helga von porno

Tales of my fortunes in London involving philosophy time travel heroin addicted granny, prophesy, prostitution, murder, global conspiracy, friends, and personal finances. I am from east germany and fled to england when my parents where murdered and have been living here unofficially since.

Wednesday, May 31, 2006


1. I was in a house we were plastering and refurbishing with Vlad and Pieter when I came across a dangling electric wire.
"If you touch that then you'll get a shock" Said Vlad the Nag.
Defiant I reached out and gripped it in my lilly white fist. Seconds before I gripped it there was a power cut and all the lights went off. Then when I let go all the lights flickered back on. I touched the wire and didn't get a shock

2. We were playing around in a sheep field in Wiltshire. I was with Proffessor Nucket and Tim Bones. Bones had escaped from East Germany before the wall came down by submitting himself to a "psychiatric hospital". He has had odd responses to everyday experiences ever since.
We came across an electric fence and we all took turns in getting shocks by holding it. When it came to Bone's turn he said.
"If I stand on a bucket before I hold it I will not get a shock"
He stood on a bucket and did not get a shock. Nucket was skeptical and told him to repeat the experiment without the bucket. Bones held the fence tightly for several minutes without feeling a thing, although a greenish substance trickeled from his ears. We stripped Bones naked and tied him to the fence. He felt nothing.

3. I was playing poker with Sir Quintin Black, the evil over Lord of the Cockney Philosophers. His Grandmother lay next to him in a bed on castors. I was winning.
"If you don't fetch her some water from the kitchen my Grandmother will die." Said Black in a movie trailor voice.
I saw through his ruse to change his cards while I was out of the room. I didn't fetch his grandmother water. Black drew out a gun and shot his Grandmother through the eye socket.
I did not fetch her some water and she did die.

4. I went in to the post office to sign for a parcel. When I signed my name the post officer was incredulous.
"If you are Helga Von Porno, then I'm the Queen of Sheba!"
I am Helga Von Porno, and by a fluke sequence of chance events he was the Queen of Sheba.

So you can see, the logical analysis of if...then sentences is no easy matter.

Tuesday, May 16, 2006

War on Terror

I was hitching North West, thinking perhaps to go to Liverpool and join a band and become internationally famous like the Beatles.
A beaten up white van responded to my thumb semaphore. A real British Tommy stuck his shaven head out the window. His head was quite big and white and scabby. His neck was bigger still and he had great muscly arms and torso. The breed that caused the sun never to set on the union Jack. And who raped my compatriots and looted the father land after WWII.
"Get in" e said roughly with a sinister leer.
It was more a mini bus, and six other crew cutted bullocks of men sat in the back like paratroopers waiting to jump.
They looked at me with menace and hidden conspiracy, like only they knew what they would do to me.
"are you fellows in the forces by any chance?" I enquired, hiding my German accent under a jolly hockysticks twang.
They laughed and then stopped abruptley and made faces like some hip hop band.
I shuffled my foot nervously and tipped open a bag under my seat and three or four firearms fell out. Great big machine guns. They rolled their eyes and stiffened their lips.
"You give me the horn girl" said perhaps the leader. "Come and sit next to me, I want to set you straight"
Cowed I obeyed.
"Now I'm going to tell you what these guns are about. We take them out of the army and sell em on. We sell them to terrorist training camps and to terrorists. It's all part of the "War on terror". Its all paid for by the CIA. I know one Texan who runs one of these camps, he only puts boot polish on his face to make him look like a nigger. And those poor daft cunt towel heads swallow it whole. Any way, I don't give a shit. We gets our cut. And we will never get caught. We can do what ever the fuck we like. Why? because the top brass are in on it, and the united states of fucking America. Organised crime, girl, Well organised!
"Every now and then some green fresh faced squaddie will come across our little scam. Ever heard of the Deep Cut barracks suicides? We just fucking kills them! And the brass "investigate" it and find out that it was suicide, and they don't let the police get their grubby little paws anywhere near because it's an army matter. Get this, one of them killed himself, by shooting himself in the back with ten rounds fired at thirty yards, the cunt. Took the easy way out didn't he."
"Now if I were you, I'd be thinking why is he telling me all this. I'm telling you because I likes it that way. I like my victims eyes fucking open. I like them to despair completely. Because I'm going to rape you, and then kill you, and nobody in the wide just world is going to stop me, or even slap my wrist."
My cheeks flushed red, I couldn't help myself. And my breath quickened to a pant and my heart started pounding. This was a pretty bad ride, and I couldn't see a way out. And the brute probably thought I was aroused, all flushed cheeks, bossom heaving, eyes flickering. But it was just fear. It was fear, the terrible villain.
We were going down some narrow lane with woods on either side. The van stopped, and the brute said to the others that I was his. Then he pointed a gun in my face and told me to get out.
My mind was sharp as a crystal. I just obeyed.
He pushed me ahead of him deep into the wood, kept poking my back with the barrel.
"Kneel down!" He commanded. I fell to my knees, some foul instinct making me want to please him.
"Rip your shirt at the top, let me see those tits!"
The plan came in a flash. I ripped my shirt and arched my back. Then I dove into a yogic forward roll that turned into a shoulder stand and I flung my sprung legs over my head in a double kick and got both my stilletto heels right in his face just below the eyebrows. Nasty. He staggered backwards and fell on his back. I continued to roll with the kick, and flipped out of a handstand into a summersault landing on his chest. It would have looked from a distance like coitus feminist style. But I fucked him in a different way. I punched him hard on the nose, again and again with his head back to the ground. I smashed the fucker in. Then I did his mouth, feeling his teeth crumble and splinter, cutting into my poor lily white hand and dainty fiddle playing fingers. I did another complicated yogic manoever and got my leg right over my left should and bought my heel down on the tendons in his wrist. I ground and mashed them up till his fingers went limp and released the gun. I grabbed the gun and leapt to my feet. The beast was still conscious.
I know this sounds rather violent and barbaric on my part. But he had seriously led me to believe that he was going to rape and kill me. And what is more, I probably wasn't the first, or last. Still, I am a firm believer in justice, and the tattered remains of democracy. I wanted this man to have a fair trial.
"Get up." I said to him, composed and clipped and quitely. I noticed he had an erection visible through his trousers. "You are aroused arent you? You want me to spank you, didums?" I said, but regreted it immediatley. He was my prisoner. I am not permitted to humiliate him.
I led him back to the van. I was still in considerable danger. Thugs and immoral reprobates though these men were, they were still British soldiers, and I was outnumbered.
I made him get in first. When they saw his face, and the big bloody hole where his mouth was they laughed! These were not men, they were wolves, demons, savages. As soon as their leader weakens, their loyalty evapourates.
One of them reached for a gun. I shot him in the wrist, and then between the legs, just below the pelvis. I am a very good shot. His face went pale and he shrieked like a girl and fainted away.
I know this was bad of me. I repent utterly and will regret it to the end of my days. But what could I do? I had to strike fear into these killers, and yet I could not kill them. I have already killed a man, and nothing has scolded my conscious more, every day, every day every day. No I couldn't kill them. But it was enough. The others were suffiently scared to tie each other up after that.
I got "Gums" as I now jokingly called him, to tell me where he was taking the guns. He told me an address in Liverpool.
I left the goons tied up in the van and rang the buzzer on the wharehouse intercom.
Inside I talked to a man with long black hair. I told him the special words that gums had taught me. He showed me "$10 000 and told me to take him to the guns.
To cut a long story short, a couple of hours, and a few yoga moves later, the long hair was tied up in the back with the goons and I was on the road to Scotland Yard.
I found a police man I could trust. The army fellows would get a fair trial, I was assured.
After sorting through the facts, James Sourse, as he told me he was called, took me up to his private office.
"I must say I am impressed. And you are a very attractive young lady, with great courage and panache."
"Cut the crap you smooth talking bastard" I said, in a friendly way.
James coughed, and er hummed, and then told me that they were investigating this "War on terror" Conspiracy themselves, but it was just too big. Tony Blair is in on it, Ossama Bin Laden, both Bushes, and even commedian Michel Moore. What suprised me most was that David Bowie, of "Space oddity" fame was also in on it, as was cheeky scouser Paul Macartney.
The conspiracy was simple in its pure evil. A bunch of high up capitalists, having become the richest people in the world, wanted to be the richest people ever, ever. The only way to guarantee this was to end the world. They manufactured everything. They convinced the bankers that growth was necessary for the economy, making the use of energy spiral out of control creating global warming and an energy crisis. Meanwhile they trained and funded terrorist groups to attack america to create global racial disharmony. The scientific community was a threat for a while, but they silenced them with bribery and obfuscation and anti intellectualism. Anyway, the amount of things, it's incredible, but its all there in front of our eyes so there's no point going on about it. The public name for it is the war on terror. Those in the know then say "and terror never dies" the implication is that a war on terror can never end, because war feeds terror like wood feeds a fire, and the war will soak up all the resources in the world, creating more and more terror until the end of the fucking world. Then these men will be the richest men ever ever ever.
So then James offers me a job in this two bit old school department, where they think they are going to James Bond this evil conspiracy. He was going to send me into the White house, disguised as a christian or something, or a wooden horse, and jump out and say "I'm arresting you in the name of the law" Shoot a few rounds and live happily ever afterwards and get some sexy toyboy for the last scene.

Just fanning the flames, James, just fanning the flames.

A secret agent isn't what you need to fight this thing.

Love is the answer, and you know that, and I know that, for sure.

Thursday, May 11, 2006

That Shrinking feeling

My new job is a researcher for Proffessor Ecks. He has a shambling house in Highgate that must have been in the family for years since no one could afford now, especially an ivory tower type like Ecks. After a few days of anxiety I realised that very little was expected of me. He is a venture physicist and is interested in the hypothesis that there can be "static velocity". I make him cups of tea, occaionally put his notes in order, and clean his bizarre equipment. He sidles up to me lecherously and makes lewd remarks.
One day he was off at a rabbit swapping fair in East Grinstead and left me to my own devices. Part of his equipment was a silver owl with ruby eyes. It seemed too ornate and figurative for a phycisist, but I was struck by its mystic allure. I gripped it around the wings and a tonguelike wire shot out of its mouth. The tip of its tongue was a whirring propellor that struck my left breast right above the nipple and dug into my flesh. I felt myself fill with static velocity. A sharp metallic feeling that smothered my tongue and thrilled my spine. My eyes stuck out like chess pawn heads.
I was shrinking fast, and everything slowed down. I ended up a thumbnail tall on Ecks desk, but my mind was whirring faster that a Jet propellor.
I found a crack in a fissure on Ecks' desktop and fell into a society of equally small ex researchers who had succombed to the owl. The story of how I befriended this community is long, and I won't tell it here, but in my whirring time, years and years have passed, and I became a celebrity in the desk. I learned to sing and play the fiddle and everyone exhalted in my flamboyance. There were drummers and bassists and singers and hurdy gurdy players, there were poets and jugglers and seamstresses and television moguls, and I was everyone's darling and we would get smashed on a thimbulfull of gin and a strand of tobacco.
But things went wrong with a heartthrob nail high named Robeo. O Robeo! At first never so gallant, but in the end a cruel slapper of his erstwhile beloved, a dispairing heap, a puffy joweled embittered biscuit of his former self.
So I seduced the laddersmith into making me a ladder back out of the fissure onto the desk top and into the windy world of indoors chez Ecks.
Ecks was back by now, and such a looming monster. And so slow! He picked up his coffee cup so slow I had time to pack my things and jump aboard. After a week of traveling he bought his cup up to his lips and I climbed aboard his face and up to his eye lid where I crawled right into his brain.
What a circus! But I can't possibly describe. The thoughts were slow enough for me to bounce inside.
I found the secret to my small fastness, I was super charged with static velocity.
Within his brain I found the fantasizing engine that made me swell and swell behind his eyes. He began to quicken as I began to slow and he took out his stork and began to shuffle it two and four as I grew and grew in his imagination, feeding like a whale in a butter sea.
And I burst out of his eyeball a whole and bestockinged beauty and lay there like a new born, panting and gore covered but like a fifties pin up, always remembering to be coquettish.

He growned and was blind in one eye but unharmed. I dismissed myself, and showered and dished the dirt and was out.
Sadly wondered home on foot, not needing newspapers to shock me into realising that once again no time had elapsed, not more than a few days.
Back to my flat lie flat back on the floor, fill my eyes with cieling and real eyes that now it is even less likely that ANYONE will understand me.