Shop Mobile More Submit  Join Login
About Deviant Core Member The Wisdom of The CouncilMale/United States Recent Activity
Deviant for 7 Years
3 Month Core Membership
Statistics 307 Deviations 56 Comments 26,311 Pageviews

Newest Deviations

Literature
Project Gilbrod X: Sacred Artifact 2016
Project: GILBROD
Part VI: Sacred Artifact 2016
You must take the towel and over the course of several days you wipe and sop up the pungent oils from Donald Trump's clumpy flanks.  Sacred Artifact 2016.
.
.
Hey motherfucker, I heard that!  And now I smell it, too... that's disgusting.  Oh, you tried to hold it in?  You tried your best?  Bullshit!  I did not see any clenching on your part.  No iota of clench whatsoever.  That was completely unobstructed, you were loose as a goose when you let that one rip.  Don't lie to me and pretend otherwise, it's only going to make things worse for you in the long run.
.
.
According to the radio, Antonin Scalia's evacuated vessel has left Texas and is en route to Virginia.  Unless his corpse handlers have properly ventilated the inner cavities, it is swelling and bloating with the noxious gases of decomposition.  Even so, this is your only real chance.  INTERCEPT, HIGHEST PRIOR
:iconCouncilofGandalf:CouncilofGandalf
:iconcouncilofgandalf:CouncilofGandalf 0 0
Literature
Project GILBROD IX
Project: GILBROD
Part IX: We Will Understand the Reality of the Situation
"You can lead a pig to feces, but you can't make him eat."
-Ancient Sage
.
.
Suckle the Left Stream.  Defer to the vagabond.  Baskets of lip cream; the Radish Kid prattled on.  Darius Rucker delicately inserted another long needle into his bristling ballsack.  Things were proceeding as designed.  
Splash Mexican brains on the fine wood paneling.  Circus elephants must be beaten more.  They are unruly.  I like corn on the cob but I don't understand the cob.  Why is it not all corn?
Sift through the noodles.  Saturate the grain.  Edible moss squares build us healthy orphans.  We will understand.  Fecal Enclave.  Fecal Ambassador.  Fecal Matador.  Fecal Android.  Krendlebruck Bill Grundruck.  Yobstrean Bougadenzer.  Fecal Salvation.  We will understand...
.
.
"What we're dealing with here is feces
:iconCouncilofGandalf:CouncilofGandalf
:iconcouncilofgandalf:CouncilofGandalf 0 0
Literature
Evacuation (To Form a Mound)
I throw my feces on the ground
repeatedly to form a mound
I leave my feces at the door
When kids eat them
I leave some more.
The kids get sick and miss some school,
everybody calls them fools
The truth is, they are omnivores
my little Fecal Braknosaurs.
Butt, chunk, give it a lick
Drop that clump and give it a kick
Shoe, stain, looking for rain
in bus or truck or aeroplane...
yes, everywhere you foul the scene
with remnants of your pork and beans
How to quell the stench that flows?
Only clever hobos know
so versed they are in streetwise ways
from the urban alley maze
where dropping dung is all the rage
in such sweet sport they all engage.
My razor's jammed with stinky hair
from dingleberried derriere
I'll harvest more come next season
connoisseurs all know the reason
and once the berries have been picked
we face what we would not admit
that each desires more than half
of the berry pile; behold the math
60-40?  70-30?  
Haggling over it just feels dirty...
A contest, a trial,
:iconCouncilofGandalf:CouncilofGandalf
:iconcouncilofgandalf:CouncilofGandalf 0 2
Literature
Situation Most Intractable
Gleonard wasn't sure what the alien would make of his apartment. Quaa-Kyuu may have been “hyperintelligent” but he was still getting used to the many odd customs and unknown objects here on Earth.  After the debacle at Starbucks earlier that day, Gleonard wasn't going to make assumptions about anything.
"Umm, so, yes, this is where I live," he told Quaa-Kyuu, guiding him around the small but fairly tidy space.  
"Assigned... quarters.  Designated vectors.  I comprehend," the extraterrestrial visitor intoned in his flat and mechanical voice.
Gleonard showed him the refrigerator (thermal containment unit), his entertainment center (primitive image feed relayer), and his waterbed (fluid-based regeneration chamber).  Quaa-Kyuu seemed to take it all in fairly well.  He then stiffly shuffled over to Gleonard's expansive bookshelves, which were packed with hundreds of fantasy and science fiction novels.  Quaa-Kyuu cocked his
:iconCouncilofGandalf:CouncilofGandalf
:iconcouncilofgandalf:CouncilofGandalf 0 0
Literature
Cusk II: The Extrapolated Derailment
9.12.2015
Hey there, son.  Come in.  Sit down.  We have to talk.  So I just got the email with your continuation of our story, and I... I'm not sure where to begin.  I suppose I should start by admitting that this is partially my fault.  I was so eager to be counseling with my son that I might have... I might have not thought things all the way through.  
I mean, I get it.  When James, Ginch, and myself started writing Council Stories way back in 1998, our stuff could be a little crude.  Sure.  We'd toss off some very clumsy poems about feces and whores and ballsacks and whatnot... I'm not sure, I may be misremembering, but we were always writing with a sort of purpose.  A sort of purpose and clarity.  Our technique evolved and we started writing longer and better works, and in a year or two we were producing some truly epic stuff.  Did you read The Tale of Vidrastone and Fenriclitus that I posted on your wa
:iconCouncilofGandalf:CouncilofGandalf
:iconcouncilofgandalf:CouncilofGandalf 2 7
Literature
The Scrotecratic Dialogues III
The Scrotecratic Dialogues III: The Circle of Learned Men
I: Feminist Freakquency

My friend, your ignorance on this issue is understandable but tragic nonetheless.  When most people hear the word "feminism," they naively think that the word means what it once did -- equality, fairness, social progress, a benevolent antidote to the entrenched oppression of yesteryear.  But let me assure you, these are not the goals that modern 21st-century feminists pursue.  You don't know this because their ideas have not yet entered the realm of mainstream political thought, but I assure you they are gaining acceptance among influential figures at a rapid pace.  (As we've seen with Objectivism, our oligarchal class can totally embrace an ideology as the common people remain entirely oblivious to it.)  Modern feminism is doing exactly that; gradually building up adherents among the powerful, ensuring that it will reshape society in unfathomable ways in the decades to com
:iconCouncilofGandalf:CouncilofGandalf
:iconcouncilofgandalf:CouncilofGandalf 0 0
Literature
Kendall's Chosen
At first, Kendall Fudakan -- along with his younger sister, Yoshina -- resented the frequent and lengthy visits from their aged grandparents. They would stay for months on end sometimes. Their parents obligingly gave up their own bedroom to the elders and slept in the living room, which meant that all television and such ended when they went to sleep around 9:00 PM.  Even more disruptive was that his grandmother took over the kitchen and would brook no dissent; her pride as a  Japanese housewife was paramount.  She spent much of the day preparing traditional dishes, most of which were based on exotic seafood and spent hours to prepare.  She served octopus, mussels, endless bony fish and various types of raw sashimi, and the children found much of it to be rubbery, slimy, and unpleasant.  Kendall and Yoshina desperately hoarded some treasured snack food items that they would retrieve from under their beds and munch on in the night.  Unlike his
:iconCouncilofGandalf:CouncilofGandalf
:iconcouncilofgandalf:CouncilofGandalf 0 0
Literature
Marc's Adventures I: The Poetry Break
(A Curious Event in the year 2015)
Marc sat down next to the kid
in greasy dung his buttocks slid
they laughed and ate some Frosted Flakes
while drawing pics of pooping drakes.

Marc knew it was going to happen.  Well, not for sure that day, but sometime that week, after reading those four short lines that John had sent him in a recent email -- a poignant reminder of the glory days.  It had been too long.  He hadn't written any rhymes in quite some time and his muse felt blocked -- constipated, one might say.  There was too much interference from his lousy job, the bustle of daily chores, vet visits, the demands of his artistic "career" -- his present life was a far cry from the the old Council days when the madness would just flow like sweet honey from his intoxicated brain.  Especially when he busted out the lines with Tim, his special friend.  With Tim there was a certain ritual that worked like an arcane magic, a way to let the pure
:iconCouncilofGandalf:CouncilofGandalf
:iconcouncilofgandalf:CouncilofGandalf 0 0
Literature
Venternia Chronicles
Book III: The Journey to Shadozar
Chapter 19: The Train of Thought

Calvin Kingwood could only stare with his mouth hanging open.  This was, unquestionably, the strangest thing he'd seen since coming to Venternia.  Beside him, Professor Gandledore positively beamed with relief as the clouds of the Endless Sky parted and there appeared a locomotive train, the old-fashioned sort that Calvin had never seen in his actual life -- well, he'd seen them on television, perhaps, but this one was entirely real!  As the mammoth train zoomed by them, he could see that it was fancier than any real train by far. Its sleek surface was a dark purple and glimmered like obsidian, and every surface was embossed with golden filigree.  The wondrous apparition did a few loop-the-loops in the air before screeching to a stop before a platform that had just appeared in the empty air of the chasm before them.  It was of a magnificent make similar to the Train i
:iconCouncilofGandalf:CouncilofGandalf
:iconcouncilofgandalf:CouncilofGandalf 0 0
Literature
Cusk: The Ordained Outlay
1.3.2015
Hey there, son.  Come in.  Sit down.  
Son, I want you to tell me what these are, and you'd better be honest with me.
Mmm-hmmm.  That's what I thought.  
Thank you for telling me the truth.  Your dad knows Council writings when he sees them, you know.  I didn't fall off the turnip truck yesterday.  Son, why are you getting involved with this stuff?  You're smarter than this.  I know that you are.  Look, I know how it is, I do.  I was your age once.  Believe it or not, I had my wild days of counseling, oh yes, it's just... son, I know it seems like fun at first, all the cool kids are doing it, but you have no idea where this can lead you in life.  I've seen it ruin people, I've seen it take control of their minds and destroy their lives.  It seems creative, it seems bold, but before you know it... you're 26 years old and barely holding down some crappy job at a gas station, vowing to go back and f
:iconCouncilofGandalf:CouncilofGandalf
:iconcouncilofgandalf:CouncilofGandalf 1 9
Literature
Project GILBROD VIII
Project: GILBROD
Part VIII: Yours Truly, Librus Carbone
"Ahh, what a beautiful Spring day. Hear the birds shrieking with joy as they devour the emerging bounty of lesser creatures."

-- John.  
   4.3.2014 -- 8:58AM EST

.
.
Today we are pleased to announce our new, next-generation tablet: The Nergalito!
-whisks shroud off to reveal deformed multi-screened monstrosity-
The Nergalito features six different touchscreens, 14 ultra-HD video cameras, Wifi AND a 56k dial-up modem, but that's not all.  You might have noticed nozzles here on the sides.  Ladies and gentlemen, they dispense Coca-Cola.  Yep, no more assaulting that stubborn machine in the break room.  And to top it all off, the entire thing is connected via a state-of-the-art dynamic ball bearing mechanism which allows the use to manipulate the many screens into whatever form is desired.  As for software, we have countless new apps, designed solely for the Nergalit
:iconCouncilofGandalf:CouncilofGandalf
:iconcouncilofgandalf:CouncilofGandalf 1 0
Literature
My Fellow Travelers
Long I have dwelt here, in the Land of Water, longer still than any other place.  On my journey through the years I have known many travelers who have come and gone in their times.  I shall speak their names now, so that you shall know them, and tell of each so that you shall know of them.
First, I speak of those that came and went during my years in the valley of Harrington, a land that was lush and welcoming.  When I arrived there in the Elder Days, there dwelt Diggs, a plump and friendly young woman.  Her life was dedicated to her daughter upon whom she doted.  She was often weary from the day and slept in peace while I stood guard.  We worked together for 16 moons, and in that time there was not a dark word or look between us.
Also at that time there was Pearson, a birdlike woman quick in step and speech.  She spoke constantly, faster than any I have heard before or since, and she spoke on all things great and small.  Her compan
:iconCouncilofGandalf:CouncilofGandalf
:iconcouncilofgandalf:CouncilofGandalf 1 0
Literature
The Scrotecratic Dialogues II
The Scrotecratic Dialogues II: International Spankers
1.1001: The Deep Green

Dearest Nebfield,
I heard today from the dear Professor that you will be joining him on the next expedition into the deep green to assist with his ongoing work with the Indachi people.  I'm glad you are applying yourself in this manner and believe that the experience shall be quite beneficial in your overall professional development.  Now, although you shall unquestionably hear all this from him, I still feel obligated, as your sometimes-mentor, to warn you of a few rather specific points about the Indachi and the river lands they inhabit, for although they are largely a peaceful people, there is always peril for the uninitiated inside the green.
One -- I would be very wary of the purplish, onion-shaped fruits that grow abundantly in the Indachi groves.  They will all look alike to you, but there are two differing varieties.  The caelemarra fruit is a nutritious and refreshing
:iconCouncilofGandalf:CouncilofGandalf
:iconcouncilofgandalf:CouncilofGandalf 0 0
Literature
Praise the Savior
(The Jericho Project)
My friends, my followers, praise the Savior!  
Praise, praise the Savior... now today, my friends, I want to talk about something very important.  You see, it all started with this certain young man that we all know.  He was once a member of this flock but he doesn't come here much on Sunday mornings anymore.  I'm not going to name him and single him out but many of you know of whom I speak.  Anyway, I spoke with this young man recently, at his mother's house, and tried to get him to get back on the righteous path, praise the Savior!  And do you know what he told me?  He told me, Reverend Alljoy, I am having doubts -- doubts about my faith, doubts about the Gospels, about the divinity of the Christ, about the Church and the Message of the Third Revelation... and it near broke my heart, it near rent my heart in twain to hear this intelligent young man admit to these shameful doubts.  How can I convince him, I wo
:iconCouncilofGandalf:CouncilofGandalf
:iconcouncilofgandalf:CouncilofGandalf 1 1
Literature
The Volcanoes of North Georgia
"You been in the Shed, boy?  You been in there?"
"No, paw!" the little boy squealed, "I ain't been in there ever, since you said."
The father scowled as he towered over his shrinking son.  Playing cards and puzzle pieces crunched under his heavy boots.  "You sure, Addy?  You damn sure?"
"Damn sure, paw!  I ain't been!" Addy wailed.
The father started at the parroted curse word and thought he was being mocked.  His rage rose, subsided, and then rose again as he stared at the quivering child.  But the boy was fortunate; the sound of his mother's car came from the driveway, she was back from the Piggly-Wiggly with his cousins.  They would have some treats for him, and he'd escaped a brutal lick from his father.  His father had few rules, and the only one he enforced with absolute authority was -- no one enters the Shed, except him and those who had permission -- which meant Addy's cousin Coddy, Uncle Amus, and pretty much n
:iconCouncilofGandalf:CouncilofGandalf
:iconcouncilofgandalf:CouncilofGandalf 0 0
Literature
Phineas Smedley's Master-Piece
The following is a harrowing tale, and despite its incredible nature, I swear to any reading that it is entirely factual.  My time is limited, so I shall be necessarily brief and trim this account of any extraneous detail, which is much against my authorial nature.  Such is my haste during this remarkable episode.
I came to this state following the events of the autumn of 1916, while reclining at ease in the parlor of a certain prosperous Inn and brew-house in the charming suburb of Parnum, an area I frequent although I own no property there.  A boy entered and handed me a paper, which upon reading I learnt was a communication from Phineas Smedley, a friend of my father's with whom I was lightly acquainted.  My family and his had not called upon one another in many years, after the death of his sainted mother, the incarceration of his distraught father, and the gradual lessening of his fame as a painter.  In truth, he had become rather unpopular and even
:iconCouncilofGandalf:CouncilofGandalf
:iconcouncilofgandalf:CouncilofGandalf 1 9

Favourites

Obama Proxy by Chronorin Obama Proxy :iconchronorin:Chronorin 17 51 TonariNoTotoro-Bus Stop by sachsen
Mature content
TonariNoTotoro-Bus Stop :iconsachsen:sachsen 34,731 5,797
KHAAAN by reformedoverlord KHAAAN :iconreformedoverlord:reformedoverlord 13 10

Friends

:iconbt011010: :iconwritten-in-black:

Visitors

Activity


Project: GILBROD
Part VI: Sacred Artifact 2016


You must take the towel and over the course of several days you wipe and sop up the pungent oils from Donald Trump's clumpy flanks.  Sacred Artifact 2016.

.
.

Hey motherfucker, I heard that!  And now I smell it, too... that's disgusting.  Oh, you tried to hold it in?  You tried your best?  Bullshit!  I did not see any clenching on your part.  No iota of clench whatsoever.  That was completely unobstructed, you were loose as a goose when you let that one rip.  Don't lie to me and pretend otherwise, it's only going to make things worse for you in the long run.

.
.

According to the radio, Antonin Scalia's evacuated vessel has left Texas and is en route to Virginia.  Unless his corpse handlers have properly ventilated the inner cavities, it is swelling and bloating with the noxious gases of decomposition.  Even so, this is your only real chance.  INTERCEPT, HIGHEST PRIORITY.  Consume it, and add his flesh to your own!  Only then shall you achieve your next evolution.  Your final form is within reach, my friend.

Scalia's face is being absorbed by my small intestine at this very moment.  I feel... changes.  Goooood chaaaangess.....

.
.


*BREAKING* Reston Civil Alert Code Orange: An intoxicated Travolta has been spotted in your area.  Residents are urged to take all necessary precautions and stay indoors if possible.  Do not approach under any circumstances.  REPEAT CIVIL ALERT CODE ORANGE...

.
.


Trump was pelted with feces.  That is simply how the residents of Qatar show their respect to visiting dignitaries.  

.
.


My favorite new rock band is Niggertitties.  Check out their debut EP "Coagulate," available now on iTunes and Amazon Music.
.
.


There are many talented bands currently playing the waste-rock circuit, but the most popular by far is Extreme Intestinal Discomfort (or XID as they are known to their legions of young fans.)

.
.

This laboratory has performed cutting-edge scientific research for a long time, too long a time by my reckoning, which is why I have hired this council of religious elders to oversee our activities.  Please give a warm Biotico welcome to Pastor Greg "Monty" Hamson, Cleric Abdul Abdullamar, and Shaman Juinte.

.
.

I am an Otherkin.  My other kin is a microscopic creature with pincers that lives in your anus and bites off tiny pieces of your rectum flesh.  

.
.

Gentlemen, thank you for being here.  So you know how sometimes you'll flush once and leave the bathroom, and a while later you'll go back in there, maybe to take a piss or something, and you see in the bottom of the toilet, a little brown trail has collected, 'cause maybe you had a loose shit and it didn't all go down in that first flush?  That little brown trail; that is our product.

.
.

Later on in the show we'll be talking to beloved children's author Margey Rheiss, who charmed the nation with such best-selling classics as "Let's Hear it for Rat Face" and "Mommy Has a Beard."  She'll be promoting her newest book "The Sad, Lonely Little Cloud," which is said to be a return to form after a string of high-profile disappointments such as "Haney, Don't Touch that Doo-Doo!" and "The Exploding School Bus."

.
.

Huge news - the Region 1 Blu-Ray of 'Crunticle III: The Trollsack Wars' will be available on June 28th!  Preorder now!  Because it's a FAQ: yes, "Crunticle IX: The Ascension of The Bogborn" is in preproduction. Casting decisions are not ready for reveal.

Crunticle I: The Adventures of Laddry Krilkorn
Crunticle II: Deepfire of Vapridon
Crunticle III: The Trollsack Wars
Crunticle IV: Revenge of the Wind Breaker
Crunticle V: The Weirding of Gondalee
Crunticle VI: The Nine Jewels of the Time Pools
Crunticle VII: Slunken's Yander
Crunticle VIII: The Perilous Journey to Manticore Peninsula
Crunticle IX: Ascension of the Bogborn
Crunticle X: Lostwish

Return to Crunticle I: Shadow of the Dragonsabre
Return to Crunticle II: Gnomehome
Return to Crunticle III: The Skin of the Nut
Return to Crunticle IV: Atragon's Embrace
Return to Crunticle V: The Search for Gandledore

.
.

Yo, mang.  If Lurny come over when I'm gone, don't let him use da bafroom.  Not even if he ask.  Huh?  Man, that nigga took a shit so foul once here it set off the smoke detector.  Tell him the toilet ain't even workin' or just make up something like that.  Not going through that again.  

Man, Lurny always gotta use the bafroom.  Always.

That nigga needs to lay off the pork-n-onion stew.  That's what doin' it.  

.
.

You Cruz, you luz. Now go find solace in a bottle of buz.  Lie down on your sofa and have a nice snuz.  Wriggle and fester in your Tea Party uz.  Somehow this is all the fault of the juz.  Up north in Canada, they weep at the nuz.  Ted's career in America -- a series of cuz, planned in Toronto as a devilish ruz.  All of it meant to confound and confuz the stupid Americans who sit in the puz.  All glory to Ottawa, when Ted we would chuz!  Then the Mounties march in, and we're fed to the muz.  But oh, to their horror, Cruz elicited buz!  His rise was quite artful, but he then lost his Muz.  The fire went out of his fuz and his balls they turned blue.  As the Donald ascends, he just sits and stuz, his toes curling uncomfortably inside of his shuz.  Donald knew how to win, while all Ted could do was shmuz with the party insiders with foppish hairduz... then the people spoke up, common men with tattuz, they said "Trump is the man, all else we refuz!"

.
.

Donald Trump glared down at me from his ostentatious balcony. I didn't know it at the time, but the skin I had just eaten was his.  
.
.

They saw massive, oily clumps of fetid shit, furiously blasting from Hillary Clinton's sopping naked ass, bursting upon the marble floor.
.
.

Sometimes I find myself standing in strange contemplation, even admiration of the scuzzy people of the world.  And I try to elucidate this feeling without sounding insulting which is difficult.  I mean, you walk into a gas station and you see this skinny, rangy guy in a torn white t-shirt and ragged jeans, filthy workboots and a fisherman's hat over stringy hair, skin darkened by dirt, and he's standing in line with his obese wife who's wearing a muu-muu with her hair covered in a shower cap or something... and they're just scuzzy.  Real scuzzballs.  They turn around and glare at me like I'm the offensive one here.  In some ways, they are freer than us.  All of us middle-class aspirants who are computer literate and possess bank accounts; we are jealous climbers and strivers, clawing towards some elite ideal that we shall most likely never achieve.  We fear stagnation, we fear falling behind.  The scuzzy people have no such fear.  They are eternal and unchanging in their ways.  Pockets of evolutionary stasis; did you know that sharks existed on this planet before there were trees?  They were here millions of years ago and they are still here now.  Just like this gas station scuzz.  

It's important to distinguish between the True Scuzz and Plain Old Poor White Trash.  The main difference, I think, is access to media and the differing mindsets that are both cause and effect of such.  Plain Old Poor White Trash, no matter how impoverished they are, most likely own a television with many channels.  Watching the television is in fact one of their primary activities.  Nowadays, they even have smart phones with internet access.  Like us, they are aware and beholden to the central facets of the culture.  But the Scuzz, they exist happily apart.  Their last television ceased functioning in 1994 and they never bothered to get another one, because that money is better spent on booze, chaw, ammo, scratchers, and Pall Malls.  They have no time for such foolishness; it is an ignorance that becomes a sort of wisdom.  

You can ask a scuzzy person who they want to be the next President and they will look at you and reply with total conviction, "I don't fucking care!"  Why should they?  There has only ever been one Scuzz President in our nation's history -- Andrew Jackson -- and there is not likely to ever be another in our lifetimes.  And then you think, why do I care?  Does it truly affect my being?  If only my life was so independent, so pure.  They have better things to do, things that involve fuel oil, mulch, tar, nails, and fire.

Let us project ourselves into the near-future.  In 25 years, you and I will be helplessly integrated cogs in a technocratic society-machine.  We will be ruled by our wired workplaces, dependent upon a matrix of apps for every daily function, prisoners inside a network of driverless Uber vehicles.  But out there, out there in the primal world, the Scuzz will endure.  Some scuzzbag will wake up when he feels like it.  He'll say to himself, I'm gonna go to the creek today with Old Hoadie and catch some crawdads.  Go take a look at Garlene's truck, see if it's worth fixin'.  Go back and fry up them crawdads and get drunk with Hoadie and Dill and whoever else is around.  That will be his entire day.  Can you imagine that?  The life of the Scuzz?  It's truly beautiful to comprehend.  
.
.

So you look at these two, Chief, and all you see are a couple of filthy southside crackheads who killed themselves in a drug-addled rage, frantically slashing and stabbing one another over the last pipe hit... but I?  I see a proud African king and proud African queen, tragically brought low by hundreds of years of oppression at the hands of the white man.  We must show them the respect they are due... sergeant!  Lieutenant!  Bring wood and oil.  A mighty pyre must be built.  A sumptuous feast must be prepared.  All other business is to be put aside until the morrow, for our mourning rituals shall continue deep into the night.  
.
.

Following the critical and commercial success of Bridge of Spies, Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks will reunite for Pardieu, the long-awaited sequel to the 1982 televised production Mazes & Monsters.  The new film will portray an aged Robbie Wheeling, who continues to battle his mental illness while dealing with the deaths of his parents.  "Tom and I were just so excited to revisit this character," Spielberg enthused, "we both felt that there was so much more there to explore and discover. We'd talk about it over the years -- what does a man do once he's been consumed, body and soul, by a pen-and-paper RPG-based fantasy?  How does he interact with the changing world?"  Hanks contributed many ideas to the script, including a reported sequence where Robbie returns to the site of the World Trade Center, where the climax of the first film took place. "Seeing the changes, processing the new reality of the world we live in, and the changes that it causes in Robbie, it was a beautiful thing," the Oscar-winning actor said.  "The past interacting with the present, that's the heart of the film."  Spielberg went on to say "It goes without saying, working with Tom, that the tone isn't entirely elegaic -- the sense of humor from the original film, that aura of playfulness, you can't have a movie with Tom and not have that warmth."

It took Spielberg nearly 25 years to secure the rights to the story from the estate of the original author, Rona Jaffe, who expressed hesitation with the script and felt that Spielberg was not the right filmmaker to bring the project to the screen.
.
.

"Pardon, my good man!  If ye seek ale and smoke at our table, halt where you stand and do listen; ere you join our palaver, answer us this -- art thou a bosomsman or a buttocksman?  Ponder your answer with care, for whilst the wise response will gain you a night of jolly companionship, the unwise response will result in you being pummeled with offal and banished to the stables to drink rotgut with the hands.  Savvy?  Then, stand and answer us true.
.
.

"The jig is up, John!  Give me the Council Works NOW.  All your fancy Renikees and Rebaduchees can't help you now, boy!"

John felt his autonomic nervous system flood with adrenaline as Top Gun leveled the .44 caliber pistol at his chest.  This was becoming truly serious.  "What do we do, John?" Marc wailed from beside him, "fuck, this is madness!"

"I know this man, Marc.  We have one chance... his sphincter, that's his only weak point.  Quickly!  Distract him with nudity!"

The confrontation was over within 30 seconds.
.
.

Tyler Perry presents a Tyler Perry Motion Picture (in association with Ghetto Mound Productions): "A Nigga Most Unmanageable," starring Wesley Snipes as Walter "Shampoo" Bustakeys.  Also featuring Kevin Hart as Okra Jones, Jada Pinkett-Smith as Ophelia Ridonkulous, and Samuel L. Jackson as GhettoStar Blacktica.
.
.

Knick Slather and the Reacharound Boys. They have adventures.  And they sure know how to make a rockin' tune.
.
.

NYFE -- The New York Fecal Exchange.  Edward Fecalhands.
.
.

Dude, I hate elder-sitting your fucking grandma.  All she ever talks about is nuthatches.
I know, I know.  And you don't have to mention the smell again.  We all know she smells awful.  There's nothing we can do about it.
Yeah, that's fine, but she asked to see -my- nuthatch.  And I thought, snap, son, is this old bitch getting fresh with me?  That's what they called it back in her day, she said, getting fresh.  I've actually learned a lot from the old fresh bitch.  But yeah, dawg, that smell has got to go.  
.
.

I watched a video about a guy that can't/won't eat unless his food is drowned in brown sauce.  He doesn't have a healthy relationship with the Sauce.  When he goes out to eat with his girlfriend, she eats and he just sits there watching.  It's a major issue in their relationship.
.
.

"That guy?  Oh, yeah, that's Feces O'Flanagan.  He's nice enough, just don't ever ask him if you can bum a smoke."

.
.

"Fecalzard!  I chose you!"

Meh, Fecalzard is pretty ineffective against Fetidcheeser and other Smegmons.  Go with Turdasaur or Doodinator if you want maximum damage.

Yeah, but once a Fecalzard evolves to Stage 2, he gains the Sticky Spray attack which can neutralize Smegmon Gas Shields.  

Really?  I thought you had to save up a bunch of Flatula Gems and combine them into a Lingeroid to penetrate those shields... man, I'm going to purposefully de-evolve my Turdasaur and feed his pellets to Fecalzard.  Thanks for the pro tip!
.
.

Miss Peregrin's Home for Violently Retarded Children

Miss Peregrine's Safe Space for Privilege-Obsessed Dimwitted Children

Miss Peregrin's Dilapidated Home for Horrifically Mutilated Children

Miss Peregrin's Sodomy Dungeon for Sexually Attractive Children
.
.

Brett Keane now exists in the Manatee Dimension, a horrifying realm where light can only move in the blue range of the Spectrum.  Or perhaps Brett is broadcasting from an interstellar spacecraft travelling at near-light speed, and we are observing a "blue shift."
.
.

And it was with great horror that they perceived the infestation of toxic masculinity.  The gonads of the males steadily released a noxious fume that infected the pristine female air.  From the tips of their drooping shafts, there leaked vile fluids that were smeared upon all that they touched.  
.
.

A new study in the Lancet Medical Journal offers exciting insight into the remarkable antioxidant and free radical-neutralizing properties of wynemein, a recently-discovered microproteinoid. (Microproteinoids are extremely small molecules that work in conjunction with amino acids, while remaing chemically distinct.)  This newest microprotenoid is found exclusively in beef and has been linked to many health benefits in humans when consumed on a regular basis, which include the elimination of harmful cells, reduction of inflammation, and significant muscle growth.  It should be noted that wynemein remains largely inert unless the beef is cooked by direct application of fire, and consumed no fewer than three times per week.  Although more research is needed, nutritionists hypothesize that wynemein is the reason why real men don't get cancer, only little faggy pussies do.

.
.

"Mr. Incombe, do you have a moment?"

"Sure, Brent, sure.  Bonnie said you wanted to, ah, voice some sort of concern, in private...?"

"I do, sir."

"Alright, I'm all ears."

"Well, sir, it's about Dorfenkiet..."

"Dorfenkiet?"

"Yes.  I am no longer certain that I am comfortable working with this man."

"Brent, come on, Claudio Dorfenkiet is a model employee, and he's been here in the office for years... why, he's been here longer than I have, if you can believe that.  What exactly is the issue?"

"It's hard to explain, Mr. Incombe..."

"Well, ah, you're going to have to try.  I feel like we're wasting time here, Brent."

"I feel... that there is something entirely uncanny about Mr. Dorfenkiet."

"Go on..."

"As you said, he has been here for many years.  And he never seems to change, to age.  He feels entirely ancient to me.  As if his lifespan is beyond all human measure, and that his mind is... no longer human as we understand the term..."

"I see."

"When he walks past me, I perceive, not physically, but entirely in my mind, a baleful feeling of immense gravity. I briefly hallucinate strange odors from lost civilizations; crushed herbs and stone, dried blood, moldy wood, burnt oils, exotic powders and spices.  I feel a cold wind from a time before science and rationality that mocks our modern world with its contrivances, technological comforts, and pretensions of Order.  I feel as if this timeless age will somehow manifest... that it shall come as a flood or storm, to sweep away our current world and return us to a primeval state of terror, and we shall be ruled by some dark king, who is himself beholden to an unknown god... a god who left this world millennia ago, on some whim, but has returned to regain his control over everything we know.  That the last few thousand years were a brief, accidental respite, a small window of time where humankind was free to evolve on our own, and that this window of relative freedom is about to slam shut..."

"Mmm. Yes."

"There are times when Dorfenkiet and I exchange polite words near the coffee machine or in the copy room.  Nothing much is said, but I will then go home and almost always dream of a Pillar, a standing stone against a windswept desolation.  At times, there are runes carved into the Pillar that I cannot hope to comprehend.  Yet they glow and vibrate with intense power.  The Pillar seems to grow until it dwarfs the landscape, and my smallness becomes unbearable... and I will hear on the winds the dry and ghostly laughter of Dorfenkiet.  I know, in some sense that transcends logic and common sense, that he is an agent of this mysterious world, and that he has some knowing, some allegiance to this inhuman presence that lurks in the abyss.  I feel this most strongly when the television is on in the break room, and there is news of some disaster, a hurricane or tsunami or earthquake perhaps... I shall glance at Dorfenkiet, and sense a twinge of excitement or expectation in the man, as if he is perceiving some hidden plan within the daily chaos..."

"This is troubling."

"Indeed, sir.  I realize that these fears of mine sound strange, and that they are not within the bounds of normal workplace parameters.  Yet, I know that you have some inkling of what I speak; I can see it in your eyes, Mr. Incombe."

"Yes, Brent.  I have sensed it as well.  I just was never able to adequately voice these feelings for for fear of being thought of as troubled or unprofessional.  That you have done so is a great relief to me."

"I also feel unburdened, sir."

"....as for what we can do?  Well, there are several executive positions coming open in the next quarter.  If I were to recommend Dorfenkiet for one of them, I'm sure Mr. Mohr will probably be on board with it.  He only rarely denies my staffing choices.  Then Dorfenkiet will be at the head office, far away in Des Moines."

"That would be an ideal solution, sir."

"If not, we can discuss other options, Brent.  I'm sure you know what you mean by that."

"I do, sir.  We are discussing the violent and premeditated murder of Dorfenkiet.  If it is possible, which it may or may not be."

"Precisely."
.
.

I'll never forget what Grandpapa Gorby told me all those years ago; "Don't count your feces until they've hatched."  I'm still not sure what he meant.
.
.

"Hey.  John.  I left a couple of mule turds on the hood of your boss's car.  Watch her face when she comes back in from lunch!"
.
.

"Ma'am?  Ma'am!  Uh, you should probably keep your children away from the Face Eater.  Just, keep 'em back from it a good ways."
.
.

Hold on, let me get this straight, Mrs. Meade.  Your five year-old daughter  was afraid to flush the toilet because she thought her "poos would drown," so you convinced her that the commode was, in actuality, a portal to some kind of "Poo Heaven?"  And she believed you?  I suppose you thought it was clever, but  it was really the worst possible thing you could have done... Mrs. Meade, I've been a child psychologist for 35 years, and nothing -- nothing, mind you -- has been shown to be as damaging to a child's fragile psyche as this -- no, this is not uncommon, there are dozens of known cases.  It's sometimes referred to as Fecal Transcendence Syndrome.  It's almost certain that little Emma is now at severe risk of lifelong anxiety and depression, total authority figure rejection, and all forms of anal derangement...

...there are, in general, two paths of treatment.  The first is to immediately confront and destroy this delusion, which will require a controlled environment, heavy medication, and for her to be on suicide watch for several months.  The second is to maintain the delusion until she is old enough to be lobotomized.  Without several more sessions, I'm not sure which one would be the most appropriate.  Either way, she has a long road ahead.  

.
.

Frank Hammer and his Man Squad are tough and manly, yes, but what divides them from the villains they face on a weekly basis is that, deep down, they all have hearts of gold and treat the ladies well, as any real man does.  But the same cannot be said of their mortal enemies, who are all violent, cruel thugs who have no qualms about abusing the women they meet...  

Walker Bloodworth is a former Marine, much like Frank himself.  But unlike Frank Hammer, his time in the killing fields hardened him and made him lose his soul.  He became a ruthless and brilliant terrorist mastermind dedicated to the idea that might makes right and that anything he does is justified.  He takes delight in extortion, murder, mayhem, and every other crime under the sun.  In time, Walker Bloodworth became Public Enemy Number One and Frank's greatest nemesis.  And he recruited a group of dangerous men almost as despicable as himself...

Weston Savage is a towering brute from the plains of South Dakota.  A former bullrider, bronco buster, and champion weightlifter, Weston respects only strength and delights in destroying the weak whenever possible.  He was hired by Walker Bloodworth as muscle for the Sioux City Massacre, and Bloodworth recognized his potential and made him his loyal right-hand man.  Weston is skilled with knives, lassos, tomahawks, and other frontier weapons, but loves nothing more than to break his opponent's bodies with his bare hands.  He and Ivan Burley are nearly equal in strength and fighting ability -- but which one will ultimately triumph?

Khalik Godbolt hails from Zimbabwe, where he was known as the Black Demon of the Shadows.  A practitioner of some vile form of African voodoo, his frequent murders are part of some personal dark ritual that only he understands.  He likes to collect blood and body parts of his victims and wears jewelry that is said to be made of the bones of women that he has killed and offered to his gods.  Only Walker Bloodworth is aware of the exent of his crimes, and has stated that Khalik is the only man more evil than himself.  He is the archenemy of Hardy Wiggins, whose genius has stymied Godbolt's evil plans on many occasions.

Arturo Delgado looks like a well-groomed and dashing gentleman, but don't let that fool you.  He is in fact the world's most wanted rapist, wanted for violating women in over 54 countries.  He employs a wide range of toxins, poisons, and exotic chemicals in his fiendish exploits.  His umbrella contains a hidden blade that he can use to kill with frightening speed.  Walker Bloodworth heard of his works and hired him for his skills in suberfuge and infiltration.  Khalik Godbolt foretold that he can only be killed by his own son, the offspring of one of his many violent conquests.  Despite his polished manner, he lives in constant fear of this fate and seeks to locate the child that will one day end his life. Arturo was also responsible for the death of Gabriel Matic's beloved wife, but neither of them knows this until the final season.

Bradfield Kicklighter IV is a handsome young Adonis, a charming sports star and martial artist with many God-given physical gifts and the heir of a wealthy family.  But underneath his laughter lies the heart of a psychopath who seeks the rush of murder and destruction.  Working for Walker Bloodworth and committing international crimes is an addictive thrill that he cannot deny.  He constantly butts heads with Walker's other men, believing himself to be superior in all respects, but none dare kill him lest they suffer the wrath of Bloodworth himself.  What even Walker Bloodworth doesn't know is that Bradfield plans to one day to eliminate him and take his spot as the leader of the gang -- but will he succeed?

Walker Bloodworth, Weston Savage, Khalik Godbolt, Arturo Delgado, and Bradfield Kicklighter IV... together, they are a force to be reckoned with, one that only Frank Hammer and the Man Squad can ever hope to defeat.  

.
.

Donald Trump emerged from the labyrinth of the Pentagon and blinked at the morning sunlight.  He was exhausted and shaken.  It was the third evening this week that had been dominated by a session of "special Executive briefing," the crash course in top secret affairs that had shaken every other former President-Elect to their core and accelerated their inevitable graying and thinning.  His mind, which was incurious and belligerent when compared to those of his predecessors, was having trouble absorbing what he had learned...

...the true scope and nature of the world order.  The secret proliferation of nuclear weapons across the globe and the ruthless programs of assassinations and drone strikes that kept them in check.  International theft and bribery on a scale that even he could scarcely comprehend.  The insidious, monstrous experiments being carried out in China and Russia.  Unfathomable dangers from the cosmos at large; quasar megabursts and galactic gas clouds that could end all life.  The sickening reality of global climate change and the draconian population-control measures that the government was willing to take once the resource limit had been broken...

...it was more, more than he ever bargained for when he had begun his greedy, foolish crusade.  
It was two weeks later when Trump first attempted suicide to no avail.  His hand, reaching for the pill bottle, had ceased to function and his body collapsed back into bed without his consent.  Zzzzt!!!  Static in his mind -- they had already done it!  THEY ALREADY HAD CONTROL.  There was no going back now.  He was to play the role and given only that degree of freedom that was amenable to their agenda.  

He found he could not sleep without powerful sedatives.  But no drug could keep the nightmares at bay.  In fact, the visions that plagued his dreaming mind were more vivid and lifelike than any he'd had previous; most nights, he dreamed that he was fleeing, naked, through the dark streets of Washington, DC.  Swift figures came upon him and drove him to the filthy pavement.  Howling and gibbering they devoured his flabby flesh, their mouths full of pirahna-like teeth and burning, caustic saliva.  Hillary, Obama, Biden, Ryan... and Mitch McConnell, whose tortoise-like face grew to ghastly proportions, his sharp beak ripping and tearing Trump's vulnerable nude torso.  Every night he was eaten, every night he ended up in the belly of the Turtle, only to be born again the next morning, fetus-like, coated in sweat, squalling, and dripping with his own yogurty excretions.  
Even his own daughter Ivanka began to refer to him as "The Eaten One."  How did she know?  Why was she on their side?

Donald Trump began to shake violently.  How long could this continue?  He thought the words, "Sacred Artifact."  For some reason this calmed him and the tremors abated slightly.  Sacred artifact, sacred artifact, he repeated in his mind.

Sacred artifact.  Sacret artifact.  Sacred artifact.  Sacred artifact.  Sacred artifact.  This is the year 2016 and I have reclaimed the Sacred Artifact.
.
.

*BREAKING:* The Travolta has been successfully contained by Animal Control.  Code Orange lifted.  Two officers were critically maimed during the encounter.
Project Gilbrod X: Sacred Artifact 2016
Ah, yes.  2016 was a harrowing year for the Council; there were many glories far afield and many trials.  As a result, Council work was very sparse.  

But as always, we welcome a return visit from Gilbrod (may his muse never desert us.)
Loading...
Welcome, dear friends.

We are the Council of Gandalf.  Long ago, when the earth was younger, we gathered around the sacred flame, partaking of the holy herbs of knowledge.  Far we traveled with the aid of these herbs that we kept in a jar...

...in our many mystical journeys we brought back much knowledge, and many amazing stories of long-forgotten legends and vast vistas unknown to mortal man.  We wrote them with ink on paper, sacred texts that were treasured above all else.  Long these tomes sat in secret, known to only a select few.

But now the world is changing.  Times of change and strife are upon us.  The winds and waters are changing, becoming strange.  It is in these times that the hidden knowledge must come to light, to offer guidance and wisdom to all who seek it.

We are the Council.  

Learn our knowledge and find your way in this world.

Peace and Love.

-- Gandalf.

deviantID

CouncilofGandalf
The Wisdom of The Council
United States
Current Residence: A hideously stable geosynchronous orbit.
Favourite genre of music: Electronic.
Favourite photographer: Tom Bombadil.
Favourite style of art: Surrealist.
Operating System: Old Toby.
MP3 player of choice: The harpers of Elrond.
Shell of choice: Just an old blue hat.
Wallpaper of choice: That which pleases me.
Skin of choice: Old and leathery.
Favourite cartoon character: Smaug the Mighty.
Personal Quote: "Through the time, i see the minds, hear the voices of the world..."
Interests

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconacaciathorn:
Acaciathorn Featured By Owner Jul 30, 2014  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thank you so much for the donation! :hug:
Reply
:iconcouncilofgandalf:
CouncilofGandalf Featured By Owner Aug 6, 2014
You are most welcome.  
Reply
:iconelusivegnome:
ElusiveGnome Featured By Owner Jan 1, 2011
look, some quality! *watch
Reply
:iconcouncilofgandalf:
CouncilofGandalf Featured By Owner Jan 4, 2011
Thank you, sir. We treasure our humble works, and are pleased when others do so.
Reply
:iconststreet:
ststreet Featured By Owner Oct 14, 2009
I have a question if you don't mind.

It's a bit stupid, but how do you make the font go back to normal after you put it in italics like this? Is there a certain way?
Reply
:iconcouncilofgandalf:
CouncilofGandalf Featured By Owner Oct 14, 2009
Well, yes, i use html tags. I use < i> to start the italics, and < /i> to stop the italics. Of course, those tags have spaces so they'll show up in this note. Normally, they have no spaces.
Reply
:iconststreet:
ststreet Featured By Owner Oct 15, 2009
Thanks.
Reply
:iconargo602:
Argo602 Featured By Owner Oct 3, 2009
Thanks for the watch!
Reply
Add a Comment: