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"It's All Over"
Here
are some things to do while waiting for the world
to end:
Threesomes,
circle jerks, gangbangs, wife-swapping and any other
form of group sexual activity.
These
are all a good way to relieve tension and to get to
know your neighbors in these questionable times, as
you gather around the television for terrorist or
war updates. Fear, of course, heightens sexual tension.
While the French refer to the orgasm as the "little
death."
Psychologically
speaking, the subconscious of man has been associating
sex with death since Eve took the apple from the snake.
And the urge to kill or fuck both originate in the
most primitive part of the brain left over from the
dinosaurs, so...sharing this sexual frenzy, whipped
up by the winds of fear of the unknown--the end of
life as we know it--heightens the experience for all
parties involved.
For
example: Men could stand around in a circle, and vent
pent-up anger they're unable to direct at a conventional
enemy target by masturbating and ejaculating in unison
onto a picture of bin Laden. Patriotic act or perversion?
You decide. Either way, it's better than bombing innocent
Afghan women and children into the Stone Age.
With
the threat of biological attack whispered in rumors
of war, why not take off that rubber and just go bare?
Decide your own fate. Pick up a disease for which
there is an easily available cure, i.e., Chlamydia,
Gonorrhea, Syphilis. Or contract one like HIV for
which there are any number of pharmaceuticals available
to allay the onslaught of AIDS well beyond the end
of the world. That's far better than your chances
with the Ebola, Anthrax, Smallpox and Russian Cocktails
picked up through no choice of your own. And with
no vaccinations available...When he/she with Hep C
says I wanna fuck/get fucked in the ass, what the
fuck? By the time your liver starts to break down,
we'll all be dead anyway, so...fuck away.
Certainly
a good time to fuck around with everyone's attention
diverted towards the Big Events. It's kinda like the
old standby of the magician performing sleight of
hand--distracting your attention over here while he
does something completely unexpected beyond your preoccupation.
Going to war with Afghanistan, Pakistan, the entire
Middle East, let's face it: He or she would never
suspect you're stepping out on them. And why deny
yourself? After all, we live in the land of Satan.
Might as well live down to your reputation. Some terrorist
is going to drop Ebola out an airplane over your Mr.
Rogers' Neighborhood next week. Might as well be culpable
of the decadence you're accused of, found guilty and
punished for. And live a little.
"And
why deny yourself? After all, we live in the land
of Satan. Might as well live down to your reputation."
Now
here's where you can really cut loose. Let's face
it: There are a lot of things you keep on the shelf
and don't like to pull down because deep inside your
latent Catholic/Christian/Puritanical guilt or fear
of societal disdain, there's a strong message that
says, "You better not go there." I say, why the hell
not? Furthermore, it's a great escape from the tension
surrounding the news of the day--speculation from
the pundits on TV; and it's free. You don't have to
rent
it, buy it, drink it, smoke it, snort it, inject
it, use your VISA, MasterCard or American Express.
All you have to do is turn on your brain and let
it go wherever it wants to. Then sit back, have
a cigarette and say to yourself, "Wow. I never knew
I had that in me. Guess bin Laden's followers were
right about me."
Pornography,
now here's my specialty, or, at least it's something
I get paid to watch. I say, who the hell is going
to notice you going into that porno store to rent
a pissing, fisting, fattie, donkey tape when the
carriers are steaming off to the Mediterranean laden
with missiles? You could be forgiven for watching
an ass-worship movie or getting into transvestites
for a night or going gay or lesbian with your selections.
Blame it on stress. "I'm just not myself lately."
And let's face it, as long as you have a porno tape
tracking through your VCR, you're less likely to
cave in to that nasty urge to watch some program
detailing the latest developments in America At
War. Feel a little shy about renting those S&M,
forced feminization, trampling, smothering videos
when you walk up to the clerk in the porno store?
Forget about it. All bets are off. Anything goes.
What does he care? What do you care what he cares
when the whole world is going to hell faster than
TV producers can format the news to fit your marshmallow
brain?
Finally,
unless you're going to build some survival shelter
in Montana, you might as well give your money to
some stripper, lingerie model or escort. Make someone
happy. 'Cause when you die, you sure as hell can't
take it with you. Or, if the world is plunged into
economic chaos, your money's not going to have any
value anyway. It is, after all, only an idea that
we all agree upon. Spend it while you can. What's
going to give you more pleasure: a new Lexus or
a real fabulous freak show with a lingerie model
you can't get out of your head?
If
all this seems heartless and cynical, or you believe
a word of it, please remember, according to the
Buddhists, it's all folly anyway. And the flesh
is just a robe for the spirit, rented at best. I'm
not going to follow any of my advice. Instead, maybe
I'll retreat to a cottage in the country. Chop wood,
carry water. Chant "OM." Write poetry. Jerk off
into the face of the moon. As Jim Morrison sang,
over thirty years ago in his song "The Unknown Soldier":
It's all over, baby. It's all over.
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