Suggested Audio Candy:
Roll up! Roll up! Welcome to the craziest show on Earth outside of The Mighty Boosh. You’ll find all that your bleeding hearts desire inside and all for the price of a solitary ticket. We’ve got the hall of mirrors, the crooked house on the hill, man-eating candy floss…the lot. Every weird and wonderful freak of humanity is present, if not altogether correct. Pelt the bearded lady with toffee apples, try your hand at guessing the weight of one of Mighty Joe Young’s swollen testes, cackle at the only Punch & Judy show in existence to feature absolutely no rectal penetration…it’s all here. Come on in and make yourselves at home. This way, this way. Follow me to what y’all really came here to see. It’s right this way, on the left just past the coconut shy. The main event awaits you Grueheads so you had better be prepared as I cannot guarantee there won’t be more clowns.
Well you can’t say I didn’t warn you in advance. Right now you are about to enter Keeper’s personal cavern. It’s a little musky I know but it is worth sucking up the pungent odor to see what lies beyond the crimson curtain. Grab a seat, snag yourself a corn dog from the dubious vendor, and I’ll go dim the lights for our special one-off show. Whatever you do, should you catch him spanking the monkey upon arrival, don’t mention a word as he will take exception to any jibes about his one exaggerated bicep. Avoid this one thorny topic and things should all be hunky dory. When you are ready, it’s time to take the tip of our ringmaster’s big top but I promise you he’ll be in and out faster than Bill Cosby at a fundraiser.
So, for my first trick, lend me an ear and I’ll replace it with two of equal size. It just so happens that I’m feeling rather frolicsome right now. It is time for each of you spritely patrons to wrestle that power back. Come a touch closer and I shall show and tell. They call me the Brutal Word Wrangler. Actually I answer to many names: Crimson Honey Dripper, Cruel Word Sculptor and, of course, Keeper of the Crimson Quill. I proudly wear any of these glorious mantles as they each reveal a little more about Keeper. When words need wrangling; there is no faster gun in the West. Should the crimson honey be required to drip; then I have more than enough pent-up nectar to go around. I sculpt in a manner independent to the norm and keep that enchanted quill tucked underneath a blood-drenched pillow each night so as not to allow it to fall into treacherous hands.
Please allow me to bend your ear about ingestion.This fabulous method of learning enables me to absorb the powers of any suitor whose lifeforce I choose to consume. Over the past few months, I have ingested many of my idols and, with each mastication, comes greater understanding of their idiosyncrasies. Ergo, should I mentally snack on Dave Grohl’s lean, then I will inherit every one of his strengths, and a fair few of his quirks also. I’ve been positively thirsting for knowledge; so many minds have filtered in and, since ingesting Andy Warhol, I’ve been bouncing the planet on my psychedelic space hopper, collecting the scattered offerings of some of the most peculiar minds in history. If you will be so kind, I urge you to suggest me an ingestee, feed me a kipper if you will. I require one name; my only proviso being that they possess some vague dash of intellect. Whomever you select shall be explored by Keeper, slathered resolutely from top to bottom, and ultimately consumed forevermore.
Think of it as the world’s most unhinged telethon. I’m aiming for twelve ingestions, a dozen suitable souls for consumption. You feed Keeper; then we all reap the rewards. An example? Feed me Jeff Goldblum and he becomes a part of me ad infinitum. Meanwhile, I get to discover how Seth Brundle tastes between two slices of wholemeal so we all win in the long run. However, should you be mean enough to offer, shall we say, Justin Bieber, then I’ll still keep up my end of the bargain but won’t be a happy camper, let me tell you. What can I possibly ascertain from swallowing that little fuck biscuit whole? Nada. My only pleasure would come from shitting out his pips and I’m assured he’d pass through me like tap water. Remember the key word here is intellect as too much fast food will invariably travel straight to the pan.
I’ve already polished off the first course and here are a smattering of my prior ingestions. Larry David, Stanley Kubrick, Seth MacFarlane, and Marshall Mathers III. Each was rather succulent and I even got to suckle on Charlie Kaufman while he had his back turned. So who next? Well, that my beloved Grueheads, is your choice alone as I’m passing the baton to your resourceful hands. The first person to lavish my collection tray, masquerading as a suggestion box at the foot of the page, with the highest amount of correct answers to the following pack of posers shall be granted their one wish.
Massage that lamp Grueheads and afford my genie its freedom. Should I receive requests for Pauly Shore, Elmo from Sesame Street or Katie Price then I shall honor my vow although, I beg of you, give me something to work with. One more thing before you commence rubbing; there is a minus point answer within each of the following four-optioned questions so don’t run in all muskets blazing. Pace yourselves, after all, you know your Keeper right?
Which is my favorite Halloween movie? Is it…
b Halloween II
c Halloween III: Season of the Witch
d Halloween Resurrection
You see, it’s a doddle. Like taking a paralyzed child’s candy cane (not an act I endorse by the way).
Which of the following cuisines most appeals to Keeper? Could it be…
Three of these I have a great fondness for and one an overwhelming indifference. Tread gently Grueheads. Could it be spicy meatballs or, perhaps, sweet and sour chicken in batter is more to my liking?
How many different women has Keeper ever engaged in coitus with during his penile pilgrimage? Maybe it’s…
I have a potty mouth granted and can be, on occasion, a tad crude but am I gentleman or rogue, sweet cherry or boisterous pumpkins? When speaking of stats of the loins am I Meat or Pee-Wee?
Which of the following would I not wish to be trapped in an elevator with most?
a Liza Minnelli
b Gilbert Gottfried
c Marlee Matlin
d Marcus Miller
Cinch right? The cut off is 23.59 GMT tomorrow and the victor gets to personally nourish my beast. I won’t fritter crumbs like Cookie Monster or wretch my chosen ingestee straight back up the moment you’re looking the other way. I’ll takes me medicine. So be kind and be lucky. Tonight we commence the mindfuckery. Grease her up boys and girls.
A Clown’s Admission
The date is now September 3rd, 2015 which, by my calculation, makes it the best part of two years since Keeper’s Mindfuck Carnival first trundled into town. The realization has just dawned on me that I never actually provided the answers to any of the aforementioned conundrums posted in December 2013, regardless of the fact that certain people hazarded guesses. I hang my head in shame for not coming good on my oath but better late than never right? My favorite Halloween is Season of The Witch by a whisker over Halloween II. The original is, of course, the best but I distinctly asked for favorite. Meanwhile, the risible Resurrection is evidently present as red herring. As for cuisine, offer me an Italian and I’ll gladly toss your pasta, whereas, I find chow mein more lackluster than Stevie Wonder’s back catalogue post 1980. At the time of writing, I had engaged in sweaty bedtime aerobics with a paltry two quim donors but have since added to that shameful tally. For as much as I would love to boast of eighty-two lays, I’m just a small-town boy and traditionally my love tadpoles conclude their pilgrimage writhing around in a paper towel. Finally, there is one person for whom the notion of sharing an elevator is just too mortifying. I hear cries of Gilbert Gottfried but feel duty bound to inform you that Liza Minnelli actually walks away with this dubious honor, despite Gottfried’s turns in the Problem Child movies. There’s just something about that face that screams out haymaker. I trust that I have finally cleared up any confusion. Now, if you don’t mind; there are bottoms not spanking themselves.