The Big Lie

So, I'm at this sleaze-fuck Days Inn off the interstate ― where an Ebony Goddess is spraying fountains of squirt on my turgid timber ― and I begin wonderin', "Whatever happened to Rick Moranis?" I mean, Spaceballs; Ghostbusters; Honey, I Shrunk the Kids! The guy was huge in the '80s! Now nothing?!

My friend Larry ― who'd organized the event ― stood and began dressing, as the black beauty rolled on her side, exhausted, or bored out of her mind. Either way, I didn't care. It was Number 123 on the Newbie List for 2011 ― a year in which I wasn't able to "come out and play" for two months.

Hence, I felt that stat was fairly respectable. Nothing the Global Institute of Numbers Guys would find impressive, but still a personal victory, in the face of an obvious height deficiency, as well as a complete lack of "good looks."

Our Host with the Most hurriedly clad himself, in an effort to be on time for the Winger concert he'd paid $14.37 to attend. Simultaneously, our coal-colored cutie headed to the shower, as I sat back and stroked probably the only reason I was able to have sex with such a delicious damsel.

"Slave existence on this remote insane asylum of the Milky Way is strange," I thought to myself. Most humans don't even realize they're incarcerated ― prisoners of a fucked-up system they erroneously believe they control.

It had taken Larry over an hour to coerce our most recent Conduit of Carnality into stripping down, sucking, and fucking ― all of which she excelled at greatly.

The pre-coital conversation had centered around religion ― not an easy path to traverse when seeking sex, unless, of course, you're a priest, and your object of affection is an alter boy. Ostensibly, this darkened dame sang in her church choir, her father was a pastor, and she herself kept uttering the phrases, "My God this" and, "My God that."

I remained quiet on the sacerdotal front, knowing my disdain for anything remotely religious would deny me the precious sex I craved, and that all-important next Number. When said and done, it was the sagacious modus operandi.

Not only did I wind up atop an awesome achromatic ass, but a second lusty lady wandered in ― as I reclined, nude and jacking ― decided she liked what she saw, and chose to take a test drive, whilst buffing her boyfriend's boner.

Apparently, Larry had scheduled this latest lass, in case our sable senorita flaked. As it so happened, both beauties showed, stripped, and sought semen.

While this second sally came hard on her significant other's schlong, and simultaneously slathered my staff, I cogitated, "Those fuckers tried to keep me from graduating their stupid indoctrination institution ― referred to as high school ― because I wrote an essay they deemed 'too incendiary.' " My English teacher literally sat me down, and told me I'd never be a writer.

I may be a hack, but I've penned 32 books, proving Darla Dream Dasher wrong:

Talk about inspiring youths to consider suicide!

George Carlin came to mind ― which brought a smile to my face ― as I pictured him soliloquizing:

"Here's a bumper sticker I'd like to see: [...] 'We are the proud parents of a child who has resisted his teachers' attempts to break his spirit, and bend him to the will of his corporate masters.' "

After the daring duo departed ― sometime around midnight ― I sat in my truck, staring at the highway that would take me home. It'd been decades since I'd learned how fucked up this system is that enslaves us. I was proud I refused to acquiesce to it, and had overtly spoken in opposition to it.

"I don't like being a slave," I ruminated. "I hate it!" For others, it's the only way they can exist ― controlled by esoteric entities, so they, themselves, can feel a false sense of security, and be obligated to make the fewest decisions possible.

"Seconds on captivity?"

"No thanks. I'll pass."

I gotta have freedom! "If only more people felt the same," I thought, "perhaps we wouldn't be moments from nuclear annihilation, every breath of our existences, and headed to slavery we euphemistically refer to as 'careers.' Maybe if we thirsted for autonomy, we'd be traveling this Universe by now, instead of wondering how Khloe Kardashian felt, when discovering a zit on her ass."

Everything this system taught you is a lie.

Working hard doesn't ensure security. Countless folk, who've toiled sedulously, are homeless and starving.

There is no Atlantic Ocean, nor a Pacific, nor Indian. It's all one big body of water, but humans deem themselves arrogant enough to determine where one ocean ends, and another begins.

Why don't you just credulously believe internal combustion vehicles are necessary, Fukushima isn't steadily slaughtering us, politicians have your best interests in mind, and religion doesn't cause people to kill each other, or fuck kids.

We're existing in a Fantasyland, above a transparent sheet of ice covering reality. We can see what's valid, should we choose to look down. That said, most of us would rather stare straight ahead ― doing our damnedest to purchase our next BMW ― as opposed to gazing upon what's real.

Helpful safety tip: Such indifference doesn't keep the ice from cracking, and thus forcing us to face reality.

As eons have progressed, and technology advanced, these fissures in the hardened water have widened, becoming far more abundant. We can no longer ignore the fact those we refer to as our "leaders," are actually our enemies. The systems we place belief in are not only invalid, they're insane. The damage we're causing Earth ― our one and only home ― is bringing about our demise.

What does the above have to do with exponentially increasing your number of sex partners?

Everything! If you believe in the tenets of this paradigm, the articles I write will still be of use to you. That stated, once you comprehend the system we adhere to is a big lie, you'll no longer feel pressured to be with just one woman; you'll denounce the incarcerating ideology of marriage, and be thrilled to sleep with ladies of all shapes and sizes.

Hence, you'll reap maximum rewards in the swinging arena, rather than simply adding a few Numbers, via humping only those deemed attractive by stupid societal standards.

— authored by Hugh Mungus