It is true, as they say in "Revelation X" that the CON fears the
Uberfemme so much, that they inundate us with pinkness and try to
convince us of our weakness from the days of our birth. I got a Barbie
the first year they came out. I had the house, and the car too. I had
stuffed toys. They make good masturbatory tools. See...no matter WHAT
the CON throws at us, Uberfemmes cannot be suppressed. You can put a
tiger in a cage. You can even declaw it and defang it...but if you
aren't very very careful...it will kill you without a thought. Then it
will eat you.
I wanted to be a nun when I was a little girl. They were always nice
to me, and they were smart. They never took shit from anyone, not even
the priests. They were like a pack of wolves, they worked as a team
and took no prisoners. They ate what they killed.
Puberty hit...hard. My body exploded overnight, suddenly celibacy
seemed like a rather stiff price to pay for being a free woman. And
then again, I started seeing that the nuns weren't quite as free as I
had once believed them to be. They DID seem to take shit from the guys
in the big hats even if the local sandal-wearers watched their step.
I was so PINK in high school I almost glowed. At least that's the way
*I* see it. Other people probably thought I was a free spirit of some
sort. I was a pompon girl for chrissakes<choke>...I joined a sorority
in college <weeping>...I WAS AN ART MAJOR!!<total sobbing breakdown>
There was this guy see ...in the sculpture class before mine. He was
gorgeous. I wanted him desperately. But I was a girl...we don't ask
first. I gnashed my teeth. I used my teddy bear...all to no avail.
One night, as I lay sweating in my waterbed, staring up at the Indian
print bedspread, pinned to the ceiling; I noticed a strange smell.
It wasn't unpleasant, just STRONG...and getting stronger by the
second. I sat up, thinking that my cat must have brought in a ferret
from the fields. The smell was overpowering, but strangely arousing.
"Fuck the cat!" I thought, and reached for my teddy bear.
Then I noticed that the bedspread was glowing, throbbing,
undulating...dripping. I touched the droplet where it landed on the
bed and suddenly a shock ran through my entire body. My legs grew
slick, parts started throbbing.
Then SHE appeared...and bitch-slapped the living shit out of
me...literally. She laughed and wiped it all over herself. It turned
into silver coins which fell to the ground making a sound like
grinding teeth in metal braces. "That's all CON shit is,
Honey...money! You give them money, and they give you shit. I'm just
returning the favor."
She was beautiful. She wore this silvery nightie and carried a little
silver opera bag. It was tasteless yet alluring.
My mouth was hanging open. I could still feel the sting of her slap.
"Who...who are you?" I stammered. She slapped me again, hard. "I'm the
beginning and the end, you stupid cunt! I'm the Oooo in 'Cooter," I'm
the One who made both Mohammed AND the mountain come. I'm "Connie"
Dobbs, and I'm your wake up call." Then she kicked me off the bed.
She made me shave her legs. She said she had a hot date, and that I
could shave while she talked.
For the next twelve hours I was run through the personal service
wringer. I gave her a facial. I waxed her eyebrows. I gave her a
massage, a pedicure, a manicure, AND aromatherapy. She had a mud bath,
a little electrolysis on a neck mole, and a perm. She just kept
pulling more and more shit out of that bag. AND TALK? The bitch never
STOPPED talking. For twelve hours she yammered into my ear. She gave
me shit about swallowing the CON. She told me truths I never wanted to
face. She said I was different and there was no goddamned way to avoid
it, that everyone knew it anyway, so I might as well just loosen up
and enjoy it. She talked about sex...well not directly all the time,
but just about everything she discussed came back 'round to sex. She
said, "Tarla, you're wasting a perfectly good body in a decade that
will never come again. Get it before the CON invents Herpes." She told
me the secrets of the Squirtin' Universe.
Then she got on the phone. It took me six years to pay off that phone
bill, but it was worth it. The next thing I know I've got this crazy
black bitch named "Ethyl" knocking at my door, holding a big bottle of
Gallo Sangria and asking for her soulsista "Connie." With great
trepidation, I opened the door.
She STRODE into the room wearing chartreuse pedal pushers and
candy-apple red four-inch spiked heels. She wore a T-shirt which
depicted Mickey slipping Minnie the salami from behind. Her "natural"
sprung out in a halo about two feet from her scalp. "Connie! Girl,
where are you?" she bellowed. "Connie" came out of the bedroom and
hugged her. They both did a little hip humping thing, and both started
cackling. I was getting scared. Honest, up to this point, I thought it
was pretty weird but I figured it COULD just be a stress dream,
combined with some strong hash oil. When Ethyl arrived, I couldn't
deny the reality any longer. Even in my subconscious, I would have
never combined chartreuse and red! "So, where's Juicy?"" Connie"
asked. "Scoring 'Frop," replied Ethyl, as a pipe suddenly appeared in
her hand.
"Connie" smiled a somewhat feral grin and motioned for me to join
them. They each took a deep hit off the pipe then passed the charred
remains to me. Not good manners, but what the hell, I was tapped. I
torched the remains and drew in the meager smoke. Suddenly there was
quivering in my loins, my head spun. That strange scent that I had
noticed before was even stronger...and it was coming from BETWEEN MY
LEGS!! "How have you denied your true nature so long?" asked "Connie."
"Your second clitoris is already growing with just that pathetic hit!"
Ethyl began rummaging around in my liquor cabinet, and started mixing
"Pink Ladies." The doorbell rang. "Connie" answered it, and in walked
Juicy. Actually walked isn't quite correct. She rolled in...on skates.
I looked into her face and I could see myself in 20 years. She had red
hair, and a body that wouldn't quit. Her skates were totally bitchen.
I coveted them. She smiled at me, and waggled a little bag at
"Connie." Ethyl brought the cocktails out of the kitchen and we
settled down on some pillows on the floor. Ethyl passed around the
drinks while Juicy loaded the pipe. "Connie" got naked.
I started to take a sip from my drink but Ethyl's hand shot out like a
snake and stopped me from reaching it. "Wait," she cautioned. She ran
over to the stereo and ran through my collection. Sighing with relief,
she pulled a Louis Prima album from its sleeve and placed it on the
turntable. Juicy was following "Connie's" lead, and Ethyl stripped
down as she came back from the stereo. All three of them looked at me
rather significantly.
I stripped down and stared back, rather defiantly. "Connie" began by
saying, "We are the Mystic Roller Maidens from Outer Space..." Juicy
and Ethyl repeated the line. Then they all took a sip from their Pink
Ladies. "Connie" started speaking in a strange language that I
couldn't understand, but which raised the hair on the backs of my
arms. "It's Yeti...Yeti language." Juicy whispered to me. I grew
drowsy listening her rhythmic drone.
Suddenly all three of them were standing over me. I was face to bush
with the unholy triad. They started pissing on me. It smelled like
air-wick. It turned into pennies as it fell to the floor. "Smoke!"
commanded "Connie" and she thrust the pipe into my mouth.
I drew in the smoke. I have never been the same. With the growth of my
second clitoris, I was able to see the entire scope of time laid out
before me. I suddenly knew my place in the world. "I am a Mystic
Roller Maiden from Outer Space," I affirmed. "I will follow the ways
of sensuality all my days." They made sure that I started out with a
bang.
Two days later, when I was recovered enough to return to school, I was
a changed woman. I skated to my sculpture class early. I waited until
the gorgeous man was alone, then I walked up to him and said simply,
"Would you like to run away to Mexico with me?" He said, "My
apartment's closer." I taught him what Uberfemmes are all about. He
died with a smile on his face...and then I ate him.
***
It was years later after doing missionary work in California, then
moving to Oklahoma, that I discovered a need. There were so many young
Yeti females who had no place to turn to when the CON got to be too
much. There was no safe place to vent and run naked under the moon.
The was no place to bury the remains.
Out of this need arose the CONvent of the Little Sisters of the
Perpetually Juicy. Five years ago, the Little Sisters found a home, a
sanctuary from the mindlessness of the CON. A place away from prying
eyes, and closer to prying fingers. A slackful oasis in the desert of
most souls. Here, in practice and excremeditation we forcibly tip the
luck plane in our direction. With the mighty power of Uberfeminism we
hump the Universe into giving up Slack. Ahhhmayne!
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Subject: Re: The Origins of the Little Sisters of the Perpetually Juicy
From: testa@starbase.neosoft.com (Andrew J. Testa)
The entity known as TarlaStar (bmyers@ionet.net) posted:
* "Would you like to run away to Mexico with me?" He said, "My
* apartment's closer." I taught him what Uberfemmes are all about. He
* died with a smile on his face...and then I ate him.
PRAISE TARLA! PRAISE CONNIE! Fuck praise everyone.
Thank you Tarla, for returning my slack a hundred fold.
You TRULY must be the embodiment of all we hold sacred and profane.
('scuse me, uh, I'll be in the John. Gimme that mag...)
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Subject: Re: The Origins of the Little Sisters of the Perpetually Juicy
From: i.stang@metronet.com (Rev. Ivan Stang)
In article <3rnp82$8ie@ionews.ionet.net>, bmyers@ionet.net (TarlaStar) wrote:
.... I taught him what Uberfemmes are all about. He
died with a smile on his face...and then I ate him.
Stang pounds giant floppy foot up and down on table real fast, turns beet
red, head swells up, steam shoots from ears making "wolf-whistle" sound,
tongue flops out about 12 feet and rivers of slobber run off, large
sweat-beads spray halo-like in concentric rings from head, eyeballs
sproing out on stalks and pupils separate from eyeball to leap even
further out before snapping back in, boxer shorts split, bluejeans split,
titanium suit of armor splits, giant Dobbsheaded cartoon pecker shoots out
with "diving board" sound effect.
Stang yanks wad of cash out of vest pocket and stretches rubber arm like
Mr. Fantastic towards Tarla, she hauls off (exaggerate size of hand) and
SLAPS him in face, causing eyeballs to fly out of head, flesh to fly off
face, Stang hits back wall at high speed with skull-face and slumps to
floor, but big pink tongue is still hanging out panting and Stang's
skull-face shows HUGE GRIN.
------------------------------------------------------
Subject: Re: The Origins of the Little Sisters of the Perpetually Juicy
From: christuck@aol.com (ChrisTuck)
Holy Reverend Mother Tarla:
I am impressed.
"Kill" me and eat me, not necessarily in that order!
It is heartening to read such stirring testimony (or should it really be
ovarymony?) to both the unconverted and the Churched on this newsgroup.
Such heartfelt confession can only lead the unChurched to "Bob" and
"Connie", helping to insure that on that, come that inevitable, Awful Day
in 1998, WE and WE alone, will ride the Saucers, while the humans fry like
eggs on a Alabama sidewalk in August.
See you there, Tarla, you bring the "toys" and I'll bring the batteries!
Original file name: origins.txt
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