Sunday, December 31, 2017

Coin Fountain

There is a large fountain in the center of the garden at a famous art museum. The sun reflects off the many coins scattered across the tiles on the bottom of the fountain. There are so many coins. There must be hundreds, if not thousands. So many wishes, so many hopes and dreams, littering the bottom of the fountain.

I would guess that there is at least $500 removed from circulation thanks to the fountain and the people who paid $15 parking to come to the art museum, where they can look at million dollar art and eat $16 roast beef sandwiches at the museum cafe.

In 1953, when a tuna salad sandwich cost a nickel, people never threw coins into artificial ponds. They would never throw a tuna salad sandwich into a fountain. $500 worth of coins is still $500. Think of what you could buy. A previous generation iPhone, like an iPhone 6S, or maybe a guitar amp. Would you throw a guitar amp into a fountain? But to be fair, these are coins, and it isn't 1953 anymore. There isn't a lot that you can buy for a dime or a quarter. So I don't blame em. Coins are dumb. Chuck em in a lake.

In the UK, there are 2p coins. "P" is short for pence, which is like our cents, so these are the equivalent of a two penny coin. Why? Why would anyone ever have a use for this? They are so dumb. Most countries have gotten rid of pennies because nobody uses them. Why the fuck would anybody ever need a coin worth two of them? They are more useless than a coin worth just one penny.

Sooner than you think, well within your lifetime, there will be no more coins and no more bills, only FreedomCoin, a US-created cryptocurrency mined exclusively by the Federal Reserve. You will not be able to throw coins into fountains anymore. Instead, you will make a wish using ApplyPay on your iPhone 16S, and you will see a holographic coin on the bottom of the fountain when you look at it through the augmented reality display on the screen of your $5,000 phone shaped like a cock.

Wednesday, December 20, 2017

Breakfast Burrito

I wish I was a breakfast burrito. Not a man in a breakfast burrito costume. Not a breakfast burrito with arms, legs, and a face, like a Mr. Potato Head, or rather, a Mr. Breakfast Burrito Head. Not a breakfast burrito with thoughts and emotions. A breakfast burrito, lifeless and devoid of consciousness. A regular old breakfast burrito, like one that you would get from McDonald's or a local taco truck. I'm sure you know what a breakfast burrito is.

I would bring much more happiness into the world if i was a breakfast burrito and not a human male. I will never create a lasting work of art. I will never make a lasting positive impact on anyone's life. I will never contribute anything to this world that will give a person more satisfaction than what they would have gotten out of eating a breakfast burrito.

I will never ever have sex with a person where at the end of the sex, the person I just had sex with thinks, "I am glad that I chose sex instead of eating a breakfast burrito." My naked dick and balls cannot compete with a breakfast burrito.  A breakfast burrito will never result in an unwanted pregnancy or sexually transmitted infection.

This is not a metaphor for me being depressed. I mean what I am saying quite literally, and I'm not just talking about myself, either. There are few people on this earth who have lived, are alive, or will ever be alive, whose lives are more significant than a breakfast burrito.

You need food to live; you don't need me to live. Breakfast burritos are delicious; I am not delicious. Breakfast burritos do not make awkward faux pas at parties or events. Breakfast burritos are not racist. They don't murder people. They never sexually harass women who work with them. Breakfast burritos do not have jobs so no women work with them, and they are never horny. They have no sexual desires whatsoever.

You know, like a breakfast burrito.

Wednesday, December 13, 2017

Cars

Lately I have been spending a lot of my time writing erotica fanfiction about the Disney Pixar movie Cars. There is something about the universe of the movie Cars that I find fascinating and sexually intriguing, and I try to explore that through my writing.

I have many unanswered questions about the movie Cars that were never addressed in the movie itself, mainly about how the cars have sex. Also, if a car in the movie Cars is a new model, say, a 2006 model, keeping in mind that the movie Cars came out in 2006, does that mean that the car is one year old? The female love interest in the movie Cars is a 2002 Porsche 911 Carrera. Does that mean that when the movie came out she was four years old? Does that make Lightning McQueen a pedophile? These are all difficult questions that I have struggled to answer.

I understand very little about the movie Cars but I also understand very little about real cars. I am not just talking about how cars work. The metaphysical existence of cars in general confuses me. I cannot wrap my head around them. The other night I was watching cars driving on the freeway and I realized I have no idea what the fuck is going on.

Why do people accept cars as a normal component of society? Humans traveling 70 miles an hour in an aluminum box surrounded by other aluminum boxes all traveling 70 miles an hour. We control them like they are extensions of our own bodies, giant metal robots we use to go through our daily lives.  A car is such a normal concept to grasp. Children know what cars are. They do not question their conceptual meaning. So why is it that I cannot fucking understand them?

I look at the cars driving on the freeway and think to myself, "What the fuck," "Look at these fucking things," "This shit is crazy." I watch the cars going into drive-thru restaurants. I watch the cars getting washed at the car wash. In the future, there will be no need to ever get out of your car. You will be born in your car and you will die in your car. You will be a car. Like in the movie Cars.

Then I get in my own car and drive to work, pretending like it's normal and everything is fine. On the way to work today a car was stopped in the left turn lane during rush hour traffic. The hazard lights were on. People were maneuvering around the car in order to turn left. I stopped my car behind it and got out. There were two older Hispanic women in the car. English was not their first language. I asked them if they needed help. The car had run out of gas. The police and AAA were 20 minutes away. I told them to put it in neutral and that I would help push, but the car was facing uphill on a steep incline so I did not have enough strength to push the car. I looked around. We are surrounded by cars. There are so many cars. But no people. Nobody to help push. Only cars.

If a person tripped and fell in front of you, would you stop to help them up? If you were a car in the movie Cars, the equivalent of this would be running out of gas. But this isn't the movie Cars, this is real life, and people have places to be. They are late for work. So none of the cars stop. None of the people get out. They are trapped inside the cars. They have become cars. It's the future now.

Now that you understand my interest in the movie Cars, I'd like to share with you a short selection from my writing:

        Lightning McQueen dimmed the headlights as he cruised into the garage. Sally Carrera was already there waiting for him, polished and glistening in the reflection of Lightning's low beams.
        "I've been waiting all night for you, Lightning," she murmured softly.
        "Sorry babe," replied Lightning, purring his engine, "Long day at the track."
        "Enough talk," growled Sally. "Fuck me in my ass with with your big cock."
        "With pleasure," Lightning said with a wink.
        Sally quickly executed a perfect three-point turn. Lightning floored it and launched himself over Sally's trunk, jamming his erect penis into her exhaust pipe.
        "OH, LIGHTNING!" screamed Sally in ecstacy.
        "I'm fucking your ass!" yelled Lightning as he quickly shifted between reverse and drive.
        "Cum in my ass, Lightning!"
        Lightning let out a loud honk as he came, filling Sally's exhaust pipe with hot sticky oil.
        "Now let's do it again," said Sally, "But this time, I want you to cum in my trunk."
        "Life is a highway," said Lightning, "I wanna ride you all night long."

Monday, December 11, 2017

Internet

Every night when I get home, I sit down at my desk, turn on my computer, stare at the screen, and wait for something to happen. But nothing ever happens.

It's 8:32 PM. I go on Facebook. There's nothing there. I go on YouTube and watch a video. Now it's 8:37 PM. I stare at the screen some more. Eventually I think to myself, "I wish something would happen," or "What should I do now?" Nothing ever happens and I never know what to do, so I just keep staring at the screen until my eyes start to lose focus and my tongue hangs out of my mouth, and I make a sort of humming sound like, "Duhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

After a few minutes I blink and open up a new Internet tab. I go to type in a website but I don't know what website to go to. It's 9:14 PM. I suddenly think to myself, "How many wild buffalo are still alive in the US?" I Google it and learn that American buffalo are actually called bison. I also learn that Ted Turner, the billionaire media tycoon, owns over 50,000 bison to provide meat for his restaurant franchise Ted's Montana Grill, which specializes in serving bison.

You know what would be nice? If my computer could beat me up. It would be so awesome if my computer grew arms and punched me repeatedly in the throat and testicles. That way I would probably not go on the computer as much. I would definitely be much more focused and attentive when using it and I wouldn't spend my time on it reading about Ted's Montana Grill. Maybe it would encourage me to go to the gym and work out more, so I can kick my computer's ass.

I have a new notification on Facebook. I click on it. Two friends of mine are interested in events happening tomorrow. Cool.

Shit for Brains

I thought that I had a brain but when the doctors opened up my skull all they found was a pile of shit. The doctors were amazed that I had somehow been able to survive this long since apparently you need a brain in order to live. The shit smelled really awful when they cut open my skull, like someone had just taken a fresh dump inside my head. I asked them to close it up because the smell was so overpowering but they were more focused on figuring out how I was alive.

Just then, I remembered that once when I was a kid I woke up in the middle of the night and shit was coming out of my ear and staining my pillow. I told the doctors what I remembered but it just made them more confused because you're not supposed to be able to have memories unless you have a brain to store them in.

After what seemed like forever they decided the best course of action would be to remove the shit inside my head, but every time they took it out more shit grew back in its place. Each time it would start out as a little brown speck in the center of the bottom of my cranium and it would slowly spread out like a puddle, increasing in size and eventually forming into a solid lump of human fece. As I'm sure you can imagine this was a great surprise to the doctors, who at this point gave up and decided I was beyond the ability of medical science to understand, and they reattached the top of my skull and sewed my head back up.

I am thankful for their efforts though, because now I have discovered that I have a hidden talent. I close my eyes and pinch my nose shut and grit my teeth and squeeze the muscles in my face and thin ropes of shit come out of my nose and ears like Play-Doh. It's pretty disgusting but also strangely fascinating.

I have been booked on several talk shows and I am getting lots of calls from reporters. I'm glad that what could have been a life-threatening medical condition has instead been able to bring joy into the lives of so many. I just wish that my head wouldn't smell so bad. Maybe then people would be able to have a conversation with me for more than a few seconds.