Grudge Match

I want to see a grudge match between these two. Yes, the Gorn is an alien being with superior strength, but Humungus is a battle-hardened post-ill-defined-apocalypse warrior with a tolerant attitude toward alternate lifestyles.



Besides the Gorn was once beaten in hand-to-hand combat by William Shatner…an admitted Canadian!

My money’s on the bondage freak with the big gun.

Matt Yglesias: Forever Alone

Needz Moar Labelz

In case you need it

A Quick Programming Note

All existing and future Warty Hugeman stories will be henceforth available at The Warty Hugeman blog.

The Ripper Paranundrum: A Warty Hugeman Time Travel Adventure

Warty Hugeman hated Victorian England. There was soot everywhere, the whores were particularly scabby, and the whole place smelled like disemboweled horse. But this is where his prey was to be found, and Warty Hugeman always got his man. Or woman. Or sexually ambiguous alien.

“Where the hell is he?” Warty muttered to himself. This was the most thoroughly documented murder by Jack the Ripper and Warty meant to have him. He already had a place in the Menagerie picked out, right between Peter Kürten, The Vampire of Düsseldorf, and Jurgen Metzler, The Mad Butcher of Milwaukee. Ed Gein was once housed in the case, but Warty had gotten sick of his constant demands for salted vulvas and let him loose in Hitler’s bunker, after he watched Warty take Eva Braun’s anal virginity. Hitler’s bunker was such a time travel cliché, Warty hoped Gein would kill some of his rivals. The Forstock twins kept going back the day before he stole Charlemagne’s crown and stealing it first. He’d also seen those little bald fuckers sulking around Golgotha as well. Poseurs. He’d seen the Jew die a hundred times before they were even born, or would have been born if he hadn’t kicked their mother to death. They were loose in the timestream now. If they ever returned to their place in the skein, they’d dissolve into fetal goo in seconds, erased from history. Warty had masturbated into a supervolcano on Pangea after that victory, his manly juices steaming into the primordial sky.

Warty saw movement in the alley across from his vantage point. Pressure on his right incisor activated his infrared implant. The figure that was revealed was huge, tall and broad. It stepped out into the feeble gaslight. It was himself. Warty waved himself over. He was taller and more muscular. An biomechanical webbing covered most of his face.

“What are you doing here?” Warty asked himself.

“You don’t get him on the first try,” himself said to he. “I’m going to make sure you do it right this time.”

“What went wrong last time?”

“I distracted you, but that’s not going to happen his time.”

And even larger figure stepped up behind him. Warty went down in a defensive crouch as a large silvered hand dropped on Warty’s shoulder.

“Yes, you do distract him,” Warty said to hisselves. He was covered in a silver coating from head to toe. He looked like an enormous, monstrously sexy mannequin.

“So when should I not be distracted?” Warty asked Warty.

“In about three Earth minutes,” Warty said.

“So, um, how’s it going?” Warty asked.

“I can’t tell you, you know that,” they said, slightly out of sync like a cheap stereo.

Warty sized up the two. “Do I just keep getting bigger and bigger? Cause you are huge, dude.”

“Yes,” they both said.

“So I’m definitely going to get him, right? You two cancel each other out?” Warty asked the Warties.

Before they could answer, a gigantic shadow detached itself from the gloom of the alley and towered over them. “No,” it said. “They both distract you when they start making out.”

“Well, that’s just fucking great.” Warty couldn’t even make out the Warty swaddled in light-swallowing black, but he could hear his breathing, rumbling like distant thunder. How much bigger can I get, he thought? A small surge of blood flooded his penis. The giant shadow laughed knowingly.

“OK, here he comes,” said one of the Warties. Warty could see a lithe figure coming toward them. The familiar cape, the doctor’s bag, a flash of white teeth.

“Get him!” Warty yelled. He tackled the figure and they wrestled briefly. Jack the Ripper was nothing to rippling bulk of the smallest Warty. The others cheered him on.

Warty ripped away the hood of the subdued figure. It was his face, sickly, thin and grooved with pain.

“I came back to stop you,” wheezed the small Warty. “You cannot take Jack The Ripper from the timestream! Dire events unfold from this night. Dire!” He coughed feebly.

Warty stood up and brushed the Victorian filth from his elegant clothes. He backed away from the assembled Warties.

“You know what? Fuck this shit, I’m going home.” He flashed out of existence as the others ran toward him.

THE END

Why Aren't There More Women Libertarians?

Maybe because this is the experience of most women in libertarian settings:

I propose we recruit more women who like having hot dogs thrown in their face.

The Horror in Whoresmouth

There came a dread knock on the door. A monstrous slithering could be heard beyond, the writhing of eldritch snakes brought forth from an older world. I was compelled to open it, forced by the flow of my patrician blood to know the face of horror.

I flung the door open in defiance of my dark fate. There stood two of the most beautiful creature human eyes had ever glimpsed. Their tresses were an otherworldy blonde, like savages of the frozen north, and their teats were as bounteous as a Negro wet-nurse.

Their immodest dress made me forget the usual treacheries the weaker races indulge in and I rushed to embrace them. They held me in place with just their eyes, some terrible force emanating from their eyes, eyes a color that no human can describe.

I know you must receive missives such as this with depressing frequency, but my experiences must be known and shared with the fragile world at large. They did soil me and exact terror upon my soul and loins.

Idea for a Lovecraft letter to Penthouse from BakedPenguin

Such Pleasures

Barry made the final turn of the puzzle box and then clicked it into place. Wind began blowing trash around the filthy apartment as the rift in reality tore open. He had been working on the box for weeks, feverishly trying to solve it before the mid-term elections. "Lame duck," he thought. "Let’s see how lame they think I am when I drag them all to sex-hell."

A figure appeared from the endless storm of chaos on the other side, walking slowly toward him. The far-off clanking of a million-million chains could be heard over the howling of wind coming through the portal. Barry was naked, the device encasing his erection painfully tight. He shielded his eyes from the blowing dust, holding out the box with the other hand. An offering if they demanded it, an apology if he needed it. The wizened oriental that sold him the box said it contained pleasures beyond anything the human body could withstand. And pain so delicious that the distinction between the two was meaningless.

The figure finally stepped through into our world and the rift sealed itself with a roar of shattering glass. As Berry cowered from the sound, the box was ripped from his hand. He saw her then, silver hair standing out in a shocked nimbus, wearing a suit of creaking black leather made from no Earthly beast. The hell Barry summoned was an ancient white woman, indistinct in the gloom.

“You solved the box and I have come,” she intoned. She held a hand out to Barry; the flesh was slack and wrinkled. Barry’s eyes adjusted enough to see that the palm was that familiar inverted V, and a swollen clitoris pulsed at the base of her thumb. He looked up and her face and neck were the same, all her exposed flesh was knotted and folded into labia of different sizes. The odor overwhelmed him, the sharp reek of two dozen exposed hell-cooters.

“Come with me,” she said, her voice a thousand screams of ecstasy and terror.

“But I can’t just go. I’m the President. I wanted to bring hell here. I was doing pretty well on my own, but you know how it is…”

“Silence. You opened the box. You summoned me here.” She ripped open her outfit, revealing hundreds more writhing, seeping labia, and two gaping assholes in place of nipples. “Now it is time for you to know all the pleasures of the flesh.”

Barry squinted in the gloom. “Kathleen? Is that you?” he asked?

“No. I am an… explorer of the farthest regions of pain and pleasure. Cabinet secretaries to some, demons to others.”

“Seriously, is that you Kathleen? Because, you know, except for all the, you know, all over you look just like Kathleen.” Barry’s fear drained out of him and he rocked back on his heels.

“Mind if I turn on this lamp?” he asked.

“No!” she screamed, flames leaping from her glowing eyes. “I’m here to take you to hell!” Chains shot from the corners of the room and wrapped themselves around Barry like ice cold snakes.

“Neat! How’d you do that, Kathleen? Can you show me?” Barry was raised off the floor.

“You shall drown in an endless ocean of night!”

“OK, Kathy. I guess I can spare a few hours. I sure hope this night job as a demon whore isn’t interfering with your other duties.”

Kathleen’s scream of rage stripped the flesh from his bones.