"About Britney Spears And Male Genitalia--An Anthropological Treatise" on Apple iTunes

   About Britney Spears And Male Genitalia--An Anthropological Treatise is now available on Apple iTunes, or can be ordered at Barnes and Noble.Com or Amazon.Com--here's a link:  Mark David King's Books
   This brief tale of teenage torture follows the lascivious likes of Merlin Asterchat and his younger brother simply dubbed Jelly Roll.  Merlin has just been sexually denounced by a high school tart turned insidious by way of his pathetic size underneath timid trousers; specifically, she laughed at his small, curved manpiece, blurting out descriptive details to her and Merlin's entire high school class.  Moreover, sexual news in high school travels with more mercury than even Einstein might have theorized; hence, Merlin becomes a laughing stock and scholastic exile, avoiding with due conscience the likes of anybody who might know him.
   On the flip side, Merlin's younger, pre-pubescent brother offers optimism, all in hopes of recharging his older brother's sexual batteries.  "Be who you are!  Don't be ashamed!"  Wends the advice of wise young Jelly Roll Asterchat; nonetheless, Merlin crumbles, unable to humble himself to the fact that he has a small penis.  Thus, he explodes into an adolescent runaway, unable to shake his compulsive visions of large johnsons pleasing teenage tail--something he will never be able to do.
   All in all--this is not a scandalous poetic novella, but a piece of science; alas, it is even contained within the libraries of a few schools and has been studied by a number of nutty urologists.  Jelly Roll becomes the author, penning precise pros and cons about penis size, ranking them from 3 to 9 inches, knowing anything below or above that proves to be sexual hysteria.  He uses fast cars and super hero metaphors to forge linguistic axioms about the truth of the penis--what the certain sizes can do to a woman's vagina, whether stretch a clitoris fantastic, or imp on in, culminating with the humility of premature discharge, offering the dame distress and self hate, her crying on the toilet for hours that her boyfriend is not hung like her sister's.
   Young girls who suffer from morbid obesity get all the attention--no longer!!!  Now, guys with small or curved penis' too can complain and vex about their suffering, and how they are maligned and mistreated by all the pretty girls, knowing pretty girls only pick the big johnsons.  Oh it's true, it's true; alas, Jelly Roll usurps all the madness, trumping truth with trial and error, concluding that all men, regardless of length and girth, have a chance to enslave a saucy babe with bedroom eyes.  Love always gives us a chance.  Love can complete any woman, proving the best orgasm happens in the heart--or so does young Jelly hope.
   Sincerely, Mark David King

Ulcerative Colitis: Bleeding From The Inside

   This may be in the category of too much information; nonetheless, I will tell.
   Summer has arrived; moreover, I am thunderously outta remission, suffering the sanguine circumstances of Inflammatory Bowel Disease (Ulcerative Colitis).  Futurity offers me the possibility of having my complete large intestine removed, relying on the singular function of a stretched out small intestine crafted vertical and glued to a reconstructed anus--fun.
   However, due to mental illness, social phobia merged with psychotic disorder--the fun is short lived yet still sought after.  Rolling naked on the floor, putting newspaper beneath me, attempting to have normal bowel movements as the toilet frightens me with linoleum floor possibly hexed by a passing pubic hair.
   Specifically, I can't pass stool.  Urgency, pushing; next, the gore of toilet war--blood smeared fecal matter, bursting forth with the muster of a myriad of Sherman Tanks pounding my large intestine gone bad.  Even Jesus could pass stool.  Everybody on the highways, encopassing my suburban stronghold--freaking EVERYBODY can pass stool but me.  Still, facial or genital mutilation usurps my suffering.  Verily, a large intestine that doesn't function is only trumped by a severed penis or shotgun blast to the face.  How to live when you can't shit?  Relying on the stool softening of laxatives in industrial containers prescribed by magnanimous psychiatrists because your G.I. Physican won't offer you the merciful gift of sublimity--it's all here baby.
   At least the steroids make me feel good.  An injection of rolling thunder and elatation for a number of hours before crashing, gulping down some anti-psychotics and wishing medical marijuana was legal, yet Conservatives wanting you sodomized and incarcerated if caught with marijuana in the Dirty South--these bucolic states rarely as progressive as the West--Jim Morrison giving ode:  "The West is the Best!"
   Regardless, everybody suffers, and till the Genetic Revolution when humanity will grasp godship, well until then, we are all a bunch of sons of bitches, bleeding, fucking, dieing,  I'll be naked on the garage floor, newspaper underneath my rectum, pushing, hoping more than blood leaps outta my bowels.  I love you all--and prayers galore to the worst of you.
   Oh yeah, new book:  ATOMIC GOD.  My books, like Pynchon stripped of cerebral capactiy, still, forging words outta COMPULSION, HOPING TO MERIT HEAVENWARDS.
   Buy Mark David King's Books!!!
  POST SCRIPT:  When you get a blood transfusion, feeling the B Negative souls and consciousness of spirits entering you--it's a pretty cool thing.  God Bless those who suffer from Inflammatory Bowel Disease.  And does anybody know how long you can live without a large intestine, relying completely on the small intestine crafted downwards?  And Ulcerative Colitis and Crohns are sister diseases; thus, what if my 4 colonoscopies are wrong?  How long would a small intestine last me?  2 to 4 years at best, before becoming inflamed and ulcerated.  
   But whatta 'bout you Mac?  It'll be okay.  Say your best Act of Contrition, Read The Brothers Karamazov and blast off to the Abrahamic God--YUP . . .
   Sincerely, Mark David King  Too, read Gillian Flynn's Sharp Objects

Death from Ulcerative Colitis

   I'm really concerned about my Ulcerative Colitis; specifically,  if they have to remove my complete, large intestine--that means I'll have to live the rest of my life with a rolled down small intestine, and if that goes haywire, I'm surely dead. 
   If thinking about that is not dandy; next, my Doctor wouldn't infuse me with Remicade I.V. just yet.  He put me on a super steroid, but I still can't go to the bathroom, suffering from sincere constipation for weeks--nothing evacuates my bowels but fluidic poop and bright, red blood.  I'm shrinking too.  My average weight of 170 down to 130.  I'm really scared this is it for me.  I'm mortified that I might die.

   Is there any hope for people with Ulcerative Colitis if it doesn't go into remission, ever?  I just pray to God that things work out for me and all of you who also suffer. 
    --  Mark David King  --

Baby Food For Ulcerative Colitis

   The worst thing about Ulcerative Colitis is not being able to poop--getting locked up in the bowels.  And then when you do poop--it's nothing but bright red blood.  Sanguine circumstances are common when you suffer from Ulcerative Colitis.  Went to see G.I. Doctor today.  Thought he was going to give me Remicade I.V., but he put me on a potent steroid for daily use, and only the gastrointestinal tract feels the speed-like effects of the drug; specifically, it doesn't make the brain loopy like might Prednisone.
   Ate some baby food.  Little weenies or chicken sticks that basically dissolve in your mouth; still, the nutrition label bragged of high protein.  Trying to be gentle and bland to my stomach.  
   I think about those 3 missing girls that were discovered.  It can always be worse unless you have facial distortion from an accident or insidious event.
   So, that's me today.
   - Mark -

Living with Ulcerative Colitis

   Imagine having 10 to 20 bloody bowel movements a day; moreover, imagine bleeding out of your ass so much that you've needed 2 blood transfusions in your barely 40 years--that's what I deal with every day.
   For the past 4 years I've been in moderate remission, only needing steroids twice; plus, regularly taking Asacol 850mg HD 3 times daily.  However, for the past 3 weeks I've been out of remission with much muster; specifically, I haven't had a normal bowel movement in 3 weeks!  Doctor's have me on pain medication, steroids, and Anucort HC rectal supp. . . Still, I can't stop running to the bathroom, though nothing comes out but bright red blood.  Most likely, I'll be infused with Remicade I.V. next week, something I was on for 2 years in the past, which put me into total remission.
   At my worst, I was down to 114 pounds, standing 5'9" and looking like an emaciated skeleton.  Was hospitalized for a week, having lost over half the blood in my body, needing my 1st blood transfusion--that was approximately 8 years ago, now I'm back with the same shit.  Doctors have already told me that my complete large intestine will have to be removed sometime during my life; then, they'll roll down my small intestine and connect it to my anus.  I almost had that surgery 8 years ago; fortunately, the Remicade I.V. put me into remission.  I was a fool to stop getting infused every 8 weeks, but the cost and the side effects of getting colds and lung infections all the time were too much to deal with.  I just hope I won't need another colonoscopy to scope my large intestine since I had one 4 months ago--my 4th in 40 years.
   With inflammatory bowel disease anything goes.  And you go or don't go.  Wear adult diapers for leakage, and your best pick-up line to chicks is:  "Hey babe, you like a guy who shits in his pants?"
   If that wasn't enough, I've also been diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder with Tics or the mere imagery of psychotic features.  I swallow numerous anti-psychotics daily; plus, take SSRI's.  All in all--I take around 10 pills daily; plus, the  needed I.V. treatments and rectal supp . . .  Having a psychotic episode is like being on LSD--everything is supermundane.  Hallucinations of angels, prayers to die, tunnel vision, severe agitation, and violent outbursts where I injure myself.  So what though--I guess.  We all wend through the wicked mire of illness and are haunted by specters of different kinds--the key is to stay positive through it all.  What the hell else can we do!?!  For we all are sons of bitches in some manner.
   Anyway, reading the Amanda Knox Memoir to keep my mind off of being sick, and when you get infused with Remicade I.V it takes nearly 4 hours--so it'll give me time to get to know Foxy Knoxy better.  Ya, if you think your life sux, just read what Miss Knox went through.
   That being said, make sure to read my books, at least one for crazy kicks at least.  Too, they're being made available on Apple iTunes such as WEREWOLF SLUT and TRANSCENDING TWILIGHT: ANGELS ECLIPSE VAMPIRES.  Mark David King's Books
   So, that's about it for today.  Hope everybody is well.
   Sincerely, Mark David King

Britney Spears/penis size--on Apple iTunes

"ABOUT BRITNEY SPEARS AND MALE GENITALIA--AN ANTHROPOLOGICAL TREATISE" is now available on Apple iTunes; plus, on the Nook, and in paper form on Amazon.Com, Barnes and Noble.Com; also, all Internet bookstores.  Here's a link:  BuyABOUT BRITNEY SPEARS AND MALE GENITALIA--AN ANTHROPOLOGICAL TREATISE

This near 40 page piece of sublime prose is the most scientific paper ever written on manhood size--so my non-linear psychology believes.  This is for all the pondering fellas with mind-crushing questions concerning girth or length; moreover, it discusses female, sexual sensation.  The reason I'm displaying the pic of my 16th year--this is when genitalia size first entered my deranged, yet somewhat keen mind; moreover, this is approximately when my girlfriend began cheating on me with my best friend, bragging of his lengthy shaft and its unearthly powers, which of course destroyed my confidence to ever be with another girl.  I'm 40 now; nevertheless, I've never been able to be with another girl due to my average size.

This is a true treatise in the sense that it offers all the positives and negatives about manhood size, speaking to lengths of 3 to 9 inches and how they may or may not psychologically affect the man armed with that shaft, or the woman he copulates with.  It follows two brothers, Merlin and Jelly Roll Asterchat and how they come to scientific grips about their taunted size.  Merlin actually goes mad due to girls laughing at him after an encounter with a well-stretched, buxom lass that giggled when he showed her his petite manhood.  Too, this talks about the monster packages, linguistically displaying something for everybody.

If you ever had questions about your inherited skin flute--this is the superlative text on the subject, and I've read an uncanny amount on the topic.  Too, Britney Spears is given poetic ode in the text, just for fun.  Whether you are a guy with a big, medium, or small package of pulsation--this is the ultimate guide to penis size, offering linguistic axioms using sports cars and super heroes--check it out.

Sincerely, Mark David King

"WEREWOLF SLUT"--now available on Apple iTunes

WEREWOLF SLUT is a ferociously fiery novella/poem--an approximate 60 pages of elegant poetry; moreover, in 2011 it made the top 100 itunes chart for horror books in England.  Now, let's get to it.  The pics above are of the book cover and of the poet during his 16th year when he (me) originally architected the idea of the poem.  Here is a brief synopsis, and remember--now available on Apple iTunes as well as the Nook, and in non-digital form, available on Amazon.Com, Barnes and Noble.Com; plus, all Internet bookstores--here's a link to purchase it:  WEREWOLF SLUT BUY!

Winter Beachgrove is a teenage girl,
Blossoming with cupcake cleavage and long, tan legs galore;
Specifically, she is a fabulous suburn chick,
Strutting through her high school hallways, making stiff many a prick;
Alas, an insidious entity; specifically, a fallen angel
Infiltrates her corporeal aspects by way of wending through her navel;
Thus begins the transformation
That is adolescence plagued by the werewolf nation--
Winter Beachgrove morphs into monstrous delight
Armed with fangs, fur, and fright;
Indeed, she decapitates and murders teenage boys
After making love to them as if they're toys,
Whoring and drinking with a fervent ideal,
Which is the side-effect of being haunted by a demon's appeal;
Hence, young JELLY ROLL, a pre-pubescent poet does blast into action,
Arming himself with silver bullets and an angelic faction,
Invoking Saint Michael the arch-angel to drive out Winter's demon,
For she has become naughty and tainted with much semen;
Alas, Saint Michael, God's most uncanny enforcer,
Uses his mojo to Winter's demon torture--
It is a protracted battle and tongue in cheek fight,
All while oding to drugs, booze, and sex during this teenage plight,
For kids are throbbing with hormones and cell phones,
Dialing up booty calls and starbursting their horny bones;
Still, sublimity lurks within the digital pages
Since Winter's story is sung with the classicism of ancient sages;
Thus, this is a plot based on hot, teenage tail,
And how that shit doesn't with the Good God sail.

I adore all my readers, and will continue to craft the most scatalogical yet sublime prose for your eager and well-respected attention.  Wussies beware . . .

Sincerely, Mark David King

"Transcending Twilight"--now on Apple iTunes

Punkish pic of me during my taboo youth as told in my intrepid autobiography during the ages of 16-18; specifically, this poetically-forged book is called:  TRANSCENDING TWILIGHT:  ANGELS ECLIPSE VAMPIRES; moreover, 200 pages of pulsating prose and vociferous poetry, taking place in the bastardly bucolic/Dirty South of Little Rock, Arkansas during the Republican years of 1988-1989.  Verily, here is a rap-like description of this superlative tale, it smoothly offering a passionate reverie of personally-experienced teen angst--like this:

Not the PUSSAFICATION of vampires as crafted for Tweens,
Yet sonic youth filled with friends and fiends;
Alas, meet Mark David King and his gallantly gorgeous girlfriend--
The twosome trouble as teen romance does tend;
Indeed, King diagnosed as psychotic and wasted,
Ingesting sour mash and secret substances that are by rock stars tasted;
Anyway, King has behemoth visions of arch-angelic machines,
Waking him in-and-out of violent-filled dreams;
Plus, his girlfriend puts a gash deep in his favorite blue jeans,
Cutting his penis by way of cocaine's toxic means.
Truly, she gives him the shame of crabs, and he knocks her down;
Alas, it's not a love triangle, but a love octagon that does frown--
There is much oral copulation and ascetic-laced prayers
As King wends mystic and visits narcotic lairs,
Doing LSD while friends try to kill,
Wanting his girlfriend's time to better than him thrill;
Hence, the pretender, King finds an imagined Gabriel as he sourly mourns,
Stolen into a state bizarre--escapes the thorns,
Yet the pseudo-arch-angel can only gurgle robotic sound,
And King is too wasted to be by wisdom crowned;
Alas, he fights with his girlfriend on her 16th birthday,
And on Christmas Eve--his best friend does she lay.
But the magnanimous metaphor contained within--
Is synergy with God and our souls dodging sin,
Running away from brats and haters,
Knowing the Ultimate Lie is a truth that fuels the fakers.

Too, there is Bob, known as the "Mad Shitter",
Defecating in a friend's parents' sink cause he is an ostentatious kidder;
Indeed, Bob is a devilish demon or so truly possessed,
Having jeered King's sanity concerning his (King's) girlfriend hexed;
Still, King has an opulent crush on his cheating girlfriend,
Though she's stupefied by others and their lies that tend,
Which make love to her angelic and elegant frame
Further driving the bravado of King insane--
They treat each other like total shit,
Though he is loyal, never touching another tit.

All in all--it's teen angst with the razor's edge,
Transcending the Tweens that Twilight does pledge
To ensnare with a milk and cookies kind of simplicity,
While King's epic poem reminds of prostate cancer forcing a bee-stinging pee,
Burning the brain and scorching the ghost,
Sending the reader further to a hellacious moat;
However, Gabriel is sublimity and so tangibly there,
Thieving King away from suicidal despair--
All in all time does heal
The scars of youth that have no appeal
To an older man humble and sick,
Knowing at one time he was a grand old prick,
For while others may taint and besmirch your life--
It doesn't mean you should craft them strife,
But offer God's love and Christ's pure glam,
Ruling over pride, morphing into a better man.

                                             - fini -     

Like I said:  Now available on Apple iTunes.  Too, check out all my books on Amazon.Com and Barnes and Noble.Com; plus, all Internet Bookstores.  Here's a link to my Amazon.Com Author's page, and I adore and love all my readers, especially those in England who really appreciated my torrid tale dubbed:  WEREWOLF SLUT, an uncouth title with sublimity at its very core--I hope.  So, here's the link, thanks . . .Mark David King's Books

Transcending Twilight--the story of Mark David King and his cut pudendum

TRANSCENDING TWILIGHT:  ANGELS ECLIPSE VAMPIRES
available on Amazon.Com, Barnes and Noble.Com; plus, Apple iTunes.
This sophisticated and stupidly suave photo is from that boldly brave book, my autobiography, dealing with my damned and doltish self from the ages of 16-18 when a macabre, sonic youth was expected for the awesome yet poor in spirit; moreover, let me explain a few things about this bodacious book, which gives radioactive reverie from 1988-1989 in the Dirty South of Little Rock, Arkansas.  First of all--this toxic tale is not the venomous vent of heart-broken vampires; hence, the title and the angels.

Whether it is the colossally catastrophic diagnosis of absolute psychosis, or the benign ingestion of mild-mannered narcotics, or perhaps the genuine glimmer of sincere mysticism, this thunderous tale of teen angst bursts onto the inviolate pages with pulsating poetry, an approximate 200 pages of it, yarning the axiomatic truth of Mark David King and his so-called friends as they recklessly romp and roar through the southern suburbs in search of sex, drugs, and rock 'n roll.  King has a curvaceous girlfriend named Angie (blessed with banana-shaped bosom), and she is furiously sexing all his back-stabbing friends; indeed, it's not a love triangle, but a love octagon, driving King (Me) to schizo mode, measuring my humbled penis in perpetual fashion, wondering why my girlfriend is nastily playing the uncouth part of enchanted tramp.  I take a number of varying, rainbow-hued narcotics; plus, drink a wild and regurgitated river of sour mash and Southern Comfort, scorching my adolescent liver till it burns like hell.

On the way to coming of age, I struggle with the vision of a platinum-hued Lady on the James River Bridge in Richmond, Virginia; thus, in my quasi-mystic state, I become a charlatan, using my wild imagination to pull forth from the heavens two bio-mechanical creatures that I foolishly claim to be the Most Divine Arch-Angels, Saint Gabriel & Saint Michael--a few trans-corporeal glimpses into madness, and I further fabricate my own illusions and possible blasphemy.  No fool usurps me in foolishness.  Moreover, I can't seem to let go of an angelically-painted girl (the most exotically, well-lathered lady of luminosity), and my pubes are furiously ignited with a scalding case of crawling crabs that devilishly drive me deeper into the demon of psychosis as I constantly itch and suffer, mourning like a mad mahatma due to the carnal curse of a crippled genitalia, drowning myself in as much booze as my gastro-intestinal tract can endure.  Truly, this is not the PUSSAFICATION of teen angst, but a sincere gaze into the genuine drama of spoiled kids gone anarchistic.  All the girls I knew lost their immaculate virginity at the prodigious ages of 12 or 13, and were mercurially snorting blow for selfish and recreational purposes by the age of 14; still, I never cheated on my girl even though she gave me those monstrous crabs and a mind-altering slice deep into my penis from an anti-medicinal vaginal cavity and using suburban witchcraft that almost made me an eternal eunuch (not testicles--she just attempted to lacerate my penis off); therefore, Scorpios--strongly shield your genitalic merchandise.  This is the weirdest tale of adolescent suffering in all the spectrum of lewd and lascivious literature; specifically, girls rudely cheating because their lovers lack the ever-pounding effulgence of large, serpentine-like lances, making a pimple on the nose drive dudes downwards on wrongful brainstorm.  Nothing spells HELL like this piece of probing prose and poetry.  I urge you to read it and give me feedback.  I love all of my readers, and appreciate your time; furthermore, I will continue to script steel eternal, forging things fantastic for all of you.

This is a link to my Amazon Author's page where you can purchase all of my books, some of which you can download on Apple iTunes such as this one:  TRANSCENDING TWILIGHT:  ANGELS ECLIPSE VAMPIRES--Mark David King's Books