the dogshite

the dogshite was the short lived bastard of the one huge peachy moniker. it started as a juvenile parody of a low-grade, toilet wall mounted mag produced by morons within the cambridge university system, and climaxed as four A4-sized humour documents with an almost non-existent readership. I'll post some pieces up here from the peachy archives over the next few weeks.

otherwise, during casual office-based research into necrophilia, I came across an incidence of a male mallard engaging in coital acts with another dead duck. a dull thud at a window in Rotterdam was followed by discovery of the dead male mallard, who had flown into the glass. to the surprise of dutch onlooker, Kees Moeliker, another mallard of the male gender proceeded hurriedly to first pick at the corpse and then mount it, sexually, in an act of copulation that lasted for 75 minutes. one must wonder why this Mr Moeliker felt the compulsion to observe the sex act for the full 75 minutes, but his exhaustive research into the necrophilic impulses of the common mallard have proved to illuminate significant points of interest in their behavioural exhibitionism.

firstly, the duck apparently took two short breaks during the congress, each time returning to finish the job. in other words, it had more than sufficient opportunity to think about what it was doing and the inanimate state of its lover (and the subsequent immensity of the argument from consent that would accompany any discussion of necrophilic persuasion within the sphere of humanity).

secondarily, both ducks were males. necrophiliac and homosexual. that particular duck must have had a hard time as a kid. while all of his mallard buddies were shooting the shit and waxing lyrical about guy stuff, he was looking at their beautiful green heads, their full plummages, their bright bright beaks in the sunlight, and wondering "what if?". tragic really. the only way he could get them interested in his package and introduce them to this whole other world of sexual exploration was by waiting for one to fall prey to an accidental death.

As Moeliker put it: "when one died the other one just went for it and didn't get any negative feedback".

negative feedback? for one, the fucking thing was dead, and probably wasn't going to start dishing out constructive criticism of the necrophiliac's sexual technique. for two, it sounds as though it's probably for the best. if you had added being bad in the bedroom to the poor fucker's already extensive list of complaints you could have probably added homicide (or at least suicide) to it.

again, I would have been curious to see what Mr Moeliker was doing while this was going on. face pressed against the window, tape recorder on, mood lighting, tie slightly loosened. of course we'll probably never know about all that kind of stuff. you imagine the guy who watches live gay mallard necrophilia probably wouldn't go around bragging about it, but there the poor bastard is, right on wikipedia.

I wonder if his wife knows the kind of thing he's into?

maybe that's why she married him?

does he even have a wife?

who is Kees Moeliker?