A Brief Biography of the Pointless Life of Dr. Adolf Steg
Dr. Adolf Dwall Dugong Embolus Curette Steg was
born on the 23rd June, 1923, in a soundproof tent made from earwax and
nasal hairs at the Aspley Goat Clinic in Paris. His Father (Haroold
Ptarmigan Brockhaus Von Steg, 1st Earl of Lovelace, Lord Lieutenant of
Hundon) and his Mother (Vicountess Prunella Paffgen Wombwinkle Ethelle
McSprague) had never met, but the Dr. was conceived by a delicate mixture
of Morse code, telegram and old engravings of Renaissance, Mannerist and
Neoclassic sculpture. For the first 3 years of his life the Dr. was kept
in a beehive and fed by a lactating monkey called Stan Follicle. The Dr.
discovered his illustrative talents in an old tin bath when he was 3 years
old and was inflicted with this disease until he was cured in 1997 by Tony
Blair (a total fucking cunt and professional cheesy grinned knob
* Spondon dates back to Anglo Saxon times. The name Spondon comes from the old English 'Spon' meaning chip, shaving or shingle and 'Dun' meaning hill, translated as a gravely hill. One of Spondon's most famous sons was the cricketing great, George Porter.
The following stories were written by Dr. Adolf Steg
and fellow inmate
Louder Daydreams Inch Meat Through Shallow Walls
Echoes make love in a daydream and green shadows burn like
spring in a light bulb. A strange breeze lives in a canal and sores as
people die in an aeroplane crash. Space reminds her of a bombed hotel that
has lost its faith. Piss glows in the hard shoulder of a laughing hotel.
Sick problems inflict evaporated knives into the brains of sleeping
motorway babies, and with pink scissors I cut away the crumpled photograph
of her brain. A gallery of damp skin reflects pink eyes in robot blue
water. The atmosphere around Hitler's forehead reflects itself in meat,
his spring footwear still exhumes a scent of damp virus soil. Australian
priests burn the alienated atmosphere of morning in a spoonful of gossip.
I drift in a secret bomb blown by a mixture of quavering umbrellas and
elephants imported from Hollywood. My breakfast smells like a dream of
fluid blotchy love. Evaporated hand prints remain in the smell of autumn
grass, the scent of burning hair in a cave reminds me of my mother picking
sores from an expensive bonfire. A green swastikas sky creates a dramatic
shadow over Malibu. Delicate stings sit on a million thought of peace.
Bloody thorns covered in dirt reminds me of a summer long ago in which I
searched for dead birds in the faded rain. I knew that I would never
explain dampness to a dead cat laughing at me through the sunlight. Crispy
suicide victims blink as gun children take photographs with meat cameras,
depressed girls remove slaughtered poultry from drug casualties who laugh
at the victims of celebrity chaos. Racist demands abuse the casualties of
a ruthless Jesus, stars demand the stress of suicide celebrity medical
death. Global laughter dies in the arms of terrorism, angels partake in 9
inches of . . .
Sitting Before This Retains Summer Spoons
Strange words lactate in my mind like a building
society cheque that refuses to cash. Can you hear my socks yawning like
Jesus farting around with his home brew in an old garden shed. I open the
fridge to get a beer and a million maggots pour out, each with the twisted
face of Michael Douglas horribly mutilated by sulphuric acid. I'm staring
at the foetus whilst its mother is dusting prunes. I have no feelings, I
wish we were all dead, momentary feelings appear when I feel the urge to
kill. When people stick lit matches up a dog's arse, this planet really
starts to worry me!
1. Bones Disintegrating
Time doesn't care, before you breathe your last breath we look back and remember nothing.
A Day in the Life and Death at the Spondon
Mental Institution 2001
Upon arriving at the Spondon Mental Institution we notice that the whole building is in the shape of a huge budgie's foot with all the entrances in the shape of a small child's vagina. After prising ourselves through this small opening we were faced with a small room containing 23 hillbillies all playing the banjo, they are all naked with different coloured inks smeared on their genitals. The receptionist looked dirty!!! Some of them were gathered in a circle where they were preparing to sacrifice a small goat they had been keeping as a stress relieving object . . . I believe they used to beat it with tins of paint. Moving into the next room we came across Dr. McEctum, he was busy anally raping his work colleague, Mr. Kippliing, who was full of fleas and moths. He then proceeded to drool and let out some moans before ejaculating on an old woman asleep in an armchair. After drinking a cup of warm blood from a cup fashioned out of foreskins, we make a sharp exit with Mr. Kippliing following close behind. We enter another room and Mr. Kippliing arrives with 2 leather suitcases filled with synthetic Gary Glitter semen, he marks his territory by having a huge piss, his intestines, lower bowel, lungs, heart and kidneys gush out in a river of blood, mucus and torn rectal tissue. An artificial colon is inserted into Mr. Kippliing's windpipe, and a thin milky secretion of the synthetic Gary Glitter semen is emitted through a number of surface anuses grafted onto the surface of his skin. The semen is collected by highly trained ants and wasps, many with superb watercolour techniques, who crawl over every orifice of Mr. Kippliing's hairy body. It is then taken to the artificial womb area where the semen is cross pollinated with Michael Barrymore sweat to create a new and potentially deadly form of light entertainer / singer called Barry Glittermore. Unfortunately the host body is highly unstable, its DNA structure evaporates in a cloud of dust and the blood plasma dissolves, cervical molecules alternate light particles on the surface of the steroid hormones and the brain is reduced to that of a bi-valved reptile state. The Barry Glittermore entity enters the Spondon Institute Massage Parlour naked, his cock is stuck up a 5 year old girls cunt, whilst swinging a chainsaw at peoples limbs, severing them one after the other, the blood sprays like a tidal wave against the velvet wallpaper. The victims fall to the ground, taking their last breaths as they drown in a pool of their own vomit and blood, other people go into shock and piss and shit themselves, falling and smearing it over one another. A pregnant woman catches one of the more severe swings of the chainsaw, splitting her completely in two. The baby falls out and bounces on the floor, cracking open its soft fontanel as its brains spill out, its insides squirted out of every orifice as people clamber around, stamping on it as they try to escape! One woman is straddled by Barry Glittermore and he punches her in the cunt until it starts bruising and bleeds heavily, he then sticks his head up it and starts eating her ovaries, then pulling his head out begins shoving the chainsaw up her pulverised twat and cuts her completely in half, finishing by urinating in her ear and smearing his knobbly tongue over her internal organs. Barry Glittermore stands up to have a wank and a fully formed naked 4 year old boy pops out of the end of his engorged penis, with a strange squirting sound the boy is ejaculated across the room and lands by the doorway, he stands up, blinks and runs quickly away to another part of the Spondon Mental Institute, this is rather foolish as it is a very dangerous area, he rounds a corner and slips on the shiny floor and comes to a stop by a heavy open cell door. Looking up the child sees the gleaming silver mace being swung into the air by the rotting, black, maggot ridden hand of a recently escaped child abuser, who up till now had notched up over 23 serious and violent child abuse killings, using no more than his surgical case of various blades and his preferred weapon . . . the mace! Like a melon the child's head splits open and explodes, with a warm wet release the blood gushes and collides with the walls, splashing up and forming abstract patterns. His left eye is popped clear from the skull and is now lying on the other side of the corridor with bits of brain tissue surrounding it. His jaw is broken completely from his head, sitting flat on a pool of muscle fibres and clotting blood, his teeth still intact showing a recent filling, what good that did the cunt as his heart still pumps out litres of blood onto the highly polished floor, causing steam to rise from the cold floor. We decide to return to our cell and have a nice cup of tea and a game of Mastermind.
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