Bed of Th0rns

October 8th, 2007

And on the seventh day, Th0rn rested.....well....kinda

Searching the space of my for more friends to add to an ever growing number of hot Goth Chicks, it was decided that to not grow was to stagnate, and changes needed to be made. 
Thorn Bin Chillin' really needed to increase his social circle.  Kat Von D's profile was found, and added.  Selling off his fancy-schmancy faberge egg collection in an attempt to buy the photo booth she has listed on Bay of E, and heading out to Vegas to meet up with this hot lil tattoo parlor owning seductress from L.A. Ink will be quite a time to be had for one and all.  What he will do to that dirty dirty little girl Kat Von D!   More to follow from this chronicle I am certain.
But wait this late breaking news flash just in!!
It was thought to have never been possible!  Rhymester Extraordinaire, Dashingly Dangerous, Karate Kickin', Website Designing, Documentary Film Creating, Gub-ment working, Sole proprietor of the many electrons composing both, and the even less critically acclaimed, runner of the now deceased Cleveland Goth Meetup Group, Internationally known single scallywag and general get-about, knower of many things, Self Proclaimed God-King and Emperor for Life of the Greater Gothic Alliance, The Very Spinner of The Tales o' Th0rn Himself, Unkey Th0rn, is sad. 
Unkey Th0rn is sad because he seeks an mystical, mythical creature.  One as elusive as a unicorn.  As so eloquently described in Type O Negative's song Black No. 1.  A sweet maiden of the abyss, a faithful lil Goth Chick, (Feminus Gothikus in the Latin) to call his own.  Unkey Th0rn had searched hi and low, and as the years had numbered three, the tired search came to a close, for such a creature seemed not to exist. But wait Unkey Th0rn, there is hope after all!  Turn that Gothic Crown back upside down, and search for your mermaid where the fish are a plenty!
Unkey Th0rn soon thereafter met a sweet maiden of the mists.  Beauty and the Beast, as it were.  And swearing upon a pile of freshly sacrificed goats that if anyone else were to ever call her beast but he, surely there would be the Devil to pay.
And now back to our story:
Deciding that being a man of stone comes with certain responsibilities which should at times be taken literally, your beloved scribe thought it best to partake in the ancient, fascinating and humbling art of foot rubbing.  Buying a foot stone to perform said task at the mart of wall, and this time carefully reading the directions before disguarding them, your humble Poet Laureate was certain all would go well.
Stone versed flesh for quite a while.  Many a scrape and jagged pass were made with this sacred device.  Feet being smoothed out were the goal of the day.  Well, as some tasks are accomplished, others fall far short of prestated goal.  Something was smoothed, but unfortunately for your eloquent minstrel, 'twas the stone, rather then body part to which said device was applied unto.  Now, still in possession of jagged feet, and a once porous stone polished as smoothly as an elongated domino, success seems to have not been met upon this occasion.  Perhaps a lava rock, or maybe some coral will be of greater assistance whence next this task of tackling Th0rn's corns is performed.
A maiden of the mist appeared upon the doorstep of your dashing orator.  'Twas on the fish o' plenty site that this celestial siren was first spied.  After a long and wonderful courtship through mail and phone, dating soon ensued. This was coupled with socially acceptable actions of a relationship in progress.  After wondrous pleasantries were exchanged for a second time, this Goddess of dreams decided 'twas best to turn in for the night and get some sleep.
As the below four illustrations show, there were occurrences in this Bed of Th0rns, more than likely none of them were sleep although.  Sweet Epona, the Goddess of dreams decided to demonstrate one of her many talents.  She did so by embarking on a quest to move herself closer to your fabled story-teller.  Completing this action whilst in a near comatose sleep was a most amazing feat, and must be noted.
This was done by what must be described as a zombie-like roll.  As neither arms nor legs were used during this action, and the mere movement of shoulders and throwing of ones body weight in a certain direction caused a half turn on the bed.  Much as Pavlov's dog's would salivate at the ringing of a bell knowing that it meant food was on the way, your tired and groggy singer of song found a certain conditioned response occurring within him as well.
  For as each time a "ker-plunk" from the completed zombie roll was heard, a corresponding "ba-boing" had occurred north of Th0rn’s berries as well.  As seen in illustration four, Your now hysterically laughing guru of Goth had decided that it would probably be a good idea not to be seen laughing so hard that tears were squirting from ones eyes, whilst enjoying the boofay of breastesses that had been passed ones way, should the passer unexpectedly awaken.
After a successful romping through the titty-patch had been executed, 'twas at last time to settle in for a few hours of much needed sleep.  Perhaps there will be quite a few more "ker-plunks" and "ba-boings" in the future ‘tweenst these two. But that is a story for another time, I am certain.