

"Is that the royal necklace of Queen Nefertitty?" asked his young assistant Bart Bannerman.

"That's Nefertiti," replied Kropotkin, "and yes. I just hope there isn't a curse."

Back in New York City the Professor presented the fabled necklace to his wife Janie. Immediately her breasts grew three sizes.

"Oh, no!" cried Janie.  "There is a curse to the Necklace of Nefertitty!" 

"That's Nefertiti," replied Kropotkin. "And there is no curse." 

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So shoot me, this is what I thought of. Hey, you try being a 65 year old balding guy who's been totally out of the action since almost the time of Nefertiti, and let's see what you come up with!

I'm sure the other Friday Fictioneers will be much more socially acceptable in their takes upon the above picture prompt and you can find out by clicking here. 

I only hope Russell doesn't mess up what I just said.

The Adventures of Super Ass, Internet Breaker!

On the set of the cable reality show "Keeping Up With the Kardashians." Kim Kardashian is seen alone in her room.

Kim: This is terrible! (beginning to cry) I was promised they would not show my breasts! Then they print these awful pictures that were meant just for my husband, Usher!

Director:  Kim, that's Kanye West.

Kim: (crying hysterically) Kanye Whatever!  What do they think I am, some kind of blatant and shameless publicity seeker?!  I swear as God is my witness I will never pose naked again!

Director: And that's cut!  Kim, that was wonderful!  How did you manage to bring out the tears in that scene?

Kim: I thought about the fact that some people in the remotest areas of the four corners of the world have never yet seen my tits, and I just lost it! 

Director: Don't worry, Kim. Someday they will. Someday they will.

Kim:  Look! Overhead!

Director:  What is it? That beam of light in the sky?

Kim: It's the Ass Signal! To the Ass Pole!

Kim grabs a bucket of skin oil and ducks into her dressing room as she begins to pull down her pants. The scene shifts to the downtown hotel room of famed comedian Bill Cosby, where Cosby is seen with a young model named Samantha. 

Cosby: Hey, hey, hey,  Samantha!  Let me mix you my special drink.

Samantha: That would be nice, Mr. Cosby.

Cosby:  It's called the Cosby Cock-tail.  It's aptly named.   

Samantha: Bottoms up, Mr. Cosby.

Cosby:  Let's hope so, hey, hey, hey!  

Samantha: Gee, I never had a bubbling drink like this before. 

Cosby:  So then Fat Albert was running down the street in North Philadelphia and he said "throw me the ball" but then he bumped into Old Weird Harold and Old Weird Harold and Fat Albert decided to go the corner store to buy gum, but Fat Albert said that gum would stick to the ball and Old Weird Harold .... 

Samantha:  I'm beginning to get drowsy, Mr. Cosby.

Cosby:  The drugs! They must be starting to work.

Samantha:  It isn't the drugs, Mr. Cosby, it's your boring totally unfunny monologue. I can't fight it, my eyes are closing!

Cosby:  Either way, hey, hey, hey!

Cosby begins advancing on Samantha as she falls to the ground.  Suddenly the window shatters and in flies a huge well-oiled ass, with a big red S on its thighs!

Cosby: Oh, no!  It's  Super Ass, Internet Breaker!  

Super Ass: Hello, Cos. Long time, no see. 

Cosby:  What are you doing here, Super Ass?

Super Ass: Your behavior is despicable, Cos.  I've come to stop it! 

Cosby: You mean doping and ravishing young girls?

Super Ass: No, you idiot, I mean getting too damn much attention on the Internet!  Some people are actually posting about you instead of me!

Cosby: Stay back, Super Ass, or I'll blow the Internet sky high with further revelations!

Super Ass: You don't scare me, Cosby! Prepare to die! On the Internet, that is.

Super Ass knocks Cosby to the ground, flies to the sleeping Samantha and snatches her up,  and carries her to safety.  

Super Ass:  See, Cos?  Now you've done nothing disgusting tonight. Nothing to post about.

Cosby:  (seeing the benefit) That's right.  That's .... good!

Super Ass:  Next I'll travel into the past and undo every other sexual outrage of yours so there'll be nothing notable about you in 2014 except your liver spots.  

Cosby: Gee, thanks Super Ass!  Hey, hey, hey!

Super Ass: Don't mention it, Cos.  Removing a pathetic old pervert like you as a rival in my attempt to Break the Internet is my pleasure! 

Super Ass flies into the sky, off for her next Internet Breaking adventure! 

On-Lookers from the Street: 

Look up in the sky!

It's Absurd! 

It's a Shame!

It's ....

 Super Ass, Internet Breaker!  

Have you posted about her today?

The End (no pun intended)

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Mark Zuckerberg, Boobs & Me

You've got to hand it to Mark Zuckerberg.  His intelligence collecting capabilities are so vast he makes the NSA look like a couple of eight year olds with two paper cups and a string. If Santa Claus had the ability to spy on his fellow man in the manner of Mark Zuckerberg, you and I would have a sufficient collection of lumps of coal today to power a small city.

How do I know this?  I simply have to click on Facebook.

Whenever I do, I find a column of ads to the right of all the posts by my Facebook "friends" whom I've never met and never will meet which looks and reads like this:


Meet Claudia. She loves unsightly wrinkles, thinning hair, and the word "flaccid." She doesn't care if you never look at her eyes. We've got hundreds of women like Claudia with no standards waiting to meet you. Join for free at www.desperateloser.com

It doesn't matter how old, desiccated, and lacking in redeeming social value you are, you'll be having non-stop sex with women like Vicki within minutes after joining www.gullibleschmuck.com.  What do you have to lose other than all your self-respect? 

We have 113 mature women in your area looking for a man 63 or older! Every one looks exactly like Amy except some also have large breasts. We offer free Vitamin E too. Click www.stupidgeezer.com to join!

It wasn't always like this for me on Facebook. When I first joined the site there was always a right hand column of diverse ads for all manner of random things like shoes, threshing equipment, mutual funds managed by mimes, and the best-seller "Theodore Bikel's Anti-Aging Secrets." 

Occasionally I would get an ad or two I didn't appreciate like "Falling and you can't get up?" or "Seniors! Learn to knit plaid pants ....", but I objected and the ads vanished like beer at a frat party. Facebook tries mightily to customize its advertising for each individual Facebooker's interests and preferences. 

One day I saw an ad for a dating site graced by a picture of a woman whose breasts could float a battleship.  Before my eyes could return to their sockets I saw another such ad, and soon ads for dating sites featuring incredibly large busted women began proliferating to the point every time I opened Facebook I thought my computer was going to tip over to the right! 

Mark Zuckerberg, I realized, was no doubt reading my FB posts and determining my tastes and predilections. Flattering to be sure, but how much did he really know about me? There's more to me than just a boob-crazed burned out baby boomer! 

I write about many things, like politics, books, film, and popular culture. 

True, I always write about books, film, and popular culture which feature big boobs, and I'm very much looking forward to the upcoming Mariah Carey autobiography to be made into a movie and then become part of popular culture. But I also write about politics, where ... umm... yeah ... everyone's a boob.

Mark Zuckerberg, you are amazing!  You know more about me than I know myself.

May my PC screen teeter totter forevermore.

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"We'll do the teeter tottering, Perry. 

 You do the doddering."

Of Mammaries and the Movies, or My Take on Tits

At no point in the classic Hitchcock film “Northwest by Northwest” do we witness star Gary Grant’s bare butt writhing and thrusting on top of a naked Eva Marie Saint as he caresses her undulating breasts.

That's because “North by Northwest” was made in the 1950's, before people began having sex.

Or at least began having sex in the movies.

What the audience sees instead is the train they’re traveling on roar into a tunnel, the sight of which impelled me to beg my parents for years to take me on train trips that included lots of tunnels.

  

Back in the 50's and early 60’s, the epitome of celluloid sex was a profile shot of the rapidly maturing Mouseketeer Annette Funicello turning sideways or a glimpse of Barbara Eden's navel on a day the “I Dream of Jeanie” makeup man ran out of putty.

Nowadays I know every square inch of Anne Hathaway's anatomy almost as well as does the Jewish guy she married!  

It was 1968 when naked boobs first came to neighborhood movie screens. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw what looked like eyes when a hot young blonde nonchalantly peeled off her top in the movie “Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush.”

I raced home and threw my entire collection of National Geographics in the trash.

Boobs thereupon began bouncing abundantly anywhere and everywhere on the silver screen.

Nowadays everything goes in the movies including any sense of propriety.  It's a rare film that doesn't feature Mark Ruffalo hammering Julianne Moore, Natalie Portman switching teams with Mila Kunis, or Paul Reubens responding in kind in the audience.

But these days except when either the film - or my mood - truly calls for sex, I’d just as soon watch “Frozen.”

No, I'm not suggesting we return to the days of Cary Grant and Eva Marie Saint acting like saints until the rapid approach of a well-timed tunnel. There were layers of reality and story-telling lost due to the sensitivities of the times. But there was also something discrete and respectful that’s missing today that helped make many of the older films classics.

It has never been my burning passion to turn on Turner Classic Movies and see Ethel Barrymore or Margaret Hamilton frolicking nude on a beach. The great screwball comedies starring the likes of Gary Grant and Katherine Hepburn are better without the alternate connotations of “screw” and “ball.”

And as for classics like “Casablanca?” 

"Did you leave me for Lazlo because he had a bigger penis?"

"No, Rick, I left you because Victor Lazlo is my husband.  Because he’s a great man and a great leader of our cause. And he has a bigger penis."

Nah, gimme my film classics straight - unabridged, crotch-less, boob-free and with a minimum of writhing.

I'm glad I got to see Isabella Rossellini's tits in “Blue Velvet.”

But I'm even gladder I never got to see her mom's.  

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