Bill of Wrongs
On my weekly trip to peruse the latest bat rags at the newsagent, I picked up on a promising lead. A couple of old biddies were standing at the counter, stinking of piss and ciggies, gawking at an open a copy of the Herald Sun. As I passed, I caught a glimpse of what they were looking at in such disbelief. It was a bit o' the old youuuunnng boxy! Oh yeah, bad boy.
BYB always hoped that the Hun would follow the lead of its pommy cousin and start printing page 3 girls. Looks like droopy Rupert has cum to his senses and finally given the people what they want. I tucked my hard-on into my belt, so as not to poke their cataracts in, and limped up to the old bags. "Whats all the fuss about, ladies?", to which the slightly hotter one replied "it's bloody disgusting! Bill Henson should be sent to Pentridge!" I looked into the paper and saw that he was the photographer, and a man after my own heart. To think, he was the same guy who created the Muppets!
I quickly grabbed my copies of People, Picture, Playboy, Zoo, Ralph, FHM, Loaded, Nuts, Sluts, Cunts, Incontinents, Women in Uniform, Women in Prison and Women on the Shitter and made my way to the counter. I cagily put the Hun and that cumbersome rag that no one reads (on'ya Sammy) The Age under my stack of mags, I mean I didn't want to make it look too obvious.
When I got home I was ready to install a new skylight. I spread my new reference section across the kitchen table and positioned myself below where I wanted the light to shine through. Fuck, thinking of all those mugs that pay a tradey to install their skylights. What a bunch of mugs! Just call a barred up Barred Young Buck to come around with his all-in-one nail gun and plaster cannon and do the job in a jiffy. I’ll have to distribute a flyer.
But I digress. Horny as fuck, I downed my strides and limbered up. But something wasn't right. The Bill Henson pics in the papers were actually a bit tame. In a strange way they made me contemplative. I felt the overwhelming vulnerability of youth juxtaposed with the all-encompassing melancholy of adulthood. Within those ink-black hues, only the most purplish of bruised illumination lapping against the submissive figure, I saw myself. The darkness. The horror. The fear. For the first time in my life, I went soft. Perhaps, I thought, it's time to give up my barred young ways.
Inspired, I fired up my lappy. I googled Bill Henson, looking for some contact details so I could express my support during this trying time and thank him for showing me the light, or darkness as it were, that I so desperately needed to see.
Then something totally fucked-up happened. This came up:
Then this:
I nearly chucked! Bill Henson, my new found idol, is a gay porn star! He should be put in jail! No, he'd like that! He should have his retinas burnt out by a blowtorch and be forced to eat his own balls, filthy animal. I haven't felt this ripped off since I heard that Josef Fritzl liked to dress in womens clothes. Why can't perverts just be normal?
BYB always hoped that the Hun would follow the lead of its pommy cousin and start printing page 3 girls. Looks like droopy Rupert has cum to his senses and finally given the people what they want. I tucked my hard-on into my belt, so as not to poke their cataracts in, and limped up to the old bags. "Whats all the fuss about, ladies?", to which the slightly hotter one replied "it's bloody disgusting! Bill Henson should be sent to Pentridge!" I looked into the paper and saw that he was the photographer, and a man after my own heart. To think, he was the same guy who created the Muppets!
I quickly grabbed my copies of People, Picture, Playboy, Zoo, Ralph, FHM, Loaded, Nuts, Sluts, Cunts, Incontinents, Women in Uniform, Women in Prison and Women on the Shitter and made my way to the counter. I cagily put the Hun and that cumbersome rag that no one reads (on'ya Sammy) The Age under my stack of mags, I mean I didn't want to make it look too obvious.
When I got home I was ready to install a new skylight. I spread my new reference section across the kitchen table and positioned myself below where I wanted the light to shine through. Fuck, thinking of all those mugs that pay a tradey to install their skylights. What a bunch of mugs! Just call a barred up Barred Young Buck to come around with his all-in-one nail gun and plaster cannon and do the job in a jiffy. I’ll have to distribute a flyer.
But I digress. Horny as fuck, I downed my strides and limbered up. But something wasn't right. The Bill Henson pics in the papers were actually a bit tame. In a strange way they made me contemplative. I felt the overwhelming vulnerability of youth juxtaposed with the all-encompassing melancholy of adulthood. Within those ink-black hues, only the most purplish of bruised illumination lapping against the submissive figure, I saw myself. The darkness. The horror. The fear. For the first time in my life, I went soft. Perhaps, I thought, it's time to give up my barred young ways.
Inspired, I fired up my lappy. I googled Bill Henson, looking for some contact details so I could express my support during this trying time and thank him for showing me the light, or darkness as it were, that I so desperately needed to see.
Then something totally fucked-up happened. This came up:
Then this:
I nearly chucked! Bill Henson, my new found idol, is a gay porn star! He should be put in jail! No, he'd like that! He should have his retinas burnt out by a blowtorch and be forced to eat his own balls, filthy animal. I haven't felt this ripped off since I heard that Josef Fritzl liked to dress in womens clothes. Why can't perverts just be normal?
posted by barred young buck at 5:54 PM
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