Tag: april fools

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My lover considered me over his coffee. He was suspicious, and drank it slowly. I smiled. “Don’t worry, I did not do anything to your coffee. I know that you don’t like to waste food.”
Toby gave me a heart-meltingly cute smile. “It does taste pretty good,” he agreed. “But I can see the anticipation on your face. I know you have been planning things.”
I grinned, unable to help myself. April 1st was the only day I could pull off shenanigans and not get spanked for it. And, he was right, I had been planning things. But he would not discover that until later, like when he would get a text message on his phone, it would make goat noises. Or that his phone was now in Korean. Or when he went to eat his dessert at lunch, and discovered that there were Skittles mixed in with the M&Ms. Also, I had called his boss at work -an ex college professor I had- and asked everybody in the office to call him Tom, and act really confused when he insisted his name was Toby. But he would find that all out in due time. I just giggled and squirmed as Toby stared at me.
“So mischievous,“ he clucked.
“You have nothing to fear,” I assured him. “Now it’s time for you to get up, or you will be late for work.”
Toby sipped his coffee, “Yes yes, boy.”
I smiled and helped him out of bed. I was looking forward to the expression on Toby’s face when he saw that I made green eggs and ham for breakfast, just like his favorite children’s book. It was a shame though, I wouldn’t be there to see his reaction to most of my pranks. Like for example, that I had exchanged all of the CDs in his car for disco albums. Sigh. Why was this so much fun? Perhaps that it was fun to be in control for just one day. Also, it was a way that I could show told me that I cared enough about him that I wanted him to have fun. And I think he appreciated that, because every year on this date, we ended up having really amazing sex when he came home from work. I was definitely looking forward to that. I was just hoping he didn’t use the menthol lube like he did last year to get me back!

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Captions are fictional.

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Style 4 – Haruki Murakami // Japan, in the late 1960s
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I walked across the rooftop to where my new friends were smoking, laughing, and looking at the city scape below. It was pretty, but I could not concentrate on it. I couldn’t shake this feeling that I wasn’t supposed to be here, that I was supposed to be back in Tokyo, sitting in one of those jazz cafes like I did every day when I wasn’t at school and wait for him. I told everyone I wrote poetry and listened to records, trying to be the next generation of Japanese revolutionists without having to do a thing. But I was there, watching for Kaoru, because for many years I had loved him. To Kaoru, I was nothing, like a sheet of agar melting into simmering water.

There had been a party, and I had gotten drunk. I had spotted Kaoru, against the wall, looking very American and non-chalant. He was smoking, talking with a gorgeous blond woman about the latest rumor that a blunt had been found by he police which had shut down the entire production of Hair. It was a great scandal, at least in this scene I was pretending in as one of them. I should have cared.

I ended up alone, with Kaoru, and I kissed him. His face clouded and he left, leaving me, standing there like a phone off the hook.

I could not bear being in the same city as Kaoru, knowing we were walking the same streets, reading the same underground zines and listening to jazz records in the same cafes. It was unbearable.

So I told my parents I wanted to continue my studies in Europe for a semester. They were impressed, considering I had never once been passionate on my own, which also baffled me because the Japanese education system raises you to not have any thoughts at all. I packed my suitcase, methodically, careful not to pack anything I wore when I kissed Kaoru.
In hindsight, I was a coward. I was running away, as if Kaoru was all of Tokyo. But in this far continent my love for Kaoru did not lessen, and as the days went by, I became completely obsessed with wanting to know what he was doing. I called Shoko, in Shinjuku, and made her go to the cafe and wait for Kaoru. She called me back, with a phone card in the middle of the night, to tell me he was there and alone. He was smoking, and reading a book of poetry.

I had read the same one. I laid back on the bed in the small dorm I lived in and watched the moonlight come through the lace curtains and listened to Shoko. I thought about how funny it was that despite our distance, Kaoru and I were connected by the same book.

I lingered on this through-out the day, which ruined it. My new, artificial friends decided to take me to a spot in the city where we could watch the sunset and smoke. But as I strolled across the roof, I was struck with a terrible onset of ennui. It all looked wrong. I wanted nothing more than to go home to Tokyo, because I had to be where he was.

I made myself wait an anguishing long time where the time zones were. I made Shoko call and get his phone number from the directly.

I laid there in my bed and dialed his number. I watched the rain come down against the lead glass windows, and listened to my phone as it rang and rang and rang.

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Text is fictional. This is more serious than the other 3 I did, but it was the only author I could easily emulate. I like Yukio Mishima more than Murakami, but he’s more widely known.

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Style 1 – Bad Romance Novels
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Aramis screamed like banshee as the dangerous dragonbeast lurched out of the forest toward him, acid dripping from his fangs. Just as the great mouth loomed above him, a sure arrow flew through the air, piercing it between the eyes. The dragonbeast roared and loomed up, exposing its soft belly. Another true arrow flew free and buried itself deep in the beasts heart. It lurched over, dead.

Aramis looked with quivering green eyes up at his strapping savior. He pressed up against a tree as if trying to draw strength from it He went weak at the knees when he saw his hero. It was Archer, having come to save him from the perils of this dangerous woods! Aramis felt his manparts in his codpiece tighten and rise like bread under a wet cloth. His strapping hero had a body of rippling sand dunes, with skin the color of birch, eyes like the deepest blue river. His bulge was huge, like a boulder. His gaze was pensive, inquisitive, and roamed over Aramis like was instead the prey and not the dead dragonbeast next to them, bleeding black blood into the plush moss of the forest floor.

“You came to rescue me, Archer!” Aramis cried, his words ringing like bells over the meadows. A wind stirred the big green leaves in the trees above, and a bird sang in the distance now that the danger was over.
”I could never let you be in danger,” Archer purred, his blood pulsing with possession.
The prince began to cry and threw himself at his savior. Archer set down his bow of elfswood he’d won from elves and scooped Aramis into his arms. The young man was trembling like a kitten that had narrowly avoided being picked up by a hawk. His bosom heaved with every sob, as if his pounding heart was trying to break free. Archer pushed away the tears and seized Aramis’s full, plush lips. Under him, Aramis went slack. Archer felt the young man press his soft hands against his muscular chest. Archer was his big tree now.

At once, Archer knew what he must do. His pheromones were raging, sending out signals to all the alpha animals in the forest. Archer paused to examine his love. Gentle blond curls spilled around around tear-streaked face like a waterfall. His fine clothes, tan breeches, and a silken shirt with jewels sewn into it, were dirty and torn. He wouldn’t need them. Archer took him to the stream where the water babbled over the rocks, like choir maidens singing, and laid down Aramis on a bed of leaves.
“My love, I must have you.”
“Oh Archer, take me! For I am yours!” Aramis begged, his bottom lip quivering. “I am wet and ready to take you!”
Archer again pushed away the tears from Aramis‘s green-glass eyes, letting them fall to the ground where they would nourish he dirt underneath. With fingers strong from a childhood of archery, Archer deftly undid the fine finery and set them aside.
Archer’s perfect lips formed the word “yes” at the sight of sweet Aramis bared naked for him. He was a beautiful boy, pale as the moon, curvy like a woman. His chest peaked in two buds, and there was hardly any hair leading down to the turgid pink cock jutting forward as if reaching out for someone to touch it. Drops of milk swirled down the shaft into the pale birdsnest of blond hair.

The Archer felt his heart hammer in his muscular chest, knowing that Aramis was the one he was destined to marry. It was his destiny to claim him and quell the throbbing in the full plums under his generous meatstick, thudding in his ears like the drum at a parade.
“Don’t you worry. I know you need a strong man, and once you feel my babyseed inside of you, you will know that you are mine.”

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Text is fictional, and so terrible I can’t even finish it. This is Jeremy Renner from the TV show Archer. I apologize to him for this.

Ok, ok

Ok, ok

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That’s it for silly rooster pictures for now. Thank you for humoring me.

I’m off to a concert now and won’t be back until quite late, so that’s probably all the captions posts for now. I’ll post some ballet dancers tonight.

Tomorrow though, I have news! It’s not a huge announcement but I think you will be pleased with it. Thanks for sticking around.

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Rodney glanced over at Bert and sighed. Look at all those hens, just crowding around him. It wasn’t that Rodney was jealous, it’s just that it confirmed what Rodney knew was true all along – that Bert was a straight cock, no doubt about it. Then, why oh why did Bert come into his coop late at night and snuggle with him when it got cold? He just didn’t understand. Oh Bert, Rodney though, why are you such a tease? Do you think because my feathers aren’t as beautiful or neat as yours that I don’t have feelings too?

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Henry recognized James across the barnyard, those feathers were unmistakable – they came from the same town back home. Same bad luck. Same bad chicks turned on ‘em. Now they were at the same henhouse way out in the middle of nowhere, doing time. Although Henry was solitary, happy to walk off into the yard by himself, James made an effort to approach and befriend him. Although he never said much, Henry didn’t mind James’ presence. Henry wouldn’t ever tell him to his face, but he actually thought James was a beautiful studly bird and was pleased for his attention. His larger size was such a comfort and he always protected Henry from the other bullies in the henhouse, giving them a peck on the comb if they came too close. As they carried out their sentences, Henry and James become quite close and by the time they were released, the two cocks were inseparable.