Monday, Nov. 19, 42 A.B.
Playing With Myself
Today was the day I got my November back!
It was cloudy.
It was cool.
And then it actually rained.
Had I known that the universe was going to be so responsive to the complaints I posted yesterday, I would have spent my time bitching about how Rumsfeld apparently believes that war crimes committed by our Northern Alliance allies aren't really war crimes at all.
I suppose I could complain about that now, just in case the universe is continuing to take my complaints seriously today, but... well, when the weather gets all cloudy and cool and rainy like this, there's only one thing I really want to do, and that's sit back and play with myself.
So that's pretty much how I spent my day.
It had been so long, I'd almost forgotten how. But I guess it's kinda like riding a bicycle, huh? That is to say, once you've learned how, you have to be really careful not to do it in front of speeding trucks.
In hopes of teaching the youngsters out there how it's done safely and efficiently, I've decided to detail exactly how I played with myself today. Don't worry if the following strikes you as gross or too difficult the first time you read it. Chances are it'll still be gross and too difficult when you're my age, too. That's actually part of its charm.
*Pausing to consult the notes I made in my lab book*
Ok.... The first thing I did was pull the blinds and dim the lights.
Then I got as comfortable as I possibly could.
The I just let my mind wander....
In no time at all, I was remembering how the brain lacks those nerve cells which might allow it to feel pain when it's cut.
This has always seemed a terrible lack to me, and today - well, today I decided to do something about it.
Seizing a bit of my DNA in the privacy of my own home, I carefully, lovingly extracted it with the fingers of one hand while using a rhythmic wrist motion of the other to isolate those genes responsible for the growth of the nerve cells in my skin. Once that was done, I really got my heart racing by splicing those genes into those responsible for the architecture and structural integrity of my neocortex. Soon I was spewing the result into a promiscuous passing cold virus, then carefully injecting that virus into my head.
Within an hour or two, my brain finally had as much feeling as an infant's fingers and toes.
At this point, a sense of profound satisfaction came over me. It was all I could do to find a soft place to lay down before succumbing entirely to the incredible sensual pleasure of a million thoughts running across my suddenly sensate neurons like ecstatic ants on a mountain of sugar come to life.
Time seemed to speed up and freeze at the same time as I lay gasping over the exquisitely light touch of an old recollection of a butterfly on my frontal lobes, the loving kiss of my favorite joke on my hypothalamus, and the fairy tale sounds of a waterfall coursing over my medulla. I could feel - actually FEEL! - a billion other, similar things scurrying and crawling and hopping and dancing from here to there as the entire interior of my head seemed alive - ALIVE! - for the first time in my life.
How I ever managed to get by with the old, dark, and apparently empty hole that had lurked behind my eyes previously, I'll never know....
Of course, a slight problem eventually arose. They always do when you play with yourself.
Seems that when I mixed the genes responsible for touch with the genes responsible for my brain's neurons, I inadvertently also mixed the genes responsible for my brain's neurons with those responsible for touch.
This meant that even as I was floating in an ecstasy generated by being able to feel my thoughts for the first time in my life, my skin was busy thinking thoughts.
Subcutaneously deep thoughts, no less.
And eventually, it just had to share them with me.
All of them.
"I itch, therefore I am!" my elbow proclaimed.
"The unexamined Twinkie is not worth digesting," my abdomen morosely announced.
"From each according to his abilities to each according to his needs," my little toes angrily lectured my opposable thumbs.
Suddenly it seemed as if every bit of my flesh was rushing to show off its new-found ability to think, to conceive, to imagine - and to argue.
As a wise man once said, "Nothing like a nipple inflamed with revolutionary fervor to take all the joy out of being able to feel the odor of lavender
running barefoot across your swollen olfactory bulb."
Not that I'm complaining. I'm glad I was able to experience all this at least once in my life.
I'm just also glad that my immune system eventually kicked in and destroyed all those out of place genes exactly as if I'd scraped them off the bottom of my shoe instead of taken them from my own body.
Considering that my body has often been compared to something scraped off the bottom of a shoe, I guess I really shouldn't be surprised.
Anyway, things are back to normal now - except for a lingering sense of fulfillment.
I really should make the time to play with myself more often.
If I've inspired even one person to go off and play with themselves right now, I can sigh a happy man.
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(©Now by DJ Birtcher
even though the very idea of copyrighting anything
made a whole lot more sense this afternoon when it was
shamelessly tickling my tegmentum)