MB's hermitage: trespassers snuggled by mincingbeast

[mincingbeast minces into troll country, plants a crudely hand drawn flag]

i hereby claim this land on behalf of the devil, who is in hell.

[i was posted in troll country, born in troll country, not an immigrant to troll country. i am native]

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Friday, April 2, 2010 10:28 AM

i am the tyrant of troll country, and its only current inhabitant. i sit on a throne of lulz and skulls. i am solipsism, in skin--everything i see becomes me. contradict me, so there may be two of us!

[huffs gasoline from thermos]

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Friday, April 2, 2010 6:06 PM

KWICKO

"We'll know our disinformation program is complete when everything the American public believes is false." -- William Casey, Reagan's presidential campaign manager & CIA Director (from first staff meeting in 1981)

Yes, you are king of the trolls.

Who is this "satan" person of whom you speak? He seems every bit as imaginary as that "god" dolt that others drone on about... and just about as useless and powerless.

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Monday, April 5, 2010 11:00 AM

tyrant of trolls, not king, Kwicko. on your knees, knave.

Satan is not an imaginary figure, but rather the source of all that is rad in the world. Granted, I had to construct him out of left-over bits of my id, and anxieties, but he is rad, red, and reigns in California.

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Monday, April 5, 2010 11:00 AM

[huffs more gasoline from thermos]

all hail the fail

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Monday, April 5, 2010 4:50 PM

troll country is a blasted land where nothing grows. the sun never shines here, which is a mercy, for this land could not withstand the light of day. only the devil himself knows what would be revealed. so i sit in my throne, in darkness and poison, picking my nose aimlessly.

i am out of gasoline to huff.

[sniffs magic marker]

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Tuesday, April 6, 2010 7:13 AM

troll country is a blasted land, in part because there are no toilets. by decree of the devil himself, who is in hell, urinating in a toilet is an offense punishable by death. hence, the residents of troll country piss on the ground, on the wall, in sinks, on rocks, in trash cans, and in their pants, but never in a toilet.

i am the only resident of troll country.

it is a strong smelling country.

i sit in a puddle of piss, ony my throne of bones, and pack PCP into a lightbulb.

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Thursday, April 8, 2010 1:54 PM

uneasy is the head that wears the crown, or so i have heard. my head is easy, my crown a halo of barbed wire and flies.

there are other trolls, to be sure, but they are smaller than i, and less trollish. they are tasty. if there were to dare show their face in troll country, i would surely devour them. out of habit, not hunger, because the PCP has taken the edge of my gut.

alas, that there are no worlds left to conquer.

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Thursday, April 8, 2010 2:24 PM

PIZMOBEACH

... fully loaded, safety off...

*golf clap*

Scifi movie music + Firefly dialogue clips, 24 hours a day - http://www.scifiradio.com

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Friday, April 9, 2010 6:05 AM

PIRATENEWS

John Lee, conspiracy therapist at Hollywood award-winner History Channel-mocked SNL-spoofed PirateNew.org wooHOO!!!!!!

Quote:
Originally posted by mincingbeast:

Satan is not an imaginary figure, but rather the source of all that is rad in the world. Granted, I had to construct him out of left-over bits of my id, and anxieties, but he is rad, red, and reigns in California.

All presidents bow to Satan in Full Monte Rio California
www.google.com/search?gbv=2&hl=en&q=bohemian+grove

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Monday, April 12, 2010 9:47 AM

it is raining today in troll country; verily, the very clouds weep at my reign, and my puns, which if you must point out, suck, but that is the point.

this rain is not a cleansing rain; it is full of acid, industrial waste, and fail. it does not rinse the filth of troll country, but rather moistens the urine, debris, and PCP that I spilled everywhere. it all mixes together into a noxious stew that only a troll could love.

in honor of the foul weather, i am drafting laws. "the law of the hot potato": he who hath the VD, and spreadeth the VD, no longer hath the VD. by my proclamation, this law shall be written in blood, and clap drippings, in the sky.

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Monday, April 12, 2010 10:55 AM

i hereby declare the national dish of troll country baked beans eaten cold out of a tin can. actually, that is the national desert. the national dish is canibalzied troll.

the traditional dress of troll country is hobo-couture.

the geography of troll country is very flat. there is not a single square inch of troll country that is not either under a bridge, or next to rail road tracks.

i hereby declare a tax upon troll country: boogers.

i am the only resident of troll country.

i eat my boogers in silence, because taxes are the price we pay for anti-civilization.

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Thursday, April 15, 2010 12:58 PM

To pwn, or not to pwn, that is the question? Whether 'tis nobler to...ah hell, to pwn!
self-pwned.

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Friday, April 16, 2010 10:57 AM

the plague has struck troll country! the bowels of trolls everywhere are loose. there is only here, however, and only me.

i am not one to let a good plague go to waste.

i drank a gallon of vinegar, and stuffed myself full of pickled pig's feet and rotting vegetables. i sock myself in the gut, repeatedly, giggling, preparing for what? i cannot say.

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Friday, April 16, 2010 11:21 AM

CHRISISALL

Strang and terrible beast, you have found your home.

The laughing Chrisisall

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Thursday, April 22, 2010 10:58 AM

I am not only the tyrant, and sole resident of troll country. I am troll country and I carry troll country with me. For example, Montgomery, Alabama, was until very recently not troll country. Now, the land is stained with piss and littered with broken glass, and plumes of PCP smoke trail to the heavens like writhing middle-fingers. Soon, Montgomery will be reduced to its former status of ordinary Southern shithole, and troll country will be elsewhere.

I leave a trail of fail in my wake.

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Monday, April 26, 2010 4:08 AM

i will myself out of existence; excise myself with focused loathing. i'm not here anymore.

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Tuesday, April 27, 2010 8:58 AM

egads, i'm still here, and by "egads" I do not mean "ye gods", but rather, "shit."

i suppose there is nothing to do but pass the time before i die with senseless violence and desperate celebration.

(drinks anti-freeze martini)

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Thursday, April 29, 2010 6:20 AM

i hate the universe even more than normal today, and resolve to spend the day trying to douse the sun's flames with piss.

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Thursday, April 29, 2010 8:26 AM

i cannot reach. alas.

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Tuesday, May 4, 2010 6:32 PM

I wish to die, and to visit Paris. I am not Madame Bovary, however. Woe is me, alas and alack.

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Thursday, May 6, 2010 12:45 PM

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Thursday, May 6, 2010 1:14 PM

KWICKO

Quote:
Originally posted by mincingbeast:
I wish to die, and to visit Paris.

Preferably not in that order.

I considered suicide on Friday night, but then didn't know what I'd do with the rest of the weekend...

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Friday, May 7, 2010 10:14 AM

It is not order I desire, but rather incompatible absolutes. And awful literary allusions.

And also, illegal drugs.

Senseless violence, too.

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Friday, May 7, 2010 10:21 AM

KWICKO

Ah, youth!

Sounds like a pretty good weekend in Vegas. Oooh - they have a tres outre kitschy kopy of the Eiffel (Awfful?) Tower there, too!

I'm sensing road trip!

Mike

"I supported Bush in 2000 and 2004 and intellegence [sic] had very little to do with that decision." - Hero, Real World Event Discussions

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Friday, May 14, 2010 7:45 AM

Quote:
Originally posted by mincingbeast:
It is not order I desire, but rather incompatible absolutes. And awful literary allusions.

And also, illegal drugs.

Senseless violence, too.

(Megatron) *Soundwave, we are nearing the area known as Troll country, blanket their communicatiuons, so The Fallen can whipe these pathetic insects of this land.*

(Soundwave) *Soundwave acknowledges.*

-In Troll country-
It's a nice day, nice as it can get when people are being tortured, and Mincingbeast is communicating with the Devil, when, his $1 walkie talkie shuts down. BOOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(Megatron) "Puny trolls, i am Megatron, servant to The Fallen, your NEW master."

A ships crashes, and a figure steps out of the smoke, a figure, with glowing red-gold eyes.

"Mom, he has her chip. He has her."
John Connor,"Born To Run", TSCC EP 2x22

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Tuesday, May 18, 2010 11:22 AM

transformers are not welcome in troll country. in fact, no robots are welcome in troll country--not even sexbots. furthermore, nothing is welcome in troll country. do not let the piles of trash and bones, or the puddles of urine fool you: this is not a hospitable place.

if Megatron were to show his face in troll country, he would be sodomized (in his tail pipe), and then pimped out to Go-Bots for drug money.

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Tuesday, May 18, 2010 11:42 AM

The following is a traditional story of Troll Country, once upon posted in a He-Man Forum. Tear out your eyes before you read it: don't read it. Die.

Merman and Beastman were waiting for He-man. They had been waiting a long time. And before the waiting, it had taken even longer to agree on a place to wait.

“Somewhere under water!” gurgled Merman.
“In the jungle!” snorted Beastman.

At first it seemed no compromise could be reached, because not even Skeletor knew where there was an underwater jungle. But then Skeletor told them to ambush He-Man in the swamp, and if there was one thing that they could agree on, it was whatever Skeletor said. So they had been waiting in the swamp for a long time. What would Skeletor say about that?

“This is the part of the ambush that I hate” said Merman, “I like the part when I get to summon the creatures of the sea, and fight with my trident. But I hate this part.” He fidgeted with his trident, as much as his cramped position hidden behind the log would allow.

“Patience!” counseled Beastman. “A hunter knows patience.”

Five minutes of mosquito bites and fetid swamp water later, Beastman said “I hate He-Man.”

Skeletor had foreseen that He-Man would probably not be visiting the swamp any time soon, which was fatal to the plan of ambushing him there. Skeletor corrected for this flaw with a bit of cunning.

“Press this button when you’re in the swamp”, Skeletor had instructed, “and He-Man will think that there are people in need in the swamp…but he will be wrong!” And then Skeletor had laughed, and so Merman and Beastman had laughed, too.

“You probably pushed the button wrong” snapped Merman in the swamp. “Give it to me, and let me push it.”

“I already pushed it!” snarled Beastman.
There had been great disagreement over who would press the button to lure He-Man to his doom. Skeletor never specified who was to have the honor.

“Skeletor intended that I send the false distress call!” shouted Merman.

“Only I am close enough to the master to press the button!” growled Beastman.

They struggled over it, and at length Beastman came away with the device, and ran off pushing the button repeatedly while staring over his shoulder as Merman pursued him. This was shortly before they assumed their positions for the ambush, and much, much earlier. They had been waiting a long time.

“He-Man is not here yet! The false distress signal is not working.” Merman said.

“I can see!” countered Beastman.

“Then push the button again!” snapped Merman, standing up from his hiding spot and stretching.

“I hate you, and am going to sodomize you” said Beastman.

In less time than it takes to relate, Beastman
had Merman’s shorts down, his face on the ground, and his bare scaly ass in the air. As masterful as he was in positioning Merman, Beastman had trouble with his own loincloth, and when he finally triumphed over it, the wiener that plopped out was distinctly small, orange and limp—and totally disinterested in anything that was happening in the swamp.

“Oh my god what the fuck!” Merman explained.
“I am going to fuck you in the butt as soon as I get a boner!” Beastman roared into Merman’s ear. His breath tickled Merman’s neck. Merman struggled to escape, and Beastman struggled to achieve a boner.

Maybe it was Merman’s nerves, or maybe it was the situation, or maybe it was the fact that Beastman couldn’t get a boner, but Merman got a boner. He tried to hide his boner, but Beastman saw it, and then Beastman got a boner, too. Beastman cackled malevolently.

“And now for sodomy!”

“No sodomy!” Merman cried. Merman no longer had a boner.

And then there was sodomy! Beastman enjoyed it very much, but not for gay reasons, and Merman disliked it very much.

“I’ve got AIDS!” Beastman howled at the height of his enjoyment.

“Now you’ve got aids!” Beastman laughed as he pulled his wiener out of Merman’s butthole with a sickening pop.

Merman leaked DNA and shit from his butthole; some was his, some was only recently his, and some was possibly infected with AIDS. He rolled around in the swamp, and his cries startled a flock of swamp birds, who took flight.

“Ow! I have AIDS!”

“Beastman AIDS!” said Beastman with satisfaction.

“I have Beastman AIDS!” Merman agreed.
Beastman readjusted his loin cloth, and sat down on the log. He was very quiet. A far-away look swept over his face. He sighed. The flock of startled swamp birds doubled back, and flew over Merman.

“My butthole!” cried Merman. A bird shat, and it fell directly into Merman’s open, wailing mouth.

“BLECH!” gasped Merman.
Beastman felt very lonely. He wondered what Skeletor was doing, for totally gay reasons, and sighed again.

He-Man arrived, to find Merman weeping and spitting and holding his hands over his ass, and Beastman lost in melancholy and plucking the petals off of a swamp flower.

“Aha! I have found the source of the distress signal!” proclaimed He-Man.

“But what is this?” He-Man could not comprehend what he was looking at.

Beastman, startled from his reverie, howled and reached for his whip, but he was too slow. In the blink of an eye, He-Man cut Beastman’s arm off at the elbow. It splashed into the swamp, followed by torrents of blood that immediately arced from the stump.

“Fuck!” screamed Beastman. If it was true that Beastman had AIDS, then he was spraying AIDS all over the swamp.

“Fuck!” screamed He-Man. This was the first time, as far as He-Man knew, that the Sword of Grayskull had been used to cut anything, or at least anything that bled and screamed and sprayed AIDS. He-Man dropped the Sword of Grayskull, and then dropped to his knees, and then barfed. Meanwhile, Beastman staggered backwards while waving his brand new stump, tripped over the log, and fell head first into the swamp.

“My butthole!” screamed Merman.

“Fuck!” howled Beastman.

“BLARRRGGGHHHHHH” went He-Man.

For a moment, there was silence in the swamp. He-Man stood up and sighed.

“I’m sorry,” said He-Man tearfully, picking his sword back up, “and you must believe me…I honestly had no idea that that would happen.”

“My fucking arm…where’s my fucking arm” gnashed Beastman. He had lost a lot of blood, but was not done bleeding yet.

“I’m sorry” cried He-Man. “Let me…let me get your arm for you”

“My butthole…AIDS…” wailed Merman, as Beastman’s arm floated by him on the surface of the swamp.

“I’m sorry?” repeated He-Man.

“I’m glad! I’m glad I fucked your butthole!” roared Beastman, gesturing at Merman with his remaining hand. But then he remembered his missing arm, and screamed, and his eyes said that he didn’t really feel that glad after all, even if he had sodomized Merman, whom he hated.

“I hate you!” cried Merman.

“You did what?” said He-Man.

“He gave me AIDS” wailed Merman. “In my butthole!”

“With sodomy.” Beastman nodded proudly.

“Faggot!” shouted He-Man, and he cut Beastman’s head clean off his shoulders with a single sword stroke. Beastman’s body, an AIDS fountain, collapsed into the swamp, and the head landed several feet away.

He-Man’s dick was suddenly hard.

“What have I done?” wondered He-Man.

THE END

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Wednesday, May 19, 2010 7:21 AM

it is dark at noon in troll country, where the rivers run with AIDs.

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Tuesday, May 25, 2010 7:41 AM

Troll country is a ghetto; Troll country is Ultima Thule. Welcome to my self imposed exile, but don't tarry long, because I'm high on PCP and hate, and not to be trusted.

Troll country is a traditional Jewish ghetto, and a pox upon the cocks of those who appropriate my ancient stigma to celebrate their urban debasement.

By decree, everything with a mouth must eat shit from the stomach of a dead dog.

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Friday, May 28, 2010 6:17 AM

Quote:
Originally posted by mincingbeast:
Troll country is a ghetto; Troll country is Ultima Thule. Welcome to my self imposed exile, but don't tarry long, because I'm high on PCP and hate, and not to be trusted.

Troll country is a traditional Jewish ghetto, and a pox upon the cocks of those who appropriate my ancient stigma to celebrate their urban debasement.

By decree, everything with a mouth must eat shit from the stomach of a dead dog.

"INKS VERHEUERMATTER ZUM LALALA!!!!!!!!!!"
"ATTACKA ZIE IDIOTEN MINCINGBEAST MIT DER PANZERFAUST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!'

BOOM!!!!!!!!!!!

"Mom, he has her chip. He has her."
John Connor,"Born To Run", TSCC EP 2x22

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Friday, May 28, 2010 6:45 AM

He-Man rules Troll Country by default. He-Man reads He-Man/Liono slash, and composes poems with jizz and poison. I am his steward, and I watch over this blasted land on his behalf. He-Man is one of the Devil's names, and everytime you say the words, a demon shits in the lungs of a sinner, and wipes its red ass with their tongue.

I wish I were lonelier.

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Thursday, June 3, 2010 12:01 PM

NOW I see what you're doing when you're not updating your fics... *tuts disapprovingly*

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Saturday, June 5, 2010 11:32 AM

*aliasse appears on horizon with Orc-like horde. Stops on small ash hill and gazes at troll country. Loses interest. Goes shopping. 'What a lovely red jumpsuit!'*

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Monday, June 7, 2010 6:36 AM

Troll country needs no walls; nothing enters troll country, because no one gives a damn about troll country. Apathy is the strongest shield.

Troll country needs walls, to keep its only resident in residence.

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Monday, June 7, 2010 11:54 AM

Is troll country also resistant to capitalism?

I think NOT!

*aliasse toys with idea of opening small boutique in troll country selling chic but comfortable jumpsuits etc.*

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Tuesday, June 8, 2010 6:36 AM

There is nothing for sale in Troll country. There is no demand for anything in troll country but PCP, and no supply of anything but debris, filth and rot. Nothing grows in troll country but lice and despair, and the ubiquitous puddles of urine. Nobody works in troll country, because there is nobody in troll country. The pensions are, however, high, and paid out in bruises and drugs.

Troll country is highly regulated. By decree of the devil, who farts blood in hell, everything must be broken to exacting specifications. Ruin is the rule.

The currency of Troll country is the booger, and taxes are high. Troll country is not a hospitable business climate.

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Tuesday, June 8, 2010 10:37 AM

The national costume of Troll country was once a soiled diaper and nicotine stained Ben Sherman sweater. No longer. It is now a soiled jumpsuit, or simple, ghastly nudity.

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Wednesday, June 9, 2010 10:35 PM

I hope you don't mind me asking, but is death your only friend?

http://www.asos.com/Antik-Batik/Antik-Batik-Cotton-Jumpsuit/Prod/pgepr
oduct.aspx?iid=900336

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Thursday, June 10, 2010 10:56 AM

There are no friends in Troll country. Friendship is an abstraction.

Once, Death and I were friends, boon companions, chums, mates. We had slumber parties, did eachother's hair, and shared our secrets. However, Death borrowed some money from me, and has avoided me ever since. I imagine we'll reconcile, eventually, but for the time being are not on speaking terms.

It is difficult finding a jump suit that fits, but it does not matter if clothing fits when it is soiled and covered in burns.

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Saturday, June 12, 2010 11:40 AM

It's funny you say that, but when I last spoke to death there was mention of you having used his deodorant without asking.

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Wednesday, June 16, 2010 9:17 AM

Mincingbeast LOVES He-Man, much like Pee-Wee Herman LOVED those movies.

"Mom, he has her chip. He has her."
John Connor,"Born To Run", TSCC EP 2x22

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Thursday, June 17, 2010 7:44 AM

Nothing is like anything in Troll country, but everything is fail. There are no analogies, only anal, and only in the context of robots.

It is better to apologize than ask for permission. For example, it is better to say "Death, forgive me for using your deodorant on my butthole, but I didn't want to ruin my own" than "Death may I use your deodorant on my butthole, please?"

It is better to not be. I live for the brief moments of blankness huffing gasoline provides, but also return to my senses, with fumes in my nose, and puke in my mouth. I die gradually.

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Sunday, June 27, 2010 6:57 PM

Behold me, Bananard, Tyrant of Troll Country, rat/pirate/banana!

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Monday, June 28, 2010 11:08 AM

That's very poetic! (I mean the June 17 post.)

Deny it.

Also, why would you want to use a deodorant on your bottom? Specifically on that particular part?

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Monday, June 28, 2010 6:56 PM

I'm caught two incompatible reflexes. The first is to always deny the charge of "poetic." The second is to always be contrary, and never do as I am told. For example, I could be in a public restroom, preparing to pee in the sink after holding it for hours, and if someone were to say "Hey, you should pee" I would resolve not to. I will solve this dilemma the way I solve everything: denial.

As far as your second question, well, the answer is self-evident, isn't it? Hygiene.

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Wednesday, June 30, 2010 9:33 AM

Also, I have just noticed and sort of enjoyed your Merman/Beastman story. It reminded me of Waiting for Godot, up until the sex bits, which were nasty.

Did you write it at work?

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Wednesday, June 30, 2010 11:46 AM

Nobody enjoys Merman/Beastman, not even sort of, unless they are a Troll. It was not written so much as designed. Designed to induce vomiting and retroactively ruin childhoods. Troll country is not content to pollute the present and future--it aspires to befoul the past, as well.

But anyway, if it was written, it was written in about 15 minutes, when I was supposed to be doing more productive, less noxious things.

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Wednesday, June 30, 2010 12:01 PM

if the sun forgets to shine, I will burn piles of trash in the night. should the sun dare to shine, i will remind it that it is burning out and fading.

should my pcp choose to spill, i will lick it up off the pavement (there is no ground but pavement in troll country, no soil, though everything is soiled).

these are contingencies.

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Monday, August 30, 2010 1:11 PM