The Intergalactic School For Secretaries_Hollow Contemplation_The Taming of the Prude_Robots Are Com
Catalog Guide:
The Intergalactic School For Secretaries
Would you "fit" in this weird and crazy school? Blast off and take this voyage along the Intergalactic highway to this strange school for secretaries!The Intergalactic School for Secretaries.The Year is 2500.The Human Race is now part of the Intergalactic Educational System.If we are to compete in our galaxies, we must be well educated!"Come right on in, Miss Duncan. Have I got a school for you!", my overzealous high school guidance counselor waved me into his office.I rolled my eyes, expecting the same old, same old stuff. You know, Ivy towers. Catalogs filled with scenes of students sitting...
Hollow Contemplation
"Truly a display so perverse and assaulting to the senses that I would relate it to being not much preferable to being attacked by a crackhead in the urine filled streets of the East End. A dispassionate creation of the lowest order, truly, I cannot imagine what has given Professor Merrill such a poor judgement of her students to send them out into the world with this as their only offering." Constance Stetson said. The gathering crowd oohed and simpered at the delivery of his verdict, dooming another artist to mediocrity and a swift fade from focus. The artist in question kept their face ston...
The Taming of the Prude
Content Warning: language, sexual references, nudity (not descriptive).Vrrrttttt. Vrrrttttt. Vrrr-“Fuck off,” Mandy mumbled, backhanding her phone screen.-ttt. Vrrrttttt. Vrrrttttt. Vr-“It ain’twww.onedoor.cc gonna snooze, Mands. It’s a phone call,” Brad groaned from the other side of the bed.-rrttttt. Vrrrttttt. Vrrr-“Good morning, Mandy speaking. Oh, hi Kate, how are you? Yes, of course. Oh- oh, you’re outside? No, sorry, I didn’t hear. Yes, er, yes, the viewing is still today. Would you mind- er, would you mind giving me a few moments to make some final adjustments? I’ll be right out. Okay, see you soon....
Robots Are Companions Too
A loud crash jolted me awake. I was having a bad dream in which our five-year-old twin boys ran downstairs on Christmas morning only to have their excitement deflated like a punctured balloon when they discovered there wasn’t a single gift under the Christmas tree. “Jordan, wake up,” I said, nudging my husband beside me who continued snoring. I tried again, shoving him this time, “Jordan, I heard a loud noise downstairs.”“What? What time is it?” He said groggily, fumbling for his phone on the nightstand to check the time. “I don’t care what time it is, we need to go see—”“It’s 2:00 am. I’m sur...