Posted by NL on October 17, 2004 at 12:02:46:
Would YOU Like To Be A Gland Superman?
Well, I would hope that, after reading my personal story, you would think twice about becoming a gland superman. I'd have to confess that I've always had an interest in complicated scientific things and for quite some time I have enjoyed reading exciting science books like "ARCING SPARKING ELECTRIC THINGS!!-- a Hugo Gernsbach publication". Another favorite periodical of mine was "JET-OFF BLAST-OFF SUPER DYMAXION THINGS!!-- an R. Buckminster Fuller publication". I had always longed to share the excitement with my girl friend, except I did not at that time in my life have a girl friend, or, indeed, any friends at all. But that was OK because when you are a highly evolved superior intellectual sort of being social isolation and ridicule come with the territory, and I deemed such privation a small price to pay for the gift of absolute superiority. But I suppose even the best of us suffer at times a nagging doubt or two.
I have always had an interest in the power of advertising over the minds of small men, but the ads in my science books were a cut above and promised to open new and exciting doors to avenues of human evolution-- very appealing to a mind like mine, of course. For instance, I offer some examples:
WHY DIE TRYING? NEW INVENTION REVEALS ALL DEVICES CLEVERLY HIDDEN IN YOUR BEDCLOTHES! CERTIFIED BY ROSICRUCIANS AND USED SAFELY FOR THOUSANDS OF YEARS!
MYSTERIOUS AGENCIES INVEST MONEY FOR YOU! NO THOUGHT REQUIRED! SEND AS MUCH AS YOU CAN AFFORD! CASH ONLY!
TROUBLED BY PUZZLING SENSE OF INADEQUACY? CONFOUND YOUR ENEMIES! SEND AWAY FOR GLAND SUPERMAN KIT! CALL FOR DETAILS!
Yes, well, a gland superman kit might just be the order of the day, dogged as I was by a troubling sense of inadequacy. So I called the collect number one day, resolved to take decisive action. I must say that I was greatly reassured by the commanding and calm and resolved quality of the voice I spoke to on the other end, a herr professor Schindele-- for that is what he called himself when, on the third ring, he replied to my call-- "Yesssss, herr professor Schindele speaking..." And I said, "Herr professor Schindele?" And he said, "Yesssss, herr professor Schindele speaking..." And I said, "I read your advertisement in "MODERN SUPERSCIENCE SECRETS"." And he said, "Yessss..." And I said, "I am interested in your gland superman kit, and I wondered, uh, how it works, and, uh, what does it do?" And he said, "What is your name, please?" Gee, he asked for my name! And I said, "Why, uh, my name is, uh, my name is-- Lazlo Eely." And he said, "Of course, Mr. Eely, I knew you would call, for it was just a matter of time." Wow! He KNEW that I would call! "Yes, Mr. Eely, you may not know it, but you have attracted the attention of a small select exclusive group of highly evolved superior beings much like yourself." Wow! And he said, "Yes, Mr. Eely, there is great work ahead of you, and you are being groomed for exciting and interesting things, but we understand that you are perhaps troubled by nagging doubts and feelings of inadeguacy?" Wow! How could he know such things! This surely had to be on the level! The real thing! So I said, "Wow! You know! It's like you can read my mind!" And he said, "Mr. Eely, it is vitally in your interest to order my exclusive Gland Superman Kit at once, with no delay, lest your progress up the ladder of evolution be stymied-- and that would be sad, Mr. Eely, because you have most particularly drawn the attention of the lovely and talented Lydia Stargate, a most gorgeous and desirable beauty, even among the most highly evolved beings-- Miss Stargate has placed high hopes in you Mr. Eely, as perhaps someday being the one ordained man of superior attainment who might be worthy to mate with her, and engender the coming race of super beings, Mr. Eely! Do not throw away this once-in-a-llifetime opportunity!"
Needless to say I sold and pawned just about everything of value I owned in order to obtain my exclusive Gland Superman Kit. As I understood it, the kit consisted of a great many cleverly preserved glands obtained at great risk from powerful killer dogs and billy goats gruff and the great shaggy grizzly bears of the frozen north-- all in dessicated form, for the sake of preservation. My talk with Dr. Schindele was quite a refreshing experience but also a bit unnerving! Never before had anyone asked me what size my testicles were. I admit I lied, describing them as being like great hairy bristling walnuts of destruction, but Dr. Schindele only laughed and said that the ineffable Lydia Stargate dined on such puny things for light snacks on alternate tuesdays, for amusement only, but, not to worry! The gland superman kit would endow me with testicles the size of a Notre Dame football-- two Notre Dame footballs!-- and he went on to describe to me how the great highly evolved super beings of our time went about their missions of mysterious destiny with balls the size of a meatloaf, no, TWO meatloafs!, straining at their scrotums. I wondered aloud how I had failed to notice and the herr professor praised the virtues of impeccable tailoring.
When my Kit finally arrived I was almost faint with excitement. The Kit consisted of a small paper packet of a brown powdery substance that smelled strongly of beef broth, but, in a way, that made sense. Instructions were brief. I was to add the contents of the packet to a cup of boiling water and drink before bedtime. I was so eager, I went to bed an hour earlier than usual. The gland preparation tasted rather like salty beef tea-- quite good, actually.
Have you ever had an experience of the veil being torn from your eyes, or having that glass through which you see but darkly suddenly brightened and polished as though shot through and through by a blast of windex? Have you ever had the feeling that the life you have been living has been nothng but a sort of dreaming, a sort of seeming, a sort of play, of light and shadow, and nothing more? Have you ever had the sense of standing at last in the glaring arclight of truth, of true and unvarnished being, with at last, and no longer: lies, delusions, falsehoods-- no weakness, no doubt, no insecurity, finding yourself at last in a state of absolute certainty and total alignment with cosmic purpose? No? Well, I haven't either. If anything, when I awoke on the morning following my consumption of the gland kit, I had a sense of perhaps having had the VEAL torn from before my eyes but that clearly made no sense at all. But I did notice that I felt more than usually horny. Yes, I awoke with the mother and father of all erections and my balls ached like bloody hell though they seemed no larger than before-- only painful, and as hard as steel, as hard as steel that has been alloyed with vanadium, titanium, and many exotic and refractory alloys-- as hard as I WAS, if you take my thrust. I knew at once that I would have to fuck and kill and kill and fuck and fuck and kill the long day away, before my cravings could be satisfied. In fact, I was not at all sure they could be satisfied, but I had no choice. I seemed to be a sort of monster robot of lust and began that now legendary systematic and relentless merciless sex slaying onslaught, beginning in my apartment building and ending at the Radio City Music Hall about which the less said the better. Although I am still saddened when I recall how, at the end, or near the end, Lydia Stargate, with her mammoth mammaries bouncing like luscious fat fleshy beachballs came bounding in, in tears, catching me with a legendary Rockette leg between my jaws, wailing, oh, oh, my poor sad crazy impulsive darling Mr. Eely! You weren't supposed to consume the whole damn gland kit at one time! Didn't you read the instructions? Well, yes, I had read the instructions, but it seems I failed to understand them. And then of course I raped and murdered and raped again that ineffable and highly evolved beauty.
A Gland Superman I became, and a Gland Superman I am to this day, albeit one kept behind sturdy iron bars in a cage in a traveling freak show maintained by the State Corrections Facility as a warning to all who might seek to become highly evolved and do the unthinkable, by severing the slender thread that binds all of mankind into a confraternity of the doomed and the damned and the abysmally, terminally, half-witted.
"All who aspire to greatness are surely damned!"-- anonymous