People on boards who you'd have no problem pushing out of a life raft or plane.

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5,282
Location
Wootopia
Name your lists. It can be from any board.

Lotusbud
Fat Lily
Seamajor
Yoyo
Asal
Soon
Mimi
Jack
Admin
Sharon

I'd push Fat Lily out of a plane because she'd only float in the ocean like a barge. Locustbug I'd drown because she'd probably pull a broom out of her cobweb cunt and try to fly away from the plane.
 
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18
Location
West side
Probably a few bitches from way back from forums that Datehookup.com used to have. Some were cool though so I'd spare them.
Couple niggas from when Bloodydisgusting.com had their forum something almost 20 years ago
That loony tunes creep ass stalking faggot from the YNC always attached to my wife(than GF)
that one nigger moderator banning me arse a few times over the pettiest of shit from Goregrish
Too many forums back in the day
Names don't matter. I never forget their faces though. Burn in Hell the whole lot of you for causing so much pain and heartache
 
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8,448
Location
Where the kitters and doggos are
Who the fuck is yoyo? Anyway, I don't wish death on anyone who posts on here, but the likes of @jack , Lotusbuttcrack and AIDSman are definitely up there when it comes to the most deserving candidates for a 1 way trip to zie gas chambers.

I omitted large Lil as I've basically forgotten she exists until someone brings her up or references the CUm bubble and how she locked @jack out of the mod panel.
 

Garraty_47

Have Coffee Will Shitpoast
Reaction score
4,096
Location
Redneckistan
Who the fuck is yoyo?

Well, since you ask...


LORD OF THE RINGPIECE – another story about Yoyo

Chapter 1
by Evil Blood

It was a fine sunny day in the Elven Kingdoms. The birds twittered merrily in the trees, lambs gambolled happily in the fields and a sense of peace and tranquillity filled the land. All was fine with the world.

Sadly for him, Yoyo wasn't IN the Elven Kingdoms...he was stuck in a poor neighbourhood filled with niggers in Oklahoma City...and it was raining. It wasn't the rain that was bringing Yoyo down...nor was it the niggers, each of whom had sent him death threats since reading the flyers put through their mailboxes containing Yoyo's rather explicit views on black people. It wasn't the fact that he was a talentless nobody, a Netdead piece of detritus fit only for the electronic oblivion of the Recycle Bin. What was pissing Yoyo off was the simple fact that, once again, he was getting a kicking at everybody else's hands on the forums. Yoyo's life was a series of one unmitigated disaster after another and, just lately, it had been going downhill as if rocket powered. What was he to do? Apart from bitch at everybody, complain about his lot in life and post everybody's personal details, which made him feel less insignificant that it had any right to do; he could do precisely nothing about it.

After several minutes worth of crying at the fate of his latest Gimpfighters style forum fiasco he decided to spend another fruitless hour writing letters of complaint to Homeland Security which, due to advanced handwriting recognition software, always got forwarded to a Ms. Muriel Worsnip, a 53 year old hairdresser from Gary, Indiana who used to be a welder named Mr. Roger Matthews before he decided that his 6' 5", 297lb body looked cute in a dress. The Roger half of the personality was under the impression that Yoyo was dangerously unhinged and in need of electro-shock therapy whilst the Muriel half was convinced that Yoyo had the hots for her and would like nothing more than to ram her dainty 10" cock down his throat and choke him to death on a tidal wave of cum – Muriel had some serious personality disorders and had never managed to come to terms with the fact that her ass looked big in a skirt.

Anyway...we digress. Yoyo decided to take his welfare check and go shopping. He was running low on "Joy Boy Anal Lube" and had a hot date set up for that night at Club Liquid...he still remembered the friction burns on his ass from his last unlubed adventure and was determined not to let it happen again. It had been a week before he could sit down properly. No, Yoyo was certain that he would never again suffer the indignity caused by 'ring of fire'. Off he minced to the drug store with a spring in his step (he'd forgotten to remove his vibrator) but, before even half way there, reality, as so often happens in these shitty stories, decided to give a little twist and our little Yomosexual fairy found his life turned upside down.

One minute he was walking down the street getting soaked by the rain and blaming everybody else for his own shortcomings when, all of a sudden, there was a stomach-wrenching rip in the fabric of time and space and Yoyo found himself transported to a strange place whilst the contents of his bowels found themselves transported into his underwear – due to the fact that he was full of shit at the best of times, he didn't notice this. He looked around but couldn't recognise his surroundings...the rain had mercifully stopped trying to pound his head down into his shoes but he was also aware of a rather nasty smell, the location of which always seemed to be behind him, no matter which way he turned. Yoyo shrugged it all off and decided to make the best of it...let's face it, when you're as big a loser as Yoyo, ANY change has to be good.

Yoyo walked towards a small knot of trees in the distance, it looked as good a place as any to walk to and, if the truth be told, he had rather fond memories of trees...the feel of the rough bark scraping the skin from his face as his attacker rammed his full length into Yoyo's anus...the guy hadn't bothered to call or write even once after Yoyo had been released from the hospital.

No matter how far or how quickly he walked, that smell still followed Yoyo and it was starting to worry him: a faint miasma of corruption overlaid with the unmistakable aroma of Crisco...what could it be? Yoyo began to know fear - if the unknown thing that gave off the stench were to catch him in the open, it would be likely to rip open his gizzard and eat his entrails for breakfast...or possibly brunch, depending on the time of day. His entire life flashed before his eyes...fortunately, this had happened to him so many times that he was able to sleep through the boring bits (which was most of it). He began to run. The smell kept pace. It was behind him...whenever he turned his head and looked back, the stench got worse. He ran faster...run Yoyo, run. Sadly, he wasn't looking where he was going and fell into a deep hole.

When he regained consciousness, he found that he wasn't alone: a small man with hairy feet knelt beside him shaking his head.

"Hey, mister" said the man, "you've shit your pants".

The light of understanding filled Yoyo's eyes (hey, there's a first time for everything!)...of course...that would explain the smell of crisco.

"Hi" said Yoyo "my name's Yoyo...who are you?"

"My name is Bimbo Bunghole and I'm a Nobbit."

"A Nobbit? Don't you mean Hobbit?"

"Look, you dumb fuck, I think I should know what species I am. I'm a Nobbit...okay. We're related to Hobbits only we differ in one important way."

"Oh" said Yoyo, intrigued by this strange creature. "And what is so different about a Nobbit?"

"Take down your trousers, clean your ass and you'll find out, bitch." Said Bunghole with a nasty gleam in his eye.

Yoyo couldn't help smiling...it seemed as though things were looking up after all.

Chapter 2
by Vitriol

As Yoyo started to unbutton his soiled trousers, smiling coyly at Bimbo the Nobbit, he felt the sudden impression that the universe had just did a backflip. There was also new warmth on his buttocks, announcing the arrival in his shorts of additional fertilizer, and an accompanying rise in intensity of the stench permeating the air. Forgetting to refasten his pants, Yoyo looks around.

"Bimbo? Mr. Bunghole? Nobbit person?!"

The Nobbit was nowhere to be seen.

"Awww, just when things were getting good. Story of my life, I reckon."

Reluctantly admitting to himself that a little fun with a Nobbit was out of the question, the miasma pouring from Yoyo's ass saw its opportunity and redoubled its efforts to gain his attention.

"Gack! I really, really stink now. I wonder if there's any place I can wash up?"

For the first time since experiencing the quantum acrobatics, Yoyo took close note of his surroundings. He was no longer in a hole, just in the bottom of a bowl-shaped depression in the countryside. From Yoyo's current vantage, all he could see was grass, and a few trees rising above the bowl's rim. He rebuttoned his fetid pants, and trotted up the grassy incline toward the nearest tree.

"Wow!"

Below him, stretching from one end of the horizon the other, is a vast city. Turning, Yoyo sees that the city actually surrounds the half-dozen or so acres of grass and trees of which the depression marks the approximate center.

"I've never seen so many buildings in one place! I'll bet there's billions of people here, and lots of bars, with drunken men... *millions* of drunken men!... just waiting for me!"

With a renewed sense of purpose, Yoyo sets off as fast as his bandy little legs will carry him.

As he approaches the edge of the grassy area, he sees that there's a wall surrounding the park. Off to his right he can see an open gate, and heads toward it.

At the gate are two women talking. When Yoyo is five yards from the women, one of them sees him. Her eyes open wide, and her mouth gapes. The other woman, with a curious tilt to her eyebrows, turns and then mimics her friend's expression.

Yoyo now stands before them, and in his most genteel and suave manner asks: "Hey, bitches. Where are all the cute guys in this dump?"

One of the women turns and runs away. The other, pulling her shirt up to cover her mouth and nose, is braver.

"What are you, and what *is* that foul stench?" she asks.

"I'm Yoyo, and I shat my pants. Twice now, in fact. Can I get directions to the nearest cock farm, or what?"

The woman is obviously bewildered, and doesn't answer. Exasperated, Yoyo passes through the gate into the city.

"Fucking sow. Guess I'll just have to find a bar on my own."

The woman is still frozen to her place, and appears to be fighting dry heaves. Yoyo dismisses her from his thoughts, as he's determined to search for drunken men, and can only process one cognitive act at any given time.

Making his way deeper into the city, passing people going in and out of buildings as well as making their own way along the sidewalks, Yoyo begins to feel there's something odd about the whole place, although he can't spare the brainpower to pin down whatever is making him increasingly uneasy.

"Now if I were a hot stud looking for action, where would I go?" he thinks to himself.

Yoyo wanders around for another fifteen or twenty minutes, ignoring the looks of disgust and bewilderment that meet him everywhere he goes. Finally, tired and frustrated, he decides to rest on what appears to be a bus stop bench. He plops himself down upon it, and is mildly aroused by the squishing sensation caused by his butt hitting the bench seat.

Having broken the crust which had formed in his shorts, the smell of several pounds of fecal matter again wafts around Yoyo like an evil cloud.

Yoyo turns to the bench's only other occupant, an elderly lady who has just turned an alarming shade of green, and notes: "Whew! That's pretty rotten, isn't it?"

The poor lady vomits copiously into the street, and begins to stagger off. Realizing she is still downwind of Yoyo, she turns and staggers even faster in the other direction.

Yoyo shrugs, and sits back to relax for a minute.

As has already been stated, Yoyo can only think about one thing at a time. As he allowed his mind to momentarily release its grip on the manhunt, the something's-not-right feeling rose to the top of his counciousness like a methane bubble in a particularly rancid swamp.

Looking around, Yoyo knows he should be alarmed... but is still unsure why that should be. On the surface, this was simply a city like any other; women walking along alone or in small groups, women arriving at or departing stores and offices, women driving up and down the streets, women...

"HOLY FUCK!" shouts Yoyo, jumping up from the bench. So shocked is Yoyo, he doesn't even notice that his pants were slightly glued to the bench seat, and came loose with a damp "shhhrrick!" when he stood.

Staring aghast up and down the boulevard, Yoyo breaks out in a cold sweat.

"Wh-wh-where... where are all the FUCKING MEN?"

Indeed- every single person Yoyo has seen since entering the city, he now recollects with horror, has been female.

Wild-eyed and more than somewhat unglued, Yoyo races to the nearest woman; a twenty-something girl who immediately puts both her hands over her lower face and mumbles: "Eeeewww!"

"Where? WHERE?!?" demands Yoyo.

"Where what, and do you even *know* how much you stink?" replies the lass, from behind her fingers.

Yoyo, making an enormous effort, calms himself somewhat and asks as nicely as he knows how: "Where are all the men, bitch?"

"I don't understand. What's a 'men'?" answers the girl, beginning to back away.

Yoyo loses it again: "Men, men, MEN dammit! You gotta have men! Like meeee!"

Yoyo starts to follow the retreating girl, reaching out as if he would shake the answers he wants off of her.

The young lady, who has been taking ju-jitsu lessons since she was nine years old, reacts instinctively. Her first punch breaks Yoyo's nose. That's followed by a kick to his solar plexus, and another punch that lands clean on his weak jaw.

Yoyo has just enough time to wonder why it got dark so suddenly, before he plummets into unconsciousness.

The sound of laughter and jeers slowly worm their way into his hearing. Before he opens his eyes, he notes that he seems to be lying on cold concrete with something, perhaps straw, scattered over it. An odor assails his nostrils, and he concludes that whatever else has happened since that little bitch knocked him out, he hasn't been hosed down or given clean clothes.

Tentatively he opens one eyelid.

"Look mommy! It's awake!"

Yoyo sees a young girl, on the other side of a stout set of metal bars, pointing at him and tugging on the skirt of a woman standing beside her.

"Huuh? Wazzut... argh?" is the entire query Yoyo can dredge up from what was always a limited vocabulary in the best of circumstances.

The girl's mother wrinkles her nose, and says to the youngster: "It called itself a 'men', according to the news story. It even said it was looking for other 'men', although how anyone could've made sense of those grunts and whistles I'll never know. It must be very lost, or very confused. There are no 'men' on our world. Someone surely would have noticed the awful reek if there were others."

Yoyo heard, and was stunned. "No men?" he thought to himself. "None at all?"

The women gathered in front of Yoyo's display cage all took a surprised step backward when the thing they were studying lifted its head to howl long and loudly. Although most of the women just thought it sounded beastial and mindless, a few considered that the noise had an almost lonely undertone.

One of the latter spoke her thoughts aloud: "Poor creature. It must really miss the other 'men', wherever and whatever they are."

As Yoyo continued to blubber and moan, even the sympathetic women became annoyed at the din, and wandered away to explore the rest of the zoo.

Yoyo; broken, forelorn, and extremely foul-smelling; banged his head on the bars of his cage, and wept.

Chapter 3
by Evil Blood

The constant banging on the bars reminded Yoyo that it had been a little while since there had been any banging at his back door. Ahhh, a rather sticky situation...or, rather...lack of stickiness. Suddenly, there was the familiar gut-wrenching sensation as every atom in his body was pulled apart and transported to another dimension. Yoyo, once again, noisily voided the contents of his bowels – if this carried on, he'd exhaust the cum reserves stored in his lower intestinal tract and would be forced to take drastic steps to recharge it. This had only happened to Yoyo once before – he'd lost his job at the Sperm Bank as a result for drinking on the job - whilst THEY'D lost 3 years worth of deposits.

Yoyo looked around. What the fuck? He seemed to be on the bridge of some futuristic ship. A very strange looking man stood at the controls wearing a headscarf and a very nasty dirty sanchez which, on closer examination, proved to be a threadbare goatee - the buttocks were cut out of his trousers.

"You look familiar". Said Yoyo. The man looked up... "Welcome on board the Starship GenderBenderprise, fag. I am Captain Cock." The man moved to another set of controls..."and I'm Mr. Sperm"...yet another move..."Ensign Jerkoff"...and another "Lt. Screwlu"...

"Wait a minute" said Yoyo..."you're all the same person."

"Shit," said Captain Cock, "it worked okay for my ancestor when he ran gay4pay.cum...fag."

"Ahh," said Yoyo, "that's why you look so familiar – you're related to Jeremy 'Dicklips' Daspin."

"Yup", said Cock, "he was my great, great, great, great-grandmother, fag. He married Redeye in a ceremony in L.A. and they lived happily ever after until the riots in 2004 when he was DJ'ing in a nightclub, farted and drowned half of Oakland in a sea of cum. They never did find all of his body parts but there was enough shit left on the end of Redeye's dick to clone Jeremy and so, here I am, fag – 5 generations on and just as gay and crap as fagazzbugsy@webtv.net herself."

"Wanna buttfuck me?" asked Yoyo.

"Can't," said Captain Cock, "I can only get it on if I'm the bitch, fag."

"Shit, I have exactly the same problem." Whined Yoyo, "what shall we do?"

"We could always call the Doc up here and see if he's interested, fag." Cock moved to the intercom..."Dr. GayBoy to the bridge."

Seconds later a nasal Australian voice crackled into life..."Dammit, Jeremy, I'm a doctor, not a gigolo. Anyway...Dr. GayBoy is my brother, not me and, even if it was me, I don't live in sick bay because I moved. HAHAHAHAFUCKINGHAHAHA, you're owned so fucking leave me alone and I'm not having a meltdown, jewboy fag...I'm just waiting for my money to clear so I can buy another domain name but it doesn't mean that I'm penniless because I lost my own one and I owned you and I'm repeating everything you've ever said to me back at you but I'll deny it and claim to have posted proof so fuck off, PKB owned bitch and this isn't really me because I committed suicide..."

Cock switched off the intercom shaking his head in frustration. "Sorry about that, fag...Dr GayBoy suffers from terrible psychotic episodes and this, sadly is one of them. In fact, fag, it's the same episode that he's had non-stop for the last 50 years."

"Hmmmm," said Yoyo, "he reminds me of somebody I once had cyber-sex with...he was crap and suicidal too."

"Would that be Adam Tyrelle of Emu Heights NSW, fag?"

"How the fuck did you know that?" asked Yoyo, amazed.

"Easy...he locked himself in his freezer in 2003 trying to commit suicide but forgot to switch it off first. Nobody missed him and it wasn't until they sent somebody round to repossess all his shit in 2343 for not paying his electric bill that he was found. That's him down in sick bay...he's a lousy doctor, an even lousier fuck but he works for free because nobody else wants him and this is the first job he's ever had, fag."

"Okay, but that doesn't solve the problem of my cock hungry ass". Whined Yoyo, starting to feel sorry for himself again.

"Well," said Captain Cock, "we could always go to Starbase Deep Throat 9 and look up a couple of my old friends...Captain Crisco and Queerk, the bartender."

"What about Captain Jean Luc Dickhard, Ensign Wesley Felcher and Geordi LaFag?" said Yoyo, really getting into the swing of things. "By the way, you didn't say "fag" just now."

"What the fuck are you talking about, bitch? There's no such people, now shut up and bring me a beer you faggy fag of a faggot."

Yoyo went and got the beer, he'd always liked being treated rough – perhaps that's why his ass was designated as an official truck stop.

The ASS GenderBenderprise minced its way to Deep Throat 9 but it was taking too long...Yoyo's cum reserves were dangerously low and, if he didn't get a hot beef injection soon, he was going to go crazy and felch everything in sight. As the only things in sight were the clone of a gay L.A. DJ and a suicidal Australian Gimp with manic depression and enough dick cheese to bring the French fromage industry to its knees – he didn't much relish his options.

"Shit," thought Yoyo..."there has to be a dimension where I can get my sphincter sundered by a guy who's hung like an elephant. Why does this crap happen to me all the time? Everyone fucks me over but nobody wants to fuck my ass."

"USE THE FORCE, YOUNG SHETLEY." Called out a disembodied voice.

"Arrrgggghhhh," said Yoyo..."I'm suffering cock withdrawal and now I'm hearing voices!"

"THE FORCE WILL BE STRONG UP YOU."

"Fuck off, leave me alone...I've told the FBI and Homeland Security about you. It's illegal to hack into my head and implant voices...you'll go to jail – I've taken a screendump of my alpha waves and that proves that you're just trying to scare me".

"SHUT UP GIMP AND USE THE FUCKING FORCE"

Suddenly...

Chapter 4
by Uterus on Toast

....the stirring sounds of a 1000 kazoo orchestra were heard, and opening credits began to roll....

Part IV - A New Grope

Long ago in a galaxy far away, Yoyo was dreaming wet and sticky dreams. Hordes of Klingons had infested his arse hairs and were using his shrivelled testicles for target practice, while no less than three Borg spheres were involved in a vain attempt to ass-immolate the Yomosexual's infected rectum. Yoyo giggled in his sleep as the conquerors rolled about in his glory hole like a trio of galactic beng-wah balls and was nearing a shuddering climax when a particularly ugly Klingon sank his teeth into Yoyo's scrotum. A sickening feeling feeling in his gut jerked Yoyo back to reality to discover space and time had folded yet again and he had crapped the equivalent of a planet-sized swamp out of his shitter. He was once more, quite alone.

"Aww, shit", sniffed Yoyo.

Shit indeed. As the yomosexual surveyed his foetid surroundings, he realised he was standing in a crappy quagmire of his own making. He suspected as much for not only had he suddenly lost a lot of weight, but he could see condoms and empty crisco bottles everywhere. In the distance, families of hamsters and gerbils he recognised from long ago were eyeing him warily lest he try a little anal insertion, while nearby a chipmunk he had used in a felching session on his last trip to Disneyland was amusing itself by scooping up turd patties and hurling them at him with unerring aim.

Yoyo also realised he was coated from head to toe in sloppy green shit.

"Worse it gets", he trilled in his delirium of madness, forgetting every grammatical rule ever fucked into him at grade school. "A man I want, Man I need, yes?"

"Splut". A particularly smelly hunk of Yomodung hit poor Yoyo square between the eyes. The chipmunk chattered and ran off. Suddenly, a fierce roar was heard from above. Yoyo, being as he was for the first time in his life completely void of shit, wet himself instead. What if that was the evil beast who had stalked him unseen though all his adventures making this dreadful noise? What would poor Yoyo do? What he always did in such situations of course. He cowered in abject fear while the roar increased in volume.

A large pink Bow-Tie fighter rocketed through the mists and crashed into the swamp, deluging Yoyo in more green shit and knocking him forcibly back into a pile of well used condoms. The roar stopped, bringing a sullen silence to the world, broken only by the sounds of sewerage gently lapping at Yoyo's feet. Suddenly, the half submerged fighter beeped out the chorus to "In The Navy" and a hatch on its side sprang open. Out pranced the most delectable sight Yomo had seen all day, clad in a sequined leather g-string and wielding an inflatable cocksaber festooned with twinkling christmas lights. Yoyo's breath was quite taken away (yes, he'd forgotten to breathe again). In imminent danger of asphyxiation, some warning signal deep in Yoyo's mind brought his attention back to basic survival skills. His choking and spluttering alerted the interloper to his presence.

"Hi", it said. "My name is Shittalker. What's yours you sexy beast?"

Yoyo couldn't believe his good fortune, or the size of Shittalker's cocksaber either for that matter. He coughed up a hunk of shit from off his cleft palette and spoke.

"Jedi master am I, yes. Make you strong and powerful I will, hmmm?"

"Sounds good", said Shittalker. "Will there be nookie?"

"Silly young Shittalker" giggled Yoyo, "What think you I mean? Nookie you want, Nookie you have, I think, yes?" as an R2D2 unit launched itself out of the fighter's hatch headfirst into the swamp, beeping angrily as it went. Shittalker minced over to Yoyo undoing his g-string as he advanced, but stopped short when he caught the pungent aroma wafting from the yomosexual fuckmuppet.

"You smell" he lisped.

"Smell bad I do, yes. Much better I bend over, young Shittalker" said Yoyo, seeing his chance slipping away like fresh turds down his calves after a particularly nasty curry.

"No, I don't think so" said Shittalker backing into the R2D2 unit which had since re-emerged from the swamp and was trundling about looking for a vantage point from which to hurl itself back in. "But Adam here will do the honours, wont you Adam?"

The R2D2 unit swivelled to look at Yoyo and various phallic appendages sprang from its flank, twirled rapidly and retreated with a loud clang. It's beeps and whistles adopted an alarmed undertone as it reversed back into the swamp with an evil "splut". Yoyo, mildly alarmed at the prospect of yet another day without sex, was nonetheless intrigued with the R2D2 unit (or more accurately its appendages, many of which surpassed his wildest crisco lubricated fantasies).

Shittalker noted Yoyo's interest. "Thats Adam, my state of the art R2D2 unit" he said, "equipped with internet capability and all the latest in marital aids".

Yoyo drooled. He didn't know what an internet capability was, but if it was anything like the bewildering array of dildoes and vibrators he'd just seen, he wanted a piece of it. A BIG piece. Repeatedly.

Shittalker, noticing Yoyo's interest in the R2D2 unit which was even now emerging warily from the swamp, seized his chance and made good his escape. Skipping down the path, inflatable cocksabre at the ready (just in case he bumped into any more yomosexuals) he suddenly stopped short as the sounds of flutes and mandolins assailed his earlobes.

"That's pretty" he breathed.

"Can you feel my gums, Tardmongooooo" sang an as yet unseen bard. "Can you feel them wrapped around your manmeat sucking you to meeeee...."

Shittalker was entranced. Anything who sang that well couldn't be evil, right? Adjusting his g-string and putting fresh batteries in his cocksaber, he pranced down the path, his anus tingling with anticipation as the singing grew louder.

"I was cumming in your hair last night, your hole was tight, Tardmongooooooo....."

The sound was closer now. Rounding a corner in the path Shittalker spied a man sporting a dirty sanchez and baseball cap with a small bulge in his hot pants deejaying to a party of sockpuppets. The sockpuppets themselves lay on the ground immobile as most normal sockpuppets do. In fact, had sockpuppets been imbued with mobility, these ones would have assuredly been hobbling off in search of seamstresses and washing machines. Some were more hole than sock, and all were starched beyond belief. Shittalker only had eyes for the deejay, who was currently segueing from one Abba song to the next.

"Ring, Ring, give me the juice of your nut" sang the deejay, his hand slipping into his shorts and tugging wildly at its meagre contents. "Ring, Ring, pound my bum like I'm a slut" he continued before he noticed Shittalker tugging on his nipple tassels.

"Oh hi", he said, tugging a crusty sockpuppet from his pants and tossing it on the pile. "I'm Analin Vader".

"Hi" said Shittalker. "Will you be my friend?"

"Sure thing" said Analin as he felt up Shittalker's crotch. "Where do you want it?"

"Right here will do fine" said Shittalker, undoing his g-string and draping himself provocatively across the mixing desk. Analin Vader grunted as he forced his two inches of erect throbbing manmeat between Shittalker's quivering thighs and went for the reacharound, smacking Shittalker's oblong head about with a penis-shaped microphone.

"Oh yeah" barked Analin. "Feel the power of the Dork Side. Who's your Daddy? WHO'S YOUR DADDY???"

Meanwhile back in the swamp, the ever hopeful Yoyo was putting the moves on Adam who had re-emerged from the swamp innumerable times, only to hurl itself back in at vain attempts of suicide. No matter how much Yoyo pleaded, the recalcitrant R2D2 unit with the vibrating attatchments seemed to prefer the repidly congealing fecal matter to Yoyo's ample shitter. Which was not after all so surprising, as the yomosexual fuckmuppet was at this point cutting a particularly terrifying figure, a wildly slavering hairy turd on legs with an ever growing army of flies in attendance. Not even a mother could love it.

Finally, exhausted, Yoyo sat down and began to weep. Oklahoma City had never looked so good - at least it had plenty of drunken men and a fire hydrant on each street corner. Yoyo would have done just about anything for 5 minutes with a fire hydrant to fill his crack with. "Even sleep with a woman" blubbed the abject yomosexual, as behind him Adam finally slammed into a particularly solid and evil smelling turd and fell forever silent.

Will Yoyo forsake the primitive swamps for the fresh fields of Endor for tea, crumpets and Nookie with the lovable Ewoks, or will he merely be transported to midwestern america to be digitally pack-raped by the glowing fingers of an army of stranded ET's hell bent on dialling home on his ring? Will Shittalker discover Analin Vader is indeed his father and turn to the Dork Side? Will ANY of us be able to contain ourselves for the next extremely gay instalment of "Yoyo - Lord of the Ringpiece"???

Tune in next week and find out...
 

Admin.

Choosy Moms Choose Me
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David Ricardo on Economic Rent and Opportunity Cost

David Ricardo (1772-1823): one of the founders of the Classical School of Economics

1. David Ricardo's Concept of Economic Rent:1 Definition:

Economic rent on land is the value of the difference in productivity between a given piece of

land and the poorest [and/or most distant], most costly piece of land producing the same goods

(e.g. bushels of wheat) under the same conditions (of labour, capital, technology, etc.).

Productivity is defined here in terms of both:

(a) (b) (c) the natural fertility of the soil; and the productivity of the existing technology in utilizing

currently available labour and capital;

and also the relative distance from the same market:

(i) (ii) (iii) we are discussing this in terms of regional economics with one market.

This part of theorem, on the ‘distance from the market’, did not originate with

Ricardo, but rather with a German economist: Johann Heinrich von Thünen (1783-

1850), who noted , some years after the publication of Ricardo’s Principles, that the

closer a piece of land was to the urban core the higher was its market rent (reflecting

economic rent).2

You can readily appreciate the significance of this by noting that Toronto rents in the

heart of the financial district on Bay or University are higher than those in, say,

Orangeville or Bolton to the north of Toronto.

Thus productivity differences reflect the cost differences in supplying grain to that one

market from that piece of land.

This concept of economic rent involves the following six suppositions:

(1) in the initial stage of development, our starting point, with a stable and low level of population,

only the very best lands are under cultivation: lands that are the most fertile, the most easily worked,

and the closest to the market -- the lowest cost lands for producing grain.

(2) with population growth, the eventual diminishing returns on existing cultivated lands force into

1 David Ricardo, Principles of Political Economy and Taxation (1817; 3rd edn. 1821); Marc Blaug,

Economic Theory in Retrospect, 3rd edn. (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 1978),

chapter 4: “Ricardo’s System,” pp. 91-112.

2 Johann H. von Thünen, Der isolierte Staat in Beziehung auf Landwirthschaft und

Nationalökonomie, vol. I (1826); vol. II.i (1850), Vol. II.ii and Vol. III (1863); in English translation as The

Isolated State, ed. P. Hall (Oxford, 1966). Most of the rent theory is in the posthumously published Vol. III.2

cultivation new, but inferior or ‘marginal lands’: lands that are less fertile, more difficult to work,

and further from the market, involving higher production and transportation costs.

(3) Thus the necessary consequence of adding on more and more inferior or marginal land is the

rising cost of producing those extra bushels of grain to feed that growing population. We assume that

all people are fed.

(4) We must also assume that for any given region, for any one given market zone, there is only one

price, the prevailing price that clears the market in that region.

(5) The final or ‘equilibrium’ market price for grain will thus equal the cost of producing that last

bushel of grain (under diminishing returns) on that last unit of land forced into production to feed

that larger population. Nobody is going to produce grain for very long at a cost higher than the

market price; and nobody will be foolish enough to sell grain at lower price than the prevailing

market price. In fact, as you can now deduce, the level of population and of demand has really

determined the market price of grain; for without that increased demand, that last unit of land would

not be producing grain for the market.

(6) On that last piece of land put under cultivation, total sales revenue equals total costs, with no

surplus or ‘profit.’ The farmer earns just enough to keep him in production, without seeking

alternative employment. But conversely, on the other lands -- the more productive and lower cost

lands that were put into cultivation earlier -- total sales revenues exceed total costs, because costs

on those better lands are lower -- very much lower on the best lands. That differential produces a

surplus or a ‘profit’ called ECONOMIC RENT, which can be seen on the graph: the difference

between production costs and the market price.

2. The Power of Landlords to Expropriate Economic Rent: according to Ricardo and

Marx

Ricardo, and Marx after him, argued that all of that surplus, or profit, or ‘economic rent’ (to use the

proper term) was ‘captured’ or expropriated by the landlord: that the landlord could evict those

tenants that refused to hand over the surplus, and replace them with those working marginal lands

or with landless peasants. Furthermore, the peasant’s costs of production, in producing grain on this

land, include his own implicit wage or salary income, which, in terms of opportunity cost, must equal

his ‘transfer earnings’: i.e., must be an income sufficient to dissuade him from seeking an alternative

employment (or some alternative rental land). Therefore, denying the peasant the economic rent on

this land will not cause him to leave: see the next item in this discussion..

In historical reality, however, landlords rarely had such powers of expropriaton; and instead that

surplus was more usually shared between peasant farmer and his landlord, according to the

bargaining power of each, and according to any contract between them.

3. A Related, More Modern Definition of Economic Rent, related to Opportunity Cost:3

The excess or surplus of total payments given to any factor of production (land, labour,

capital) over and above its `transfer earnings': that is, over and above what that factor could

earn in its next best use.

This must be understood in terms of OPPORTUNITY COST: the opportunity cost of doing A

is the value of any benefit foregone, or given up, by not doing B; i.e., the value that would have

been produced by using that factor of production in the next best alternative ‘opportunity.’ Thus,

in order to secure the use of that factor, the employer has to pay something more than its opportunity

cost: i.e. its ‘transfer earnings,’ defined as the amount necessary to keep that factor employed in its

present use. Thus any payment beyond that opportunity cost, or ‘transfer earnings,’ is economic rent,

or more simply ‘rent’.

4. The Relationships between the Two Concepts of Economic Rent

What is the relationship between the two concepts of economic rent?

Ricardo, in constructing his economic rent model, assumed that: (a) the land under consideration had

only one use -- growing grain (wheat) -- and (b) in the short run, the land was in fixed supply

(perfectly inelastic) and in full constant use. Nothing had to be paid, therefore, to prevent this land

from being transferred to uses other than grain growing -- no transfer payment was necessary --

because this land had no other use.

Therefore, by this model, all of the payment to land, i.e. all the rent, is a surplus over and above what

is necessary to keep it in its present use of growing grain. Finally, given the short-run fixed supply

of land, the price of land, or the rent for its use, will depend upon the demand for land, which in turn

is a function of the price of grain.

Thus, because of the Ricardo theorem, the term ‘rent’ in Classical Economics became the term for

payment of any such a ‘surplus’ to a factor of production over and above what was necessary to

maintain that factor in its present use or form of production, above its opportunity cost.

5. Subsequent elaborations of the theory of rent:

(a) for labour:

This term was also applied to other factors of production, especially including various forms of

labour. A movie star, for example, with a talent in very scarce and fixed supply, and enjoying a very

high demand, will earn a very large ‘rent’ over and above his/her ‘transfer earnings,’ i.e. if his/her

opportunity cost is low, when any other available alternative occupation would pay so much less.

(b) for land:

Most land, however, was seen to have other, alternative uses: i.e., livestock raising, growing other

crops, industrial applications, housing. And thus, from the point of view of any one use, part of thepayment made for the use of land would necessarily be a ‘transfer payment,’ to keep it in its present

use (e.g., grain growing).

(c) Thus all factors of production are really similar: and payments for most factors of production


PWN3D!
 
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Ain't nothing but a chicken wing on a string. We'll never cross paths....any of us. But if we did, what's your push list? :ThumbsUp1:

Why aren’t you retarded kids on the list? I’m sure you’d be happy to lose both of them. along with Frank
 
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§1.6.5. We should next ask those who are indeed enamoured of the beauties not available to the senses: ‘What state are you in regarding the practices said to be beautiful and in regard to beautiful ways of being in the world and to self-controlled characters and, generally, to products of virtue or dispositions, I mean the beauty of souls?’27 And ‘When you see 5 your own “interior beauty”,28 what do you feel?’ And ‘Can you describe the frenzied29 and excited state you are in and your longing to be united with yourselves,30 when extricating yourselves from your bodies?’ For this is how those who are truly enamoured feel. But what is it that makes them feel this way? It is not shapes or colours or some magnitude, but rather they feel this way about soul, it 10 being itself ‘without colour’31 and having self-control that is also without colour and the rest of the ‘splendour’32 of virtues. You feel this way whenever you see in yourselves or someone else greatness of soul or a just character or sheer self-control or the awe-inspiring visage of courage33 or dignity and reserve circling around a calm and unaffected 15 disposition with divine intellect shining on them all. We then love and are attracted to these qualities, but what do we mean when we say that they are beautiful? For they are real and appear to us so, and no one who has ever seen them says anything other than that they are real Beings. What does‘real Beings’ mean? In fact, it means 20 that they are beautiful Beings. But the argument still needs to show why Beings have made the soul an object of love. What is it that shines on all the virtues like a light? Would you like to consider the opposites, the ugly things that come to be in the soul, and contrast them with the beauties? For perhaps a consideration of what ugliness is and why it appears as such 25 would contribute to our achieving what we are seeking. Let there be a soul that is actually ugly,34 one that is licentious and unjust, filled with all manner of appetites and every type of dread, mired in fear due to its cowardice and in envy due to its pettiness, thinking that everything it can actually think of is mortal and base, deformed in every way, a lover of impure pleasures, that is, one who lives a life in which corporeal 30 pleasures are measured by their vileness. Shall we not say that, just as in the case of something beautiful added to the soul, this very vileness supervenes on the soul, and both harms it and makes it impure and ‘mixed with much evil’,35 no longer having a life or sense-perceptions that are pure, but rather living a murky life by an evil adulteration that includes much death in it, no longer seeing what a soul should see, no longer even being allowed to remain in itself due to its always being dragged to the exterior and downward into darkness?36 40 This is indeed what I regard as an impure soul, dragged in every direction by its chains towards whatever it happens to perceive with its senses, with much of what belongs to the body adulterating it, deeply implicating itself with the material element and, taking that element into itself due to that adulteration that only makes it worse, it exchanges the form it has for another. It is as if someone fell into mud or slime and 45 the beauty he had is no longer evident, whereas what is seen is what he smeared on himself from the mud or slime. The ugliness that has actually been added to him has come from an alien source, and his job, if indeed he is again to be beautiful, is to wash it off and to be clean as he was before. We would be speaking correctly in saying that the soul indeed becomes ugly by a mixture or adulteration and by an inclination in the 50 direction of the body and matter. And this is ugliness for a soul; not being pure or uncorrupted like gold, but filled up with the earthly. If someone removes that, only the gold is left, and it is beautiful, isolated from other things and being just what it is itself. Indeed, in the identical 55 manner, the soul – being isolated from appetites which it acquires because of that body with which it associates too much – when it is separated from other affections and is purified of what it has that is corporeal, remains just what it is when it has put aside all the ugliness that comes from that other nature. §1.6.6. For it is indeed the case, as the ancient doctrine37 has it, that self-control and courage and every virtue is a purification and is wisdom itself. For this reason, the mysteries correctly offer the enigmatic saying 5 that one who has not been purified will lie in Hades in slime, because one who is not pure likes slime due to his wickedness. They are actually like pigs that, with unclean bodies, delight in such a thing.38 What would true self-control be, besides not having anything to do with the pleasures of the body and fleeing them as impure and as not belonging to one who is pure? And what is courage but the absence of 10 fear of death? But death is the separation of the soul from the body.39 And this is not feared by one who longs to be alone. And greatness of soul40 is actually contempt for the things here below. And wisdom is the intellection that consists in a turning away from the things below, leading the soul to the things above.
The soul, then, when it is purified, becomes form,41 and an expressed principle, and entirely incorporeal and intellectual and wholly divine, which is the source of beauty and of all things that 15 have a kinship with it. Soul, then, being borne up to Intellect, becomes even more beautiful. And Intellect and the things that come from Intellect are soul’s beauty, since they belong to it, that is, they are not alien to it, because it is then really soul alone. For this reason, it is correctly said that goodness and being beautiful for the soul consist in 20 ‘being assimilated to god’,42 because it is in the intelligible world that Beauty is found as well as the fate of the rest of Beings. Or rather, Beings are what Beauty is and ugliness is the other nature, primary evil itself, so that for god ‘good’ and ‘beautiful’ are identical, or rather the Good and Beauty are identical.43 In a similar way, then, we should seek to discover that which is beautiful and good and the ugly and evil. And first we should posit 25 Beauty,44 which is the Good from which Intellect comes, which is itself identical with Beauty. And Soul is beautiful by Intellect. Other things are beautiful as soon as they are shaped by Soul, including examples of beauty in actions and in practices. Moreover, bodies that are said to be beautiful are so as soon as Soul makes them so. For 30 inasmuch as it is divine and, in a way, a part of Beauty, it makes all that it grasps and masters beautiful insofar as it is possible for them to partake of Beauty.

§5.8.3. There is, then, an expressed principle in nature that is the archetype of corporeal beauty, and the expressed principle in soul is more beautiful than the one in nature, and its source.10 This is really clearest in the virtuous soul which is already advanced in beauty. For 5 adorning hissoul and providing light coming from a greater light, which is primarily beautiful, it makes us, on the basis of its presence in the soul, infer the nature of the beauty that is prior to it, a beauty that in this case does not come into another thing, but remains in itself. For this reason, it is not an expressed principle, but the producer of the first expressed principle of beauty in the soul in its capacity as a material principle.11 This producer is Intellect, which is always Intellect and never not 10 Intellect, because it does not come to itself from outside itself. What, then, could someone take as an image of it, for all of these would be drawn from that which is inferior to it? Indeed, the image must come from Intellect, so that one is not grasping it through an image, but in a way like a piece of gold that stands for all gold, and if that which is taken is not pure, to purify it in deed or in word, showing that the piece 15 is not entirely gold, but the gold is only this bit in the entire mass. In the same way, we may start from the purified intellect in us or, if you wish, from that of the gods, and the nature of intellect in them. For all the gods are dignified and beautiful and their beauty is extraordinary.12 But what is it that makes them so? 20 In fact, it is Intellect, I mean Intellect that is more active in them, so that it is visible. It is certainly not because their bodies are beautiful. For those that do have bodies, it is not this that makes them to be gods, but these are gods, too, because of their intellects. Indeed, they are beautiful insofar as they are gods. And it is certainly not the case that they sometimes act wisely and sometimes not; they always act wisely in unaffected 25 and steady and pure intellect, and they know all things and are acquainted not with human affairs but with their own divine affairs, and those things that Intellect sees.13 Among the gods, some are in heaven and – since they are at leisure – they are always contemplating, as if from afar, the things that are in that intelligible heaven above their heads. But other gods are in that intelli- 30 gible heaven,14 namely, those that have their dwelling on it and in it, dwelling in everything which is there in that heaven – for everything in the intelligible world is heaven; the earth is heaven and the sea and the animals and plants and human beings, everything of that heaven is heavenly.15 The gods that are in it do not disrespect human beings or 35 anything else that is in the intelligible world, but just because the things are in the intelligible world, they travel across the region there and are always resting in place for in the intelligible world it is ‘the life of ease’,16 and truth is their mother and nurse and Substantiality and nourishment – and they see all things, ‘not those to which becoming belongs’17 but those to which Substantiality belongs, and they see themselves in others. For 5 everything is transparent and there is nothing dark or opaque, but every god is visible to all the others through and through, for it is light that is visible to light. For every god has everything in himself, and, again, he sees everything in another, so that everything is everywhere and all is all and each is all and the glory is unlimited. For each of them 10 is great since even the small is great. And the sun in the intelligible world is all the stars, and all the stars are, again, the sun and all the other stars. Something different stands out in each, even if everything is manifest in all.18 The motion is also pure, for the mover does not disturb its moving by being different from the motion. And the stability is not disturbed because it is not mixed with that which is not stable.19 And that which 15 is beautiful is beautiful because it is not in that which is not beautiful. Each one travels on land which is in a way not foreign, but its essence infuses every place it occupies, and the place from which it came runs along with it going in a way upward; and it is not the case that it is one thing, and the place another. For Intellect is the substrate, that is, 20 Intellect itself. It is as if one thought that in the case of our visible heaven, being luminous, the light which came from it gave birth to the stars. But in the sensible world one part does not come from another, and each part would just be itself alone, whereas in the intelligible world each always comes from the whole and each is at once also all. For it 25 looks like a part, but sharp sight sees into it as whole; it is in a way as if sight were like that of Lynceus, who in the myth was said to be able to look into the interior of the earth, an enigmatic reference to eyes in the intelligible world.20 There is no satiety or weariness of the contemplation in the intelligible world so that they cease to contemplate. For there is no emptiness 30 such that when they are full, the end would be reached; nor is one different from the other such that what satisfies one does not satisfy the other. There is no weariness in the intelligible world. But there is a lack of fullness there inasmuch as the fullness does not make them disdain that which has produced the fullness. For in seeing one sees more, and observing one’s own unlimitedness, and the objects one sees, one follows one’s own nature. And no one’s life is wearying when it is 35 pure. What could weary someone living the best life? This life is wisdom, wisdom that is not furnished by means of calculative reasoning, because it was always there omitting nothing that would require being sought. But it is the first, and is not derived from another. Its substantiality itself is wisdom; it does not first exist, and next become wise. Because of this, no wisdom is 40 greater, and scientific understanding itself here is enthroned with Intellect, being revealed together with it, as they say that Justice is symbolically enthroned beside Zeus.21 All such things in the intelligible world are in a way statues that can see themselves, so that it is a sight seen by ‘supremely happy spectators’.22 One could, then, glimpse the magnitude and the power of the wisdom 45 that it has with itself and that has produced all the Beings, and all the Beings that followed from it, and it is itself the Beings, and they came to be with it, and were one together with it, and the Being there was wisdom. We did not, however, achieve comprehension because we have 50 supposed that types of scientific understanding are a matter of theorems and a nexus of propositions; this is not true, even in areas of scientific understanding in the sensible world. But if someone wants to dispute these matters, let them be set aside for now. Regarding scientific understanding in the intelligible world, which Plato actually glimpsed and said, ‘it is not scientific understanding that becomes different as it knows different things’23 – though he left it to us to investigate and discover what this means, if indeed we are to 55 be judged worthy of our name24 – perhaps it would be better to start from the beginning now.
§5.8.5. for, not for everything that comes to be, whether products of.....
 
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Well, since you ask...


LORD OF THE RINGPIECE – another story about Yoyo

Chapter 1
by Evil Blood

It was a fine sunny day in the Elven Kingdoms. The birds twittered merrily in the trees, lambs gambolled happily in the fields and a sense of peace and tranquillity filled the land. All was fine with the world.

Sadly for him, Yoyo wasn't IN the Elven Kingdoms...he was stuck in a poor neighbourhood filled with niggers in Oklahoma City...and it was raining. It wasn't the rain that was bringing Yoyo down...nor was it the niggers, each of whom had sent him death threats since reading the flyers put through their mailboxes containing Yoyo's rather explicit views on black people. It wasn't the fact that he was a talentless nobody, a Netdead piece of detritus fit only for the electronic oblivion of the Recycle Bin. What was pissing Yoyo off was the simple fact that, once again, he was getting a kicking at everybody else's hands on the forums. Yoyo's life was a series of one unmitigated disaster after another and, just lately, it had been going downhill as if rocket powered. What was he to do? Apart from bitch at everybody, complain about his lot in life and post everybody's personal details, which made him feel less insignificant that it had any right to do; he could do precisely nothing about it.

After several minutes worth of crying at the fate of his latest Gimpfighters style forum fiasco he decided to spend another fruitless hour writing letters of complaint to Homeland Security which, due to advanced handwriting recognition software, always got forwarded to a Ms. Muriel Worsnip, a 53 year old hairdresser from Gary, Indiana who used to be a welder named Mr. Roger Matthews before he decided that his 6' 5", 297lb body looked cute in a dress. The Roger half of the personality was under the impression that Yoyo was dangerously unhinged and in need of electro-shock therapy whilst the Muriel half was convinced that Yoyo had the hots for her and would like nothing more than to ram her dainty 10" cock down his throat and choke him to death on a tidal wave of cum – Muriel had some serious personality disorders and had never managed to come to terms with the fact that her ass looked big in a skirt.

Anyway...we digress. Yoyo decided to take his welfare check and go shopping. He was running low on "Joy Boy Anal Lube" and had a hot date set up for that night at Club Liquid...he still remembered the friction burns on his ass from his last unlubed adventure and was determined not to let it happen again. It had been a week before he could sit down properly. No, Yoyo was certain that he would never again suffer the indignity caused by 'ring of fire'. Off he minced to the drug store with a spring in his step (he'd forgotten to remove his vibrator) but, before even half way there, reality, as so often happens in these shitty stories, decided to give a little twist and our little Yomosexual fairy found his life turned upside down.

One minute he was walking down the street getting soaked by the rain and blaming everybody else for his own shortcomings when, all of a sudden, there was a stomach-wrenching rip in the fabric of time and space and Yoyo found himself transported to a strange place whilst the contents of his bowels found themselves transported into his underwear – due to the fact that he was full of shit at the best of times, he didn't notice this. He looked around but couldn't recognise his surroundings...the rain had mercifully stopped trying to pound his head down into his shoes but he was also aware of a rather nasty smell, the location of which always seemed to be behind him, no matter which way he turned. Yoyo shrugged it all off and decided to make the best of it...let's face it, when you're as big a loser as Yoyo, ANY change has to be good.

Yoyo walked towards a small knot of trees in the distance, it looked as good a place as any to walk to and, if the truth be told, he had rather fond memories of trees...the feel of the rough bark scraping the skin from his face as his attacker rammed his full length into Yoyo's anus...the guy hadn't bothered to call or write even once after Yoyo had been released from the hospital.

No matter how far or how quickly he walked, that smell still followed Yoyo and it was starting to worry him: a faint miasma of corruption overlaid with the unmistakable aroma of Crisco...what could it be? Yoyo began to know fear - if the unknown thing that gave off the stench were to catch him in the open, it would be likely to rip open his gizzard and eat his entrails for breakfast...or possibly brunch, depending on the time of day. His entire life flashed before his eyes...fortunately, this had happened to him so many times that he was able to sleep through the boring bits (which was most of it). He began to run. The smell kept pace. It was behind him...whenever he turned his head and looked back, the stench got worse. He ran faster...run Yoyo, run. Sadly, he wasn't looking where he was going and fell into a deep hole.

When he regained consciousness, he found that he wasn't alone: a small man with hairy feet knelt beside him shaking his head.

"Hey, mister" said the man, "you've shit your pants".

The light of understanding filled Yoyo's eyes (hey, there's a first time for everything!)...of course...that would explain the smell of crisco.

"Hi" said Yoyo "my name's Yoyo...who are you?"

"My name is Bimbo Bunghole and I'm a Nobbit."

"A Nobbit? Don't you mean Hobbit?"

"Look, you dumb fuck, I think I should know what species I am. I'm a Nobbit...okay. We're related to Hobbits only we differ in one important way."

"Oh" said Yoyo, intrigued by this strange creature. "And what is so different about a Nobbit?"

"Take down your trousers, clean your ass and you'll find out, bitch." Said Bunghole with a nasty gleam in his eye.

Yoyo couldn't help smiling...it seemed as though things were looking up after all.

Chapter 2
by Vitriol

As Yoyo started to unbutton his soiled trousers, smiling coyly at Bimbo the Nobbit, he felt the sudden impression that the universe had just did a backflip. There was also new warmth on his buttocks, announcing the arrival in his shorts of additional fertilizer, and an accompanying rise in intensity of the stench permeating the air. Forgetting to refasten his pants, Yoyo looks around.

"Bimbo? Mr. Bunghole? Nobbit person?!"

The Nobbit was nowhere to be seen.

"Awww, just when things were getting good. Story of my life, I reckon."

Reluctantly admitting to himself that a little fun with a Nobbit was out of the question, the miasma pouring from Yoyo's ass saw its opportunity and redoubled its efforts to gain his attention.

"Gack! I really, really stink now. I wonder if there's any place I can wash up?"

For the first time since experiencing the quantum acrobatics, Yoyo took close note of his surroundings. He was no longer in a hole, just in the bottom of a bowl-shaped depression in the countryside. From Yoyo's current vantage, all he could see was grass, and a few trees rising above the bowl's rim. He rebuttoned his fetid pants, and trotted up the grassy incline toward the nearest tree.

"Wow!"

Below him, stretching from one end of the horizon the other, is a vast city. Turning, Yoyo sees that the city actually surrounds the half-dozen or so acres of grass and trees of which the depression marks the approximate center.

"I've never seen so many buildings in one place! I'll bet there's billions of people here, and lots of bars, with drunken men... *millions* of drunken men!... just waiting for me!"

With a renewed sense of purpose, Yoyo sets off as fast as his bandy little legs will carry him.

As he approaches the edge of the grassy area, he sees that there's a wall surrounding the park. Off to his right he can see an open gate, and heads toward it.

At the gate are two women talking. When Yoyo is five yards from the women, one of them sees him. Her eyes open wide, and her mouth gapes. The other woman, with a curious tilt to her eyebrows, turns and then mimics her friend's expression.

Yoyo now stands before them, and in his most genteel and suave manner asks: "Hey, bitches. Where are all the cute guys in this dump?"

One of the women turns and runs away. The other, pulling her shirt up to cover her mouth and nose, is braver.

"What are you, and what *is* that foul stench?" she asks.

"I'm Yoyo, and I shat my pants. Twice now, in fact. Can I get directions to the nearest cock farm, or what?"

The woman is obviously bewildered, and doesn't answer. Exasperated, Yoyo passes through the gate into the city.

"Fucking sow. Guess I'll just have to find a bar on my own."

The woman is still frozen to her place, and appears to be fighting dry heaves. Yoyo dismisses her from his thoughts, as he's determined to search for drunken men, and can only process one cognitive act at any given time.

Making his way deeper into the city, passing people going in and out of buildings as well as making their own way along the sidewalks, Yoyo begins to feel there's something odd about the whole place, although he can't spare the brainpower to pin down whatever is making him increasingly uneasy.

"Now if I were a hot stud looking for action, where would I go?" he thinks to himself.

Yoyo wanders around for another fifteen or twenty minutes, ignoring the looks of disgust and bewilderment that meet him everywhere he goes. Finally, tired and frustrated, he decides to rest on what appears to be a bus stop bench. He plops himself down upon it, and is mildly aroused by the squishing sensation caused by his butt hitting the bench seat.

Having broken the crust which had formed in his shorts, the smell of several pounds of fecal matter again wafts around Yoyo like an evil cloud.

Yoyo turns to the bench's only other occupant, an elderly lady who has just turned an alarming shade of green, and notes: "Whew! That's pretty rotten, isn't it?"

The poor lady vomits copiously into the street, and begins to stagger off. Realizing she is still downwind of Yoyo, she turns and staggers even faster in the other direction.

Yoyo shrugs, and sits back to relax for a minute.

As has already been stated, Yoyo can only think about one thing at a time. As he allowed his mind to momentarily release its grip on the manhunt, the something's-not-right feeling rose to the top of his counciousness like a methane bubble in a particularly rancid swamp.

Looking around, Yoyo knows he should be alarmed... but is still unsure why that should be. On the surface, this was simply a city like any other; women walking along alone or in small groups, women arriving at or departing stores and offices, women driving up and down the streets, women...

"HOLY FUCK!" shouts Yoyo, jumping up from the bench. So shocked is Yoyo, he doesn't even notice that his pants were slightly glued to the bench seat, and came loose with a damp "shhhrrick!" when he stood.

Staring aghast up and down the boulevard, Yoyo breaks out in a cold sweat.

"Wh-wh-where... where are all the FUCKING MEN?"

Indeed- every single person Yoyo has seen since entering the city, he now recollects with horror, has been female.

Wild-eyed and more than somewhat unglued, Yoyo races to the nearest woman; a twenty-something girl who immediately puts both her hands over her lower face and mumbles: "Eeeewww!"

"Where? WHERE?!?" demands Yoyo.

"Where what, and do you even *know* how much you stink?" replies the lass, from behind her fingers.

Yoyo, making an enormous effort, calms himself somewhat and asks as nicely as he knows how: "Where are all the men, bitch?"

"I don't understand. What's a 'men'?" answers the girl, beginning to back away.

Yoyo loses it again: "Men, men, MEN dammit! You gotta have men! Like meeee!"

Yoyo starts to follow the retreating girl, reaching out as if he would shake the answers he wants off of her.

The young lady, who has been taking ju-jitsu lessons since she was nine years old, reacts instinctively. Her first punch breaks Yoyo's nose. That's followed by a kick to his solar plexus, and another punch that lands clean on his weak jaw.

Yoyo has just enough time to wonder why it got dark so suddenly, before he plummets into unconsciousness.

The sound of laughter and jeers slowly worm their way into his hearing. Before he opens his eyes, he notes that he seems to be lying on cold concrete with something, perhaps straw, scattered over it. An odor assails his nostrils, and he concludes that whatever else has happened since that little bitch knocked him out, he hasn't been hosed down or given clean clothes.

Tentatively he opens one eyelid.

"Look mommy! It's awake!"

Yoyo sees a young girl, on the other side of a stout set of metal bars, pointing at him and tugging on the skirt of a woman standing beside her.

"Huuh? Wazzut... argh?" is the entire query Yoyo can dredge up from what was always a limited vocabulary in the best of circumstances.

The girl's mother wrinkles her nose, and says to the youngster: "It called itself a 'men', according to the news story. It even said it was looking for other 'men', although how anyone could've made sense of those grunts and whistles I'll never know. It must be very lost, or very confused. There are no 'men' on our world. Someone surely would have noticed the awful reek if there were others."

Yoyo heard, and was stunned. "No men?" he thought to himself. "None at all?"

The women gathered in front of Yoyo's display cage all took a surprised step backward when the thing they were studying lifted its head to howl long and loudly. Although most of the women just thought it sounded beastial and mindless, a few considered that the noise had an almost lonely undertone.

One of the latter spoke her thoughts aloud: "Poor creature. It must really miss the other 'men', wherever and whatever they are."

As Yoyo continued to blubber and moan, even the sympathetic women became annoyed at the din, and wandered away to explore the rest of the zoo.

Yoyo; broken, forelorn, and extremely foul-smelling; banged his head on the bars of his cage, and wept.

Chapter 3
by Evil Blood

The constant banging on the bars reminded Yoyo that it had been a little while since there had been any banging at his back door. Ahhh, a rather sticky situation...or, rather...lack of stickiness. Suddenly, there was the familiar gut-wrenching sensation as every atom in his body was pulled apart and transported to another dimension. Yoyo, once again, noisily voided the contents of his bowels – if this carried on, he'd exhaust the cum reserves stored in his lower intestinal tract and would be forced to take drastic steps to recharge it. This had only happened to Yoyo once before – he'd lost his job at the Sperm Bank as a result for drinking on the job - whilst THEY'D lost 3 years worth of deposits.

Yoyo looked around. What the fuck? He seemed to be on the bridge of some futuristic ship. A very strange looking man stood at the controls wearing a headscarf and a very nasty dirty sanchez which, on closer examination, proved to be a threadbare goatee - the buttocks were cut out of his trousers.

"You look familiar". Said Yoyo. The man looked up... "Welcome on board the Starship GenderBenderprise, fag. I am Captain Cock." The man moved to another set of controls..."and I'm Mr. Sperm"...yet another move..."Ensign Jerkoff"...and another "Lt. Screwlu"...

"Wait a minute" said Yoyo..."you're all the same person."

"Shit," said Captain Cock, "it worked okay for my ancestor when he ran gay4pay.cum...fag."

"Ahh," said Yoyo, "that's why you look so familiar – you're related to Jeremy 'Dicklips' Daspin."

"Yup", said Cock, "he was my great, great, great, great-grandmother, fag. He married Redeye in a ceremony in L.A. and they lived happily ever after until the riots in 2004 when he was DJ'ing in a nightclub, farted and drowned half of Oakland in a sea of cum. They never did find all of his body parts but there was enough shit left on the end of Redeye's dick to clone Jeremy and so, here I am, fag – 5 generations on and just as gay and crap as fagazzbugsy@webtv.net herself."

"Wanna buttfuck me?" asked Yoyo.

"Can't," said Captain Cock, "I can only get it on if I'm the bitch, fag."

"Shit, I have exactly the same problem." Whined Yoyo, "what shall we do?"

"We could always call the Doc up here and see if he's interested, fag." Cock moved to the intercom..."Dr. GayBoy to the bridge."

Seconds later a nasal Australian voice crackled into life..."Dammit, Jeremy, I'm a doctor, not a gigolo. Anyway...Dr. GayBoy is my brother, not me and, even if it was me, I don't live in sick bay because I moved. HAHAHAHAFUCKINGHAHAHA, you're owned so fucking leave me alone and I'm not having a meltdown, jewboy fag...I'm just waiting for my money to clear so I can buy another domain name but it doesn't mean that I'm penniless because I lost my own one and I owned you and I'm repeating everything you've ever said to me back at you but I'll deny it and claim to have posted proof so fuck off, PKB owned bitch and this isn't really me because I committed suicide..."

Cock switched off the intercom shaking his head in frustration. "Sorry about that, fag...Dr GayBoy suffers from terrible psychotic episodes and this, sadly is one of them. In fact, fag, it's the same episode that he's had non-stop for the last 50 years."

"Hmmmm," said Yoyo, "he reminds me of somebody I once had cyber-sex with...he was crap and suicidal too."

"Would that be Adam Tyrelle of Emu Heights NSW, fag?"

"How the fuck did you know that?" asked Yoyo, amazed.

"Easy...he locked himself in his freezer in 2003 trying to commit suicide but forgot to switch it off first. Nobody missed him and it wasn't until they sent somebody round to repossess all his shit in 2343 for not paying his electric bill that he was found. That's him down in sick bay...he's a lousy doctor, an even lousier fuck but he works for free because nobody else wants him and this is the first job he's ever had, fag."

"Okay, but that doesn't solve the problem of my cock hungry ass". Whined Yoyo, starting to feel sorry for himself again.

"Well," said Captain Cock, "we could always go to Starbase Deep Throat 9 and look up a couple of my old friends...Captain Crisco and Queerk, the bartender."

"What about Captain Jean Luc Dickhard, Ensign Wesley Felcher and Geordi LaFag?" said Yoyo, really getting into the swing of things. "By the way, you didn't say "fag" just now."

"What the fuck are you talking about, bitch? There's no such people, now shut up and bring me a beer you faggy fag of a faggot."

Yoyo went and got the beer, he'd always liked being treated rough – perhaps that's why his ass was designated as an official truck stop.

The ASS GenderBenderprise minced its way to Deep Throat 9 but it was taking too long...Yoyo's cum reserves were dangerously low and, if he didn't get a hot beef injection soon, he was going to go crazy and felch everything in sight. As the only things in sight were the clone of a gay L.A. DJ and a suicidal Australian Gimp with manic depression and enough dick cheese to bring the French fromage industry to its knees – he didn't much relish his options.

"Shit," thought Yoyo..."there has to be a dimension where I can get my sphincter sundered by a guy who's hung like an elephant. Why does this crap happen to me all the time? Everyone fucks me over but nobody wants to fuck my ass."

"USE THE FORCE, YOUNG SHETLEY." Called out a disembodied voice.

"Arrrgggghhhh," said Yoyo..."I'm suffering cock withdrawal and now I'm hearing voices!"

"THE FORCE WILL BE STRONG UP YOU."

"Fuck off, leave me alone...I've told the FBI and Homeland Security about you. It's illegal to hack into my head and implant voices...you'll go to jail – I've taken a screendump of my alpha waves and that proves that you're just trying to scare me".

"SHUT UP GIMP AND USE THE FUCKING FORCE"

Suddenly...

Chapter 4
by Uterus on Toast

....the stirring sounds of a 1000 kazoo orchestra were heard, and opening credits began to roll....

Part IV - A New Grope

Long ago in a galaxy far away, Yoyo was dreaming wet and sticky dreams. Hordes of Klingons had infested his arse hairs and were using his shrivelled testicles for target practice, while no less than three Borg spheres were involved in a vain attempt to ass-immolate the Yomosexual's infected rectum. Yoyo giggled in his sleep as the conquerors rolled about in his glory hole like a trio of galactic beng-wah balls and was nearing a shuddering climax when a particularly ugly Klingon sank his teeth into Yoyo's scrotum. A sickening feeling feeling in his gut jerked Yoyo back to reality to discover space and time had folded yet again and he had crapped the equivalent of a planet-sized swamp out of his shitter. He was once more, quite alone.

"Aww, shit", sniffed Yoyo.

Shit indeed. As the yomosexual surveyed his foetid surroundings, he realised he was standing in a crappy quagmire of his own making. He suspected as much for not only had he suddenly lost a lot of weight, but he could see condoms and empty crisco bottles everywhere. In the distance, families of hamsters and gerbils he recognised from long ago were eyeing him warily lest he try a little anal insertion, while nearby a chipmunk he had used in a felching session on his last trip to Disneyland was amusing itself by scooping up turd patties and hurling them at him with unerring aim.

Yoyo also realised he was coated from head to toe in sloppy green shit.

"Worse it gets", he trilled in his delirium of madness, forgetting every grammatical rule ever fucked into him at grade school. "A man I want, Man I need, yes?"

"Splut". A particularly smelly hunk of Yomodung hit poor Yoyo square between the eyes. The chipmunk chattered and ran off. Suddenly, a fierce roar was heard from above. Yoyo, being as he was for the first time in his life completely void of shit, wet himself instead. What if that was the evil beast who had stalked him unseen though all his adventures making this dreadful noise? What would poor Yoyo do? What he always did in such situations of course. He cowered in abject fear while the roar increased in volume.

A large pink Bow-Tie fighter rocketed through the mists and crashed into the swamp, deluging Yoyo in more green shit and knocking him forcibly back into a pile of well used condoms. The roar stopped, bringing a sullen silence to the world, broken only by the sounds of sewerage gently lapping at Yoyo's feet. Suddenly, the half submerged fighter beeped out the chorus to "In The Navy" and a hatch on its side sprang open. Out pranced the most delectable sight Yomo had seen all day, clad in a sequined leather g-string and wielding an inflatable cocksaber festooned with twinkling christmas lights. Yoyo's breath was quite taken away (yes, he'd forgotten to breathe again). In imminent danger of asphyxiation, some warning signal deep in Yoyo's mind brought his attention back to basic survival skills. His choking and spluttering alerted the interloper to his presence.

"Hi", it said. "My name is Shittalker. What's yours you sexy beast?"

Yoyo couldn't believe his good fortune, or the size of Shittalker's cocksaber either for that matter. He coughed up a hunk of shit from off his cleft palette and spoke.

"Jedi master am I, yes. Make you strong and powerful I will, hmmm?"

"Sounds good", said Shittalker. "Will there be nookie?"

"Silly young Shittalker" giggled Yoyo, "What think you I mean? Nookie you want, Nookie you have, I think, yes?" as an R2D2 unit launched itself out of the fighter's hatch headfirst into the swamp, beeping angrily as it went. Shittalker minced over to Yoyo undoing his g-string as he advanced, but stopped short when he caught the pungent aroma wafting from the yomosexual fuckmuppet.

"You smell" he lisped.

"Smell bad I do, yes. Much better I bend over, young Shittalker" said Yoyo, seeing his chance slipping away like fresh turds down his calves after a particularly nasty curry.

"No, I don't think so" said Shittalker backing into the R2D2 unit which had since re-emerged from the swamp and was trundling about looking for a vantage point from which to hurl itself back in. "But Adam here will do the honours, wont you Adam?"

The R2D2 unit swivelled to look at Yoyo and various phallic appendages sprang from its flank, twirled rapidly and retreated with a loud clang. It's beeps and whistles adopted an alarmed undertone as it reversed back into the swamp with an evil "splut". Yoyo, mildly alarmed at the prospect of yet another day without sex, was nonetheless intrigued with the R2D2 unit (or more accurately its appendages, many of which surpassed his wildest crisco lubricated fantasies).

Shittalker noted Yoyo's interest. "Thats Adam, my state of the art R2D2 unit" he said, "equipped with internet capability and all the latest in marital aids".

Yoyo drooled. He didn't know what an internet capability was, but if it was anything like the bewildering array of dildoes and vibrators he'd just seen, he wanted a piece of it. A BIG piece. Repeatedly.

Shittalker, noticing Yoyo's interest in the R2D2 unit which was even now emerging warily from the swamp, seized his chance and made good his escape. Skipping down the path, inflatable cocksabre at the ready (just in case he bumped into any more yomosexuals) he suddenly stopped short as the sounds of flutes and mandolins assailed his earlobes.

"That's pretty" he breathed.

"Can you feel my gums, Tardmongooooo" sang an as yet unseen bard. "Can you feel them wrapped around your manmeat sucking you to meeeee...."

Shittalker was entranced. Anything who sang that well couldn't be evil, right? Adjusting his g-string and putting fresh batteries in his cocksaber, he pranced down the path, his anus tingling with anticipation as the singing grew louder.

"I was cumming in your hair last night, your hole was tight, Tardmongooooooo....."

The sound was closer now. Rounding a corner in the path Shittalker spied a man sporting a dirty sanchez and baseball cap with a small bulge in his hot pants deejaying to a party of sockpuppets. The sockpuppets themselves lay on the ground immobile as most normal sockpuppets do. In fact, had sockpuppets been imbued with mobility, these ones would have assuredly been hobbling off in search of seamstresses and washing machines. Some were more hole than sock, and all were starched beyond belief. Shittalker only had eyes for the deejay, who was currently segueing from one Abba song to the next.

"Ring, Ring, give me the juice of your nut" sang the deejay, his hand slipping into his shorts and tugging wildly at its meagre contents. "Ring, Ring, pound my bum like I'm a slut" he continued before he noticed Shittalker tugging on his nipple tassels.

"Oh hi", he said, tugging a crusty sockpuppet from his pants and tossing it on the pile. "I'm Analin Vader".

"Hi" said Shittalker. "Will you be my friend?"

"Sure thing" said Analin as he felt up Shittalker's crotch. "Where do you want it?"

"Right here will do fine" said Shittalker, undoing his g-string and draping himself provocatively across the mixing desk. Analin Vader grunted as he forced his two inches of erect throbbing manmeat between Shittalker's quivering thighs and went for the reacharound, smacking Shittalker's oblong head about with a penis-shaped microphone.

"Oh yeah" barked Analin. "Feel the power of the Dork Side. Who's your Daddy? WHO'S YOUR DADDY???"

Meanwhile back in the swamp, the ever hopeful Yoyo was putting the moves on Adam who had re-emerged from the swamp innumerable times, only to hurl itself back in at vain attempts of suicide. No matter how much Yoyo pleaded, the recalcitrant R2D2 unit with the vibrating attatchments seemed to prefer the repidly congealing fecal matter to Yoyo's ample shitter. Which was not after all so surprising, as the yomosexual fuckmuppet was at this point cutting a particularly terrifying figure, a wildly slavering hairy turd on legs with an ever growing army of flies in attendance. Not even a mother could love it.

Finally, exhausted, Yoyo sat down and began to weep. Oklahoma City had never looked so good - at least it had plenty of drunken men and a fire hydrant on each street corner. Yoyo would have done just about anything for 5 minutes with a fire hydrant to fill his crack with. "Even sleep with a woman" blubbed the abject yomosexual, as behind him Adam finally slammed into a particularly solid and evil smelling turd and fell forever silent.

Will Yoyo forsake the primitive swamps for the fresh fields of Endor for tea, crumpets and Nookie with the lovable Ewoks, or will he merely be transported to midwestern america to be digitally pack-raped by the glowing fingers of an army of stranded ET's hell bent on dialling home on his ring? Will Shittalker discover Analin Vader is indeed his father and turn to the Dork Side? Will ANY of us be able to contain ourselves for the next extremely gay instalment of "Yoyo - Lord of the Ringpiece"???

Tune in next week and find out...
Holy chit!!!
Check this nigger out, cries how we’re beneath him and then expects us to read his novel no sir not me garitty dickens
 
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I would push people only because they're stupid and worthless. Like a farmer putting down vermin.
Worthless? That’s a hoot coming from a fool, who changed her gender, is stuck without a passport, who poops in a ditch, and depends on jumper cables. You not putting anyone down DD. Youre hopelessly confined. Like being in jail.
 
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Worthless? That’s a hoot coming from a fool, who changed her gender, is stuck without a passport, who poops in a ditch, and depends on jumper cables. You not putting anyone down DD. Youre hopelessly confined. Like being in jail.
Did you finally get your ankle monitor removed?
 

Garraty_47

Have Coffee Will Shitpoast
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cries how we’re beneath him

Citation needed.

and then expects us to read his novel

I only contributed one of those 4 chapters, actually, and it was Aryan asking who was Yoyo so that poast wasn't even for you anyway. But don't let that stop you from having a good whinge... I know how much you and a few others really enjoy those.