Your Nose In
as it does an extra-dimensional plane of reality, contemporary terrestrial
laws against the use of recreational intoxicants do not apply at Circe's
Funhouse. (And until the day these laws are changed, all visitors to this website
are firmly urged the eschew the use of any such substance(s)
in their quotidian lives!) In fact, Circe finds them quite useful
in luring susceptible types into the pavilions where uninhibted indulgence
will transform them into their appropriate new forms.
this hirsuit gentleman, for example. An appetite for thick, black,
rich Mongolian hasheesh brings him into a dark and smoky yurt, where
to the strains of far-off yoochins and limbes, a shaggy pack of bactrian
camels are gathered around a multi-hosed, six-foot tall hookah, silently
enjoying its contents. Without a sound (save the hookah's constant
liquid gurglings) the circle of animals shuffle apart and open a wedge-shaped
path for their visitor. He reaches the one unused hose hanging just
below the hookah's massive bowl, where an enormous chunk of hasheesh
somewhat addled by the tent's redolent atmosphere, the newcomer lifts
up the hose. Although covered in an ornate weave of gold, green and
brown fabric, it is roughly the thickness and weight of the hose on
a gasoline pump; wiping its brass nozzle clean of camel saliva on
the leg of his jeans, the visitor cannot resist a jest: "Fill
'er up!" he announces with a guffaw to the huge, bi-humped animals
surrounding him. Are their sly, smirking smiles in response to his
joke or merely inherent to their species' physiognomy - or do they
perhaps know something their guest is as yet unaware of? In any event,
he raises the nozzle to his mouth, inhales, and proceeds to join them
- in more ways than one
His metamorphosis proceeds apace
"What are you laughing at?"
boy - hash!"
Another Phunhouse Photomorph!
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