Tag Archives: pornography

A parody of 50 Shades of Grey by replacing Grey with Brown

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Before we begin, may I politely remind you that my Edinburgh Fringe show, Computer Programmer Extraordinaire, opens tomorrow of all days! 16:45, at Globe Bar, Niddry St, 4-25 August (not 14), Free.

Warning: this post contains scenes of a deeply pretentious and pompous nature.

50 Shades of Grey has successfully duped the last major group of people still unaware of free online pornography; middle aged women. I’m going for another, not so major group; materials scientists.

She came in to the room and looked at his dick. “mmmm, nice knob” she… SHOUTED… seductively! It is fair to say that he was hard. As hard as steel. As hard as diamond. Literally harder than diamond. She took a Vickers hardness tester out of her vagina and struck his cock with it. His penis… scratched… the diamond. Yes, it was a fucking 2000 on the Mohs scale. Coincidently the number of years since Christ’s visit to Jerusalem? Me thinks not. Assuming Dawkin’s proto-theory of the penis in human males fulfilling a kind of health display role, like the Peacock’s tale (they do spin a good yarn!), his blood pressure was fucking insane, indicating this guy had certainly been taking his cod liver oil supplements, if you know what I mean1. He was so fucking hard that his sex organ… fucking… popped. “There’s plenty more where that came from” he… SHOUTED… seductively, before sprouting a new one “down there” like a lizard grows a new tail. Yes, it is fair to say that Chris Brown (strange direction?), is, capable of autotomy. His blood dribbled down her face like a money shot gone awry. “Odd” they thought.

1 I mean I find the book offensive in it’s mildness. A kind of stark symbol of the timidity and lack of imagination of modern humans.


Figure 1. Vickers hardness tester.

“Fuck,” she said. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck,” she said. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck,” she said. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck,” she said. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck,” she said. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck,” she said. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck,” she said. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck,” she said. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck,” she said. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck,” she said. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck,” she said. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck,” she said. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck,” she said. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck,” she said. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck,” she said. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck,” she said. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck,” she said. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck,” she said. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck,” she said. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck,” she said. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck,” she said. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck,” she said. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck,” she said. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck,” she said. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck,” she said. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck,” she said. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck,” she said. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck,” she said. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck,” she said. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck,” she said. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck,” she said. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck,” she said. “Fuck,” he said. They reached sexual ecstasy in Unison (they were inside the HQ of the public service trade union).

Now.

He produced a contract. A patent. She looked upset, as if there was something distasteful about deriving sexual pleasure from simulating literal and intellectual bondage. A concept that is, of course, completely abhorrent. Oh, did I mention he was a… billionaire. It was Bill Gates pretending to be the violent Chris Brown.

Infinite suffering was inflicted upon the woman. Sensory and cognitive oblivion. Wastes of pain and horror. Sexy pain. Sexy horror. He also, and more importantly, provided financial security, something that is all too rare in the current economic climate.

But she wouldn’t do anal and he wouldn’t do gay.

*         *        *

Claire Sarahly left the stage of the Canal Cafe theatre. Her satire had gone down a storm. As in everyone wished it hadn’t happened. Forty years of her life flashed before her. She looked back at her younger self with scorn and said ‘I was a bit of an idiot for writing that’. She died poor and alone.

Yours with love and devotion and an erection,

PS As a little bonus, if you insist, you can listen to a stand-up set I recorded recently sans audience:

[audio: http://www.raphshirley.com/media/RaphShirley-BBC-NCA.mp3]

or download it for your portable digital media players here

An unfortunate question

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Now is the time that I must face the gruesome possibility that my undergarments are beyond repair and should be replaced.

Download a high-res version of this image here.

So many memories. You shielded me from the world, or should I say you shielded the world from me. You enabled me to wear trousers for longer and your snazzy two tone front helped me to feel fashionable and sexy. You outlived the overpriced Calvin Klines and never lost your grounding. you loved me well for sure but you let your crotch go. One starts to ask what function you serve without that area of cloth.

The truth is I don’t know how much longer I can go on knowing you don’t have the solidity you used to. I fear we’ve grown apart. The babe you held and grew has grown old and wizened now. The naive boy you loved has morphed into a horrid beast. Where is my loyalty you ask. Have I not shown just that these 14 years. Fourteen years!

All this talk is worthless when the fact is I’ve already been to George by ASDA (A Walmart Company) and bought a three pack of A-flys. I know I’ve done you wrong but I have no choice. I am going to incinerate you.

Goodbye,