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To Seth Tosi McMillan's previous piece
from Good Hock I sit on a chair and open an umbrella, as God begins to masturbate, and I clap my hands for him when he is done, and God says "Thank you, Seth." And I say "Why did you favor Jesus?" And God says "Get down on your knees, Seth. Keep writing on your dirty floor." And then I'm dead, right, and I begin to hate the guy. So I sit in the chair with the umbrella as cum drips off its rim onto my writings. I'm watching as God's beasties impregnate themselves into my manuscripts, changing all the phrases and sentences to raisins, so now everything is dry and it's supposed to be cleansed, right? So I sit in the chair and watch these dry humanoids start rising up, and as they age they begin to fuck and reproduce one another. I reach into my pants and pull out my dick, and I dip my dick in ink and start inking these assholes, right, and now they're starting to sin, right, so they start giving the finger to God and I'm sitting in my chair laughing having a great old time, and I'm dead, right? So I take my dick and I ejaculate into one of these assholes, so now there's these humanoids combined with my dead sperm, and then everyone starts walking around like they're dead, and they start sailing ships around salty oceans, trying to find some stupid land or something. So I scoop under my testes and I take out my dead grass, and I sprinkle it on the floor as they film me doing it. And then they take their stupid guns and start shooting at the grass as if it's a bird or something, so now all these dead birds are falling to the earth and people are eating them or just leaving them there. I'm getting really pissed now, because all I wanna' do is write, but God keeps wacking off and blowing his load on my umbrella, and those fucking beasties keep multiplying into humanoids, singing their stupid nature songs by spiritual campfire. So I get down on the floor with my sopping umbrella and I start to write with my dead fingers, taking the ashes from their spiritual campfires, creating manuscript after manuscript, while God's seed keeps burrowing into what I write, so I keep writing and writing trying to keep my odd world from going dry, but God is up on his barber's chair, getting his beard shaven, and he's hee-hawing with the barber like a mayoral asshole, so I grab a screwdriver and I stick it in his throat, but he just flinches, right, and he takes me and puts me in his mouth and eventually pushes me out with his sphincter, so here I am now in this opposite reality again, where everyone smells like God's ass.
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