He brushes calloused fingers over her ribs, a quiet, and strange, arousal quickening within him. He is imagining peeling away layer after layer of muscle and fat, skin and tendons. He pushes aside the offal, finding his prize, ivory buried in warm, crimson, silk. He imagines cracking her sternum and gently pulling apart her ribs so that they flex open like a hinged box. That is his prize, her ribs fluttering open like a butterfly's wings in the sun.
Her screams, as he pulls her apart, will be as beautiful as any symphonic glory dreamed by Mozart or Beethoven. He feels his arousal reaching a peak, feels it building beneath the wicked desires. He slows to a teasing thrust reveling in her moans as he denies her again and again. Soon he will make her slick with blood, prying apart the flesh and pushing into the cavity he will open.
Her hazel eyes remain closed, savoring the heft and feel of him sliding in and out of her. She arches her back, thrusting her chest up to meet his fingers as they brush little circles around her breasts. She does not feel him changing. She does not see the shift from lover to murderer. Nor does she see him take up a wicked little blade. She is lost in the moment, her hips thrusting up to meet his, taking him as far within herself as she can.
She gasps, her eyes fluttering open as she feels the knife find purchase. A rigid jolt of agony shocks her system as it tears through her outer layer. She looks up at him, his black eyes glittering like stars in the evening light. His eyes widen, like a shark's, at the smell of blood. It takes a moment for her to find her voice, a scream ripping out of her as he causes another tear in her fabric.
He revels in the music he makes. An orchestra conductor, he instructs his flutes and violins. He encourages the high notes to crashing crescendos, building them higher and higher. And, deep underneath all the soprano notes, builds his own bass. It takes a moment to realize he is screaming with her. Though his screams reverberate with joy and pleasure.
Again he slows, drawing out the sweetness of the moment. He gazes, lovingly, at what he is creating. Like a curious, and none-too-gentle, child he begins to explore his masterpiece. He pushes her apart as he continues to slide in and out of her, blood pooling just beneath her buttocks. The blood serves to lubricate each stroke as he draws closer orgasm. He invades her, looking for what he wants, not caring if she is still screaming.
He separates her breasts, causing rifts and valleys to grow ever wider between the two. He kisses her bloody sternum, shining brightly in the light of a naked bulb. He kisses her bloody bones as he bursts into her, shaking with the intensity of his little death.
Spent, he pulls away, pearlescent beads of crimson staining his lips. He looks deep into her eyes, now glazed and dull. She is still breathing, he can see her lungs moving. He smiles and kisses her mouth, staining her paling skin. She does not respond, a bubble of gleaming spittle beginning at the corner of her reddened lips.
Now begins his vivisection, the dissection of his new favorite doll, though no plaything lasts forever. He doesn't bother to tie her down, she couldn't escape now, even if he let her go. With legs still shaking, he retrieves his bolt cutters, eager to begin.
He snips a ligament, a tether line for rib to sternum, a muffled scream gurgling up from her exposed viscera. He smiles and turns her head so that the vomit leaks out, he doesn't want her to die yet. Though she will die before he is finished.
Another ligament is cut, another pitiful scream. Another and another, until he has only one left. With a jubilant cry, he frees the sternum and removes it. He lays it aside and begins the task of removing her organs.
Lovingly, he cradles each one before placing it in a sealed container. Later he will throw them against his canvases so that they splatter. He will name each piece after its respective organ, sign his name in blood and call it 'avant garde.' He will place these works of 'art' behind glass so that the smell of rot and decay is hidden.
Once all the organs have been removed he begins detaching the ribs from the backbone. As each one is removed, he places it in a bowl of cool water to remove the marrow. Later he will lightly cook the marrow until it is succulently tender and pair it with a delicate rose wine. With the marrow removed he drills randomly placed holes and fills the bone with a thick red paint. It oozes, like blood, and he hangs it above a blank canvas to drip.
Finally he begins the task of removing her other bones. He removes the marrow from each before he cleans them. He washes each one in a bleach solution until they glimmer. Smiling, he holds each one up to the light, examining and polishing.
He recreates her skeleton, after the bones are cleaned and drained, but as he sees it. He positions her arms to that her head is cradled in front of her pelvis. He paints her ribs in neon colors fanning them out as a crown for her skull. Using one femur for her backbone, he drapes her vertebrae across her hips.
Taking out his Polaroid camera he photographs his malleable work of art. He christens himself the Picasso of the macabre. He will re-paint the bones, readjust the scene to suit each new muse. He will fall in love with her over and over again, just as he destroys her every time.
Her skeletal remains are a jumble of puzzle pieces waiting to be placed. He will re-create her as he sees her in his fevered imagination. God and Eve playing in the Garden of desire and reincarnation until the end of time. No serpent, no devil, no temptation of evil as he recreates, her piece by piece, in the form of whatever Goddess he chooses. He is the creator, an artist of infinite imagination.
He will cherish her, that is, until the next muse demands his love, demands his worship. Then she will be old bones, forgotten in the abyss of memory.
Showing posts with label cannibal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cannibal. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 06, 2013
Sunday, November 25, 2012
The Harlot's Blush
It is impossible to say how long they had been insane. The madness was a black pool in which they had, long, been drowning. It was toxic, yet it seemed to give them an almost ethereal loveliness. A tainted beauty enveloped their house and clung to them like so many flecks of ivory colored mud.
He had been a soldier. The blood stains of war could be seen beneath the slowly cracking facade. He lost himself somewhere in the torn jungles of a foreign land and between the legs of a beautiful, young, girl with soulless eyes. His infidelities, to both his wife and himself, often stirred the fires of madness to the point of a break. He would fling himself into a scalding tub of water and scream at God for just a moment of peace. When it had passed he would remind himself that God had died, with him, in those war torn jungles long ago.
She had been a victim of incestuous desires, forced to run from her home to escape an older brother. She had run as far as her twenty dollars and sixty-two cents could take her before she began hocking the only thing left to her. She married the first man that asked and lied, saying she was eighteen. She was his wife, a leash on the madness, already creeping in, until the war. Everything changed after that. While he was gone, she took a lover and began to drink. The scars building on her arms and torso were just to bleed, not to kill. There was no one there to care.
After another fifth of whatever alcohol she can find, she stumbles into his arms. He is shaking and whispering. He looks afraid, as if he were a wounded rabbit being hunted by something more sinister than a fox.
"God is dead. He died between that girl's legs in those forsaken jungles. What a waste. What a tragedy." He whispers into her tousled amber hair as he plants a small kiss on her pale earlobe. He is speaking nonsense, he always does after the nightmares begin. And they always begin this time of year.
~~~
The couple next door have finished moving in and are having a celebratory dinner. They invite their neighbors, though they feel uneasy around them. They can sense the wrongness beneath the calm, everyone can. At first the young wife pleads with her husband not to invite them. There is something there that makes her frightened. Proper etiquette and good manners win in the end.
The evening begins, quietly, with a few casual drinks and pleasantly neutral banter. It grows into a robust game of chess, unwitting pawns in the world of questions. It fades into a hulking paranoia, and resentment, as the guests are politely introduced to the door. Good nights and good byes are given and received as they part for the night.
~~~
The paranoia sits on his chest as he tosses and turns. He must have the beautiful young woman next door. She is perfect, so wonderfully fresh and new. He must have her. His wife doesn't matter, she doesn't even compare. The young woman next door is all that matters.
He watches her, day after day. He follows her as she walks home from the store. He memorizes her curves as he stalks her. He is waiting for the moment to take her, the moment where she will be his alone. He waits, patiently, for a year, writhing in the heat of his lust and the agony of his madness.
He takes her. Takes her just as he did a young girl in a foreign country years ago. He strings her up and rakes his hot hands over her body. He says he will take his time, enjoy her, but impatience is a cruel master. It drives the knife into her writhing body over and over. It is impotence and rage, tempered with insanity, that drives the knife. He can no longer satisfy his wife or himself. Not since that girl in the jungles where God died. He can no longer be a man.
~~~
She finds him in the shed in the fenced-in backyard. He is wallowing in blood and praying to his crucified Madonna. He is crying and has cut himself. She finds his severed manhood lying beside the young neighbor's wilting corpse. Gently, she lifts it from the dirt floor and places it in an empty firefly jar.
She goes to him then. She kneels beside him and takes his head into her lap, caressing his tangled hair. She pries the knife from his hand and twines her fingers with his. She bends over him to kiss his cheek, all the while murmuring words of comfort. She imagines a crown of thorns on his beautiful head as she slits his throat.
She ties him up beside the neighbor woman and begins to devolve into her own wickedness. Her eyes glitter with hatred and insanity, the madness a poisonous balm to her breaking heart. She hums an off-key melody as she lines up jars. They are mostly empty, but in her mind they are holding the parts of every man that harmed her.
She croons, softly, to his body as it, too, begins to wilt. She glances into his tear-bright eyes, still wide in shock at his sudden demise. She sings to him, as if he were a sleepy child. Brushing a stray wisp of hair from his face, she pats his cheek.
"A beautiful forest, a sea of green, nestled at the foot of the mountain. God stands within, laughing at the rotting demons strung amongst the autumn leaves. Their eyes cry out and ghosts weep, quietly. No mortal loves his life in that forest.
"You look so peaceful," she whispers, caressing his cooling face. His eyes seem to be screaming at her. "so calm and beautiful. You didn't have to take her when I would have given myself up to your knife. Was my blood not perfect for this exorcism? Was my heart not beating for you as the blade graced your throat?
"What a waste. What a tragedy. What a beautiful blush the harlot has upon her snow cheek. She fell in love with you, even as you wielded your blade against her. She parted softly with your name, a hallowed prayer, upon her bloody lips. She was a rose and you stole her petals, a goddess in flesh and you freed her from imprisonment.
"What now, my husband? What now, my love?"
She sees him stir at these last words. A strangled scream escapes her mouth as he sways toward her. His hands, once secured, now reach out to choke her, to deny her breath. She claws and gnashes her teeth, sinking into his cold flesh and tearing it. She hears him howling, like a werewolf, his screams beating against the drum of her skull. All her struggle is in vain.
~~~
They found her with her own hands wrapped around her throat. Red teeth marks and torn flesh lay in abundance. The two bodies, hung from the rafters, seemed to be in a lover's pose. A bloody heart was drawn on the wall behind them.
When she was revived all that could be discerned from her garbled speech was "heaven." They led her away from the scene in a white coat, given to her by the nice man also in white.
What they could not understand she knew all too well.
She had tasted heaven in her final scene.
He had been a soldier. The blood stains of war could be seen beneath the slowly cracking facade. He lost himself somewhere in the torn jungles of a foreign land and between the legs of a beautiful, young, girl with soulless eyes. His infidelities, to both his wife and himself, often stirred the fires of madness to the point of a break. He would fling himself into a scalding tub of water and scream at God for just a moment of peace. When it had passed he would remind himself that God had died, with him, in those war torn jungles long ago.
She had been a victim of incestuous desires, forced to run from her home to escape an older brother. She had run as far as her twenty dollars and sixty-two cents could take her before she began hocking the only thing left to her. She married the first man that asked and lied, saying she was eighteen. She was his wife, a leash on the madness, already creeping in, until the war. Everything changed after that. While he was gone, she took a lover and began to drink. The scars building on her arms and torso were just to bleed, not to kill. There was no one there to care.
After another fifth of whatever alcohol she can find, she stumbles into his arms. He is shaking and whispering. He looks afraid, as if he were a wounded rabbit being hunted by something more sinister than a fox.
"God is dead. He died between that girl's legs in those forsaken jungles. What a waste. What a tragedy." He whispers into her tousled amber hair as he plants a small kiss on her pale earlobe. He is speaking nonsense, he always does after the nightmares begin. And they always begin this time of year.
The couple next door have finished moving in and are having a celebratory dinner. They invite their neighbors, though they feel uneasy around them. They can sense the wrongness beneath the calm, everyone can. At first the young wife pleads with her husband not to invite them. There is something there that makes her frightened. Proper etiquette and good manners win in the end.
The evening begins, quietly, with a few casual drinks and pleasantly neutral banter. It grows into a robust game of chess, unwitting pawns in the world of questions. It fades into a hulking paranoia, and resentment, as the guests are politely introduced to the door. Good nights and good byes are given and received as they part for the night.
The paranoia sits on his chest as he tosses and turns. He must have the beautiful young woman next door. She is perfect, so wonderfully fresh and new. He must have her. His wife doesn't matter, she doesn't even compare. The young woman next door is all that matters.
He watches her, day after day. He follows her as she walks home from the store. He memorizes her curves as he stalks her. He is waiting for the moment to take her, the moment where she will be his alone. He waits, patiently, for a year, writhing in the heat of his lust and the agony of his madness.
He takes her. Takes her just as he did a young girl in a foreign country years ago. He strings her up and rakes his hot hands over her body. He says he will take his time, enjoy her, but impatience is a cruel master. It drives the knife into her writhing body over and over. It is impotence and rage, tempered with insanity, that drives the knife. He can no longer satisfy his wife or himself. Not since that girl in the jungles where God died. He can no longer be a man.
She finds him in the shed in the fenced-in backyard. He is wallowing in blood and praying to his crucified Madonna. He is crying and has cut himself. She finds his severed manhood lying beside the young neighbor's wilting corpse. Gently, she lifts it from the dirt floor and places it in an empty firefly jar.
She goes to him then. She kneels beside him and takes his head into her lap, caressing his tangled hair. She pries the knife from his hand and twines her fingers with his. She bends over him to kiss his cheek, all the while murmuring words of comfort. She imagines a crown of thorns on his beautiful head as she slits his throat.
She ties him up beside the neighbor woman and begins to devolve into her own wickedness. Her eyes glitter with hatred and insanity, the madness a poisonous balm to her breaking heart. She hums an off-key melody as she lines up jars. They are mostly empty, but in her mind they are holding the parts of every man that harmed her.
She croons, softly, to his body as it, too, begins to wilt. She glances into his tear-bright eyes, still wide in shock at his sudden demise. She sings to him, as if he were a sleepy child. Brushing a stray wisp of hair from his face, she pats his cheek.
"A beautiful forest, a sea of green, nestled at the foot of the mountain. God stands within, laughing at the rotting demons strung amongst the autumn leaves. Their eyes cry out and ghosts weep, quietly. No mortal loves his life in that forest.
"You look so peaceful," she whispers, caressing his cooling face. His eyes seem to be screaming at her. "so calm and beautiful. You didn't have to take her when I would have given myself up to your knife. Was my blood not perfect for this exorcism? Was my heart not beating for you as the blade graced your throat?
"What a waste. What a tragedy. What a beautiful blush the harlot has upon her snow cheek. She fell in love with you, even as you wielded your blade against her. She parted softly with your name, a hallowed prayer, upon her bloody lips. She was a rose and you stole her petals, a goddess in flesh and you freed her from imprisonment.
"What now, my husband? What now, my love?"
She sees him stir at these last words. A strangled scream escapes her mouth as he sways toward her. His hands, once secured, now reach out to choke her, to deny her breath. She claws and gnashes her teeth, sinking into his cold flesh and tearing it. She hears him howling, like a werewolf, his screams beating against the drum of her skull. All her struggle is in vain.
They found her with her own hands wrapped around her throat. Red teeth marks and torn flesh lay in abundance. The two bodies, hung from the rafters, seemed to be in a lover's pose. A bloody heart was drawn on the wall behind them.
When she was revived all that could be discerned from her garbled speech was "heaven." They led her away from the scene in a white coat, given to her by the nice man also in white.
What they could not understand she knew all too well.
She had tasted heaven in her final scene.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Jezebel
Everywhere you looked there was lice and disease, hunger and pain. Starvation was a constant bedfellow. Some had turned to cannibalism. They murdered their children, and abandoned babes, and consumed them. Some cut down the executed, some dug out fresh corpses. All to stave off the ever-present hunger.
The lice, and diseases they brought, drove men to madness. Some stood on the corners, or sides of the road, cupping their hands to receive water that never came. They preached the end of the world and often killed themselves in a public display of self-loathing. By the next day they were nothing but glistening bones and dust.
Long had we been forced to live in these conditions while the king and queen drank clean water and ate to their fill. We stood in the recesses of the castle at night as the king made love to his queen on golden fabrics and lice-free beds.
Even though their people starved and went mad all around them, they seemed oblivious to everything, but themselves. That night we took our places in history, rebellious revolutionaries demanding our dance with fate.
~
On that night, I caressed the queen's quivering form. She did not glare at me in hate, her only expression was that of confusion. She must have wondered who I was. I kissed her passionately as the gilded blade slid inside of her. It has been said that there is no lover as beautiful as death and her knife. Her eyes fluttered only a moment before they closed. A true patriot, I had saved her.
The king did not die so easily. One thousand black crows decided his fate. Each one hungrier than the next for their morsel of tender flesh. Judged and found wanting, they pronounced a punishment fit for a man called tyrant. They tore him apart, piece by piece, until all that remained was his shattered skull. He had been eaten alive by a crowd that had once worshiped him.
~
Then Israel stood up, his eyes bright in the birth of a new dawn and a new nation. His white dreadlocks created a halo around his dark face so that we saw him as he was. Our saviour.
"My people," he cried. "this night we have wrested freedom from the hands of tyranny. We have labored through the birth of a new day. We have given life to the revolution and paid the prices due. Now is the dawn of our new age, given with blood and tears. Celebrate your new freedom!"
The crowd roared with consent, a deafening ocean of voices rising as one to his ears. They had died, killed and shed many a tear for this new era. Now their new found god, their new tyrant, called them to dance and make love and drink in the halls of a murdered king.
And they did so with relish.
~
I stood beside him as he spoke, the blood of my beautiful queen staining my lips and hands. He kissed those bloody lips when he was done. He gave my new name to the hungry crows, as they reveled in the filth they had created, a name to eclipse any other. I have been called many things.
"This is my queen. My Jezebel." He spoke my new name as a caress, said it with pride and fear. He had crowned us king and queen, undisputed before the crowd. With those perfect lips, and a poisonous tongue, he pronounced our doom.
I stood with him the day our names were called. There was a price to be paid and we must pay it. We stood on the scaffold, as a king had before us. Israel, unbelieving, stared out at the same hungry crows that had devoured the previous saviour. They called for his blood as they had for the tyrant before. They meant to have it.
They tore at my dress and my short hair, declaring me a witch and a pixie. The nakedness only served to frenzy them. Israel cried out, "Save me, save me!" In the end he was just as weak as any other man of flesh and blood.
And, just as the Jezebel before me, I was devoured by the wild dogs.
The lice, and diseases they brought, drove men to madness. Some stood on the corners, or sides of the road, cupping their hands to receive water that never came. They preached the end of the world and often killed themselves in a public display of self-loathing. By the next day they were nothing but glistening bones and dust.
Long had we been forced to live in these conditions while the king and queen drank clean water and ate to their fill. We stood in the recesses of the castle at night as the king made love to his queen on golden fabrics and lice-free beds.
Even though their people starved and went mad all around them, they seemed oblivious to everything, but themselves. That night we took our places in history, rebellious revolutionaries demanding our dance with fate.
~
On that night, I caressed the queen's quivering form. She did not glare at me in hate, her only expression was that of confusion. She must have wondered who I was. I kissed her passionately as the gilded blade slid inside of her. It has been said that there is no lover as beautiful as death and her knife. Her eyes fluttered only a moment before they closed. A true patriot, I had saved her.
The king did not die so easily. One thousand black crows decided his fate. Each one hungrier than the next for their morsel of tender flesh. Judged and found wanting, they pronounced a punishment fit for a man called tyrant. They tore him apart, piece by piece, until all that remained was his shattered skull. He had been eaten alive by a crowd that had once worshiped him.
~
Then Israel stood up, his eyes bright in the birth of a new dawn and a new nation. His white dreadlocks created a halo around his dark face so that we saw him as he was. Our saviour.
"My people," he cried. "this night we have wrested freedom from the hands of tyranny. We have labored through the birth of a new day. We have given life to the revolution and paid the prices due. Now is the dawn of our new age, given with blood and tears. Celebrate your new freedom!"
The crowd roared with consent, a deafening ocean of voices rising as one to his ears. They had died, killed and shed many a tear for this new era. Now their new found god, their new tyrant, called them to dance and make love and drink in the halls of a murdered king.
And they did so with relish.
~
I stood beside him as he spoke, the blood of my beautiful queen staining my lips and hands. He kissed those bloody lips when he was done. He gave my new name to the hungry crows, as they reveled in the filth they had created, a name to eclipse any other. I have been called many things.
"This is my queen. My Jezebel." He spoke my new name as a caress, said it with pride and fear. He had crowned us king and queen, undisputed before the crowd. With those perfect lips, and a poisonous tongue, he pronounced our doom.
I stood with him the day our names were called. There was a price to be paid and we must pay it. We stood on the scaffold, as a king had before us. Israel, unbelieving, stared out at the same hungry crows that had devoured the previous saviour. They called for his blood as they had for the tyrant before. They meant to have it.
They tore at my dress and my short hair, declaring me a witch and a pixie. The nakedness only served to frenzy them. Israel cried out, "Save me, save me!" In the end he was just as weak as any other man of flesh and blood.
And, just as the Jezebel before me, I was devoured by the wild dogs.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
A Bear-y Text
Bear: So, I think you should slather some honey all over you tonight.
Me: Why should I do that?
Bear: Because it will give your skin some extra moisture and... stuff?
Me: Or is it because you think I'll taste better with honey?
Bear: What?! What are you accusing me of?!
Me: I don't know, being an omnivore who might decide to feed its omnivorous nature by consuming my all too tender flesh slathered in "moisturizing" honey?
Bear: That's just insulting! Why would I suggest you slather yourself in delicious and delectable honey only so that I could then devour your mouthwatering-ly (is that a word?) sensationally moisturized flesh? I may be an omnivore, but I have standards.
Me: Are you insulting my flesh? Are you saying that I am not tasty enough for you? Is that what this is about?!
Bear: No! You are taking this all the wrong way! I'm just suggesting that you moisturize! It is good for your skin and good for your sense of well-being. Jesus, you'd think I was insulting your deliciousness or something!
Me: I think as soon as I have my back turned you are going to maul me and then slather me in honey and eat me. I can practically see you salivating from here! Also, is it cannibalism if you eat me, since you are a sentient bear? Doesn't that make you kind of close to human?
Bear: ...
Me: Nothing to say?
Bear: ...
Me: Hello? Are you still there?
Bear: ...
Me: Fine, if you're going to be a cub about things...
Bear: (suddenly behind me: screams) OM NOM NOM!!!
Me: (drops phone in a state of panic and flees)
Bear: (starts laughing hysterically and departs with my cell phone to wreck his terrible sense of humor on others)
---
This blog was inspired by Kyle M. I hope you are happy Kyle. I blogged about bears.
This is also partially inspired by the following blog post by Fawn (http://namonakimichi.blogspot.com/2011/08/oh-my-fuck-fawn.html) about a girl whose mother listened to her get eaten by a bear.
Me: Why should I do that?
Bear: Because it will give your skin some extra moisture and... stuff?
Me: Or is it because you think I'll taste better with honey?
Bear: What?! What are you accusing me of?!
Me: I don't know, being an omnivore who might decide to feed its omnivorous nature by consuming my all too tender flesh slathered in "moisturizing" honey?
Bear: That's just insulting! Why would I suggest you slather yourself in delicious and delectable honey only so that I could then devour your mouthwatering-ly (is that a word?) sensationally moisturized flesh? I may be an omnivore, but I have standards.
Me: Are you insulting my flesh? Are you saying that I am not tasty enough for you? Is that what this is about?!
Bear: No! You are taking this all the wrong way! I'm just suggesting that you moisturize! It is good for your skin and good for your sense of well-being. Jesus, you'd think I was insulting your deliciousness or something!
Me: I think as soon as I have my back turned you are going to maul me and then slather me in honey and eat me. I can practically see you salivating from here! Also, is it cannibalism if you eat me, since you are a sentient bear? Doesn't that make you kind of close to human?
Bear: ...
Me: Nothing to say?
Bear: ...
Me: Hello? Are you still there?
Bear: ...
Me: Fine, if you're going to be a cub about things...
Bear: (suddenly behind me: screams) OM NOM NOM!!!
Me: (drops phone in a state of panic and flees)
Bear: (starts laughing hysterically and departs with my cell phone to wreck his terrible sense of humor on others)
---
This blog was inspired by Kyle M. I hope you are happy Kyle. I blogged about bears.
This is also partially inspired by the following blog post by Fawn (http://namonakimichi.blogspot.com/2011/08/oh-my-fuck-fawn.html) about a girl whose mother listened to her get eaten by a bear.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Ode to a Cupcake (or two)
Who doesn't like cupcakes? They are the perfectly proportioned amount of cake so that you don't have to feel guilty eating them! Of course, if you are already on a diet that requires no cupcakes you should feel bad, but why would you choose a diet like that anyway? Did you know that the British call cupcakes Fairy Cakes? I think I like that name better, actually! Australians call them patty cakes.
Anyway, this blog is all about cupcakes. I am going to post a few pictures of cupcakes and a recipe or two.
First let's start with a Cookie Monster Cupcake!
I'm not sure what this cupcake is made of, but it looks delicious!! I want one!
Oh Noes!! Not a Cannibal Cupcake!!! RUN!
Who doesn't love a puppycake? Also, may have to invest in that book. Just sayin'.
Best Costume Idea Ever! ^_^
Rainbow Cupcake! Tasty and beautiful!
And, just for Donnie, A TURTLE CUPCAKE!
Now that your tastebuds have been teased with these mouthwatering images of cupcakes, here are two different cupcake recipes for your enjoyment!
Sparkling Strawberry Champagne Cupcakes
I found this recipe on www.thecupcakerecipes.com. Sounds delicious, but I haven't gotten to try it yet. Will post whenever I can afford the champagne! ^-^
Sweet Pink Strawberry Champagne Cupcake Recipe
* 1 box Betty Crocker® SuperMoist® strawberry cake mix
* 1 1/4 cups champagne, (I used a Red Sparkling Wine - Cinzano Brachetto d’Acqui) it will compliment the fruity strawberry flavor.
* 1/3 cup vegetable oil
* 3 egg whites
Champagne Frosting
* 1/2 cup butter or margarine, softened
* 4 cups powdered sugar
* 1/4 cup champagne
* 1 teaspoon vanilla
* 4 to 5 drops red food coloring
Garnish
Pink decorator sugar crystals
Edible pink pearls
Directions:
* Heat oven to 350°F (325°F for dark or nonstick pan). Place paper baking cup in each of 24 regular-size muffin cups.
* In large bowl, combine dry cake mix and champagne. Add oil, eggs. Beat with electric mixer on medium speed for 2 minutes. Divide batter evenly among muffin cups.
* Bake 17 to 22 minutes or until toothpick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool 10 minutes; remove from pan to cooling rack. Cool completely, about 30 minutes.
* In medium bowl, beat frosting ingredients with electric mixer on medium speed until smooth. Frost cupcakes. Sprinkle with pink sugar or pearls.
Sweet Potato Cupcakes
I found this recipe on www.cupcakeblog.com. Now these may sound kind of gross at first, if you don't like Sweet Potatoes, but I am actually really intrigued by this recipe and will definitely have to try it! Hope you enjoy it! If you get a chance to try it, comment and let me know what you think!
Sweet Potato Cupcakes
~24 cupcakes / 350 degree oven
3/4 cup (1-1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature
1/4 cup granulated sugar
2 cups almond meal
4 large eggs
3/4 cup high-quality honey
3/4 cup buttermilk
1 cup sweet potato flour
1 teaspoon xanthan gum
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1. Preheat the oven to 350°.
2. Beat butter until softened. Add sugar and beat until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes.
3. Add almond meal and beat to combine.
4. Add eggs, one at a time, beating until well combined.
5. Measure the flour, xanthan gum, baking powder, and salt into a medium bowl and whisk to combine.
6. Measure out the honey and buttermilk. Stir to combine.
7. Add about a third of the dry ingredients to the butter/sugar and beat to combine. Add about a half of the wet ingredients and beat to combine. Continue adding, alternating between dry and wet and finishing with the dry.
8. Scoop batter into cupcake cups about 2/3′s full. Bake cupcakes for about 22-25 minutes or until a cake tester comes out clean.
Bourbon Caramel Cream Cheese Frosting
4 tablespoons brown sugar
4 tablespoons whipping cream
2 tablespoons butter
pinch salt
4 tablespoons bourbon
2 packages phili cream cheese, room temp
1 cup butter, room temp
6 cups confectioner’s sugar
1. Heat brown sugar, cream, butter, salt over medium high heat whisking until sugar is dissolved. Cook for another minute.
2. Pour in bourbon and stir to combine. Take off heat and let cool.
3. In the bowl of an electric mixer, beat cream cheese and butter until soft.
4. Add the confectioner’s sugar and beat to combine.
5. Add three tablespoons of the bourbon caramel (you might have some left over) and beat to combine. You can always add more, but the frosting may end up pretty soft.
Assembly
1. Frost.
2. Top with homemade sweet potato chips.
All for now ladies and germs!! Hope you enjoyed this very cupcake-centric blog!
Anyway, this blog is all about cupcakes. I am going to post a few pictures of cupcakes and a recipe or two.
First let's start with a Cookie Monster Cupcake!
I'm not sure what this cupcake is made of, but it looks delicious!! I want one!
Oh Noes!! Not a Cannibal Cupcake!!! RUN!
Who doesn't love a puppycake? Also, may have to invest in that book. Just sayin'.
Best Costume Idea Ever! ^_^
Rainbow Cupcake! Tasty and beautiful!
And, just for Donnie, A TURTLE CUPCAKE!
Now that your tastebuds have been teased with these mouthwatering images of cupcakes, here are two different cupcake recipes for your enjoyment!
Sparkling Strawberry Champagne Cupcakes
I found this recipe on www.thecupcakerecipes.com. Sounds delicious, but I haven't gotten to try it yet. Will post whenever I can afford the champagne! ^-^
Sweet Pink Strawberry Champagne Cupcake Recipe
* 1 box Betty Crocker® SuperMoist® strawberry cake mix
* 1 1/4 cups champagne, (I used a Red Sparkling Wine - Cinzano Brachetto d’Acqui) it will compliment the fruity strawberry flavor.
* 1/3 cup vegetable oil
* 3 egg whites
Champagne Frosting
* 1/2 cup butter or margarine, softened
* 4 cups powdered sugar
* 1/4 cup champagne
* 1 teaspoon vanilla
* 4 to 5 drops red food coloring
Garnish
Pink decorator sugar crystals
Edible pink pearls
Directions:
* Heat oven to 350°F (325°F for dark or nonstick pan). Place paper baking cup in each of 24 regular-size muffin cups.
* In large bowl, combine dry cake mix and champagne. Add oil, eggs. Beat with electric mixer on medium speed for 2 minutes. Divide batter evenly among muffin cups.
* Bake 17 to 22 minutes or until toothpick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool 10 minutes; remove from pan to cooling rack. Cool completely, about 30 minutes.
* In medium bowl, beat frosting ingredients with electric mixer on medium speed until smooth. Frost cupcakes. Sprinkle with pink sugar or pearls.
Sweet Potato Cupcakes
I found this recipe on www.cupcakeblog.com. Now these may sound kind of gross at first, if you don't like Sweet Potatoes, but I am actually really intrigued by this recipe and will definitely have to try it! Hope you enjoy it! If you get a chance to try it, comment and let me know what you think!
Sweet Potato Cupcakes
~24 cupcakes / 350 degree oven
3/4 cup (1-1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature
1/4 cup granulated sugar
2 cups almond meal
4 large eggs
3/4 cup high-quality honey
3/4 cup buttermilk
1 cup sweet potato flour
1 teaspoon xanthan gum
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1. Preheat the oven to 350°.
2. Beat butter until softened. Add sugar and beat until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes.
3. Add almond meal and beat to combine.
4. Add eggs, one at a time, beating until well combined.
5. Measure the flour, xanthan gum, baking powder, and salt into a medium bowl and whisk to combine.
6. Measure out the honey and buttermilk. Stir to combine.
7. Add about a third of the dry ingredients to the butter/sugar and beat to combine. Add about a half of the wet ingredients and beat to combine. Continue adding, alternating between dry and wet and finishing with the dry.
8. Scoop batter into cupcake cups about 2/3′s full. Bake cupcakes for about 22-25 minutes or until a cake tester comes out clean.
Bourbon Caramel Cream Cheese Frosting
4 tablespoons brown sugar
4 tablespoons whipping cream
2 tablespoons butter
pinch salt
4 tablespoons bourbon
2 packages phili cream cheese, room temp
1 cup butter, room temp
6 cups confectioner’s sugar
1. Heat brown sugar, cream, butter, salt over medium high heat whisking until sugar is dissolved. Cook for another minute.
2. Pour in bourbon and stir to combine. Take off heat and let cool.
3. In the bowl of an electric mixer, beat cream cheese and butter until soft.
4. Add the confectioner’s sugar and beat to combine.
5. Add three tablespoons of the bourbon caramel (you might have some left over) and beat to combine. You can always add more, but the frosting may end up pretty soft.
Assembly
1. Frost.
2. Top with homemade sweet potato chips.
All for now ladies and germs!! Hope you enjoyed this very cupcake-centric blog!
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Willie ate the Fairies.
A random and interesting conversation my friend Willie and I had on Facebook chat. We are kind of insane, but he rocks anyway.
[Ye]
All you wrote was "u much fat for me" what am I supposed to take from that?
[Willie]
idk i keep saying "dear did u eat the neighbor again" but u keeping leaving the rm
lol
[Ye]
lmao
[Willie]
u wonder y we have had so many new ppl this yr gosh
[Ye]
Very true. I miss the Turners the most. They were delicious... I mean sweet... I mean, nevermind. I stick with what I said
[Willie]
turners? u ate timmy and his fairys
[Ye]
Yes.
[Willie]
dammit i wanted 2 eat them (not the kid) i wanted their power
[Ye]
Well, I saved some Cosmo burger in the fridge. Didn't you see it? It was shining as bright as hell!
[Willie]
u mean the green burger
[Ye]
Yeah.
Didn't you eat it?
[Willie]
nope how could i u have it in ur hands now
[Ye]
oops. Well you know how it gets sometimes, don't realize I've been eating. Here, try some! the fairy dust gives it a very interesting flavor!
:D
[Willie]
right im good
[Ye]
But, you just said you wanted some!
lol
[Willie]
ill just stick with the flipper sea food special
[Ye]
Fine, be that way. I won't try to share the neighbors anymore.
[Willie]
lol
[Ye]
All you wrote was "u much fat for me" what am I supposed to take from that?
[Willie]
idk i keep saying "dear did u eat the neighbor again" but u keeping leaving the rm
lol
[Ye]
lmao
[Willie]
u wonder y we have had so many new ppl this yr gosh
[Ye]
Very true. I miss the Turners the most. They were delicious... I mean sweet... I mean, nevermind. I stick with what I said
[Willie]
turners? u ate timmy and his fairys
[Ye]
Yes.
[Willie]
dammit i wanted 2 eat them (not the kid) i wanted their power
[Ye]
Well, I saved some Cosmo burger in the fridge. Didn't you see it? It was shining as bright as hell!
[Willie]
u mean the green burger
[Ye]
Yeah.
Didn't you eat it?
[Willie]
nope how could i u have it in ur hands now
[Ye]
oops. Well you know how it gets sometimes, don't realize I've been eating. Here, try some! the fairy dust gives it a very interesting flavor!
:D
[Willie]
right im good
[Ye]
But, you just said you wanted some!
lol
[Willie]
ill just stick with the flipper sea food special
[Ye]
Fine, be that way. I won't try to share the neighbors anymore.
[Willie]
lol
Friday, June 25, 2010
A Portrait of the Artist as a Flower
Humanity is a cannibalistic flower. We bloom, ever growing in this canopy of sky and sunshine. We devour ourselves, the bones of those before us, our brothers and sisters, our neighbors and friends. We are beautiful, colorful and chaotic. We are roses and dandelions, dancing and spinning through time and space.
Ever-changing and always the same. We are complex and simple in our complexities. We are a virgin and a whore, constantly moving from one body to the next in our hunger. This hunger is overwhelming, devouring us. In its wake we are transfixed by the greed and the need. We are sexuality and ritual, cannibals and whores. Flightless birds on a collision course.
We are a field of red. Red roses, red poppies, red paint dripping everywhere. Wars divide us, unite us. We stand alone, but stand together. We pick the flowers we like best and cut down the others, proclaiming them weeds. It is the same in every generation. We have our prejudices, our vices. We are purity and love, beauty and lust.
We are simplistic in our complex nature. Chaos mating simplicity and complexity in a ritualistic, cannibalistic and sexual frenzy. We try to escape, but there is no escaping the self. We find ourselves within the bodies of others, raping and killing, trying to find the truth in blood. In the end we are hacked down by the flowers behind us. Each of us weeping that it was not our time.
Ever-changing and always the same. We are complex and simple in our complexities. We are a virgin and a whore, constantly moving from one body to the next in our hunger. This hunger is overwhelming, devouring us. In its wake we are transfixed by the greed and the need. We are sexuality and ritual, cannibals and whores. Flightless birds on a collision course.
We are a field of red. Red roses, red poppies, red paint dripping everywhere. Wars divide us, unite us. We stand alone, but stand together. We pick the flowers we like best and cut down the others, proclaiming them weeds. It is the same in every generation. We have our prejudices, our vices. We are purity and love, beauty and lust.
We are simplistic in our complex nature. Chaos mating simplicity and complexity in a ritualistic, cannibalistic and sexual frenzy. We try to escape, but there is no escaping the self. We find ourselves within the bodies of others, raping and killing, trying to find the truth in blood. In the end we are hacked down by the flowers behind us. Each of us weeping that it was not our time.
Tuesday, April 06, 2010
The following is Disturbing
Okay, if you are tender hearted (or get queasy easily) like me, you might not want to read the following articles. If you care about what goes on in the world then you should read the following.
http://www.taliacarner.com/deadnewborningutter.html
http://www.expansions.com/ArticleTemplates/ArticleTemplate.cfm?ID=205
If you read the above articles then you now know about some horrible practices occurring in China. I don't even know what to say. I am in shock and horror and disbelief. I don't want to know this, but I do. I don't even know how to be up in arms about this, because reading these articles has left me with incredible amounts of dispirit and sadness. Sadness for the infants and sadness for a people that doesn't realize how ridiculous and horrible this is.
http://www.taliacarner.com/deadnewborningutter.html
http://www.expansions.com/ArticleTemplates/ArticleTemplate.cfm?ID=205
If you read the above articles then you now know about some horrible practices occurring in China. I don't even know what to say. I am in shock and horror and disbelief. I don't want to know this, but I do. I don't even know how to be up in arms about this, because reading these articles has left me with incredible amounts of dispirit and sadness. Sadness for the infants and sadness for a people that doesn't realize how ridiculous and horrible this is.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
A Few Interesting Bits
MATTHEW ERIC WRINKLES
December 11, 2009
Last Meal: Wrinkles had a final meal request of a prime rib with a "loaded" baked potato, pork chops with steak fries, two salads with ranch dressing and rolls.
This Website promotes T-Shirts of people's hairstyles.
http://hirsutehistory.com/
A great Website with ALL sorts of Recipes for every person. I love Tastespotting!
www.tastespotting.com/
A rather Drunk Australia careened through the continents and has ended up upside down and wedged in the North Atlantic Ocean.
http://www.satirewire.com/news/jan02/australia.shtml
When you think about dying, how do you picture yourself going? I kind of hope it is in my sleep so I don't know it happened. That's just me personally.
Well this guy, Bernd Jürgen Brandes decided that dying in your sleep was just too passé. Instead he opted for the getting stabbed multiple times, having his penis cut off and eaten, and partially eating some of his penis himself. Its true.
Armin Meiwes was a murderer and a cannibal. Now he is a vegetarian. Oh the irony.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Armin_Meiwes
The Girl with the Rose Red Slippers (An Egyptian Myth, possibly the first version of Cinderella ever told)
In the last days of Ancient Egypt, not many years before the country was conquered by the Persians, she was ruled by a Pharaoh called Amasis. So as to strengthen his country against the threat of invasion by Cyrus of Persia, who was conquering all the known world, he welcomed as many Greeks as wished to trade with or settle in Egypt, and gave them a city called Naucratis to be entirely their own.
In Naucratis, not far from the mouth of the Nile that flows into the sea at Canopus, there lived a wealthy Greek merchant called Charaxos. His true home was in the island of Lesbos, and the famous poetess Sappho was his sister; but he had spent most of his life trading with Egypt, and in his old age he settled at Naucratis.
One day when he was walking in the marketplace he saw a great crowd gathered round the place where the slaves were sold. Out of curiosity he pushed his way into their midst, and found that everyone was looking at a beautiful girl who had just been set up on the stone rostrum to be sold.
She was obviously a Greek with white skin and cheeks like blushing roses, and Charaxos caught his breath - for he had never seen anyone so lovely.
Consequently, when the bidding began, Charaxos determined to buy her and, being one of the wealthiest merchants in all Naucratis, he did so without much difficulty.
When he had bought the girl, he discovered that her name was Rhodopis and that she had been carried away by pirates from her home in the north of Greece when she was a child. They had sold her to a rich man who employed many slaves on the island of Samos, and she had grown up there, one of her fellow slaves being an ugly little man called Aesop who was always kind to her and told her the most entrancing stories and fables about animals and birds and human beings.
But when she was grown up, her master wished to make some money out of so beautiful a girl and had sent her to rich Naucratis to be sold.
Charaxos listened to her tale and pitied her deeply. Indeed very soon he became quite besotted about her. He gave her a lovely house to live in, with a garden in the middle of it, and slave girls to attend on her. He heaped her with presents of jewels and beautiful clothes, and spoiled her as if she had been his own daughter.
One day a strange thing happened as Rhodopis was bathing in the marble-edged pool in her secret garden. The slave-girls were holding her clothes and guarding her jeweled girdle and her rose-red slippers of which she was particularly proud, while she lazed in the cool water - for a summer's day even in the north of Egypt grows very hot about noon.
Suddenly when all seemed quiet and peaceful, an eagle came swooping down out of the clear blue sky - down, straight down as if to attack the little group by the pool. The slave-girls dropped everything they were holding and fled shrieking to hide among the trees and flowers of the garden; and Rhodopis rose from the water and stood with her back against the marble fountain at one end of it, gazing with wide, startled eyes.
But the eagle paid no attention to any of them. Instead, it swooped right down and picked up one of her rose-red slippers in its talons. Then it soared up into the air again on its great wings and, still carrying the slipper, flew away to the south over the valley of the Nile.
Rhodopis wept at the loss of her rose-red slipper, feeling sure that she would never see it again, and sorry also to have lost anything that Charaxos had given to her.
But the eagle seemed to have been sent by the gods - perhaps by Horus himself whose sacred bird he was. For he flew straight up the Nile to Memphis and then swooped, down towards the palace.
At that hour Pharaoh Amasis sat in the great courtyard doing justice to his people and hearing any complaints that they wished to bring.
Down over the courtyard swooped the eagle and dropped the rose-red slipper of Rhodopis into Pharaoh's lap.
The people cried out in surprise when they saw, this, and Amasis too was much taken aback. But, as he took up the little rose-red slipper and admired the delicate workmanship and the tiny size of it, he felt that the girl for whose foot it was made must indeed be one of the loveliest in the world.
Indeed Amasis the Pharaoh was so moved by what had happened that he issued a decree:
"Let my messengers go forth through all the cities of the Delta and, if need be, into Upper Egypt to the very borders of my kingdom. Let them take with them this rose-red slipper which the divine bird of Horus has brought to me, and let them declare that her from whose foot this slipper came shall be the bride of Pharaoh!"
Then the messengers prostrated themselves crying, 'Life, health, strength be to Pharaoh! Pharaoh has spoken and his command shall be obeyed!'
So they set forth from Memphis and went by way of Heliopolis and Tanis and Canopus until they came to Naucratis. Here they heard of the rich merchant Charaxos and of how he had bought the beautiful Greek girl in the slave market, and how he was lavishing all his wealth upon her as if she had been a princess put in his care by the gods.
So they went to the great house beside the Nile and found Rhodopis in the quiet garden beside the pool.
When they showed her the rose-red slipper she cried out in surprise that it was hers. She held out her foot so that they could see how well it fitted her; and she bade one of the slave girls fetch the pair to it which she had kept carefully in memory of her strange adventure with the eagle.
Then the messengers knew that this was the girl whom Pharaoh had sent them to find, and they knelt before her and said, 'The good god Pharaoh Amasis - life, health, strength be to him! - bids you come with all speed to his palace at Memphis. There you shall be treated with all honor and given a high place in his Royal House of Women: for he believes that Horus the son of Isis and Osiris sent that eagle to bring the rose-red slipper and cause him to search for you.'
Such a command could not be disobeyed. Rhodopis bade farewell to Charaxos, who was torn between joy at her good fortune and sorrow at his loss, and set out for Memphis.
And when Amasis saw her beauty, he was sure that the gods had sent her to him. He did not merely take her into his Royal House of Women, he made her his Queen and the Royal Lady of Egypt. And they lived happily together for the rest of their lives and died a year before the coming of Ambyses the Persian.
Snow Ice Cream (A Recipe)
First, bundle up and go outside to gather up some fresh snow. Make sure that it’s not yellow! (There are a lot of dogs in my neighborhood so I have to be extra careful).
Ingredients:
• 8 cups snow (lightly packed)
• 1 (14-ounce) can sweetened condensed milk
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• Sprinkle of cinnamon
Lightly pack snow in to serving bowls. Mix the condensed milk and vanilla in a separate bowl. Pour on top of your snowballs, mix to combine, and add a dash of cinnamon if you wish. Serve immediately!
Crazy Picture of the Day!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)