Immediate Thoughts I’ve Had After Masturbating To Porn

 

“Oh no. What now?”

“The people in these videos have parents.”

“I’ve gotten too good at this.”

“There are so many gay men in the world. More than you’d think.”

“I’m disgusting. We’re all disgusting.”

*images of all my uncles and aunts*

“Fuck, did it get on my computer? As long as it didn’t hit the keys, whatever.”

“I’ll bet if I actually met those guys I wouldn’t even like them. I’ll bet the conversation would take years off my life. I wonder if they’d find me attractive.”

*image of the twin towers falling*

“I think I could have sex with that guy if he got to know me.”

*overwhelming urge to cry followed quickly by repression of potential tears*

“There is only sex. An infinite galaxy of cock and cum.”

“I’m not doing laundry. I can’t. Not today.”

“Weeeeeeeeee!”

“Did I take my synthroid?”

“They really should study my sexual energy at NASA or something.”

“I welcome death. It’s over.”

*singing* “Scuzz bucket, cum fuck it, sticky bag o’ dicks. Tug nugget, cum plug it, send me all your pics.”

“I knew that was a bad idea. Not getting up now.”

“Wait, that’s too much cum… That’s just way too much cum… How can there be that much cum? Fuck.”

“That bottom was a pussy, I could have taken that dick way better.”

“Where is my sandwich, it’s been an hour.”

“Is that grape juice? Why is there a bottle of grape juice in the frame?”

*the sultry night sky explodes with crimson comets and stars of silver, careening into the unknown above falling chocolate cereal splashing into rippling bowls of milk, causing tidal waves of dairy over delicious crumbs for children to spoon and enjoy for breakfast, while morning glory petals sway their way across translucent purple wind, square-dancing with the dew in the fog, and fascism dies in some far off courtyard to fanfare and exhalation and the people hold a sock hop as funeral, and famine is feast, and slugs are starlight, and disease doesn’t do it for doctors anymore so they cure every damned one and open ice cream parlors and yoga studios, and black people are exempt from federal income tax because it’s the least we can do since nothing has been done to lessen the accomplished fact of racial hierarchy, and the collective consciousness recognizes in unison how divinely lucky we are that the sky is blue because what a killer color for every time you look up, and we all take vitamins, and we all hold hands, and we all meditate, and the movie “Jerry Maguire” never happened, and the movie “Muriel’s Wedding” happened twice, and no one talks shit about their co-workers to climb the corporate ladder, and everyone writes letters to everyone they love, and sunlight cuts through the smog, cascading warmly into our windows as if to say, “It is alright. I am here for you.” and I am one with the human race.*

“That was nice but never again.”

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