Mikhail_S's profile

Spinning the ionic womanoid around, then backflipping her onto the sexpod, I picked up a signal. Saturn FM. She crackled. I ripped off her aluminium corset, exposing her sonic nipple-knobs, which I twiddled until I arrived at our station of choice: Filthwaves 101.8. “There’s a high-pitched frequency, oozing from my speakers, waiting to galvanise you with a sound massage…” The sleazebot narrated his panting tales of robotica as I adjusted my bivalves for sensual dockin...

The last time I googled ‘vagina’ I was a radiographer at Stetson College. I had been aware of such a concept as the vagina for some months, and sought to explore in more liquid terms what this ‘sexual organ’ entailed, and whether I would find them exciting or not. I was named ‘John’ then. I am not named ‘John’ now. I compiled the following list for research purposes: 1. Vagina. 2. Vagina. 3. Vagina. 4. Vagina. 5. Vagina Refreshing the list, I de...

Thirty minutes (aeroplane). Ten minutes (anti-aircraft carrier). Five minutes. The indubitable womb bomb… ticking darkly. From a hot air balloon, attached to the spindly marionette of Oprah Winfrey sits the shrapnel bowling ball, awaiting explosion. Around this grotesque airborne destructor, a pack of suicidal Newmericans dance, swinging and swerving. “Cut apart this trenchant culture! Tear to bits this slavering dog of dead chat show hegemony!” Their protests? The world s...

1. Inside the brain of John McCain. A small neurotransmitter, christened Gogolline (shortened to Goggy) listens to the drivel leaking from the derelict medulla oblongata, positioned three decimal places from the last transmission received (June 1943). In the glaze of the thought-bedroom, a monstrous Sarah Palin, with thighs expanded, lurches down to fondle the semi-oxidised antimatter drummer child (whose thirst was quenched sometime before WWII). 2. Upon a blue beach. The gluttons, untuckin...

Tonite, America lies spread-eagled, cocking its head back and peeping into the slant-skewed Yoni of creation. The Yoni is a fickle destructor. Her domain is insolvent, incalculable. From its rueful slopes, gunks of peasantry form paper-thin armies. Juices of intelligence coalesce into bottomless puddles. Regret wears Factor 45 sunscreen, hoping to avoid the rise of the Stinkhorn. Adam, a Jew. Eve, a Muslim. Simon…? Over a muslin cloud, through a sepulchral haze of carrots and bacchanal...