Introducing the Carnival of the Arisen & Illuminated

Welcome to the first edition of the Carnival of the Arisen & Illuminated. This Carnival is dedicated to highlighting the snazziest in web doings among those who hold to the Cult of Eris and the Church of the Subgenius.

World Takeover
Its well known that Christianity stole all of its holidays from other, groovier religions. Here’s one way to take Easter back, by Plastic Dan of the Discord Society. Of course, just because a religion is groovier that Christianity doesn’t mean its not pretty damned pink itself, as shown here in the tiresome Pagan Authoritarianism documented by Cain of the Popular Front of Discordia.

News You Can Use
If you’re not reading the High Weirdness Project, you should be. The Reverend Modemac has his finger on the pulse of news in the key of Whiskey Tango Foxtrot. Some of the more interesting tidbits include Noah’s Ark on the Moon, why NPR’s days are numbered, how rival cults stack up on the issue of sex, that the GoDaddy ISP is a statist shill, as is the UN (big surprise), and our reality increasingly resembles a hack dystopia.

Artistic Expression
Discordians and Subgenii are an artistic bunch. Sometimes its found art, sometimes its audio art, sometimes its performance art, and sometimes its a big ol’ happening.

So, that’s the first edition of the Carnival of the Arisen & Illuminated. If you would like to be featured in the next edition next week, please let me know.

Free Popcorn!

Brought to my attention by the Appalachian Scribe….

Legendary mountain moonshiner Marvin “Popcorn” Sutton has been arrested.

ATF Agent Gregory E. Moore wrote in a federal complaint unsealed Friday that an undercover agent has in less than two months bought from Sutton some 300 gallons of the untaxed liquor and was poised to buy another 500 gallons in a single transaction. Authorities instead opted to raid Sutton’s three properties, including a barn and an old school bus he allegedly used to store his ’shine, Moore wrote.”

Now, some libertarians might go off on a rant here about how this sort of the thing shouldn’t be a priority of the ATF. Well, that’s wrong. This is one of the main reasons the ATF was created. It is the ATF, its very existence, that is wrong. Well, I can tell you one thing. in the Blue Ridge Autonomous Zone there would be none of this punitive and moralistic taxing nonsense.

This town is just so cool, but…..

…how do you afford your Ashevillian lifestyle?

Yes, that is how I’m spelling it, thank you very much.

So we had a Mardi Gras parade in town last Tuesday. I didn’t go, because I have a 9-to-5 job that is sucking the lifeforce right out of me and slowly driving me insane. I’m working on that.
The master plan for the the TV show is to get sponsors, enough so that I can live off the sponsorships. So, if anyone out there would like to have their product, service, or organization promoted on cable television, let me know.
One of the things really pissing me off lately is this prostitution crackdown by the local police. The mugshots of those arrested for solicitation or prostitution are now publically available online at the APB website and on channel 11. The comments on the various Asheville blogs about this have been varied, but uniformily depressing. Some puritan bluenoses welcome this, some see relatively minor (to my mind) civil rights issues with publically shaming those who haven’t been convicted. The consensus seems to be that as long as only the “whores” and “lowlifes” get punished, and the decent people are left alone, this sort of thing is fine.

FUCK THAT. And fuck decent people, while you’re at it.

Prostitution should not be illegal. It should not be condemned by society. The women and men who engage in this ancient and honorable profession should not be subject to the scorn of those who engage in more boring trades, and they should not be such easy targets for any random psycho who wnats to get his homicidal jollies off.
Possessing the talent and skill to engage in such a deeply pleasurable activity, one that is so integral to the human experience, so well as to be paid for it should be celebrated. Sex pros should have the same status as violinists and chefs. Virtually all the “problems” with this profession would disappear if the people with the laws and guns weren’t sin-obsessed, sexually disfunctional crazy people. The pimps, the health issues, the exploitation, the addiction- these are all symptoms of being forced to operate outside of the basic societal niceties we all too often take for granted.
Those who know me, and those who have read this blog and seen my show, might believe me to be a frivolous fellow. And it is true that I do try to find the joke in everything. But there are quite a few causes I feel quite deeply on, and this is one of them. I intend to focus on this quite a bit in the near future, and lead a campaign of liberalization and decriminalization towards sex work in Asheville.

Pleasure Saucer Radio Show

I am working on demo for a radio on WPVM. Mount Dungeon, the other show I work on, is doing the same. It will have news of the weird, local man-on-on-the-street segments, and phone interviews. I’m also working on have a ten minute scifi serial segment, tentatively titled Science
Action Theater. All of this is rather hard to do without a computer, but I will persevere, with a little help from my friends.

A Hermetic Chao?

What I find interesting about this image is that is removes Discordianism from the Eastern spiritual tradition, by ditching the yin & yang setup, and put it firmly in the Western, Hermetic spiritual tradition. I shall need to meditate on that. And translate that dmaned Latin.
(All props, hat tips, and showers of hot dog buns to Hoopla.)

Dear Pleasure Saucer: February 7th, 2008

(Editor’s note: here is the first in series [first mentioned here] of what I hope are many letters written by you, dear reader, about your erotic escapades in Asheville. Or anywhere, really, I don’t give a fuck. If you would like to contribute a letter, please send it here.)

Dear Pleasure Saucer,
Hey, I saw that you were looking for dirty letters from people in Asheville, so I thought I’d write you about something weird that happened about a month ago. Nothing like this had every happened to me before. Hell, nothing ever happens to me. I work third shift at the Wal-Mart, so I’m usually asleep when the rest of the world is doing stuff.
Anyway, I finished my shift Sunday morning. I had just walked the rickety stairs to my apartment on S______ Ave, prepared to drink a couple of PBR’s and get nice and unconscious for the next 12 hours. I had snowed the night before, and it was still hella cold. But, the early morning sun looked nice; So I went into my uninsulated, icebox-like kitchen, cleared the crap out of my breakfast nook (Yes, I have a breakfast nook. I didn’t build the damned thing, it came with apartment.), propped a chair against the wall and commenced to enjoy the view.
The view sucked. I saw the back of a bunch of other crappy, run-down houses, and the tops of the fences defining various back yards. The only yard I could see was my own, and the one belong to my next-door neighbor. Her name is P____.
Let me tell you about P____. I’ve known her for about eighteen months, every since she’s moved in next door with that godamned yapping terrier, and I’ve spoken to her precisely four times. She’s beautiful, blonde, wears skirts to work so tight she’s practically poured into them, and has stick up her ass so far its a wonder no one’s mistaken her for a corn-dog. I asked her out once. She said no. That’s okay, I’m used to no. I asked her why. She said,
“I got out of my “white trash” phase a while ago.”
Then she got in her VW Bug with all the lefty bumper stickers on the back and drove off. I was pissed off! Just because I’m wearing a flannel shirt with a trucker hat doesn’t make me “white trash”! I’m a slacker, damnit!
Anyway, I’m settling in to a slightly-drunk, lower-class depression, wondering how high I would bounce if I just opened the window and through myself on to the weed-infested year below. Suddenly, I hard a moderately loud bang. My neighborhood is pretty quiet Sunday mornings, so sounds like that tend to travel. The bang came from my neighbor’s back yard, so I shifted in my chair slightly to look down.
I saw P____, forzen in mortification, completely naked, a scrap of her nightgown hanging from the door. I could imagine how it all went down, with perfect clarity: She opened her back door to let her mangy little shit of a dog out saw that he immediately went tunneling underneath the fence, she rushes out to get him wearing only her flimsy nightgown, the door closely unexpectedly on more than half the material, ripping it off her just as she hears the door’s lock click shut.
Her body…damn. the skirts didn’t do it justice. Her body was firm, toned. Her substantial ass and tits jiggled invitingly as she did a sort of pee-pee dance of anxiety and cold. I confirmed she was a natural blonde, with that cute little landing strip she had shaved in. I saw this, even though she was over thirty feet away, because as soon as I understood the situation, I had rushed to get my pair of cheap binoculars. Cheap they may be, but they caught her pink little nipples turning to diamonds in the nearly freezing air. When she turned around, I saw she as a little tatoo of a butterfly on her right ass cheek.
She started looking around, wildly, I suppose paranoid that someone might see her. Which she was right to be. I ducked down, not wanting to end the show so early. Through the corner of my window, I saw her try her back door, which was securely locked. I saw prepare and then lose her nerve to call out for help maybe half a dozen time. I could see her pacing, one minute rubbing her tits, the other minute rubbing her pussy, sometime putting her hands between her legs and clenching, doing anything she could to keep warm. She was wondering how she was going to inside to warmth and clothing. So was I.
It was about this time that I took my cock out and started whacking off. I ain’t proud of it, but I’m not gonna lie about it either. I haven’t had a girl in years, and my virus-riddled computer had been stolen three weeks before this, so no porn either. Now I had a naked woman, who I didn’t like very much but wanted to fuck in the worst way possible (take that however you like), in physical and emotional (but funny!) distress, and there was no way in hell I wasn’t going to enjoy it as much as possible.
She looked up, and I came to the same conlcusion she did. Her little bedroom window, on the second floor, directly above her back door and the overhang. It was an older door, and while it was probably locked (or latched) as well, it would sure be easier to get open than that damned door.
She tiptoed over to the corner of her building peeking into the alley her house shares with the one I rent from. Evidently there was no traffic to be seen, so she hugged the corner of the building and started climbing up. I realized that she must do wall-climbing to stay in such great shape, and that her nipples and crotch not have been to comfortable now, what with her hugging those walls that tightly. I started to time my jerks to the flexing of the might ass, as it slowly worked its way of the wooden walls.
The sweat was glistening off her as she made it to the second floor. By this time she was much closer to me and (more importantly) her back to me, so I had dispensed with the binoculars and was simply whackin’ for all I was worth. I love a woman’s back, the way the muscles and the ribs all move together. Of course, the ass was the star here, especially as she stretched out a leg to put a foot on the overhang. This was the really dangerous bit, as she had to shift her weight to her right leg, and then climb sideways over to the overhang, all with out slipping.
I didn’t want her to slip. Having your jerk-off fantasy break her legs is a bit of a turn-off. But I had other things on my mind, as I saw her tits being mashed up and dragged against the wall as she positioned herself in front of the upstairs window. She spent a few seconds to rub her poor abused nibbles and pussy, and nearly came when she did that. But I held out, as she started trying to pull the window open.
She tried jerking it open a couple of times, without success. Then she planted one foot on the overhang, one foot against the wall, and started one continous hard pull. Her back was once against to me, and I was in a perfect posititon to see her pussy and her asshole, with every muscle in her body straining and flexing.
I climaxed just as the window came open. She almost fell at this point, but I was beyond caring about anything for the next couple of seconds. By the time I looked back out she was gone, the window was shut, and she was persumably having a hot bath.
The next evening I saw her come out of her house as I was going to work. All in all, I think I played it right. As I walked past her, I just said,
“Pretty cold tonight, huh Butterfly?”
I heard the breath catch in her through, and shoes stumble to a stop. I don’t think she moved the entire time I walked to my car and drove off.

-sent by K____ S____

A tip

If you are going to use a fancy new microphone for an interview, please understand completely how the friggin’ thing works. I have to reshoot an interview now, because I didn’t turn the damned thing on and failed to record any sound. It was a good interview, too.
A short post today, since I am going to the Music Video Ashevile tonight at Cinebarre. Also, while I am mentioning awesome things going on, everyone reading this should go to the Jolie Rouge this Friday for Mount Dungeon’s fundraiser for URTV. It shall rawk. Yes, that’s how it is supposed to be spelled.