A Timely Letter to The Site Owner

My dearest Laurel,

As you know, but steadfastly refuse to acknowledge, I've always been polite with you, careful not to piss you off or to denigrate this site. I admit I've been tempted to leave some bad reviews on your other website, wesellallkindsofwrenches.com, which I know for a fact provides your major source of income.

But I resisted, because I'm loyal. For twenty-two years, yes, count them: 1, 2, 3, 4, (...edited for brevity)...,12, 13, 14... (well, I guess you know the rest), I've been loyal to this site. Loyal to you.

BUT NOW (notice I'm using all caps now, because I'm shouting -- I'm actually standing up now, shouting in front of my laptop), I'VE HAD ENOUGH.

It's not just you. Well, it's mainly you, but I'll come onto that later. It's basically that I'm so frustrated with what happens to my stories. I've posted many thousands of stories here, which is not an exaggeration, and EVERY FUCKING ONE OF THEM ends up with a score of 1.0 at best. And I get a shitload of anonymous comments telling me I CANT WRITE ENGLISH PROPLY, or, (and this really hurts), calling me names like poo-poo face and ca-ca fingers, which is grossly unfair, and completely untrue. Really untrue. Smell:

See?

My last story, my loving wives tale called "Penis Penis Penis," had this comment: "Unoriginal. Sorry. Voted 1 shithead."

In WHAT WAY can a story about a hotwife who fucks her husband's best friend in front of him while he masturbates, be considered unoriginal?

This comment made me chuckle: It was on one of my snuff stories (thanks for not rejecting it BTW): "YOR SICK, YOU DESERVE TO DIE I HAVE AGUN AND I KNOW YOUR REAL NAME AND ADDRESS ITS ---------- AND U LIVE AT -------------"

(I didn't actually copy the name and address, in case you're a psycho -- no offense intended).

I dunno, maybe I don't have what it takes anymore to please readers. It's probably an age thing. Like you, I'm well into my 90s now, and I've completely lost my touch. I mean really, I have no sense of touch anymore. I jerked off a friend of mine for about five minutes before realising it wasn't my own dick I was stroking.

So, yeah, the readers here just piss me right off. The demographic has clearly changed since 1999. There seem to be a lot more people from Swaziland, and fewer people with freckles. Maybe Manu can pull some stats on that.

Ok, but now I have to come clean (snigger): The real reason I detest this site now so much is -- yes, YOU. I'm sorry you had to hear it from me, but I just can't keep it in any longer (snigger). YOU'RE the reason I hate lit**otica.com (sorry about the asterisks, but I know you don't let people advertise in their stories).

The reasons are many, and I'm going to list them now, on a blackboard, and I'm going to make sure the chalk makes a really horrible squeaking sound that freaks your cats out:

Reason 1 (That's a digit 1, not the letter l):

The amount of time you take leaving my stories in limbo, or "pending" as you euphemistically call it. I know what you're actually doing: You're simply being a sadistic cunt. You could publish immediately, but, no, you sit there, on your stupid dappled mare out in your yard, in your pink tutu and steel toe-capped boots, with your damned Grateful Dead tee shirt, bouncing up and down on your saddle, relishing the suffering and edging you're making me undergo. (I pieced that image of you together from the snippets of information you've revealed in your posts over the years, with a couple of submissive fantasies of my own added. I don't care if it's inaccurate).

Well, I have just one thing to say about that: I hope you call up the cable people, and they leave you waiting on the phone for two weeks.

Reason 2 (comes after 1):

Your awful habit of miscategorising my stories. Take a look at this list of boners (snigger):

"How To Keep Your Grandfather Clock In Working Order" -- Was: HOWTO, Changed to: INCEST/TABOO

"Jonny's Ass-Fucking" -- Was: ANAL, Changed to: BESTIALITY (which reminds me, why the fuck did you remove that category? My entire highly-rated series, "Zoe Zookeeper's Overnight Fun" had to get taken down after that)

"My Wife The Couch Potato" -- Was: LW, Changed to NONHUMAN.

I mean, c'mon, do you even READ my stories?

Reason 3.

This is a BIG beef (snigger): In a word: REJECTION FOR UNDERAGE.

Yep, every one of my stories has been sent back at least once, and I've had to re-read the stories over and over until I could find the issue. And believe me NOBODY wants to have to re-read my stories over and over.

After six hours, I found one sentence, in a perfectly innocent story of mine, "Vagina Penis Vagina Pussy":

"Fucking children in the local park!," Glen muttered to himself.

Well, don't YOU ever get pissed off with all the kids in the park making a noise and hitting you with their red, shiny balls when all you wanted to do was sit and write porn on a bench? And wouldn't YOU sometimes just exclaim exactly the same thing in exasperation? I know I have. Just like Glen did. It's based on a true story, see?

And what about this:

It was only twelve years ago, when Sienna was twice as old as Sam would be now if he was four years younger than her older brother, who was born in a leap year sometime during the decade of the famous Scranton riots, that the following explicit sex scene occurred: (sex scene omitted for brevity).

Do you have a problem with math or something? Anyone can figure out they were both over eighteen at the time!

Reason 4

Now, Laurel (I hope you don't mind me calling you that, but I feel we know each other well enough to be on first name terms): This is clearly a problem for many other authors here, but personally I don't give a fuck about any of them: REJECTION FOR USE OF AI.

First, I'll let you into a secret: My very first story here, back in 2002, "The Placement Manifesto" (pompous title, I know) was written ENTIRELY with AI. I feel bad about that, so, by way of atonement, I'll actually print out the complete source code of the AI program I wrote to generate the story. It's in Visual Basic:

10 PRINT "Penis"

20 GOTO 10

Yep, that got through fine. Obviously your tech wasn't up to scratch back then.

Then, last year, you started rejecting all my stories, claiming that they'd been written with the help of AI. They hadn't. To prove it, I posted a story I wrote back in 1928, "No Tea and Crumpets for Lady Millington," which was actually written on a Remington typewriter in my study in Mombasa when I was stationed there between the wars. And THAT got rejected! Are you telling me that now TYPEWRITERS are AI? Eh? Eh?

So guess what I did: I scraped all the stories from this site, and trained my own large language model AI, which I DO use now. And lo and behold, my AI-written stories are getting through fine!

So, why am I still complaining about AI rejection then, you ask yourself?

Go on: Ask yourself. I'll wait.

Done that? Well I bet you couldn't think of reason. Or maybe you COULD think of reason, but REJECTED IT DUE TO AI. Hah!

Here's the reason I'm pissed off: The AI is turning my stories into something they were never intended to be: namely, erotic.

Take this example, where I describe a character at a Christmas meal.

Original:

Yilmaz came from Turkey.

Became:

Yilmaz hauled out his 12" member and plunged it into the turkey's gaping ass. He came powerfully. "Thanks," it panted breathlessly, its lips moist.

That's not the kind of story I set out to write.

It inserts sex willy nilly:

Original:

Alex looked left and right along the road, and crossed over to the other side. When he got there he smiled with satisfaction. "That was a good road-crossing," he said to himself.

Became:

Alex was ready to burst. He looked left along the road. There were no cars coming from that side. Dare he risk it? He did! He hauled out his 12" dick and began to stroke the shaft, slowly, taking up about twenty words of story count. He became aware that Millie was watching him. Her hand found the moist crack between her legs, which she'd thought she'd lost at the mall the other day. She began rubbing it, slowly, in time to Alex's strokes, which continued from the previous sentence into this one.

The road had another aspect: You could look both left and right along it, the choice being yours. As Alex had already looked to the left, he decided to throw caution to the wind and look to the right too. Millie, still watching him, felt a thrill in both her pussy and her nipples, two erogenous zones. He was actually doing it! Never in her life had she witnessed such brazen both-way-looking-ness in a man. And what a man! His Johnson was 12" long, a perfect fit for her 12" pussy.

"Cross now," she begged.

"Beg me. Beg me to cross," sneered Alex.

"I already did."

"Good. Alrighty then," said Alex. Was he getting cold feet? He turned slowly to look at her, then continued turning, a total of three hundred and sixty degrees, so that he faced the road again. "Carpe Diem!" He shouted, to nobody in particular. At these words, Millie spurted, from both her mouth and her orchid, which is another word for vagina.

They remained locked, intertwined in a loving, slippery embrace, as they crossed the road with difficulty.

"Let's do that again!" murmured Millie, her face buried in his neck. It hurt. Her nose was very pointy. But Alex didn't mind. He'd done it. He'd finally done it with an actual, live adult.

See what I mean?

As a final bitch, I just want to say that you haven't changed your avatar in while, and my wank-bank is a little depleted.

Hope this finds you as it leaves me, red-faced but satisfied,

Your pen-pal,

Joe.