The Perverted Life and Fucked-Up Death of Petey the Pedophile Hemophiliac Penguin

Now, because the time has come and it must be told ... I am giving you (drum roll please) the story of Petey, the Pedophile Hemophiliac Penguin (TA-DA!)

Now don't get me wrong, I like critters more'n the next Gal, but for some darn reason or 'nother the beasties I get involved in seem to have a propensity for dyin' in the most violent and degrading manner! I know, it sounds funny, but it's funnier than you stupid assholes even think. I need only remind you of Robert the Randy Robin who went simultaneously through an industrial dryer fan, my food processor, and a lawnmower; Bakersfield the Bellowing Badger who managed to get electrocuted while his eyes were poked out by dull knitting needles while his severed penis was stuffed down his throat, or Oswald the Ostentatious Ocelot whose demise was so horrifying that I and half the patrons of George's are still undergoing counseling.

Anyway, one of my old Sex Slaves, Bart, works at a local zoo, and he was having a peck of trouble with a certain Penguin, who kept on raping the young Penguin chicks. His name was Petey, and he had no interest in adult Penguins, but he would bugger the young 'uns from dusk till dawn. Now, Bart got a good chuckle at seein' old Petey force himself on Penguin youth after Penguin youth, but it turns out that some fucks in some church group or other complained about the serial rapist Penguin and Petey's days were numbered - he either had to have a new home, or he was going to be fed to the other Penguins in a kind of fucked-up Satanic ritual that zookeepers get into (they like nothing more than feeding a species to itself - go figure).

So Bart called me up one night.
"hey Cooter, how's it hangin?"
"That's MISTRESS to you, worm!" I quickly corrected him.
"Oops, sorry, Mistress, yeah, I remembered that you have a thing for serial rapists?"
"No, it's killing hitchhikers. But tell me more; I'm intrigued ..."

And so It Came to Pass that Bart told me about Petey and his troubles; I was immediately enthralled and told Bart that I would take Petey off his hands and try to keep his appetite sated with some kind of young avians - I seriously doubted I could score a regular diet of Penguin chicken, but then I wasn't really sure.
"Just one more thing, Coot" Bart hesitated on the other end of his faggy cell phone.
"What, worm?"
"Petey's a hemophiliac and you have to inject him with Penguin Platelets to keep him alive."
"No problem," I lied.

So not only did I have to provide him with a steady diet of young Penguins to sodomize, but I also had to fulfill a vampire-like craving for fresh blood. Obviously, after having been involved with Jeff, I loved a challenge, so I decided I'd step up to the plate(let) and bat away until I got tired and killed the fucking bird.

...Anyway, to cut a long story short, Petey and I got along just fine for a while. I found that I could run down to the river and drain the blood out of a duck and it closely approximated Penguin blood to inject into Petey's junkie-like veins. The buggerin' of the youth was pretty fucked up - I found that if I put some Tequila in with his platelets he couldn't tell a Penguin Chick from a month-old chicken and he'd bugger away, then I'd have some fresh chicken for dinner. If I left him a little too sober I'd have to put on my Japanese School Girl outfit to deliver him the chicken in.

Anyway, we got along fine for a couple of months. I was using my coffee grinder as a centrifuge to separate out the duck blood - I'm a pretty damn good amateur phlebotomist amongst my many talents. But one night I was entertaining Roger and his Webelo in the Parlor and I didn't play close enough attention to Petey the Pedophile Hemophiliac Penguin. When I plugged into his vein I accidentally left it attached to my Juiceman juicer and when I came back in the room Petey had been turned into a couple quarts o' Penguin Juice. I quickly made Roger and the Webelo a pitcher of Bloody Marys and everything was hunky dory.

So the moral of the story is eventually someone will consume you, unless you consume them first. But don't let the misguided perceptions get in the way of true love like between Roger and his Webelo or Petey and all the Penguin chicks he sodomized and I ate.

Excerpts from an ode to Vodka

...Him (fuck I wish I knew his name) and I hop in the cab and we're off to the Bar. At this point I get the strong urge inside me to open my phone and call the Rog. I (yes, me!) take control for this brief moment and think...Hmmmmm! Do you really want to call the Rog with Him sitting next to you? ...of course not, so I text messaged him instead. After the drunken text message of something probably along the lines of "fuck off I hate you....I miss you and am still in love with you (you know I'm a crazy bitch and can love and hate him at the same time)..I put down my phone on the seat like I do in my car. Guess what, Vodka? IT WASN'T MY CAR. So now we have no phone, a dead hitchhiker in the trunk, we just ran over a squirrel, and the thong I shrunk in the laundromat is cutting into my Bungaranamus! I can't call my asswhipe friends to arrange to meet up with them, which means I probably won't be seeing much of you either (that's another topic of its own), I can't call my family, I can't call my booty calls and I can't call the Rog or any of his homie cabbies. I know this is my fault for relying on that damn phone so much, but why did you let me digest so much of you last night????

Did it stop there? Of course not! You know Vodka, I'm a good kid. I work hard, try and be a good person, respect other people and try to just enjoy my life. I have NEVER done an illegal drug, just never had the urge to do so, so why is it that last night you convinced me prescription drugs were OK? And why for the LOVE OF GOD did you convince me Viagra was the smart thing to do? In case you forgot, I'm a 29 year old woman with the sex drive of a 16 year old Rottweiler (yes people, I'm am-bi-gay-dextrous). So now after 2 orgasms, and 10 hours, I am still looking for a hard on. Thanks my friend!

...Jeff's a rancid pig fuck! Jeff's a rancid pig fuck!

Das Pood Ist Gay

Sure, we're all gay once in a while, and we've all experimented across the boarder, down by the fence, in da old Swimmin' Hole, or Any Hole at all for that matter, a time or two or 37. Hell, just look at Roger!

But my problem is that since my last trip to Noo Orleanz is that Da Pood has become extra gay, kind of like Charles Nelson Riley but without the Folk-Hero overtones.

Do you think that comes from the caging, or not having allowed him to eat all of the furniture when he was a little puppie?

Jeff left me with three hungry critters and the cocks in the field.

How can it be wrong if it feels so right?

Awareness, acceptance and understanding of the mind-body-spirit-bungaranamus connection continues to grow worldwide.   Traditional medical expertise of both eastern medicine, western medicine and nymphomania are converging more and more. 

As development of both the inner man's intuition and consciousness through meditation and an understanding of the human context and experience through reincarnation increases and expands along with the development of the outer man through goals and action, true integration and self realisation can take place, along with REAL self-gratification.

As humanity explores its origin, nature and purpose, and retrace the journey we each have been on to get where we now are, you and I continue to expand our awareness of balancing the right testicle with the left tit to maximise wholeness and holistic living.

The major objective of the Angel Below Self Help website is to explore ways to develop friendships with Angels that help us in our everyday lives. If Angels are our 'invisible' friends and helpers, then accessing their help in killing Jeff to live happier, more focused and peaceful lives is the main focus here at this spiritual self help site!!!