Thread: A Co-Operative Novel: 3 Words at a Time

IN THE NICK OF TIME
by
The Good Gentlemen of the Straight Razor Place Forum

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I couldn't believe what just happened when I wasn't paying attention. She stood there holding a map to the Tahitian village. How was I going to get HER to understand how important it is to blind the island boys with hot irons? The island girls say, "Blind men make the best poisson cru for taste is blind." But for me, since the accident, when I was so irreversibly altered and transformed into a drooling idiot, fish soup should taste like chicken....or maybe veal. But enough about that. She longed for a day-time tryst with a certain legendary and well known Nobel prize winning author of "The World of Straight Particle Accelerators" who bears a remarkable scar on his left cheek. Notwithstanding his shaving technique, which was flawless, except for the Mach III POS he was forced to use alternating Wednesdays. This scar, oddly shaped like his former wife's cottage cheese backside, did not show the depth of emotions he held buried deep inside his stone cold physicist's heart. However, upon further inspection, it appears to grow and throb with a lusty abandon, not unlike the way a suppurating flesh wound does when you suck on it, a lifesaving action not recommended for day-time trysts. The tryst she imagined certainly didn't entail any sucking (medicinal or otherwise), but instead should be confined to a barber's chair and some creative use of lather.

"Call me Jezebel", she murmured with a Silvertip Badger brush playfully dangling from her fingertips (which was odd because I'd never normally have acquiesced to something so dangerous. After all, I was a three strike loser with the scars to show why I had never known the joy of an adrenalin junkies final moment). "So, Jezebel, I hope you understand", I said cautiously, "I have never lathered a woman's way before. What style do you suggest I use?"

"Come over here", she said, fingering a rather large and extremely prominent proboscis. "I want to experience a new level of wet shaving pleasure."

"Well, Dollface", I stated, "I need to first find which way your stubble grows. Spread your lovely, creamy white shawl over the mounds of your ample, over-ripe shoulders and bend over my quivering magnified shaving mirror."

"My! How large the mirror makes my already ample bathroom look. It's been forever since I've repainted it!. Do you like the way my cottage cheese backside faux stained-glass looks in the spandex hot pants of yesteryear?"

"No", I replied tersely, "but I do appreciate a good mixed metaphor as an alternative to being perfectly clear. ... But I digress. Now, give me your supple skin, rub the lotion between your buttocks, it will relieve me to know that your hemorrhoids ......

Then I awoke! "What a dream!" But was it? It was, undoubtedly. But could it .. No, certainly not. "Snap out of it!"

I sighed and rolled over...OH NO!...it was nine o'clock! I was going to continue with dispelling that dream. However, circumstances precluded any additional time be frittered away in such an unmanly,unholy dream.

But I digress. The real purpose of life is, well, who knows?

The Xman knows!

Unfortunately, he's Evil Kneival's estranged son, from a previous incarnation as the spotted hairy back North American woodsy freshwater penis fish. Otherwise known as penis fontis pisciculus astoundingly fictitious ramblings.

Later that night as the sun shone a fierce red northern light on the mysterious yacht (painted off-white) which had arrived in the bight over a week ago, anchoring off site, a huge party of blond bimbo nurses arrived with Hugh Hefner and a tall woman dressed in only a Tony Miller Strop. So I left! With razors on my mind, women in my heart and after shave in my pants! I very carefully undid my belt to reveal Colleen's newest and most tempting concoction yet, a delightful and rather large Bar Harbor, Maine sized bottle of cranberry and truffle scented after shave. Why on earth did I undo my large and ominous straight razor, just to see this type of humiliation and degradation? I must be puffin' muffins! Anyway, enough about my generously large utensil, otherwise known as the hokey hone.

Hef walked up the mountain side flanked by two Andean llamas. One must wonder how I acquired two blonde bimbo nurses with syphilitic cankers without becoming infected, or was I? It would almost seem like a bizarre Hollywood script in which the antagonist shows he just can't handle a .50 cal against the biggest Pamela Anderson lookalike this side of the country. So, in a vain attempt to release

come on guys, we can't quit now...

IN THE NICK OF TIME
by
The Good Gentlemen of the Straight Razor Place Forum

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I couldn't believe what just happened when I wasn't paying attention. She stood there holding a map to the Tahitian village. How was I going to get HER to understand how important it is to blind the island boys with hot irons? The island girls say, "Blind men make the best poisson cru for taste is blind." But for me, since the accident, when I was so irreversibly altered and transformed into a drooling idiot, fish soup should taste like chicken....or maybe veal. But enough about that. She longed for a day-time tryst with a certain legendary and well known Nobel prize winning author of "The World of Straight Particle Accelerators" who bears a remarkable scar on his left cheek. Notwithstanding his shaving technique, which was flawless, except for the Mach III POS he was forced to use alternating Wednesdays. This scar, oddly shaped like his former wife's cottage cheese backside, did not show the depth of emotions he held buried deep inside his stone cold physicist's heart. However, upon further inspection, it appears to grow and throb with a lusty abandon, not unlike the way a suppurating flesh wound does when you suck on it, a lifesaving action not recommended for day-time trysts. The tryst she imagined certainly didn't entail any sucking (medicinal or otherwise), but instead should be confined to a barber's chair and some creative use of lather.

"Call me Jezebel", she murmured with a Silvertip Badger brush playfully dangling from her fingertips (which was odd because I'd never normally have acquiesced to something so dangerous. After all, I was a three strike loser with the scars to show why I had never known the joy of an adrenalin junkies final moment). "So, Jezebel, I hope you understand", I said cautiously, "I have never lathered a woman's way before. What style do you suggest I use?"

"Come over here", she said, fingering a rather large and extremely prominent proboscis. "I want to experience a new level of wet shaving pleasure."

"Well, Dollface", I stated, "I need to first find which way your stubble grows. Spread your lovely, creamy white shawl over the mounds of your ample, over-ripe shoulders and bend over my quivering magnified shaving mirror."

"My! How large the mirror makes my already ample bathroom look. It's been forever since I've repainted it!. Do you like the way my cottage cheese backside faux stained-glass looks in the spandex hot pants of yesteryear?"

"No", I replied tersely, "but I do appreciate a good mixed metaphor as an alternative to being perfectly clear. ... But I digress. Now, give me your supple skin, rub the lotion between your buttocks, it will relieve me to know that your hemorrhoids ......

Then I awoke! "What a dream!" But was it? It was, undoubtedly. But could it .. No, certainly not. "Snap out of it!"

I sighed and rolled over...OH NO!...it was nine o'clock! I was going to continue with dispelling that dream. However, circumstances precluded any additional time be frittered away in such an unmanly,unholy dream.

But I digress. The real purpose of life is, well, who knows?

The Xman knows!

Unfortunately, he's Evil Kneival's estranged son, from a previous incarnation as the spotted hairy back North American woodsy freshwater penis fish. Otherwise known as penis fontis pisciculus astoundingly fictitious ramblings.

Later that night as the sun shone a fierce red northern light on the mysterious yacht (painted off-white) which had arrived in the bight over a week ago, anchoring off site, a huge party of blond bimbo nurses arrived with Hugh Hefner and a tall woman dressed in only a Tony Miller Strop. So I left! With razors on my mind, women in my heart and after shave in my pants! I very carefully undid my belt to reveal Colleen's newest and most tempting concoction yet, a delightful and rather large Bar Harbor, Maine sized bottle of cranberry and truffle scented after shave. Why on earth did I undo my large and ominous straight razor, just to see this type of humiliation and degradation? I must be puffin' muffins! Anyway, enough about my generously large utensil, otherwise known as the hokey hone.

Hef walked up the mountain side flanked by two Andean llamas. One must wonder how I acquired two blonde bimbo nurses with syphilitic cankers without becoming infected, or was I? It would almost seem like a bizarre Hollywood script in which the antagonist shows he just can't handle a .50 cal against the biggest Pamela Anderson lookalike this side of the country. So, in a vain attempt to release us from this

IN THE NICK OF TIME
by
The Good Gentlemen of the Straight Razor Place Forum

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I couldn't believe what just happened when I wasn't paying attention. She stood there holding a map to the Tahitian village. How was I going to get HER to understand how important it is to blind the island boys with hot irons? The island girls say, "Blind men make the best poisson cru for taste is blind." But for me, since the accident, when I was so irreversibly altered and transformed into a drooling idiot, fish soup should taste like chicken....or maybe veal. But enough about that. She longed for a day-time tryst with a certain legendary and well known Nobel prize winning author of "The World of Straight Particle Accelerators" who bears a remarkable scar on his left cheek. Notwithstanding his shaving technique, which was flawless, except for the Mach III POS he was forced to use alternating Wednesdays. This scar, oddly shaped like his former wife's cottage cheese backside, did not show the depth of emotions he held buried deep inside his stone cold physicist's heart. However, upon further inspection, it appears to grow and throb with a lusty abandon, not unlike the way a suppurating flesh wound does when you suck on it, a lifesaving action not recommended for day-time trysts. The tryst she imagined certainly didn't entail any sucking (medicinal or otherwise), but instead should be confined to a barber's chair and some creative use of lather.

"Call me Jezebel", she murmured with a Silvertip Badger brush playfully dangling from her fingertips (which was odd because I'd never normally have acquiesced to something so dangerous. After all, I was a three strike loser with the scars to show why I had never known the joy of an adrenalin junkies final moment). "So, Jezebel, I hope you understand", I said cautiously, "I have never lathered a woman's way before. What style do you suggest I use?"

"Come over here", she said, fingering a rather large and extremely prominent proboscis. "I want to experience a new level of wet shaving pleasure."

"Well, Dollface", I stated, "I need to first find which way your stubble grows. Spread your lovely, creamy white shawl over the mounds of your ample, over-ripe shoulders and bend over my quivering magnified shaving mirror."

"My! How large the mirror makes my already ample bathroom look. It's been forever since I've repainted it!. Do you like the way my cottage cheese backside faux stained-glass looks in the spandex hot pants of yesteryear?"

"No", I replied tersely, "but I do appreciate a good mixed metaphor as an alternative to being perfectly clear. ... But I digress. Now, give me your supple skin, rub the lotion between your buttocks, it will relieve me to know that your hemorrhoids ......

Then I awoke! "What a dream!" But was it? It was, undoubtedly. But could it .. No, certainly not. "Snap out of it!"

I sighed and rolled over...OH NO!...it was nine o'clock! I was going to continue with dispelling that dream. However, circumstances precluded any additional time be frittered away in such an unmanly,unholy dream.

But I digress. The real purpose of life is, well, who knows?

The Xman knows!

Unfortunately, he's Evil Kneival's estranged son, from a previous incarnation as the spotted hairy back North American woodsy freshwater penis fish. Otherwise known as penis fontis pisciculus astoundingly fictitious ramblings.

Later that night as the sun shone a fierce red northern light on the mysterious yacht (painted off-white) which had arrived in the bight over a week ago, anchoring off site, a huge party of blond bimbo nurses arrived with Hugh Hefner and a tall woman dressed in only a Tony Miller Strop. So I left! With razors on my mind, women in my heart and after shave in my pants! I very carefully undid my belt to reveal Colleen's newest and most tempting concoction yet, a delightful and rather large Bar Harbor, Maine sized bottle of cranberry and truffle scented after shave. Why on earth did I undo my large and ominous straight razor, just to see this type of humiliation and degradation? I must be puffin' muffins! Anyway, enough about my generously large utensil, otherwise known as the hokey hone.

Hef walked up the mountain side flanked by two Andean llamas. One must wonder how I acquired two blonde bimbo nurses with syphilitic cankers without becoming infected, or was I? It would almost seem like a bizarre Hollywood script in which the antagonist shows he just can't handle a .50 cal against the biggest Pamela Anderson lookalike this side of the country. So, in a vain attempt to release us from this conundrum, we took

IN THE NICK OF TIME
by
The Good Gentlemen of the Straight Razor Place Forum

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I couldn't believe what just happened when I wasn't paying attention. She stood there holding a map to the Tahitian village. How was I going to get HER to understand how important it is to blind the island boys with hot irons? The island girls say, "Blind men make the best poisson cru for taste is blind." But for me, since the accident, when I was so irreversibly altered and transformed into a drooling idiot, fish soup should taste like chicken....or maybe veal. But enough about that. She longed for a day-time tryst with a certain legendary and well known Nobel prize winning author of "The World of Straight Particle Accelerators" who bears a remarkable scar on his left cheek. Notwithstanding his shaving technique, which was flawless, except for the Mach III POS he was forced to use alternating Wednesdays. This scar, oddly shaped like his former wife's cottage cheese backside, did not show the depth of emotions he held buried deep inside his stone cold physicist's heart. However, upon further inspection, it appears to grow and throb with a lusty abandon, not unlike the way a suppurating flesh wound does when you suck on it, a lifesaving action not recommended for day-time trysts. The tryst she imagined certainly didn't entail any sucking (medicinal or otherwise), but instead should be confined to a barber's chair and some creative use of lather.

"Call me Jezebel", she murmured with a Silvertip Badger brush playfully dangling from her fingertips (which was odd because I'd never normally have acquiesced to something so dangerous. After all, I was a three strike loser with the scars to show why I had never known the joy of an adrenalin junkies final moment). "So, Jezebel, I hope you understand", I said cautiously, "I have never lathered a woman's way before. What style do you suggest I use?"

"Come over here", she said, fingering a rather large and extremely prominent proboscis. "I want to experience a new level of wet shaving pleasure."

"Well, Dollface", I stated, "I need to first find which way your stubble grows. Spread your lovely, creamy white shawl over the mounds of your ample, over-ripe shoulders and bend over my quivering magnified shaving mirror."

"My! How large the mirror makes my already ample bathroom look. It's been forever since I've repainted it!. Do you like the way my cottage cheese backside faux stained-glass looks in the spandex hot pants of yesteryear?"

"No", I replied tersely, "but I do appreciate a good mixed metaphor as an alternative to being perfectly clear. ... But I digress. Now, give me your supple skin, rub the lotion between your buttocks, it will relieve me to know that your hemorrhoids ......

Then I awoke! "What a dream!" But was it? It was, undoubtedly. But could it .. No, certainly not. "Snap out of it!"

I sighed and rolled over...OH NO!...it was nine o'clock! I was going to continue with dispelling that dream. However, circumstances precluded any additional time be frittered away in such an unmanly,unholy dream.

But I digress. The real purpose of life is, well, who knows?

The Xman knows!

Unfortunately, he's Evil Kneival's estranged son, from a previous incarnation as the spotted hairy back North American woodsy freshwater penis fish. Otherwise known as penis fontis pisciculus astoundingly fictitious ramblings.

Later that night as the sun shone a fierce red northern light on the mysterious yacht (painted off-white) which had arrived in the bight over a week ago, anchoring off site, a huge party of blond bimbo nurses arrived with Hugh Hefner and a tall woman dressed in only a Tony Miller Strop. So I left! With razors on my mind, women in my heart and after shave in my pants! I very carefully undid my belt to reveal Colleen's newest and most tempting concoction yet, a delightful and rather large Bar Harbor, Maine sized bottle of cranberry and truffle scented after shave. Why on earth did I undo my large and ominous straight razor, just to see this type of humiliation and degradation? I must be puffin' muffins! Anyway, enough about my generously large utensil, otherwise known as the hokey hone.

Hef walked up the mountain side flanked by two Andean llamas. One must wonder how I acquired two blonde bimbo nurses with syphilitic cankers without becoming infected, or was I? It would almost seem like a bizarre Hollywood script in which the antagonist shows he just can't handle a .50 cal against the biggest Pamela Anderson lookalike this side of the country. So, in a vain attempt to release us from this conundrum, we took acid, three hits

IN THE NICK OF TIME
by
The Good Gentlemen of the Straight Razor Place Forum

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I couldn't believe what just happened when I wasn't paying attention. She stood there holding a map to the Tahitian village. How was I going to get HER to understand how important it is to blind the island boys with hot irons? The island girls say, "Blind men make the best poisson cru for taste is blind." But for me, since the accident, when I was so irreversibly altered and transformed into a drooling idiot, fish soup should taste like chicken....or maybe veal. But enough about that. She longed for a day-time tryst with a certain legendary and well known Nobel prize winning author of "The World of Straight Particle Accelerators" who bears a remarkable scar on his left cheek. Notwithstanding his shaving technique, which was flawless, except for the Mach III POS he was forced to use alternating Wednesdays. This scar, oddly shaped like his former wife's cottage cheese backside, did not show the depth of emotions he held buried deep inside his stone cold physicist's heart. However, upon further inspection, it appears to grow and throb with a lusty abandon, not unlike the way a suppurating flesh wound does when you suck on it, a lifesaving action not recommended for day-time trysts. The tryst she imagined certainly didn't entail any sucking (medicinal or otherwise), but instead should be confined to a barber's chair and some creative use of lather.

"Call me Jezebel", she murmured with a Silvertip Badger brush playfully dangling from her fingertips (which was odd because I'd never normally have acquiesced to something so dangerous. After all, I was a three strike loser with the scars to show why I had never known the joy of an adrenalin junkies final moment). "So, Jezebel, I hope you understand", I said cautiously, "I have never lathered a woman's way before. What style do you suggest I use?"

"Come over here", she said, fingering a rather large and extremely prominent proboscis. "I want to experience a new level of wet shaving pleasure."

"Well, Dollface", I stated, "I need to first find which way your stubble grows. Spread your lovely, creamy white shawl over the mounds of your ample, over-ripe shoulders and bend over my quivering magnified shaving mirror."

"My! How large the mirror makes my already ample bathroom look. It's been forever since I've repainted it!. Do you like the way my cottage cheese backside faux stained-glass looks in the spandex hot pants of yesteryear?"

"No", I replied tersely, "but I do appreciate a good mixed metaphor as an alternative to being perfectly clear. ... But I digress. Now, give me your supple skin, rub the lotion between your buttocks, it will relieve me to know that your hemorrhoids ......

Then I awoke! "What a dream!" But was it? It was, undoubtedly. But could it .. No, certainly not. "Snap out of it!"

I sighed and rolled over...OH NO!...it was nine o'clock! I was going to continue with dispelling that dream. However, circumstances precluded any additional time be frittered away in such an unmanly,unholy dream.

But I digress. The real purpose of life is, well, who knows?

The Xman knows!

Unfortunately, he's Evil Kneival's estranged son, from a previous incarnation as the spotted hairy back North American woodsy freshwater penis fish. Otherwise known as penis fontis pisciculus astoundingly fictitious ramblings.

Later that night as the sun shone a fierce red northern light on the mysterious yacht (painted off-white) which had arrived in the bight over a week ago, anchoring off site, a huge party of blond bimbo nurses arrived with Hugh Hefner and a tall woman dressed in only a Tony Miller Strop. So I left! With razors on my mind, women in my heart and after shave in my pants! I very carefully undid my belt to reveal Colleen's newest and most tempting concoction yet, a delightful and rather large Bar Harbor, Maine sized bottle of cranberry and truffle scented after shave. Why on earth did I undo my large and ominous straight razor, just to see this type of humiliation and degradation? I must be puffin' muffins! Anyway, enough about my generously large utensil, otherwise known as the hokey hone.

Hef walked up the mountain side flanked by two Andean llamas. One must wonder how I acquired two blonde bimbo nurses with syphilitic cankers without becoming infected, or was I? It would almost seem like a bizarre Hollywood script in which the antagonist shows he just can't handle a .50 cal against the biggest Pamela Anderson lookalike this side of the country. So, in a vain attempt to release us from this conundrum, we took acid, three hits, window pane from

IN THE NICK OF TIME
by
The Good Gentlemen of the Straight Razor Place Forum

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I couldn't believe what just happened when I wasn't paying attention. She stood there holding a map to the Tahitian village. How was I going to get HER to understand how important it is to blind the island boys with hot irons? The island girls say, "Blind men make the best poisson cru for taste is blind." But for me, since the accident, when I was so irreversibly altered and transformed into a drooling idiot, fish soup should taste like chicken....or maybe veal. But enough about that. She longed for a day-time tryst with a certain legendary and well known Nobel prize winning author of "The World of Straight Particle Accelerators" who bears a remarkable scar on his left cheek. Notwithstanding his shaving technique, which was flawless, except for the Mach III POS he was forced to use alternating Wednesdays. This scar, oddly shaped like his former wife's cottage cheese backside, did not show the depth of emotions he held buried deep inside his stone cold physicist's heart. However, upon further inspection, it appears to grow and throb with a lusty abandon, not unlike the way a suppurating flesh wound does when you suck on it, a lifesaving action not recommended for day-time trysts. The tryst she imagined certainly didn't entail any sucking (medicinal or otherwise), but instead should be confined to a barber's chair and some creative use of lather.

"Call me Jezebel", she murmured with a Silvertip Badger brush playfully dangling from her fingertips (which was odd because I'd never normally have acquiesced to something so dangerous. After all, I was a three strike loser with the scars to show why I had never known the joy of an adrenalin junkies final moment). "So, Jezebel, I hope you understand", I said cautiously, "I have never lathered a woman's way before. What style do you suggest I use?"

"Come over here", she said, fingering a rather large and extremely prominent proboscis. "I want to experience a new level of wet shaving pleasure."

"Well, Dollface", I stated, "I need to first find which way your stubble grows. Spread your lovely, creamy white shawl over the mounds of your ample, over-ripe shoulders and bend over my quivering magnified shaving mirror."

"My! How large the mirror makes my already ample bathroom look. It's been forever since I've repainted it!. Do you like the way my cottage cheese backside faux stained-glass looks in the spandex hot pants of yesteryear?"

"No", I replied tersely, "but I do appreciate a good mixed metaphor as an alternative to being perfectly clear. ... But I digress. Now, give me your supple skin, rub the lotion between your buttocks, it will relieve me to know that your hemorrhoids ......

Then I awoke! "What a dream!" But was it? It was, undoubtedly. But could it .. No, certainly not. "Snap out of it!"

I sighed and rolled over...OH NO!...it was nine o'clock! I was going to continue with dispelling that dream. However, circumstances precluded any additional time be frittered away in such an unmanly,unholy dream.

But I digress. The real purpose of life is, well, who knows?

The Xman knows!

Unfortunately, he's Evil Kneival's estranged son, from a previous incarnation as the spotted hairy back North American woodsy freshwater penis fish. Otherwise known as penis fontis pisciculus astoundingly fictitious ramblings.

Later that night as the sun shone a fierce red northern light on the mysterious yacht (painted off-white) which had arrived in the bight over a week ago, anchoring off site, a huge party of blond bimbo nurses arrived with Hugh Hefner and a tall woman dressed in only a Tony Miller Strop. So I left! With razors on my mind, women in my heart and after shave in my pants! I very carefully undid my belt to reveal Colleen's newest and most tempting concoction yet, a delightful and rather large Bar Harbor, Maine sized bottle of cranberry and truffle scented after shave. Why on earth did I undo my large and ominous straight razor, just to see this type of humiliation and degradation? I must be puffin' muffins! Anyway, enough about my generously large utensil, otherwise known as the hokey hone.

Hef walked up the mountain side flanked by two Andean llamas. One must wonder how I acquired two blonde bimbo nurses with syphilitic cankers without becoming infected, or was I? It would almost seem like a bizarre Hollywood script in which the antagonist shows he just can't handle a .50 cal against the biggest Pamela Anderson lookalike this side of the country. So, in a vain attempt to release us from this conundrum, we took acid, three hits, window pane from the llamas head

IN THE NICK OF TIME
by
The Good Gentlemen of the Straight Razor Place Forum

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I couldn't believe what just happened when I wasn't paying attention. She stood there holding a map to the Tahitian village. How was I going to get HER to understand how important it is to blind the island boys with hot irons? The island girls say, "Blind men make the best poisson cru for taste is blind." But for me, since the accident, when I was so irreversibly altered and transformed into a drooling idiot, fish soup should taste like chicken....or maybe veal. But enough about that. She longed for a day-time tryst with a certain legendary and well known Nobel prize winning author of "The World of Straight Particle Accelerators" who bears a remarkable scar on his left cheek. Notwithstanding his shaving technique, which was flawless, except for the Mach III POS he was forced to use alternating Wednesdays. This scar, oddly shaped like his former wife's cottage cheese backside, did not show the depth of emotions he held buried deep inside his stone cold physicist's heart. However, upon further inspection, it appears to grow and throb with a lusty abandon, not unlike the way a suppurating flesh wound does when you suck on it, a lifesaving action not recommended for day-time trysts. The tryst she imagined certainly didn't entail any sucking (medicinal or otherwise), but instead should be confined to a barber's chair and some creative use of lather.

"Call me Jezebel", she murmured with a Silvertip Badger brush playfully dangling from her fingertips (which was odd because I'd never normally have acquiesced to something so dangerous. After all, I was a three strike loser with the scars to show why I had never known the joy of an adrenalin junkies final moment). "So, Jezebel, I hope you understand", I said cautiously, "I have never lathered a woman's way before. What style do you suggest I use?"

"Come over here", she said, fingering a rather large and extremely prominent proboscis. "I want to experience a new level of wet shaving pleasure."

"Well, Dollface", I stated, "I need to first find which way your stubble grows. Spread your lovely, creamy white shawl over the mounds of your ample, over-ripe shoulders and bend over my quivering magnified shaving mirror."

"My! How large the mirror makes my already ample bathroom look. It's been forever since I've repainted it!. Do you like the way my cottage cheese backside faux stained-glass looks in the spandex hot pants of yesteryear?"

"No", I replied tersely, "but I do appreciate a good mixed metaphor as an alternative to being perfectly clear. ... But I digress. Now, give me your supple skin, rub the lotion between your buttocks, it will relieve me to know that your hemorrhoids ......

Then I awoke! "What a dream!" But was it? It was, undoubtedly. But could it .. No, certainly not. "Snap out of it!"

I sighed and rolled over...OH NO!...it was nine o'clock! I was going to continue with dispelling that dream. However, circumstances precluded any additional time be frittered away in such an unmanly,unholy dream.

But I digress. The real purpose of life is, well, who knows?

The Xman knows!

Unfortunately, he's Evil Kneival's estranged son, from a previous incarnation as the spotted hairy back North American woodsy freshwater penis fish. Otherwise known as penis fontis pisciculus astoundingly fictitious ramblings.

Later that night as the sun shone a fierce red northern light on the mysterious yacht (painted off-white) which had arrived in the bight over a week ago, anchoring off site, a huge party of blond bimbo nurses arrived with Hugh Hefner and a tall woman dressed in only a Tony Miller Strop. So I left! With razors on my mind, women in my heart and after shave in my pants! I very carefully undid my belt to reveal Colleen's newest and most tempting concoction yet, a delightful and rather large Bar Harbor, Maine sized bottle of cranberry and truffle scented after shave. Why on earth did I undo my large and ominous straight razor, just to see this type of humiliation and degradation? I must be puffin' muffins! Anyway, enough about my generously large utensil, otherwise known as the hokey hone.

Hef walked up the mountain side flanked by two Andean llamas. One must wonder how I acquired two blonde bimbo nurses with syphilitic cankers without becoming infected, or was I? It would almost seem like a bizarre Hollywood script in which the antagonist shows he just can't handle a .50 cal against the biggest Pamela Anderson lookalike this side of the country. So, in a vain attempt to release us from this conundrum, we took acid, three hits, window pane from the llamas head, which as you

IN THE NICK OF TIME
by
The Good Gentlemen of the Straight Razor Place Forum

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I couldn't believe what just happened when I wasn't paying attention. She stood there holding a map to the Tahitian village. How was I going to get HER to understand how important it is to blind the island boys with hot irons? The island girls say, "Blind men make the best poisson cru for taste is blind." But for me, since the accident, when I was so irreversibly altered and transformed into a drooling idiot, fish soup should taste like chicken....or maybe veal. But enough about that. She longed for a day-time tryst with a certain legendary and well known Nobel prize winning author of "The World of Straight Particle Accelerators" who bears a remarkable scar on his left cheek. Notwithstanding his shaving technique, which was flawless, except for the Mach III POS he was forced to use alternating Wednesdays. This scar, oddly shaped like his former wife's cottage cheese backside, did not show the depth of emotions he held buried deep inside his stone cold physicist's heart. However, upon further inspection, it appears to grow and throb with a lusty abandon, not unlike the way a suppurating flesh wound does when you suck on it, a lifesaving action not recommended for day-time trysts. The tryst she imagined certainly didn't entail any sucking (medicinal or otherwise), but instead should be confined to a barber's chair and some creative use of lather.

"Call me Jezebel", she murmured with a Silvertip Badger brush playfully dangling from her fingertips (which was odd because I'd never normally have acquiesced to something so dangerous. After all, I was a three strike loser with the scars to show why I had never known the joy of an adrenalin junkies final moment). "So, Jezebel, I hope you understand", I said cautiously, "I have never lathered a woman's way before. What style do you suggest I use?"

"Come over here", she said, fingering a rather large and extremely prominent proboscis. "I want to experience a new level of wet shaving pleasure."

"Well, Dollface", I stated, "I need to first find which way your stubble grows. Spread your lovely, creamy white shawl over the mounds of your ample, over-ripe shoulders and bend over my quivering magnified shaving mirror."

"My! How large the mirror makes my already ample bathroom look. It's been forever since I've repainted it!. Do you like the way my cottage cheese backside faux stained-glass looks in the spandex hot pants of yesteryear?"

"No", I replied tersely, "but I do appreciate a good mixed metaphor as an alternative to being perfectly clear. ... But I digress. Now, give me your supple skin, rub the lotion between your buttocks, it will relieve me to know that your hemorrhoids ......

Then I awoke! "What a dream!" But was it? It was, undoubtedly. But could it .. No, certainly not. "Snap out of it!"

I sighed and rolled over...OH NO!...it was nine o'clock! I was going to continue with dispelling that dream. However, circumstances precluded any additional time be frittered away in such an unmanly,unholy dream.

But I digress. The real purpose of life is, well, who knows?

The Xman knows!

Unfortunately, he's Evil Kneival's estranged son, from a previous incarnation as the spotted hairy back North American woodsy freshwater penis fish. Otherwise known as penis fontis pisciculus astoundingly fictitious ramblings.

Later that night as the sun shone a fierce red northern light on the mysterious yacht (painted off-white) which had arrived in the bight over a week ago, anchoring off site, a huge party of blond bimbo nurses arrived with Hugh Hefner and a tall woman dressed in only a Tony Miller Strop. So I left! With razors on my mind, women in my heart and after shave in my pants! I very carefully undid my belt to reveal Colleen's newest and most tempting concoction yet, a delightful and rather large Bar Harbor, Maine sized bottle of cranberry and truffle scented after shave. Why on earth did I undo my large and ominous straight razor, just to see this type of humiliation and degradation? I must be puffin' muffins! Anyway, enough about my generously large utensil, otherwise known as the hokey hone.

Hef walked up the mountain side flanked by two Andean llamas. One must wonder how I acquired two blonde bimbo nurses with syphilitic cankers without becoming infected, or was I? It would almost seem like a bizarre Hollywood script in which the antagonist shows he just can't handle a .50 cal against the biggest Pamela Anderson lookalike this side of the country. So, in a vain attempt to release us from this conundrum, we took acid, three hits, window pane from the llamas head, which as you.........u-m-m-m-m ......u-h-h-h-h ......as you ....uhhhhh .....remember .......wow ....look

IN THE NICK OF TIME
by
The Good Gentlemen of the Straight Razor Place Forum

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I couldn't believe what just happened when I wasn't paying attention. She stood there holding a map to the Tahitian village. How was I going to get HER to understand how important it is to blind the island boys with hot irons? The island girls say, "Blind men make the best poisson cru for taste is blind." But for me, since the accident, when I was so irreversibly altered and transformed into a drooling idiot, fish soup should taste like chicken....or maybe veal. But enough about that. She longed for a day-time tryst with a certain legendary and well known Nobel prize winning author of "The World of Straight Particle Accelerators" who bears a remarkable scar on his left cheek. Notwithstanding his shaving technique, which was flawless, except for the Mach III POS he was forced to use alternating Wednesdays. This scar, oddly shaped like his former wife's cottage cheese backside, did not show the depth of emotions he held buried deep inside his stone cold physicist's heart. However, upon further inspection, it appears to grow and throb with a lusty abandon, not unlike the way a suppurating flesh wound does when you suck on it, a lifesaving action not recommended for day-time trysts. The tryst she imagined certainly didn't entail any sucking (medicinal or otherwise), but instead should be confined to a barber's chair and some creative use of lather.

"Call me Jezebel", she murmured with a Silvertip Badger brush playfully dangling from her fingertips (which was odd because I'd never normally have acquiesced to something so dangerous. After all, I was a three strike loser with the scars to show why I had never known the joy of an adrenalin junkies final moment). "So, Jezebel, I hope you understand", I said cautiously, "I have never lathered a woman's way before. What style do you suggest I use?"

"Come over here", she said, fingering a rather large and extremely prominent proboscis. "I want to experience a new level of wet shaving pleasure."

"Well, Dollface", I stated, "I need to first find which way your stubble grows. Spread your lovely, creamy white shawl over the mounds of your ample, over-ripe shoulders and bend over my quivering magnified shaving mirror."

"My! How large the mirror makes my already ample bathroom look. It's been forever since I've repainted it!. Do you like the way my cottage cheese backside faux stained-glass looks in the spandex hot pants of yesteryear?"

"No", I replied tersely, "but I do appreciate a good mixed metaphor as an alternative to being perfectly clear. ... But I digress. Now, give me your supple skin, rub the lotion between your buttocks, it will relieve me to know that your hemorrhoids ......

Then I awoke! "What a dream!" But was it? It was, undoubtedly. But could it .. No, certainly not. "Snap out of it!"

I sighed and rolled over...OH NO!...it was nine o'clock! I was going to continue with dispelling that dream. However, circumstances precluded any additional time be frittered away in such an unmanly,unholy dream.

But I digress. The real purpose of life is, well, who knows?

The Xman knows!

Unfortunately, he's Evil Kneival's estranged son, from a previous incarnation as the spotted hairy back North American woodsy freshwater penis fish. Otherwise known as penis fontis pisciculus astoundingly fictitious ramblings.

Later that night as the sun shone a fierce red northern light on the mysterious yacht (painted off-white) which had arrived in the bight over a week ago, anchoring off site, a huge party of blond bimbo nurses arrived with Hugh Hefner and a tall woman dressed in only a Tony Miller Strop. So I left! With razors on my mind, women in my heart and after shave in my pants! I very carefully undid my belt to reveal Colleen's newest and most tempting concoction yet, a delightful and rather large Bar Harbor, Maine sized bottle of cranberry and truffle scented after shave. Why on earth did I undo my large and ominous straight razor, just to see this type of humiliation and degradation? I must be puffin' muffins! Anyway, enough about my generously large utensil, otherwise known as the hokey hone.

Hef walked up the mountain side flanked by two Andean llamas. One must wonder how I acquired two blonde bimbo nurses with syphilitic cankers without becoming infected, or was I? It would almost seem like a bizarre Hollywood script in which the antagonist shows he just can't handle a .50 cal against the biggest Pamela Anderson lookalike this side of the country. So, in a vain attempt to release us from this conundrum, we took acid, three hits, window pane from the llamas head, which as you.........u-m-m-m-m ......u-h-h-h-h ......as you ....uhhhhh .....remember .......wow ....look. i'm obeying true