The Figs of May - Carpe Testicularum

Chapter 5

The Story The Authors

As in any other situation when danger threatened, Hickey dissociated into a mystical realm where he was simultaneously hero, lover, voluptuously ethereal hermaphrodite wind-dancer, and stalwart procurer of mystical rare orchids, traipsing through an innerscape composed of bits and pieces of predictably and poorly plotted action and fantasy films — think: Rambo meets Pete's Dragon with a dose or nine of "the little guy always defeats the Evil Empire" copped from Star Wars and an impossibly buxom and willing Claudia Schiffer unzipping her rubber body-suit at the end of it...
Sadly — or fortunately, depending on which side of the analytical fence one is standing - such psychological misroutings of reality possess half-lives comparable to the functionality curves of the remote controls included with mid-priced Sony CD players. Which is to say, as time passed, heaping love upon death, insult upon injury, Matthew found himself less and less able to dissociate via the standard model, even in dreams. A buzzing as of a swarm of gadflies sounded in his ears and the muscles of his face as he became aware the bearded old sea-salt was yet intoning his peculiar, briny sage in the tided meter of the days when giants sailed the seven seas. The sea-serpents regarded him with great round eyes suffuse with adoration as he continued his poem: Philip

[The Rime of the Ancient Moron: being an excerpt from the poem]

"...and as we o'er those foam-topped wavelets
did skim as if perched 'pon Triton's broad back
and Porpoisissimus did school in our wake
frolicking with the mer-maids who tossed
the wonders of their submarine empire: strange elfin globes
and doughnuts of so shiny an appearance, and light
as if filled with air, yet bearing strange nipples,
by which they might be collapsed of their shapes, and squozled
into a tinyness which man hath ne'er before seen,
not even the wily Switzerman with his jeweler's eye
beer into the whirring depths of his automata...

The Ancient Moron

And as we continued o'er those crystal waves
did we see a stranger isle than the one which we had left
filled with polystyrene cups and plastic forks
and yes, even some oven cleaner none

And then some psyco monkeys fell out of some trees!
AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
wait a minute islands suk!
STUFF IS COOL! CRAZY AL

And then some psyco monkeys fell out of some trees!
AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
wait a minute islands suk!
STUFF IS COOL! CRAZY AL

So entranced had Matthew become by the sonorous poetry issuing from the Ancient Moron's cracked lips that he failed to notice the very significant transformation which was occurring among the sea-serpents floated coiled at the old man's feet. And then he looked down and saw that they had all turned to... yes... severed penises... a knowledge, a something-which-refused-to-be-denied, rose up in him and he gulped, eyes to the crowd, not wanting to look at the old man, for he knew, oh no, say it ain't so, oh, but of course it was, and he could not keep himself from the certain knowledge, bursting blushing his pulse quickening and tears rising from the corners of his eyes as he looked up and saw brine-hardened flesh drop away from the old man to reveal, obviously, the manically giggling figure of Jeremy Crink, waving a certain familiar severed member teasingly before Matt's horrified eyes and inquiring, in his sinister mocking tones, "So, Hickster — what'll ya give me for it? What's your own penis worth to you?" Philip

"What, no not that, anything but that!"
Leslie E.

Jeremy grinned malevolently. "Yes, Matthew: you stand before me a eunuch. Sexless, and still only in your teens, dude: think about it: your sexual prime — useless! A non-entity. You can watch stag films till the end of time, you can eat more pussy than a big game hunter, dude, but for you — nada! Never the satisfaction of shooting high up into a woman while her legs in the small of your back milk you for dear life! Never the delicious joy of blowjobs from dirty unseen sailors as you casually stroll along the piers. Nothing! So Matthew, I ask you to consider, and consider well: what is your penis worth to you?" J-I-M-M-Y

The Story	The Authors
As in any other situation when danger threatened, Hickey dissociated into a mystical realm where he was simultaneously hero, lover, voluptuously ethereal hermaphrodite wind-dancer, and stalwart procurer of mystical rare orchids, traipsing through an innerscape composed of bits and pieces of predictably and poorly plotted action and fantasy films — think: Rambo meets Pete's Dragon with a dose or nine of "the little guy always defeats the Evil Empire" copped from Star Wars and an impossibly buxom and willing Claudia Schiffer unzipping her rubber body-suit at the end of it... Sadly — or fortunately, depending on which side of the analytical fence one is standing - such psychological misroutings of reality possess half-lives comparable to the functionality curves of the remote controls included with mid-priced Sony CD players. Which is to say, as time passed, heaping love upon death, insult upon injury, Matthew found himself less and less able to dissociate via the standard model, even in dreams. A buzzing as of a swarm of gadflies sounded in his ears and the muscles of his face as he became aware the bearded old sea-salt was yet intoning his peculiar, briny sage in the tided meter of the days when giants sailed the seven seas. The sea-serpents regarded him with great round eyes suffuse with adoration as he continued his poem:	Philip
[The Rime of the Ancient Moron: being an excerpt from the poem] "...and as we o'er those foam-topped wavelets did skim as if perched 'pon Triton's broad back and Porpoisissimus did school in our wake frolicking with the mer-maids who tossed the wonders of their submarine empire: strange elfin globes and doughnuts of so shiny an appearance, and light as if filled with air, yet bearing strange nipples, by which they might be collapsed of their shapes, and squozled into a tinyness which man hath ne'er before seen, not even the wily Switzerman with his jeweler's eye beer into the whirring depths of his automata...	The Ancient Moron
And as we continued o'er those crystal waves did we see a stranger isle than the one which we had left filled with polystyrene cups and plastic forks and yes, even some oven cleaner	none
And then some psyco monkeys fell out of some trees! AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH wait a minute islands suk! STUFF IS COOL!	CRAZY AL
And then some psyco monkeys fell out of some trees! AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH wait a minute islands suk! STUFF IS COOL!	CRAZY AL
So entranced had Matthew become by the sonorous poetry issuing from the Ancient Moron's cracked lips that he failed to notice the very significant transformation which was occurring among the sea-serpents floated coiled at the old man's feet. And then he looked down and saw that they had all turned to... yes... severed penises... a knowledge, a something-which-refused-to-be-denied, rose up in him and he gulped, eyes to the crowd, not wanting to look at the old man, for he knew, oh no, say it ain't so, oh, but of course it was, and he could not keep himself from the certain knowledge, bursting blushing his pulse quickening and tears rising from the corners of his eyes as he looked up and saw brine-hardened flesh drop away from the old man to reveal, obviously, the manically giggling figure of Jeremy Crink, waving a certain familiar severed member teasingly before Matt's horrified eyes and inquiring, in his sinister mocking tones, "So, Hickster — what'll ya give me for it? What's your own penis worth to you?"	Philip
"What, no not that, anything but that!"	Leslie E.
Jeremy grinned malevolently. "Yes, Matthew: you stand before me a eunuch. Sexless, and still only in your teens, dude: think about it: your sexual prime — useless! A non-entity. You can watch stag films till the end of time, you can eat more pussy than a big game hunter, dude, but for you — nada! Never the satisfaction of shooting high up into a woman while her legs in the small of your back milk you for dear life! Never the delicious joy of blowjobs from dirty unseen sailors as you casually stroll along the piers. Nothing! So Matthew, I ask you to consider, and consider well: what is your penis worth to you?"	J-I-M-M-Y

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