Teretz Syndrome

Sunday, May 2, 2004. 3:04PM

It's time, I think, for the first time in a long while, to write me a bit of a syndrome. First, however, I suppose, I should provide you with an explanation as to my absence. Firstly, my company, Zeedar Teretz Industries has taken on a new subdivision, and it's creation required some attention. You can find it here. You might not like it. The target audience is a little different to this website. Also, I've been working a bit. A bit? A lot. Full frigging time. Not that I mind it, but honestly cats, I'd much prefer it if you could all scrape together to give me… I dunno…. thirty thousand dollars a year? Would that be too much to ask? I'd give you five syndromes and one 'extra feature' be it a pornographic ninja, or a bullshit game, or a picture of Avril Lavigne getting married, a week. C'mon, surely just one of my fans is a millionaire with too much time on his hands?

I was thinking the other day that perhaps if I were a mega star… oh okay… everyone, it's time that I reveal my secret identity. Yes folks, here's a scoop. You heard it here first. I, like so many other people on the internet, write this website under a pseudonym. My real name, not my birth name mind you, but the name I use most often, is Richard Gere. I am a megastar.

Another thing you all know is that my last movie, Chicago, was released in 2002. My next movie is in post production and should come out later this year. I finished a month of filming not long ago. So what, you ask, was a mega star like me, Richard Gere, doing for about two years, after I finished shooting Chicago and before I started shooting Shall We Dance? Well I'll tell you right now, in this:

Two Years in the Life of a Mega Star (me, Richard Gere)!

As I walked off the set of the final days shooting of Chicago, I knew that I had just made another mega hit. I decided to go to an up market Hollywood cigar bar to celebrate, but as I was cruising down Sunset Boulevard in my Lotus Esprit, I saw something amiss. There, standing on the side of the road was a pretty woman, a creature of the night - a prostitute. Now, as everyone knows, I only ever make movies where my character falls in love with prostitutes. It's what I do. My mother was a prostitute. My daughter is a prostitute. All the women I love are prostitutes. It sickens me that society so looks down on prostitutes, and that's why I take the roles I do: to encourage more people to fall in love with prostitutes like me. Anyways, I pull over, and I'm just about to offer this woman some sweet cash for some sweeter loving when her pimp and a bunch of his gangsta buddies walk over and start some trouble. Now, I know in the film Pretty Woman, when faced with a similar situation, I pulled some cool line and had my bodyguard fuck them up, but in real life, I'm a hardcore mother fucker.

"Ayiee!" With a high pitched oriental scream I snapped that pimp's spine in two. Two of his buddies came at me. I leapt onto a nearby fire escape, staving in the first one's skull as I went. A lead pipe sailed through the air in my direction, but with my awesome manual dexterity, I caught it and hurled it back, knee capping that son of a bitch. At that moment, two massive black SUVs filled with fifteen black fly boys pulled up, and being Richard Gere, I decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and began to climb up to the roof. Reaching the top of the fire escape, I found my vision filled with the steely smile of a 12 gauge shotgun.

* * *

Ah, you know what? Screw it. I'm not really Richard Gere. The point of this story was supposed to come about a little later on, after Richard Gere ends up in Africa, where he starts a mercenary army. From there he fights his way up, through the jungles and deserts (encountering no end of exotic creatures and people… pigmies for example) to the middle east. He fights for a war lord in Afghanistan, takes down Palestinian Terrorists in Israel, falls in league with Osama bin Laden at some point, rescuing him from his mountain hideaway mere moments before the US special forces kick down the door (or whatever it is that caves have in place of doors. It would, after all, be a little obvious that the cave was occupied if there was a big wooden sticking out of the mountain). In Iraq he would steal a Stealth Bomber off an Aircraft carrier, and fly it to communist China, where he would learn Kung Fu at the Shaolin temple, gaining amazing powers, before crossing the sea to Japan (after an adventure with Thai Transvestites in Hong Kong). In the land of the rising sun he would climb mount Fuji, fighting ninja's all the way. At the very top, in a small stone hut, he would find an old man, many hundreds of years old, who had no idea that the world had changed and that the Samurai were no longer common in Japan. The old man would teach him his art, and together they would ride down the mountain, and reclaim Tokyo, forming a new feudal society with the ultimate technology crap that Japan has - flying cars and all that - invade China once and for all (to serve as a slave people for the mighty Richard Gere (superstar) empire. After some time (modern Japanese science having removed all the mercury from sushi, and therefore turning it into a powerful life extender), Richard Gere would grow bored with this ruling of the empire, and command his scientists to build a million cheaply available space ships, and sell them all over the world. People would flock to the stars, setting up small colonies all around the place, and leading to a new golden age of Space Piracy.

As the gargantuan Lotus Space Craft glided silently through the void of Space, it's debonair captain lounged in his command chair. They had traveled very far on this voyage, much father than any other man made vessel had before: any vessel that had returned, at any rate. A young officer marched smartly into his field of view and saluted. He profited an envelope to his captain. Lazily, Richard Gere sat up and took it from him. Without dismissing the man, he tore open the envelope, blew on it, and removed the contents. It was a brief communiqué from his navigation room. "CAPTAIN" it read. "PLANET SIGHTED. ETA: 0800. ORDERS?" The captain raised one grey eyebrow. "Mmm… he mused aloud. Some adventure would be nice." He turned to the officer. "Tell them we're landing." "Landing, Sir?" "Landing."

* * *

The door of the landing craft hissed open, and Richard Gere stepped out onto the grey, alien soil. He sniffed the air. It was breathable, but smelled slightly unpleasant. He surveyed the grey horizon, and sighed. "Another empty grey rock, hey?" "It would appear so, Sir" said his second in command. Richard Gere sighed again. "Ah well. I suppose we might as well have a drive around and find a good place to plant the flag."

The light buggy rocketed over a grey hillock, a great plume of dust following it. Richard Gere was in the drivers seat, and he didn't seem to know how to use a stick shift. Next to him sat his second in command, while a young solider hung on for dear life on the rear cargo tray. The engine was revving like crazy when Richard Gere finally put it into top gear. The engine roared, and the buggy flew forward, hitting a rise and sailing briefly through the air, before crashing into a pile of rocks in an undignified heap. Thrown clear and giggling, Richard Gere and his first mate dusted themselves of, and turned around to have a look at the wreckage. The sight off the soldier's decapitated head sobered them up. Richard Gere turned to look at the officer next to him, and saw the panic in the mans eyes. He had the vaguest impression that the mans head had exploded before the world went black. Realizing his problem, he sat down on the ground, and began to wipe the gore from his eyes. As he began to regain his vision, something began to appear on the ground in front of him; the pointed toe of a black vinyl mod boot.

Richard Gere smiled his most debonair smile as his gaze wandered up the boot and onto the long bare legs. She was wearing a shiny green corset, and her big blonde hair cascaded over her thin shoulders. She was such a vision of loveliness, that he almost failed to noticed the giant cannon she was leaning against. Almost. "Oh My." The vision spoke.

* * *

Okay, okay. Hold up a minute. Right now I'm sitting down for the third time to write this log. Now, where I finished last time, I was all pumped to write a graphic sex scene between Jane Fonda and Richard Gere, but y'know what? Despite the fact that the Olsen Twin stories I post win the bandwidth every time, no matter what, this site is not about writing shitty fan fiction. I'm not ever a Richard Gere fan! At least, not in the homoerotic way that people write fan fiction. However, I know that your rocks well and truly need to be got off now, so I'm going to post the very first piece of erotic fiction I ever wrote. I wrote this way back in 1997, late at night, on my laptop. Now, at this stage I was pretty young. I certainly hadn't had sex, and I'm not too sure how confident I was of the process of the thing. The point of the story is to give you an insight into my early sexual fantasies rather than my current homosexual fantasies. There's no names or nothing, so if you want to imagine it as an young Zeedar Teretz, go ahead. If you'd prefer a Jane Fonda / Richard Gere sex scene in space... well... imagine away.

He adjusted the blinds. There was now a soft light coming in, enough to see by but not enough for anybody looking in to see anything. He turned around to see her arms reaching for the roof as she slid off the tight fitting black top. He could see her bra from behind. She then reached down to her skirt and fiddled with the button. When she had it undone she let the garment fall to the ground. She reached down and slid her fingers down the back of her tight fitting black underpants, pulled them down and delicately stepped out of them. He stared at the pale white flesh of her bottom. Her cheeks were so tightly pressed together and propped up. They were beautiful. He saw her about to take off her bra and quickly walked over to her. He pressed his cold hard penis up against her lower back and buried his face in her soft golden hair. "Let me help you with that Ma'am" he murmured and he slid his hands up and undid the small buckle. He slid his hand forward and cupped them over her heaving breasts. They were just big enough to fill his hands and he squeezed them tightly, feeling their blubbery softness beneath his hands. The nipples were between two of his fingers and he pressed on them tightly. Then she pulled herself away and he went and lay down on the bed. His arms and legs slightly splayed and his penis, in the center of his body, standing tall like a flagpole. She came over and gently slid her moist soft vagina over his erect penis. A shiver ran down his spine and he heard her gasp. His hand reached behind her and clasped her buttocks. She placed her hands on his chest and began to press herself up and down. Faster and faster she pressed, the tingling feeling in his penis growing stronger. He watched her breasts jogging up and down, up and down. Her golden hair was jumping up as she did and then rippling down over her shoulders. He could hear her screams as he felt his penis begin to ejaculate.

Wow. There you are. That was the first time reading that in a few years for me too. It was quite an effort to get it by the way - had to convert it from a .wps (Microsoft Works) file, that apparently Office doesn't support anymore. Needed a floppy disk!

Look. Everyone, erase this log from your memories. I'm high or something. Next week I'll get back into thinking about using satellites for mind control or something. The girl this week is, of course, Jane Fonda. Now, I've always been in love with Jane Fonda (well, Jane Fonda twenty years ago - current Jane Fonda frightens me), and here's a piece of advice - if you haven't seen Barbarella, track that shit down. You'll be in love just like me. If you happen to be my best friend (or just an Internet well wisher) and you're looking to get me a hooker for my birthday, this is what I want.

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