story

Mansion

My mansion. So beautiful. I now own a mansion. I thought, “what constitutes a mansion?” Without looking up the definition, could I define it for myself? Later I had the keys to my mansion. Real estate agent was a swell chick. I wouldn’t mind hitting that, I thought. Such a guy thing to think.

She said, I’ve heard of you. You’re that guy. With the website. Big dreams! That’s all you ever talked about. Big dreams!

Yup. Started out in a basement, you know? By the way, does this place have a basement?

Yeah. I’ll show you. *She takes me by the hand* (HOT!)

Ok. It’s a gorgeous basement. It really is like something to cry over. That’s how nice it is.

“Excuse me,” I said “here are some pictures of my old basement. I would like for this basement to be remodeled…To resemble it.”

She looked at the pics, then looked at me solemn. “I can do that.”

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Possible Interactions

Random Dialogue Pt. 16

Publisher: Ok so you’re Latino. Poor Urban. Mentally ill. Good looking. Oh my god this can sell!

Author: Great.

Publisher: Oh my jeeze. If you identify as non-binary, I’ll really have an orgasm.

Author: Whatever it takes, man. You can put that umm I was raised in a forest by woodpeckers for all I care.

Publisher: Perfect. Oh my Lordie. We’re gonna make a lot of money Jose. I’m telling you that right now. You’re gonna be a very rich man.

Author: You mean, non-binary.

*Laughs*

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Fade Out

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Poetry

Lezie

Lesbianic medallions spin on dykes in boy shorts

Saggy shorts she’s wearing

But at dick is what she’s staring

At my dick, or the dick of someone standing behind me?

What are you looking at dyke? You want some of this?

Next thing you know…the dyke gives me the sweetest, most softest kiss

As I get out of the train I’m reassessing like, maybe I had dykes all wrong

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story

Hang The Gentleman

By hooks he was suspended from The World’s Highest Ceiling. “Please,” said Caygan, “I’ll never do it again. I promise it. Please! Where are you?!”

Caygan hung like the longest dick. He was just there. Hanging. His body, it glistened. His brown pants ripped. His hair was put in a bun. By who? By The Photographers. He had cuts on his chest. When he first regained consciousness he mused quietly over how he got them. Thirty seconds later began the shout exhibition.

His eyes were like…confused. The Eyes Of Confusion would surely be the title tomorrow. He was almost certain of it. “Please!” He began again. “Please! I’ll never do it again. Cross my heart.”

Caygan cocked his cabeza up. He saw his restraints. He studied them. He stopped screaming to conserve energy. Because thinking requires energy, thought Caygan. He started thinking things like, “Ok. If I want to get out of this, how should I go about it? What is the weakness of these chains. Everything has a weakness.”

Caygan, he was thrown stones at. He began screaming. Stones were palms and his body a conga. “Silence is not good,” boomed a voice. The voice could not be located.

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