Gamblin' Gal...KAREN

[MisterV]

"Of course I talked; we ALL talk here at the castle of the witch Axl. The real question is "What is it you have always wanted to do, but never could?"

Karen unleashed a deep, contemplative fart to help jumpstart her mental processes; soon she responded.

"I and I has wanted to go backs ta Aferca an' do dat cool dance, you knows..."

"Oh, the Zaouli bird dance?"

"Dat's be it. But ever since I and I be a girl I wants to be a bird and den a Zaouli dancer...It be my dreams."

"Well, you are in luck. Jump up and grab the key with a skull on it and see what happens."

Karen leaped, grabbed and then...continuous morphing...

[MHF]

Doesn't look like she's coming back for much, if anything, given her last post, which sort of shows that she's more concerned with the gambling forums in past than in future. As if she no longer cares about the thus forums.

If only Mdawg had been active when I was being heavily bullied, harassed, insulted, and attacked on WOV the first time around. There's NO way he wouldn't have stood up for me! And he surely wouldn't have called me a Moron and reported my PM to Admins. Shame Mdawg became active on WOV in 2020 a year after I was permanently banned at the time.

[pinchingyourballs]

On WoV she has her own corner and the everlasting protection of the gizzard and his minions. On VCT she has the pornographic minstrel show of Mr. V. and no admin protector. Not hard to see why she done ghosted.

[MisterV]

Bah.

She thinks she's a good writer; given that why doesn't she try turning the tables on her detractors?

It's not as if she has no material to work with, to weave into a compelling narrative, or she could make shit up, who cares? Who knows?

Retribution should be a walk in the park for a writer of her perceived talent.

Come and get us Karen...I'll leave the light on for ya.

[MHF]

A big let down for her to be allowed back on to the WoV, but, only to little attention, and a nearly dead board. Now she will always wonder about what would have been had she not been banned - another wholly useless pursuit. Oh, well. Strange people do strange things.

Maybe, I'll hit post #137, before this one is essentially gone.

[MisterV]

The fog cleared from her noggin and Karen opened her puffy eye lids, only to hear mammie saying "Wake up, chile."

Karen found herself supine on the kitchen floor of her Miami home, her mother looking down at her with a worried look on her wrinkled face.

"Wha...wha happened, mammie? Is I and I really home?"

"Girl, I done did told yo' so...yo' did it, yo' slipped in yo' own shit; yo' been un-consh-is for 'bot a hour."

"A hour?"

"Yes, and yo' babble all kinda shit... 'gators, witches, shlongs..."

Karen recalled it all with crystal clarity; "Helps me up 'dere mammie and leads me to my 'puter, I and I has to write all 'dat down, fer pros-ti-terity."

With mammie's help Karen found her seat in front of their aged PC; with Church's chicken in hand she began her tale.

"Karen was on a bit of a winning streak, but as we all know streaks come to an end."

"Mammie, 'dis be my bestest yet, I and I wind 'dat Pul-zer 'ward fo' sho'."

[theywontpayontuesday]

In 2015, Italian neurosurgeon Sergio Canavero announced that he intended to perform a human head transplant within a few years, and even more shockingly, he had a volunteer for the almost guaranteed-to-be-lethal procedure: a Russian man named Valery Spiridonov. The guy was all fucked up in a wheel chair suddenly and was 33 with a very successful past. He was all curled up in a wheel chair being unable to move his body practically. The head transplant didn't wind up going through because Valery Spiridonov backed out of the head transplant, because he married a gorgeous, attractive female who is academically successful herself as a chemical engineer, and she had a perfect body most able bodied men never acquire and somehow this cripple ran a software company, so he had no need to sacrifice his body with almost certain suicide with the surgery. It's funny because MrV talks about Karen marrying some guy like this for money and marriage, then one of those men goes so out of his league successfully.

[pinchingyourballs]

As Karen was writing her Great American Novel at the family computer, the Church's Chicken sandwich in her hand transformed into a lava lamp with boobs and began muttering to itself in German. Hmm, Karen wondered, I don't think that's supposed to happen in real life. I must still be in a coma, she mused further.

"Welp, if it's a coma dream then I guess I can do whatever I want."

She opened up the hall closet where they kept the vacuum and ironing board, and to her delight the closet was a 2000 square foot dressing room. She put on a wedding dress and shoes and then opened a small jeweled box which held a deflated groom doll. With superhuman strength she inflated it, upon which it became a real man.

The doll-man spoke: "Karen, my beloved blushing bride, it is I, ---"

Karen put a greasy index finger to his lips.

"I know who you are. I have been fantasizing about meeting you in person ever since I began trolling VCT. I read your posts every day. And now, in this coma dream, you are all mine!"

[MisterV]

Judge V. was nonplussed by the amorous advances of the Nubian hussy.

"Harrumph" he harrrumphed: "Got any Peruvian flake? My nostrils are just itching..."

"Dis be my dreams, not'n your'n so shuts da fuck up and kiss me."

Much to his surprise the reluctant Romeo found himself placing his lips against hers, inserting his tongue and plunging recklessly forward; he grasped her pendoulus breast and gave it a gentle squeeze..

"Now you's talkin'" she moaned.

Completely out of his mind with lust Judge V. ravaged the nubile coma-victim, repeatedly bashing her gash, causing the previously asxexual autistic woman untold and unfamiliar paroxysms of joy.

But then...POOF...it all disappeared; Karen found herself typing out yet another bullshit tale to a "casino friend" hitting the lonely codger up for money.

Still aroused from her dream, Karen stopped typing; she closed her eyes and then massaged the stinky V between her ample thighs, imagining, wishing, hoping...until she rode a wave of thunder.

[pinchingyourballs]

Meanwhile in Vegas, an elderly woman whose legal name was "Kewl J. Mom" read the pornographic minstrel show with delight. "Why can't my son Jules Kewl write like that?" she said aloud. "All he ever does is write boring walls of text defending his tales of questionable veracity. Where are the talking animals? Where is the jive talking? Where is the masturbation? It's enough to make a woman stop reading her son's anonymous forum postings."

A nearby talking giraffe overheard the mutterings and bent down low and poked his head through Kewl J. Mom's open window. "I'd have to agree. It is a bit tiresome. By the way, could you do me a favor?"

Kewl J. Mom was agog at the giraffe, but being ever so polite, responded, "Yeah... Sure, I guess. Uh, what do you need?"

The giraffe removed his head from the window and laboriously shifted his position until his dick and balls were in the window instead. "Would you mind picking off this scorpion that's pinching my balls?"

[MisterV]

This wasn't the first time Kewl J. Mom had been propositioned by a giraffe.

"I know your kind" she barked: "Just because you have black tongues you think you're King Shit. Well, have I got news for you..."

Seeking relief and not a lecture, the lanky scorpion attack victim sought out a more likely savior; he espied a promising sight next door where an old coot was talking into his shoe.

"Sir, one minute: can you..."

"Hang on, I'm busy." With that R. Bert Stinger completed his call to CIA HQ; he folded up his shoe phone, put it on, adjusted the position of the socks he'd stuffed in his Jockey briefs and smiling said "Now, what can I do you for?"

"Are you the male prostitute that lives in the tunnels I've read so much about?"

Stinger blushed, then thanked the giraffe and shook his hoof.

"Yeah, that's me. I only do it to spy on the Little People, to make sure they vote for Trump. Say...are YOU voting for Trump?

Apolitical as are most giraffes this line of questioning induced the giraffe to flee; he soon espied a burnoosed body builder toting a brief case and a bottle of KY jelly.

"Sure I'll help ya...I know all about those scorpions. Back home in the Sahara I used to put them in my brother's boots: great times. But first things first."

The giraffe watched as the swarthy Arab lured a wandering ewe to him then lubed up, mounted and fucked the indifferent beast.

"Ah, that's better; now what's this about a scorpion?"

But the giraffe had fled, back to the space between the two universes.

"What fools these mortals be" he concluded.

What fools, indeed...