Taboo Tony

I’m being accused of having no original ideas by a stripper who’s just been published online. He’s penned a marvellous tale, I have to hand it to him, called Take Wood, Eat. It’s about a male sex worker who gets locked in a pub with a gaggle of hen do bashers who turn into vampiric cannibals when the Bloody Marys are poisoned with a chemical agent from an alchemy student. I won’t spoil the ending by telling you if he survives getting eaten alive naked or not. Guess which fully engorged bodypart interests them the most…?

You’ll have to find it. Although I do warn, finding published stories online isn’t easy. I have some there myself on ezine sites and they have a tendaency to go missing. All my art hosting sites have suffered the same fate. That’s why I trust my agent Gus Kidney to manage this simple Google blog, which has lasted 16 years and is still going. Those webpage builder and pdf displays have always let me down. Hell, I even lost my Twitter and Facebook. Good luck if you’re only just starting out. All you need are the socials really, that’s my advice, unless you’re a consummate professional, like myself, and strive to reach a larger audience.

Facebook is, after all, limited to 5000 friends. And it’s nice to have somewhere else online to call home.

“Champ Not Chump, From Ex-Con To Icon” – that’s the motto this stripper goes by, ‘Taboo Tony’ for short – happened to be ripping my physique as well as my conceptual conception methodology. No ideas! Big belly! Just because he earns more. And trains harder. With his tanned Abs.

How many sex scenes have you done? He asks. Not without a drop of intimidating maschismo.

(stroking chin) Hmm. Let me see. About a dozen, perhaps, maybe? Including one in a Biffa bin though, so have that one.

I do a dozen in a single novella, he replies. One with an anorexic Irish vagabond, an obese Atlanta banker, a wall-mounted plastic phallus, and a shire pony.

But that’s enough sex talk! My blog is under threat from AI takeover! I thought I was safe because I use three descriptive adjectives before a noun. I thought my technique was too ‘humane’ to emulate.

Hey, maybe I can beat it by writing about something only a human could possibly write about. Like stripping outdoor paint in the rain, for example. Or using only little fingers and thumbs on the keyboard when typing. Or growing up on a farm. How many AI robots have grown up on a farm and are now employed by the Chinese Police Department? I know I don’t understand what I’m on about, but I’m really concerned about this invasion of my virtual shelf space.

One glitch or error, and this brainy bookish bastion is down in the dust. Changing my password helpy no.

What will I do then? Write another novel to plonk under the bed? Fill in another scrapbook to carry around in my rucksack, showing randomers in the pub? Or give up the ghost completely?

I would just say to keep an eye out for

P i e b a l d 7 7 

elsewhere if this takeover business has its wicked way. Look out for bigger better fonts and colours and general 'coding style' texty prose. Still, it’s better than being kidnapped by the neighbours and having them post my own execution video live on my own blog. You never know, in this grisly white swirl of a whirl we live in (white man’s world). Stranger things are ongoing at sea.

Always remember, folks, that just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean they’re not really trying to kill you.

Don’t go bonkers on a killing spree if you feel that you are being tormented. Stay calm to everything and don’t react!

You might think I’m having doubt about losing this digital home. In the grand scheme, it’s not important. What is? We can’t take anything with us. We all die alone. The act of clinging to and coveting is described as Self-Cherishing in Buddhism. It’s the root of all suffering, they reckon. There’s nothing quite like letting go of stuff. It’s liberating. What is love without sorrow?

Shove your rough love, you might think, if you’re in a mood. I know exactly how you mean there. Taboo Tony is always shoving it.