All of Kieran McConville's 'stories' HERE

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The Sausage Dog

Once upon a time there was a sausage dog.

Wruf, it said. Wruf.

The sausage dog cocked its head to one side, gazed upon the motionless body swinging by a leather belt from the shower tap, and said, wruf.

Wruf.

Later, the house got hotter. The sausage dog left the empty room now beginning to smell of bodily gases, trotted out through the dishevelled kitchen and through the small inset pet door installed for a cat that used to live here.

The sausage dog exited the small porch, crossed the lawn and stood on the sidewalk watching a kid bicycle past. The dog said wruf. The kid looked at the sausage dog, and the sausage dog looked back.

Later still, the sausage dog trotted back inside and munched on some dog biscuits deposited in its bowl earlier that day. The dog checked in on the body in the bathroom, and saw that it was still not moving. Wruf.

Early in the evening, as cicadas began to chirrup outside, the sausage dog stood in front of a couch which it was too short to climb onto. The sausage dog looked at the couch for a long time. Eventually the sausage dog exited the little pet door again, and stood on the porch for a while. Later, it trotted down the street towards the cluster of shops near the corner.

Wruf.
 
I felt like I was really aiming for something new with this one, gang. A sort of no-story. I don't think it is inconsequential enough, though. It needs to be made even more innocuous and devoid of narrative.
 
There's enough narrative here to make me want to hear more, and that's just no good at all, is it?
 
Your so called 'story' is full of couches, sausages, showers and other disgusting references. Ban this sick filth. Disgusting rubbish. I for one do not wish my children to be subjected to such filth.
 
This actually reminds me of that time i killed a family of immigrants who were staying at my house. They weren't bad people, really, just different and weird. I had them over working on a project on the grounds of my estate. Once they finished, to my liking, i really had no more use for them.

I started by cutting off grandmas head and putting it in the fish tank, she liked my fish so much i thought it would be fitting if they swam inside her open mouth and ate her eyeballs. I buried grandpa in the backyard alive, i left him a small breathing tube so he could live long enough for the maggots to eat away at him. The children annoyed me to no end, luckily they were small enough to fit in my oven so i slow baked them along with a nice stuffed roast.

Mother and father were pretty nice people who did the most work without complaint. I was going to let them go free until i realized they knew just enough english to tell the authorities on me. Fair enough, i sliced them into pieces in the dining room and the kitchen and wherever they ran in their last few terror filled moments before they bled out. I left the fathers penis in the mail box along with the mothers breast, as a simple remind to Floyd the fucking mailman; dont deliver my mail to the neighbors house again (or vice versa) or youre next motherfucker. Floyd has since been very diligent in his postal duties.

Now it seems i will need another family of immigrants over to work on cleaning and repainting the inside of my house. The blood and flesh just won't wash away like it used to. Such irony....Would you care for some desert?
 
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"Wruf!"
 
This actually reminds me of that time i killed a family of immigrants who were staying at my house. They weren't bad people, really, just different and weird. I had them over working on a project on the grounds of my estate. Once they finished, to my liking, i really had no more use for them.

I started by cutting off grandmas head and putting it in the fish tank, she liked my fish so much i thought it would be fitting if they swam inside her open mouth and ate her eyeballs. I buried grandpa in the backyard alive, i left him a small breathing tube so he could live long enough for the maggots to eat away at him. The children annoyed me to no end, luckily they were small enough to fit in my oven so i slow baked them along with a nice stuffed roast.

Mother and father were pretty nice people who did the most work without complaint. I was going to let them go free until i realized they knew just enough english to tell the authorities on me. Fair enough, i sliced them into pieces in the dining room and the kitchen and wherever they ran in their last few terror filled moments before they bled out. I left the fathers penis in the mail box along with the mothers breast, as a simple remind to Floyd the fucking mailman; dont deliver my mail to the neighbors house again (or vice versa) or youre next motherfucker. Floyd has since been very diligent in his postal duties.

Now it seems i will need another family of immigrants over to work on cleaning and repainting the inside of my house. The blood and flesh just won't wash away like it used to. Such irony....Would you care for some desert?

Try getting a reservation at Dorsia now!
 
I think Mrs Garrison is returning some video tapes. You might want to reschedule
 
Area Man "Literally Screaming"

Area man Morris Ebert has been "literally screaming" for days now, according to neighbours and friends of the retired historian.

The man started screaming early Monday morning, and so far shows no sign of abating, a neighbour says.

Another, who walks his dog past the man's house each morning, confirmed that the shrill ranting and obscenties were 'going gangbusters'.

Nobody has seen the man, 53, since Sunday, and no lights have appeared in his windows since last week. Nonetheless, the screaming is constant, vigorous and unrelenting.
 
Good for him! Someone needs to shake up his fucking neighbours. :angry:
 
It was believed that he was merely "figuratively screaming" for the first twelve hours.
 
Area man Morris Ebert has been "literally screaming" for days now, according to neighbours and friends of the retired historian.

The man started screaming early Monday morning, and so far shows no sign of abating, a neighbour says.

Another, who walks his dog past the man's house each morning, confirmed that the shrill ranting and obscenties were 'going gangbusters'.

Nobody has seen the man, 53, since Sunday, and no lights have appeared in his windows since last week. Nonetheless, the screaming is constant, vigorous and unrelenting.

Kieran, would this have anything to do with your alter ego Frank the primate?
 
In a pseudo-marxist sense, objectively, art would only be meaningful to social analysis within the context of the given class relations and mode of production, as a reflection of ideology -- as an element of the superstructure.

Now, subjectively, it could mean many different things to many different people.
 
LOL this is Kieran McConville's all-encompassing superthread, a comprehensive omnibus of a thread if you will.

Everything you ever wanted to know about Kieran McConville but were too creeped out to ask, it's here guys... it's all HERE!!!

Somebody photoshop Kieran's head onto Superman's body, please please please!
 
guys, all art is the product of materialist historical forces and can be discounted in favour of what I like to call 'rationalist fascism', or 'the new solution' or even, when in my cups, 'the glorious revolution.'
 
Somebody photoshop Kieran's head onto Superman's body, please please please!

provide me with the head and I shall do your bidding



also, something tells me this thread is going to entered into evidence some day
 
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