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The Writings of a Frustrated Man from the Future By Lev Shtrikman (The inflammatory language is due to the increasing irritation of the subject. Please do not attempt this at home. ) Holy fucking space Buddha, I think I’m going to become a luddite. I don’t understand a thing about how my appliances work. I can’t stop my furniture from moving around my house, I keep tripping over everything enough times that even I think I’m blind. My water is so fucking pure; it just might be killing me. Four space weeks ago, I tasted sweet, sweet MSG for the third time in my life and I still can’t stop thinking about it. I mean, why do we have the unami taste buds if we don’t use them? Plus, my leg itches a lot and nobody can tell me why. But I digress. I don’t want to get too emotional or my emo-bot will bring me more of that calming gunk that I swear is a laxative, but everyone just says it’s only simple psychosomatic therapy. But sometimes, I just think the only thing that keeps me going besides the amazing cosmo-sexicon, is…OW YOU FUCKING CHAIR! GET BACK TO YOUR FUCKING CORNER! FUCK THAT HURT! WHY DO WE HAVE A CORNER IF YOU DON’T USE IT? NO! Get away from me. I’m calm. Put the blue crap down. Fine, I’ll take it. See I took it, now be grateful and make me a sandwich. And you, stupid chair, you had better stay in your corner. What the fuck was I saying? Something about the sexicon, oh yeah that’s a good idea. I better go turn it on. Till next time…. Love, Stanley: THE MERCILESS DICTATOR OF MARS |
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