Whatever It Is You’re Looking For

26 06 2008

Folks, tomorrow is the 12-week/3-month anniversary of Caligula vs. Nero.  And in that short time, we’ve amassed a lot of fans for a furious goose and a batshit crazy retired politician, as the hit counter demonstrates.  It saddens us, though, that we don’t know our readers very well, being that we so rarely receive comments on our posts, presumably because everything we write dumbfounds you.

But never fear: thanks to wordpress’ data collection system, we can make all kinds of assumptions about you based on the search engine input you used to find our site.  And so, without further ado, here are the search terms that have brought people into the Caligula vs. Nero family, spelling and sequence preserved. We sure hope you found what you were looking for.  Enjoy, and tremble in fear.

“vlad the impaler”

“sex robots”

“absinthe dreams”

“scalia”

“caligula gay”

“goose computer”

“humilliation sex”

“sex humiliation”

“zer vs nero”

“‘pro-tec’ shorts”

“dickhole”

“being big bird the muppet”

“bradley trout”

“allergy”

“vlad, the impaler”

Vlad “Dracul” the Impaler Transylvanian Castle Set™ sold separately

“pet goose”

“absenth spoon”

“the imagination is a dying animal”

“sex while clothed”

“absinthe robette”

“ben and jerrys pint”

“pegging”

“pegging preversion”

“canada goose attack”

“sadism”

“sadistic sex”

“form fitting shorts”

“children fucked”

“christopher mullan , goose beating”

“vlad dracul”

“history of absinthe”

and, of course,

“dumpster fuck”

—Nero

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Caligula’s Dreamlog #5: The Nightmare

25 06 2008

Ordinarily, waking to the drab world around us is a bothersome chore—how horrible it is when one’s bladder brings about the end of sleep at noon and demands access to one’s carved marble water closet—but this morning I could have kissed even the toilet lid with gratitude.  And I did, because I woke up with my face in it, right as this nightmare reached its happy conclusion:

THE DREAM

It begins, innocently enough, with me using pliers to extract my own teeth while the Supreme Court hands down a delightful decision: no death penalty for child rape.  So far, so good.  Hordes of beautiful trusting children start filing into the murky basement the justices and I have selected for this gleefully macabre affair: time to celebrate the rule of law!  

I dig the pliers into my gums to pull out a bloody tooth and make the children cower in reverent fear, but what’s this?  I pull out a piece of candy instead.  A laughing child snatches it away.  I try again: more candy. Soon the children are clamoring all about me, and individually wrapped candies are pouring out of every orifice I hold dear (all of them).  I try to beat the ragamuffins off, but every would-be blow turns into a hug by accident.  They love it, and smother me with that love.

“Scalia!” I cry out to the bench, which seems to grow ever more distant in the brightening room.  “Help!  You owe me!”  Scalia also looks concerned with this state of affairs, as the murky basement has finished turning into—gods preserve me—a Whole Foods supermarket, with hippies wearing nothing but hemp vests streaming through the aisles, studying the nutritional information labels on every item they consider.  But even as the other judges fade from sight, Scalia tramples over the children to hand me a beautiful gleaming handgun before falling off the dogpile and turning into a …it gives me an awful warmth to say it…

a unicorn.

OH, FUCK

Sobbing, I fire the gun repeatedly, but it’s already too late: the once proud weapon is just a rainbow in my fist that emits only sunflowers and Mozart sonatas.  All the pristine civilization man has achieved in spite of my work raises me above the children and hippies, and I soar, riding clouds of of high culture, love, peace, innocence, respect, and compassion, never to find my way back to the nadirs of humanity I had so proudly pioneered.

ANALYSIS

Judge Antonin Scalia is all that stands between us and a nightmare world of pure harmony.

—Caligula