Blogger's Archives

October 2005



Monday 3 October 2005 12:23 BST (GMT+1)

Hot and cold. Or rather extremes of the both. Deadly to normal people, utterly harmless to me. But you knew that already.

You also knew that generating these radical temperatures is easy for me. Lasers from my eyes can melt any material. Cold breath from my mouth can freeze any substance. Neither is difficult to produce. But you'd be amazed at the precision with which I can control both abilities.

For example, in my local park there's a small bronze statue of some pompous man riding a horse. Last night I paid it a visit. By carefully blasting bits of it with my heat-vision until they turned into liquid and then shaping the molten metal with little puffs of my breath before resolidifying them ultra-rapidly with short, sharp, super-cold exhalations, I was able to transform the monument into something far more artistic. Now, instead of a monument to a stupid male, visitors can find the words "Blogger rules" in beautifully-formed, calligraphic, solid bronze letters.

Not bad, considering I never touched the thing with my hands. In fact, I never got nearer than ten yards from it.



Tuesday 4 October 2005 17:54 BST (GMT+1)

It seems that, following the latest "unexplained" vandalism in the park, the National Paranormal Society is setting up a sophisticated 24-hour a day, 7 day a week surveillance network all around the area.

Included in their list of toys are half a dozen infrared cameras, heat-sensing devices, electro-magnetic disturbance monitors and a team of eight crack voluntary nerds (no doubt each equipped with anorak and flask of warm tea). The Society president announced "If there's any truth in the rumours about paranormal activity taking place in the park, we'll find it." Of course they won't find evidence of spirits or ghouls. Superhuman (and beautiful) girl: yes. Ghosts: no.

I'm going to have so much fun with those guys!



Wednesday 5 October 2005 20:46 BST (GMT+1)

After a few months of disuse, I've finally found a (temporary) new tenant for the flat upstairs.

The best thing is I didn't have to go to any bar or gym to meet him. I didn't even have to leave my flat. He came right to my home, all by himself, without needing to be asked. How helpful is that? There I was, just reading a novel on the sofa at around quarter to three last night when I heard a scratching sound outside the kitchen window. I put down the book and listened as the window was carefully pushed open. Then someone stealthily clambered in. I could tell immediately that it was a young man. I'm no Sherlock Holmes, but with my hearing, I picked out every scraping of cloth on window-frame, every stifled intake and exhalation of breath, every thump of every heartbeat... You get the picture.

I floated off the floor (infinitely more quietly than my mystery visitor could manage) into the darkest corner of the living room and waited. Unlike him, I can hold my breath for weeks if needed, so I was completely silent whilst he methodically opened and closed the drawers and cupboards in my kitchen. He even looked in the fridge! Soon enough, he came out of there and I got my first view of him. It was dark, but that's no problem for me. He was dressed entirely in black. A high-neck polo shirt, leather gloves and a woolly hat meant that the only exposed flesh was that of his face. Cute, even if he couldn't hide the fact that he was pushing forty. His tight clothes also gave a good indication of a nice, compact body.

If there was any doubt about his motives before, they evaporated when I saw the large open (but empty) sports bag he was carrying. Normally, I'd be pretty ruthless with an intruder, but I really liked the way this one looked. He clicked on a small hand torch and began scanning around the room. Way before the beam reached where I was hiding, it lit up my stereo. The guy switched the torch off and made his way over to it. He was reaching around the back of it, trying to pull out all the wires quickly and quietly so he never noticed me flying up behind him. I put my hand on the back of his lovely muscular neck and with one movement, lifted him off the ground and turned him around to face me, his feet hanging about level with my ankles.

To his credit, he didn't scream. He did kick at me several times, his boots bouncing off my shins, probably hurting his toes. It certainly didn't hurt me at all. Raising myself up a little until my arm was stretched straight out in front as I continued to keep him off the floor, I looked into his eyes to see the terror and confusion. I'm used to men wearing that particular expression, and it didn't reduce this one's cuteness in the slightest. I gave him my best smile. He responded by pulling an eighteen-inch long, thick iron crowbar from his trousers.

I was amazed to see he was quite happy to use it but although I could have stopped or evaded the blow, I let him slam the sharp end of the metal bar down on to my head. The clang as it hit was impressive. It was also the only thing that let me know that he'd used a bit of force as I couldn't really feel it. But that noise told me he whacked me hard enough to kill an ordinary person. In other words, he'd tried to finish me off. The cheeky bastard!

He seemed in shock at the ineffectiveness of his attack so I pulled the bar out of his hand without any struggle. Putting him down, I caught both his hands in my left before he could even formulate a plan of action. He wriggled like a fish on dry land, but it was easy to hold him still enough for me to pull his arms over his head and then wrap his crowbar tightly around his wrists. His eyes nearly popped out of his head as I casually twisted the heavy iron around his forearms and then for good measure bent the other end of the metal into a loop to make a convenient finger-hold.

I carried him by putting my middle digit through the loop and letting the improvised cuffs and the man entwined in them dangle from my outstretched hand. With my X-ray vision, I checked to see if there was anyone on the staircase outside. There wasn't so I went out of my front door, carrying my new pal to my special apartment upstairs. His feet dragged on the floor and bounced up the stairs. I hung him on one of the waiting hooks up there. It's been a while since I've had anyone staying in my "guest quarters", but I remembered how to be a good host, stopping his yells for help by stuffing his woolly hat in his mouth. Then I held his body still with a couple of fingers pressed into his sternum whilst I peeled his clothes away from his body.

It was like being a kid, unwrapping a present at Christmas. He really does have a beautiful toned, tight physique. I stripped him naked, taking my time and shredding his clothes to pieces in the process. Although he couldn't scream, he was still kicking his legs furiously. He soon got tired of thrashing uselessly against the wall and, not long afterwards, he gave up trying to break the metal bonds around his wrists. As if a man could bend metal! I stood there, patiently watching as he, at least temporarily, surrendered to his situation. I admit I couldn't help rubbing his helplessness in by adopting a "power pose" with my hands on my hips. No doubt, I was smirking a little as well.

When he'd finally calmed down a little, he began to look at me more and more. His eyes still showed a great deal of fear, not to mention a fair amount of anger, but another quality also was making itself apparent - namely, lust. The glances he threw at me became more and more frequent and lingering. They also focussed increasingly on my chest. I was wearing a fairly tight T-shirt and my obvious attractiveness is, frankly, too much for most men to ignore. This guy is no different I'm pleased to note.

He was naked, so he had no way of hiding the fact that I was stirring his desires. Furthermore, with his hands tied up, he had no choice but to let his arousal stand out in full view. He was clearly embarrassed as he squirmed against the wall, his face reddening. I couldn't see why. I mean, he's no porn star in that department, but he doesn't need to be ashamed either. I'd say he's slightly bigger than average. Anyway, I certainly didn't help him to get over his awkwardness as I made a show of looking at his expanding appendage.

Reaching out, I brought my hand close to his lovely face. He immediately turned his head aside, which was as much as he could do to avoid me. I merely cupped his chin - gently so as not to crush his jawbone to powder - and, despite his frantic but useless struggling, brought his face round so that it was directly in front of mine. Even with his teeth clenched and his features a little contorted by his wasted efforts, I could see he was extremely handsome. I moved my face closer, so that the tips of our noses were only a couple of inches apart.

"You're mine now." I breathed. This seemed to act as an amplifier for his emotions. The finality of my words must've brought home sharply his predicament, heightening his fear. His eyes went wild and he renewed his frantic but hopeless efforts to free himself. Yet, at the same time, the sensations triggered by my breath on his face inflamed his passion and immediately made his little soldier jump to full attention. I just smiled.

Releasing his chin, I turned to walk out, calling out over my shoulder "Wait there. I'll be right back, handsome." As if he's got a choice!

And that's where I left him. It's been seventeen hours so he's probably getting a bit bored. I'll go upstairs now to give him a little exercise.



Thursday 6 October 2005 16:55 BST (GMT+1)

Well, I had an exceptionally enjoyable session with my burglar-cum-house-guest last night.

I let him down from his hook and freed his hands. Then I threw him onto the mats on the floor and leapt on top of him. "You... can't... rape... me" he gasped (he was finding it hard to breathe with my chest pressing down on his lungs with enough force to severely restrict them).

"Why not lover?" I asked him.

"I... won't... let... you... Won't... get... hard... for... you..." I laughed. And scooted up his body until my breasts were resting lightly on his face. Then I leant into him, burying his eyes and nose in my cleavage and overwhelming his senses with my femininity. Five seconds later, as I discovered, reaching behind myself to feel, he had a raging erection.
"Shame about that," I mocked. I freed his head from my warm, erotic prison and carefully impaled myself on his waiting shaft. I started to ride him, aggressively.

"Stop! Please!" he cried.

"No." I laughed, speeding up. He started to hit me. I enjoyed that as I continued to bounce on him.

When I was done, he was gasping for breath, his torso and groin already bruised. "OK, let's do it again." I announced.

"No. I.. can't... I... just... can't..." I pressed my breasts into his face once more and proved him wrong. There were tears in his eyes as I began to take him into and out of my eager, superhuman sex.

For the third round, I gave him back his (slightly bent) crowbar and let him whack me with it whilst I screwed him. I loved the feeling of the metal slamming against my head, my back and especially my chest as I rode. I shuddered violently as a big orgasm ripped through me. By the time it calmed down, my reluctant lover was already unconscious. Typical male! I hung him back on his hook for safekeeping.

After that, I popped down to the park to see how preparations for the great "ghost hunt" are going. Those geeks are really going to town setting up their equipment. I can't wait till it's all ready. Those instruments (not to mention the men setting them up) are going to get some very unexpected results...



Friday 7 October 2005 21:59 BST (GMT+1)

This morning, I woke my burglar-sex-toy with breakfast in bed.

Only joking, of course! I woke him by lifting him off his hook and throwing him across the room so that he bounced off the (slightly) padded wall. He rolled a couple of times, right into my ankles. I stepped one foot over him and carefully lowered myself down onto his stunned, disorientated face. Did I mention that I was naked?

Anyway, I pressed my sex over his mouth and presented him with two options: "Lick me out or I'll crush you to death." He chose the former, although to be honest, he wasn't very good at it. To increase the minimal levels of pleasure he was giving me, I started to grind my crotch around over his stubbly face. I heard a couple of muffled cries as I did that, but thought nothing of them until I stood up.

His mouth was in a right state. Seems I knocked out most of his teeth, tore his lips open and split his tongue as I rubbed my intimacy over him. There was blood everywhere. I had to take a bath to clean myself up once I'd hung the second-rate licker back in his place.

Fortunately the bleeding had stopped by the time I went upstairs this afternoon for a quick couple of rapes. He tried his best to please me, but his performances are getting steadily worse each time. I think my toy might be running out of batteries...

Over in the park, meanwhile, the paranormalists have almost finished setting up all their equipment. I'm waiting for them to be fully ready before paying them a visit. Shouldn't be too long now.



Monday 10 October 2005 17:14 BST (GMT+1)

News reached me over the weekend of a minor setback in Operation Catch-the-park-ghost (or whatever the geeks are calling it.)

No, before you jump to any conclusions, I had nothing to do with the setback. I'm waiting for them to be completely ready before getting involved, remember? They just didn't have enough power-sources to run their equipment, so they're arranging for a portable on-site generator. Shouldn't take them too long, despite their lack of social skills.

Meanwhile, my own social life is a bit quieter. After a disastrous session with my burglar-toy during which his penis was bruised jet black and his pelvis broken in three places (X-ray vision is so useful for counting fractures) and, more importantly, which left me completely unsatisfied, I decided to let him go.

I couldn't be bothered to carry him downstairs, so I just opened the window and tossed him out onto the roof of a passing bus. I wonder what they made of the unconscious naked man back at the garage, his wrists bound up in thick, twisted iron, his groin severely wounded. And I wonder how he explained himself when (and, er, if) he came round.



Tuesday 11 October 2005 17:28 BST (GMT+1)

A little recap, then: for over a year, "strange things" have been happening in the local park. Trees uprooted. The teahouse vandalised several times and then as good as destroyed. A bronze statue remoulded. And so forth.

Of course, regular readers will appreciate that all of these "unexplained" events were my doing. But other people seemed convinced that some supernatural force is at work. So the local paranormalists have decided to investigate. They've spent nearly a week setting up an array of heat-sensors, infrared cameras, electromagnetic field monitors and all kinds of silly toys. They've also devised a rota which ensures that two (probably socially inadequate) members of the society are on vigil 24 hours day. That's how convinced they are that they're going to find evidence of a ghost.

In recognition of their brave, unpaid efforts, I popped over to see the two dweebs on duty last night with a couple of cups of hot tea and some shortbread biscuits that I'd specially baked for them.

Ha! ha! ha! Only joking, of course. All I did last night was play my heat-vision lasers around close to a couple of the heat sensors. They're designed to detect changes of a couple of degrees centigrade, so I'm sure ten thousand degrees would have made for interesting readings. For balance, I directed a few jets of ultra-cold superbreath in that direction too. From the temperature of the sun to just above absolute zero in 3 seconds... no doubt they will claim it as definite proof of the existence of a spirit world.

For the infrared cameras, I merely ran at around half my top speed, far too fast to be identified as a humanoid, but not too fast to show up as a streak of heat on film. I couldn't resist spelling out the words "Get a life, geeks" as I sprinted. I hope they got that on tape. I'm sure they were all a-buzz with their readings this morning. I can imagine the discussion: "...and look! Here, on the infrared film, the ghost is trying to communicate with us..."

If only they knew what I've planned for them for tonight!



Wednesday 12 October 2005 17:47 BST (GMT+1)

You can just picture the scene, can't you? Two bespectacled, anorak-clad wannabe ghost-busters, crouched over a makeshift bank of electronic equipment in a tiny tent set up in the middle of a local park.

They're looking for any signs of paranormal activity. Last night, their sensitive temperature gauges recorded, in the space of a few seconds, 1000+ degrees C, -210 degrees C and 8 degrees C. Then the spirits send them a message via an infrared camera. The message, in joined-up writing which "appeared" suddenly, spells out a rather mundane insult. Naturally, 24 hours later, they're on ultrahigh alert.

The displays in front of them, relaying images from an array of infrared and night-vision cameras, fail one by one. That's me, of course, taking out all the lenses (and their housings) one after the other by zapping them with my heat-vision. Ten cameras rendered unrepairable in two seconds (because I was taking my time for my audience's benefit.)
Then suddenly, a blast of cold wind rips through their tent. I just pursed my lips and let out a very gentle, very mild stream of cold (not freezing) superbreath. And then the wind rips their tent away all together. I put a tiny bit more into my puff to do that. Now, they're shivering and not a little frightened.

There's a rush of wind behind them. That's me sprinting at superspeed. A voice (mine, of course) says "Boo!". One of them screams. They both whirl around and see... nothing. (I'm already hovering a hundred feet up in the night sky.) While they're looking away, a quick shot of energy from my eyes causes their portable generator to explode. Both men run yelling from the scene. Neither of them hears my laughter.

The big question, of course, is: will they come back tonight?



Tuesday 18 October 2005 17:07 BST (GMT+1)

Greetings, people.

You may have noticed that your beloved "Blogger" has been uncharacteristically absent from these pages of late. Perhaps you have been speculating that she has been defeated in battle by Ultragirl once again. If so, then you are very much mistaken.

Blogger HAS been defeated, not in battle but in cunning and wit by no-one but myself. No female muscle was involved. Just good old MALE genius.

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Duane. You may have met me before. Perhaps you are one of the many who have called me "Dweeb" or "Geek" or "Nerd" in the past. But not anymore. Oh no. Not now you face the consequences of inciting my anger. Once, you might have laughed at the prospect of fighting me. But no longer!

No-one will ever call me names again. Not now that I have, under my complete control, the most powerful being in the universe. I refer of course, to the one you know as Blogger. You see, she may be invulnerable to atomic bombs, and stronger than the entire human race combined, but she is no match (NO MATCH AT ALL) for my superior brain!

The supposedly peerless "Blogger" is in a special kind of hypnotic trance. A permanent, unbreakable trance that will keep her totally in my power. Forever. She will continue to do exactly what I tell her to do... forever! You could say that she is under my spell. She will not move one beautiful finger of her beautiful body without my command.

She is mine. All mine. Yes, every part of her. I have even touched her breasts without her reacting. I would have touched more, but I am not accustomed to being with women and the feel of her boob alone was enough for me to no longer be able to contain myself.

But enough talk of my weaknesses! Now, with "Blogger" by my side, I can finally punish all those people who called me names in the past. You will see, soon enough. You will ALL see!

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!!



Wednesday 19 October 2005 15:06 BST (GMT+1)

Something is wrong with you people. I have just become the most powerful person in the world (ever) by gaining complete control of "Blogger". You should be offering me your praise and congratulations!

Why won't anybody show me the respect my genius deserves? Why do people continue laugh at me, even now that I possess the power to punish them? What is so funny about my face? With "Blogger" awaiting my every command, I can have all the acne cream I need now. I can have ANYTHING I want.

Yes, my control is complete. I can make her do anything I want. Like this: "Take off your T-shirt!" You see? She does whatever I - oh, my! I must touch... Oh, oh, oh!!!!

Never mind, I can have as many fresh pairs of underwear as I want now. I have complete control of the most powerful being in the universe.

Tomorrow, you shall see the results of this. Tomorrow, you shall ALL see. I am going to get my lovely pet to do something for me that will make the WHOLE WORLD sit up and take notice of me, Duane Perkins. Then all the people who criticised my computer programmes will be sorry.

In the meantime, you may send your messages of congratulations and jealousy to:
yourmasterduane@hotmail.co.uk



Thursday 20 October 2005 17:55 BST (GMT+1)

So now you all know. Duane Perkins is NOT to be taken lightly. There will be no more "dweeb" remarks. I DEMAND your respect!

I must say, "Blogger" is a remarkable young lady. And not just to look at. Although she IS remarkable to look at too. But to have COMPLETE control over her power is most intriguing. Standing on the corner of the street, watching her in action is quite a treat.
You've probably heard about it on the news. I was on the street, outside the internet cafe where the ignorant staff killed my eighth level wizard by distracting me mid-battle when I was logged on to my favourite RPG site. For weeks I have been plotting my revenge. Now, it is complete.

I commanded Blogger to enter the cafe WITHOUT opening the door. She strolled, UNBLINKING through the plate glass windows, the shattering fragments not scratching her lovely, smooth skin. Then, according to my whim, she brushed aside the guy who works there with a sweep of her hand, sending him flying into the back of the shop. Take that, philistine! And finally, the "piece de la resistance". I instructed Blogger to insert the floppy disc I had prepared into the cafe's main server and run the application it contained. After that, I made my mind-slave turn around and leave as quickly as possible so that no-one else saw us. The perfect crime! And, of course, only Blogger is in the frame for it.

The disc contains a virus that will take weeks to remove from the network. It will keep popping up with messages insulting the staff and customers (here's the REALLY clever bit - it insults them in KLINGON so they won't even understand that they're being insulted!!!!) at random intervals. How fiendish! But THAT is what happens to those who cross Duane Perkins.

I have received a few emails. To those who warn me to watch out with Blogger, I say this: YOU watch out, for I have TOTAL control over her. To the two people who wrote to complain about an error in my "StarTrek Episode Guide Database 2.3" I say: You are wrong, FOOLS. Captain Picard wore only one ring in that scene, although he did have two on his hand in the previous scene. If you continue to question me, I will send Blogger to convince you otherwise.

Now, I need time with my mind-slave. I need to look at something. Soon, I will be able to TOUCH as well without, erm, becoming over-excited.

Send your praise for my genius to: yourmasterduane@hotmail.co.uk



Friday 21 October 2005 17:56 BST (GMT+1)

So, I have received yet more emails warning of an alleged dire fate awaiting me. I think not! My mind-control over "Blogger" will NEVER be broken. Those who wrote to say that they will harm me (P.D. and L.H. especially) if I do not release my hold on the delectable powerhouse should think again. It is I who holds all the cards here, particularly the marvellously curvaceous Ace of Trumps. You claim "Blogger" is your friend. I did not think she had any friends, but let me just say this: come near me and I will unleash the full force of your friend on you!

You STILL won't take me, Duane Perkins, conqueror of the unconquerable "Blogger" seriously? Allow me to tell you a little story. An illustration of my power now. This happened yesterday afternoon in one of the country's TOP fantasy retailers:

The man in the comic book section said "No, you cannot touch it unless you buy it."
I said: "Blogger, get it for me." And she did, punching through the thick glass counter, removing the object of my desire and handing it to me. The security guards came running over. "Blogger, hold them while I leave." She kept them both on their knees with a hand around each big man's throat as I calmly walked out. Then, according to my whim, she followed me home where she allowed me to touch her breast for a full ten seconds. I would have touched BOTH breasts and for much longer, were it not for the fact that I had already, um, peaked by then.

I hope you appreciate now that I am NOT a figure of fun, but rather a FORMIDABLE GENIUS. Nothing can stop me! Nothing!!

P.S. If you would like to join my NEW FAN CLUB (!!!) just send me an email: yourmasterduane@hotmail.co.uk



Monday 24 October 2005 17:02 BST (GMT+1)

Well, I have had a pleasing response to the announcement of my fan club. Thank you to those who wrote in requesting membership. Your support will not be forgotten when I overthrow the governments of Earth. The Duane Perkins Fan Club / Appreciation Society will be formerly launched shortly. No prizes for guessing which well-known personality will be officially opening the DP FC / AS. Say "Hello", Blogger.

"Hello, Blogger."

Doesn't she have a lovely voice? Almost as lovely as she looks. This weekend we have spent preparing for my most audacious project yet. The time has come for action. Action on a grand scale. For there is no point having COMPLETE mind-control over the most powerful being in the solar system if I continue to be denied the respect of my peers that I so richly deserve.

All that will change this week. With my unbeatable GENIUS and Blogger's unstoppable brawn (not to mention indescribable beauty) NOTHING can deny me! Behold the totality of my power over her: Blogger, approach!

Here she comes. That's enough. I said ENOUGH! Blogger... STOP! Oh, too late. She has touched me with her boobies. I can't contain myself. Oh, oh, oh....

HOW DARE YOU LAUGH! My self-control may be lacking but my MIND-control is perfect.
Blogger! Commence Operation Duane-in-charge. And then fetch me a clean pair of trousers.

To apply to join the Duane Perkins Fan Club/Appreciation Society, write to me at: yourmasterduane@hotmail.co.uk. Remember: those who are already members will receive preferential treatment when I take over the world. Can you seriously afford NOT to give me your eternal respect?



Tuesday 25 October 2005 22:30 BST (GMT+1)

After a number of minor technical difficulties, Operation "Duane-in-charge" is now underway. Everything is running precisely to my plan. But that is hardly surprising. My plan, like my control over "Blogger", like my very GENIUS itself, is absolutely flawless. As flawless as the lovely face of my mind-slave.

And how amazing it was to see that lovely face, and the, um, fascinating body attached to it ploughing through a street-length column of parked cars on Sunday night. I directed her to the road and instructed her to walk to the other end of it as part of my grand preparations. I assumed she would dodge AROUND the vehicles, but she chose the path of greatest resistance. Although, thinking of the ease with which she walked through those cars AS IF THEY WEREN'T THERE, "resistance" is perhaps a poor choice of word.

Not wanting to create a scene I sent the mental command for her to stop and also added a number of vocal instructions. I assume the noise of steel being rent asunder by her wonderful legs and hips was the reason she did not respond immediately, as my control is TOTAL. I am CERTAIN of that. It was quite a few seconds before I made my thoughts heard, by which time, no fewer than twenty vehicles had been utterly destroyed.

To possess the mind of a being so powerful takes great, great mental skill. Which I, fortunately possess in abundance.

Send me your praise, and ask to be accepted into the Duane Perkins Fan Club / Appreciation Society by emailing: yourmasterduane@hotmail.co.uk



Wednesday 26 October 2005 17:40 BST (GMT+1)

Life is a process of learning. Even a GENIUS such as myself can acknowledge that. And any new process / system can never be FULLY understood (and hence, MASTERED) until it has been tested IN THE FIELD for some time. So, I am NOT TO BLAME for yesterday evening's unfortunate events.

A mind is a complex and multi-stranded entity. It would seem that one can have TOTAL control over its intelligence and reasoning without simultaneously establishing such a complete grip on its lower processes. Obviously, when the mind in question is attached to an invulnerable and superhumanly powerful body (a very, very beautiful body too in this case) then a below-100% hold on "lower processes" can have, um, consequences.

Consider the parallel of gaining mind-control over a killer shark. One might be able to make the creature swim in complex loops for hours, apparently in TOTAL command of it. But if the shark were to suddenly detect the taste of fresh blood in the water, its "lower processes" might well come to the fore. The beast could TEMPORARILY enter an eating frenzy during which it might be LESS RESPONSIVE THAN BEFORE to mental instructions from its mind-master.

I believe that something similar happened to me last night. I needed access to some data held at a government research institution. Having followed my orders perfectly in smashing down several doors for me so that I could have access to the records room, I wanted Blogger to ensure that no-one entered the room whilst I worked.

ALL I SAID was "Blogger, make sure I will not be disturbed." She was SUPPOSED to stand guard at the door. She was SUPPOSED to use her MAGNIFICENT, invulnerable body to bar entry to any staff or security guards. She was SUPPOSED to help me keep my presence as low-key as possible. I NEVER INTENDED WHAT HAPPENED NEXT.

To cut a long story short, "Blogger" misinterpreted my command. For some reason, her enslaved mind concluded that the best way of ensuring that I wouldn't be disturbed would be to make sure that there was no-one to disturb me. In other words, she immediately (AT SUPERSPEED) set about the task of killing every other person in the building.

I only realised what was happening when I heard a succession of brief, truncated screams. I INSTANTLY issued a mental order for her to cease whatever she was doing and become immobile at once, but THE SCREAMS CONTINUED. I theorise that the "taste" of blood was somehow overriding her normal mental processes. "Blogger", it seems ENJOYS causing harm (horrible, terrible, blood-soaked harm) AT A VERY LOW LEVEL.

I confess that, as I ran out into the corridor, the sight of the dismembered and splattered corpses littering the floor and the walls was too much for me to stomach, and I had to stop in my tracks and vomit. That is the main reason why it then took so long to successfully command my mind-slave to stop. THERE IS NO QUESTION THAT MY CONTROL OVER HER IS ANYTHING BUT PERFECT, but unfortunately, she had long since completed the slaughter of every other person in the building by the time I got through to her with the command to sit down.

I instructed her to leave via the front entrance while I ran from the back. I do not know how she managed to return to my base apparently unseen, but my first instruction on her arrival was for her to wash all traces of the massacre from herself. Naturally, I observed this bathing process closely, solely to ensure that every last drop of blood was washed away. After watching THAT spectacle, I had quite a few drops of fluid to wash off MY body too...

...but all that is irrelevant! The important thing is that Operation Duane-in-charge is STILL running. The information I found before unwittingly ordering the massacre was EXTREMELY useful. Now, if I can control "Blogger's" baser instincts (a task surely WELL within my GENIUS) my destiny is assured!

All hail Duane Perkins!

yourmasterduane@hotmail.co.uk



Thursday 27 October 2005 17:32 BST (GMT+1)

Amazingly, I am STILL receiving emails from misguided people who think that my mind-control over "Blogger" is less than perfect or even that it is NOT REAL ! What fools you are! Do you not recognise GENIUS when it is thrust before you? To prove you wrong and to show my TOTAL control, I am not typing today's blog entry in the conventional manner: I am DICTATING it to "Blogger" TELEPATHICALLY. My superior brain is COMMANDING her to type exactly what I am thinking. See? Such is my power, I can even CAPITALISE selected letters in my mental messages!

Now, I am delighted to report that the blood (regrettably) spilt yesterday has not delayed Operation Duane-in-charge and Phase Two has now begun. In just a few short days I will be

of the world!

Blogger! You've missed out most of the last two sentences! No! Don't type this. This is not part of the blog! Stop looking at the ceiling! What are you looking at up there? There's nothing there! What on earth is distracting you? Why are you touching yourself... there? I've not seen you doing that before. Let me get a better look. Oh my, your fingers are going all the way into... oh! I... I... oohhhh!

There. I am all cleaned up. Now, stop typing my thoughts. We must edit what you have typed. Blogger! What can it be that is distracting you? You must press delete. Immediately! Press "Delete". "DELETE"! No, not "Send"



Friday 28 October 2005 17:47 BST (GMT+1)

Blogger, I COMMAND you! Tell your master what it is on the ceiling that is distracting you so badly. Why does it make you touch yourself like... like you are doing now?

Blogger! ANSWER ME! Stop that touching! Stop it now! You MUST stop. I COMMAND it. My mental control over you is COMPLETE and PERFECT. You must stop NOW, according to my wishes. Don't make me pull your hands away! You will regret it, I swear. I will use my BRAIN to fill your mind with pain. This is your LAST warning...

Very well, I will make you stop the crude way. Eeeuuggghhh! Aaargggh! Eeeeeeuuuuuugggggghhhhhh! [sound of panting] How can you be resisting me? Your brain CANNOT hold out against my superior GENIUS!

You HAVE to stop that touching - NOW! Please! It is distracting me. I wish to use your blog page to announce the success of Phase 2 of Operation Duane-in-charge, but I cannot THINK whilst you are making such an EXHIBITION of yourself. I cannot even WALK whilst you are doing that! I COMMAND YOU TO STOP!

Please stop. Pleeease!

Hey! Who turned on the voice-recognition software? Oh my, that COULD have been extremely embarrassing! I would NOT have been happy if THAT had been published. Thank goodness it's not in "post" mode...



Monday 31 October 2005 17:43 BST (GMT+1)

Now, there will be NO MORE MOCKING. I am control once again, this time PERMANENTLY and UNBREAKABLY. I have found a way to amplify still further the magnificent power of my mind so that no distractions, no "lower processes", no mysterious objects on the ceiling - NOTHING AT ALL - can interfere with my WILL. "Blogger" is MINE. FOREVER!

All of the greatest conquerors in history had their difficult days, and I must confess I am no different. I cannot pretend that there were no problems last week. Regrettably, those were all too public. But I have secured my command now. My genius allows me to learn from what has happened and ensure that it will NEVER happen again.

Operation Duane-in-charge is back on track, if a little behind schedule. This week, I will reveal Phase 3 to the world. My mind-slave has a deeply important role to play now, and I am CERTAIN that she will obey my every whim. When I unleash her tonight, she will follow my every instruction to the letter, using her unstoppable power to fulfil my orders. Nothing and no-one will be able to stand in her way and HER way will be MY way.

Behold the POWER of Duane Perkins!

Beg for my mercy BEFORE I become sole ruler of Earth. Send your advance pleas for mercy (and applications to join the Duane Perkins Appreciation Society) to: yourmasterduane@hotmail.co.uk