Worry not Devon, this handy program clears all the garbage off your PC. https://www.piriform.com/ccleaner please log in to view this image
Looks like a Tim White painting, who did a few nudie wimmin with monsters such as... please log in to view this image
Dunno why, but that photie reminds me of the Simpsons episode where Homer, during a hippy phase, put a flower down the barrel of a cop's gun only to have the cop shoot him in the head with the flower.
Long time since we had some of this: Percy gave a pained whimper as the claws dug into his back. His own fingers clawed into the bedsheets, his eyes tightly closed. The heavy weight on his back growled in annoyance, making Percy whimper again, though this time more out of fear. He knew the other liked it when he begged. "Please, harder", whispered the son of Poseidon, his eyes tightly closed. "Rut me like a bitch." The male within him snickered, thrusting harder. Percy was pretty sure his prostate was sore from all the ****ing. It was a good thing he had taken another swim in the River Styx, or otherwise all the brutal ****ing would have already torn him apart. He whimpered pitifully as the knot forced itself into his tight hole. How much he hated that. It meant the gigantic wolf would stay within him for even longer than necessary. Closing his eyes even tighter, he bit his lips. A single tear ran down his cheeks. He hated this. He really, really hated it. His fingers caught on the iron collar around his neck, clawing at the tag. All he wanted was for his master to return. "Damn, you're one good ****, little bitch", whispered the other into his ear once he was finished. Percy nearly didn't dare to look. The mighty wolf had turned back into his human form, Lycaon smirking down at him with a wicked sneer, harshly pulling out. The son of Poseidon nearly chocked at that, as the thick knot was ripped out of his sensitive hole. More tears streamed down his face. The werewolf collapsed on the bed next to Percy, looking appreciatively at the cum-covered boy. The Sea Prince hid his face in shame, biting his nails. "I told you he'd tire of you", snickered Lycaon, smacking the round, cum-leaking ass once. "He... he didn't tire of me", whispered Percy lowly, balling a fist. "Sure, sure", snorted the werewolf, stretching some. "That's why he took the cubs and left you in my care. How long has it been now? Three weeks? He used you to breed some strong monster-kids, but now he probably found a better toy. Now you're mine." The son of Poseidon shuddered in fear, closing his eyes as tight as possible to keep the tears from spilling. He knew the werewolf enjoyed his tears. And he didn't deserve the joy. His hands were trembling. Maybe Lycaon was right. It had been three weeks now. His mate had left him, left him in the care of Lycaon. No word from his mate, nothing. And... and he had taken their younglings... But... perhaps Lycaon was right... Perhaps he had only been used for breeding purposes. It had been a surprise for Percy. To learn about his ability to carry children. A special ability of children of the sea, that was what his half-sister Skylla had called it as she took care of the pregnant boy. It wasn't very surprising that he could carry the children of a monster. Seeing as his half-brother Pegasus had been born to the snake-haired woman Medusa and the Sea God Poseidon and still turned out to be a winged horse. Nothing was impossible considering their heritage.
Correct. That one was "Dagon" In fact it was that cover that initially steered me toward Tim White's work. He did (or maybe still does) a lot of Sci Fi artwork for books and films etc.
From: [email protected] Date: Thursday 20 January 2011 11.14am To: David Thorne Subject: Advertisement I received the attached advertisement from a friend who follows you on twitter or something. If this was some kind of joke I fail to see the humor. We had over 5000 calls asking for free snowboards and I know you are responsible. please log in to view this image
From: David Thorne Date: Thursday 20 January 2011 12.26pm To: [email protected] Subject: Re: Advertisement Dear Anton, Thank you for your email. I have been called many things while staying in the US, including 'foggot' and 'youreonthewrongsideoftheroadmoron', but having recently seen my first snowfall and immediately heading out to spend several hundred dollars on snowsurfing equipment, I hardly think the label 'responsible' is justified. Contrary to popular belief, there is not a lot of snow in Australia and I recently discovered two facts; 1. Snow is cold and; 2. Coming from a climate where the coldest winter demands only complaining slightly less about how hot it is, I am ill-equipped for fact 1. Unfortunately, these discoveries were made half way up a ski-lift while dressed in jeans, a long sleeved t-shirt and soaking wet rental boots in minus twelve degree weather. Reaching the summit and finding myself unable to feel my extremities or bend back into a standing position, I simply rolled off the lift chair and slid down the embankment on my side before coming to a stop helped by a small group of children. After assuring the parents that kids get nose bleeds all the time and it was probably more to do with the altitude than my left elbow, I decided to forego that morning's activities, walk down the hill, and sit in my vehicle with the heater on while researching local snow-apparel shops on my iPhone. Arriving at your store a short time later, I explained to a salesperson that I required warm clothing and "a pair of waterproof gloves for use in the snow." Based on his brand recommendation and assurance that they would perform in the manner required, I purchased a pair of 180's snow gloves, along with several other items of snow related clothing, and ventured back to the slopes. Assuming the gloves would be waterproof for use in the snow (possibly due to being told "these are waterproof gloves for use in the snow") I was surprised to find they became soaked within seconds and bled black ink down my sleeves and all over the front of my jacket. Returning to the store immediately, brandishing both the result and receipt, I politely stated that I was not seeking compensation for the ruined jacket, just simply wished to exchange the gloves for a pair not designed to destroy everything they come into contact with. I was told, "**** off. You've worn them." Being that customer service is arguably a company's most valuable asset, I assumed you would appreciate all the free marketing and promotional help you could get. Regards, David.
From: [email protected] Date: Thursday 20 January 2011 4.18pm To: David Thorne Subject: Re: Re: Advertisement You bought gloves and ruined them and then you want to exchange them for a diffent pair? No store does that. You cant return something already worn. You have no idea about running a business. If I was working that day I would have told you to **** off too. Dont be surprised if you get a call from the police. Are you going to pay for the extra staff I had to put on to take all the phone calls?
From: David Thorne Date: Thursday 20 January 2011 5.06pm To: [email protected] Subject: Re: Re: Re: Advertisement Dear Anton, I would actually be more surprised if the local constabulary hasn't got me on speed dial by now. And, going by the adage 'You get what you pay for' in regards to the level of expertise and customer service skills your staff display, I doubt the wages for 'extra staff you had to put on' would exceed the $44 I paid for the pair of destructogloves. The three staff members working the day I purchased the gloves, who I will refer to as Fatty, Tatooey and Fuzzy for identification purposes, seemed rather annoyed by my interruption of their 'sitting in a chair looking cool' time. Fuzzy seemed the most inconvenienced but that is understandable what with having to deal with inappropriate questions such as, "Do you sell waterproof gloves for use in the snow?" in a snow-sports shop. Although intending to also purchase board, bindings and boots that day in order to avoid dealing with rental-shop queues that make the Perestroika bread lines look like a couple of friends standing around having a chat, I did not wish to infringe any further on Fuzzy's prime duties of growing an awesome beard and showing a rash to Fatty and Tatooey. Although Tattooey provided him with a diagnosis of "dude, dont' pick it, let it scab" that could only stem from several years in medical school, Fatty was less than impressed and only gave it a mild glance and noncommittal grunt before going back to playing Angry Birds. I should probably be thankful that your staff were too occupied with having their earlobes stretched by Tonka-truck tyres and wearing pants around their knees to sell me a snowsurfingboard made of sugar or goggles made of bees. While I may not have your experience running a business, I am pretty sure that if I owned a shop that sold chairs and you entered and said to me, "Hello shopkeeper, I am looking for something to sit on" and I replied "Sure, this one should suit your needs perfectly, it is made for sitting on" and you purchased the chair, took it home, sat on it, and it exploded, taking out previously purchased furniture with it, you would probably drive back to my shop and say, "Excuse me, I bought this chair an hour ago, used it in the manner you recommended, and it exploded - I am not asking for compensation for my other furniture but would like to exchange it for a non-exploding chair that performs in the manner originally described." Responding with anything other than "I do apologise, here's a replacement" would certainly come as a surprise to you and I doubt "**** off, you sat in it" would mean I'd see you, Fatty, Tattoey and Fuzzy at my premises the following week shopping for cushions. Also, quick question. Having seen the publicity photo of you with your staff, I realise you probably use a child's board but what length would you recommend for a normal sized human? What would be ideal is a really wide snowsurfingboard with handles that I can lay down on. Or one with a seat and steering wheel. Perhaps with some kind of caterpillar tread based wheel system and a motor so that you can ride it up the hill instead of having to take the ski-lift. That thing is dangerous. Regards, David.
From: [email protected] Date: Friday 21 January 2011 11.04am To: David Thorne Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Advertisement Its snowboarding not snowsurfing and 5"8 isn't short dickwad. I doubt my staff acted in that way but if they did then it is probably because we get hundreds of weekend warriors in here during ski season and we like to know if they are serious or just window shopping before we waste hours helping them. I'm sick of noobs like you who dont know what they want or **** about snowboarding coming in wasting our time. If I refunded money or exchanged gear to every looser who had a problem with their gloves, I’d be broke.
From: David Thorne Date: Friday 21 January 2011 2.17pm To: [email protected] Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Advertisement Dear Anton, Yes, I am pretty sure if I ran a snowboardsurfing shop the last thing I would want is people new to the sport mistakenly entering my premises with the intention of exchanging goods for money. What a bunch of 'loosers'. You should probably have that on your front door instead of the welcome sign. Otherwise, people might read the word 'welcome' and mistakenly think they are welcome. Perhaps you could incorporate a sign similar to the 'You must be this tall to ride' kind displayed at carnivals, but amend it to 'You must be this cool to enter' with a big red arrow pointing to photos of Fatty, Tattooey and Fuzzy. Also, I apologise. While the average male height of 5"9 statistically means anything under is considered short, my question was without diminutive intention. I'm sure there are many advantages to being so small. Target carries an excellent range of boys clothing at competitive prices and a lower centre of gravity should, once helped up onto the ski-lift, allow you to snowboardsurf with greater stability. If I were small, I would buy a cat and ride it. I do object to the label 'noob' though. Thirty minutes of watching instructional Youtube videos have to count for something. One of them showed a squirrel water-skiing which is pretty much the same thing so how hard can it be? I am at least twice as intelligent as a squirrel and I once covered almost the entire distance of a slip'n'slide in a standing position so the basic skill set is there. I expect to be doing steezy jumps within the first hour and Olivers by lunch. When I was nine I attempted to jump my new Standish 12 Selectaspeed racing bike across a creek. Building a ramp from timber removed from an adjoining playground fort, I calculated that a speed of 150mph, based on a previous evening's episode of Knight Rider, would see me safely over the fifteen metre gap. Having also seen episodes of Dukes of Hazzard where they jump bridges and the nose of the General Lee crumples a bit, I strategically placed a pile of leaves on the estimated landing point to soften the impact. In front of an expectant crowd consisting of two kids from the playground and a dog, I rode to the top of a hill, donned my father's welding mask and gloves (safety first) and began the descent. Overcoming momentary speed wobble somewhere around eleventh gear, I believe I would have made it had the dog not run in front of me at the last moment, causing me to veer and miss the ramp by about four metres. Approximately half way over the creek and realising my trajectory was not going to make the distance, I attempted to pull the bike upwards, a midair bunny hop if you will, resulting in the handlebars separating from the frame. Somehow, while my bike dropped into the creek, my body managed to make it to the far bank and roll several times before coming to a halt. Jumping to my feet and exclaiming "I'm ok" to my horrified audience, one of them pointed and I looked down to discover a rib poking out of my chest as a red stain slowly spread outwards ruining my Return of the Jedi t-shirt. I also discovered that the dog had, minutes before my approach, defecated in my landing spot. Which for some reason seemed more horrifying to me than the protruding rib at the time. Accepting the loss of Chewbacca and two Ewoks but attempting to remove my shirt before the bloodstain reached Luke, it caught hard on the rib and I blacked out from the pain. During the ambulance ride, I regained consciousness long enough to overhear one of the medics state, "Three broken ribs and a left... is that dog ****?" While recovering in hospital, my father took the bike back to the shop it was purchased from, showed the defective handlebar bolt and described the accident - admittedly omitting the parts about the ramp, creek and dog poo. They replaced it with a new bike and threw in a helmet as way of apology. That store is where I bought my offspring's first, second and third bike twenty years later. Regards, David.
