Gazette and Pencilneck give it another go. Or not…

It had been some time since she had seen him in person. She had, of course, maintained an interest in his activities. Though he had gone relatively quiet for a time, there remained an ample collection of press conference and hearing appearances from which to observe. In recent months these had increased markedly in volume, again piquing her interest in the man who had so eagerly indulged her penetration fantasies. He still looked mostly the same, though there was something different.  He still presented a comical stick figure profile with those buggy eyes and bad haircut, yet there seemed to be a new confidence in him. It was almost as if he had actually grown a spine.

Though he had still called upon her periodically, the intimacy they had once shared was absent. For a brief time she had actually considered that dear Pencilneck had grown a set and gone the way of MGTOW. “Nah! Too beta for that!”, she had checked herself.  Being the same self-centered bitch as ever she returned to form, assuring herself that the Pencilneck’s renewed frequency in the spotlight could only be a signal that he would soon return to grovel for her help. And it was indeed true; he clearly had waded out into waters well over his head. It was only a matter of time before he came crawling back. Like all the rest of her desperate suitors. They always did.

After viewing his pathetic performance on Sunday 13 October she found herself in a quandary. This latest intrigue he had launched largely on his own. He certainly had not consulted her expertise in these matters. The entire escapade was amateurish from it’s inception. Even the most absolutely moronic soul in DC could see this. If only he had asked for her help before, but now? She dreaded the call. Not because of what she knew she must say, rather because of her immensely conflicted feelings.

She was at once drawn to him and repulsed by him. Drawn to his vulnerability. Vulnerability has been Gazette’s lifeblood throughout her long and storied career. These are the souls she has preyed upon and made her own for an age. She runs the cool kids club. This vulnerability, however, was born of the man’s own arrogance and stupidity. It was a sign of weakness and he wore it well. He now reeked of desperation and failure, two qualities which Gazette had long striven to distance herself from. She found an uncommon need to chastise herself, contrary as it is to her vain nature.

Though the Pencilneck could mouth all the correct platitudes by rote, he really never belonged in their club. He wasn’t as smart, he wasn’t really good looking at all. Not even interesting looking (which usually will suffice for entry). And most of all…..well, no matter how much lipstick you put on the pig, he just isn’t cool enough to be in the club. Cool enough is that certain je ne sais quoi that only Gazette and those of her innermost circle may define. You know. The sort of things beyond mere plebeian comprehension. She could see where it might be said that she was to blame for this: it was her fault for introducing him into the cool kids club. From this he had formed the delusion that he was capable of pulling this off on his own. It was almost sweet in a way. It was like he was trying to show off for her. Oh, would that it should not turn so tragic!

The reality of it was that he was now toxic. He might remain a source for some juicy leaks, but that would have to stay behind the curtain. He would, at least for a time, remain a tool. Just as he had always been. He came at a time when she was at her low ebb, giving up that booty to manifest her rage at being rejected. Used him up like a tampon. 

Studying that video carefully Gazette noted one detail that allowed her a moment of relief for the poor sap. In addition to an apparent spinal implant it became evident that Pencilneck had undergone some work of a cosmetic nature. That previously missed, subtle change in his appearance was about his mouth. A lip job, one supposes to say. It seems he’s had them molded in a perpetually pursed shape and….if one looks very carefully it will be noted that the inside of the lips have been tattooed with the caption: Caution- large brown logs entering and exiting roadway at this point.  He may be nothing but a tool, but there is something to be said for him embracing it.

 

Ford Wenty report end 16 October 2019

420

 

Yes, there will be blog…

Good name for a blog, I think. As the Ale 81 Inn proceeds through its evolution Yes, there will be blog… will remain as the free, public facing side of the site. Comments are encouraged and welcomed, though they may not always be answered. Various contributors will appear on this blog, identified either by the color of text or with an icon corresponding to the writer. Black text for Tom Darby,  blue text for Celestial Wilde and green text for Ford Wenty. Icons will be added later.

What are we about?  Well… about anything, really. To elaborate a bit further upon the tag line on our home page we are:

An eclectic collection of trivia, musings and free range lunacy. There may be blood, very loud music, the consumption of illicit substances and on Wednesdays there is about a 60% chance of sexual deviancy. (80% if the fair is in town)

Sound like fun? Stick around, things could get interesting.

 

Institutionalized

Institutions are not evil

They are the creation of man

The vehicle for machinations

disguised as a master plan

Soul assassins wear flowing robes

the agents for all change

Their belief it is their province

to make nature rearrange

But she has her own agenda

She will never play along

This is why those with all the answers

have always got it wrong

Still those of us who disagree

end up branded as insane

When their plans don’t seem to work out

there’s always us to blame

Lock us in institutions

through the bars we’ll all stare

as they burn it all to the ground

and by then we’ll hardly care

Dumb Brutes

The promise of decades

a braver, better world

A disposable wasteland

where one can still find

disappointment with each new wonder

Yet life still consumed with numbers

Not important without an address

No entry without the code

Flow with the current

Don’t buck the tide

My next iteration

should strive to be stupid

For dumb brutes merely walk

No cares for destination

No sense of outrage for the slaughter

Inconsequential

In quiet rooms, out picture windows

to skies vacant

Grey and sullen

witnessed only by larks

Alone at the hoarding

umbrella at the ready

Lone being in sea of faces

That dot of crimson in charcoal landscapes

Any place a backdrop

the colorblind matte

Inconsequential to being

The choice to stand alone

 

Icarus daydreams

Icarus daydreams rain wax and feather

and these precede much fouler weather

These fables and follies you entertain

the product of minds quite deranged

Liars all, of an exquisite class

Do or say anything to save your own ass

Privilege, it is an intoxicating swill

If you can’t have it then no one will?

You can brush it off

or just take it lightly

but failure is an option

In fact it is likely