Alien Night Club - Show 23?
Alien Night Club <the transcripts>
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Show 23?
Good morning! Times three.
Just in case it's morning for you and you're in bed having a sugar-free Redbull and you're like, Let's see what that dumbfuck on the spaceship is blabbering about today. He probably wants to have a donkey fuck an octopus or something.
Actually, I was thinking it might be interesting if we all took DMT together. Right now. Here. Together.
What’s the record for the most people to ever do DMT together?
And what happened as a result?
That would be interesting to know.
I’ve never done DMT. So I know very little about it. Apparently it’s a chemical our bodies produce naturally. Some people say when a person has a near-death experience and sees all kinds of wild stuff, that’s DMT. DMT is being secreted in massive quantities as a result of the physical stress the body is enduring. And it’s also apparently present or related to dreams. So some speculate that it fuels our dreams when asleep.
But you can also ingest DMT and induce some sort of psychedelic episode.
A lot of people report flying through space, seeing these little creatures called elves. Space elves. Some people see court jesters. It’s very interesting that people have that same experience independently.
Is that some sort of intergalactic, transdimensional phenomenon? Or are certain people simply obsessed in some way with court jesters and that imagery manifests itself during a DMT trip?
Like I said, I’ve never tried it. Under the right circumstances, I would like to. I might. If it was in a safe place and there were people there to make sure I didn’t try to drive or jump off the roof, and I could relax enough to enjoy it, I might do it.
A lot of people say it helps them immensely. It helps them see their own existence differently. It helps them see that they are part of something greater and that they don’t need to be afraid of all the things they’re afraid of.
And that sounds beneficial.
Most of the time, I feel like a bipolar schizophrenic. Up and down and all over the place with crazy thoughts in my head that I don’t like, saying mean, defeatist shit to me all the time. The devil on my shoulder is a fuckin asshole. I can tell you that.
Anybody else feel like that?
I’m sure a lot of people do. I’m not unique or special or alone in that regard.
What do you guys do for a living? What’s that? You just flew in from Rygel 7 and boy are your arms tired?
You start or get back to your side hustle stroke passion yet?
Or are you still helping the boss get a new exotic supercar next year?
Have you found your purpose yet?
You ever read The Purpose Driven Life?
Someone gave me that book. I was at work one day and a coworker whom I barely knew and didn’t really interact with all that much came to me and said, Hey, I just finished this book and God told me to give it to you. So here you go!
And I was all like, Oh. Okay. Um, that’s perhaps erring on the side of fantastical – fantastical testicle? – but okay. Point being that I read it and it helped me a lot. It comes from a Christian Earthling viewpoint but don’t focus on that.
And now, ladies and gentlemen, coming to the stage, ready to blow your cream-filled earholes out of the water with their brand…new…hit…song…It’s The one-and-only Hot Fudge Sundaes doing Fantastical Testicle. SB, take it away!
SB: Uh, gee, Cap, I think you said everything that needs to be said. I do want to hear this one, though. Any song title with the word Testicle in it immediately has my attention. I am a testicle man myself. A gentle caressing manually or orally of one’s testicles is mighty fine. But uh, anyway…. Yes, take it away, gents.
{musical interlude}
There you go! The ultimate testicle song. The number-one hit song on Planet Earth which will make Gangnam Style look puny…and it’s all about testicles.
Balls.
Balls, balls, balls.
We’ve hit a new low.
Balls.
But, yeah, do check out that book if you’re struggling or feel lost. You probably already have an inkling or an idea of what you’d like to do. If money were no object, what would you do? How would you spend your time? And it has to be more meaningful than sitting on the beach or shopping or playing golf. You can only do so much of that. Unless that absolutely IS the one-and-only thing you want to do. Then okay. You can be a professional golfer. Is there such thing as a professional beach-sitter? You could probably livestream from the beach and record yourself reading or something, and invite others to join you for a virtual beach day. Or to sit and read or snack or nap while enjoying the relaxing sounds of the waves crashing upon the beach, the white foam rushing and receding rhythmically in time.
Angel number 1155: Angel number 1155 carries a strong message that you are responsible for your own existence and to take charge of your life. Do not let others lead you astray, and do not blame others for your own failings.
Okay, not really sure where that came from but there you go. Sage wisdom from the angels.
Can you feel sperm swimming inside you?
Speaking of balls.
If you've ever had semen inside you, was there ever a time when you thought you could feel it? Maybe you're lying there, peaceful, replete with your lover, maybe you're a little high, maybe not, and you can feel them in there?
In the main places it usually goes.
I guess it could go in your eyes. Up your nose. In your ears.
Is that a thing? People whose primary, most erotic fetish is having someone ejaculate a load of hot semen into their ear? So they can feel it sliding down their ear canal…pooling again their eardrum, their tympanic membrane.
What does that feel like?
What does it sound like?
Is it the sound of silence?
Or the sound of semen?
SB, I think we have a song, yes?
SB: Oh you know we do. This is a wild one. Ladies and gentlemen, friends around the Universe – that's a new shirt available now in the merch store, get em before they're gone – coming at you now with a brand new hit song, please welcome to the stage in a non-acoustically aggressive manner, The Hot Fudge Sundaes doing their new song which writes itself: The Sound…of Semen.
{musical interlude}
Thank you SB, thank you gentlemen, thank you Will Ferrell for sitting in on vocals. Will will no doubt have to run so he can get back to the set of his forthcoming blockbuster film Talladega Nights Two: Ricky Bobby Takes Europe…Roughly.
Seriously, though, has anyone ever recorded the sound of sperm? The sound of semen? The sound of the semen rushing through the urethra? And the sound of the sperm swimming through their new host?
Is cum guzzling a form of cannibalism?
Or vampirism? Vampires are into fluids.
If you love, I mean Love, with what, my dearly beloved Sammy?
Sammy: With a capital motherfuckin L.
That's right, with a capital motherfuckin L: if you LOVE having semen inside you, why is that?
Like in your mouth, on your hands, smeared all over your chest and stomach and between your thighs and all slippery in your butt crack, and you love having it on your face and you love, again, LOVE, swallowing it, feeling it erupt in your mouth so you can feel it nice and hot, and you love swallowing it, what is it that you so adore?
Is it the closeness you experience with your lover? Taking part of them inside you? Swallowing them? A physical part of them. Something that was made by their body, somewhere deep inside them, and now it's inside you. And your body is going to process it. Digest it. Assimilate it. And make it part of you. That protein will become part of your tissue, part of your body. That energy will be taken into your mitochondria and burned as energy of your own.
This is all so perverted.
Do Borg suck dick? Do they swallow? What are they thinking? That several million new organisms are about to be assimilated? And the entire Borg Collective experiences the act, the hotbutter Chlorox cumshot, the swallowing, the assimilating…as those millions of organisms drown in stomach acid and are dissolved on a scale equivalent to mass genocide.
That kinda takes the fun out of it.
Are sperm nonbinary? Is that how we get nonbinary humans? Humans all along the spectrum of sexual diversity, expression, and preference?
Or is it the egg? The ovum? Nonbinary ovum.
Or is it a combination?
Sperm finds ovum. A 2nd penetration occurs. The sperm goes inside the egg. And then the egg puts its shields up. It puts up a force field. And no other sperm are allowed inside. It suddenly becomes very spermophobic. If it were a nightclub, the ACLU would be so far up its ass it wouldn't know what to do. Sorry, we're at capacity. All you losers haff to stand here for the rest of the night, on the shit desperate side of the racist, classist red velvet rope. Until you die if you're a sperm. Until you realize your ass was late. If you wanted to get into Club Ovum, you should've worked harder, swam faster, and gotten here first.
Club Ovum is not bigoted. It is the ultimate example of Darwinian meritocracy. The strongest, most viable sperm gets there first. And then it's Game Over for all the other millions of sperm.
It gives a whole new meaning to Ready Player One.
It gives a whole new meaning to survival of the fittest.
What about the sperm who are born with 2 tails? Or no tail. Or 2 heads. They never get out of the vagina. They probably slide down the crack of your ass and wind up as a brown stain on the mattress.
Isn't that bigoted?
Isn't that spermist?
There's no Sperm Paralympics.
There literally are no points for 2nd place.
Unless 2 sperm get to the egg at the same time. Then you get nonidentical twins. Also known as fraternal twins.
But the other millions swim around hopelessly. For several days.
Can you feel them in there?
Can you feel them inside you?
If it's very dark, very quiet, you lie very still, can you feel it?
Perhaps just the barest hint of vibration. The energy of them. Their life-force. Inside you. Becoming a part of your life-force. Their DNA, their protein, their amino acids, their building blocks of protein merging with yours.
Merging with you.
Becoming part of you.
Forever.
Think about that before you agree or decide to blow someone. Or to let them shoot a load inside you. Or shoot the load. Is masturbation and ejaculation mass murder? The sperm are like, Yay, here we go! Finally! To our destiny!
And then they go down the shower drain.
Ever heard of epigenetics?
Epigenetics is a field of study within the field of genetics. I am not an expert by any means so please forgive me if I butcher this, but epigenetics suggests that our DNA changes over time as a result or a byproduct of what we do throughout our lives.
And because our bodies are inherently lazy and seek homeostasis, when we introduce a new stimulus, the body adapts to that new stimulus as quickly as possible. Exercise is one of the best examples to help understand this. When you begin a new form of exercise, or any new physical movement, like running or lifting weights or playing guitar, at first it’s difficult. It feels weird and new and you’re not sure what to do. But over time, you learn. Your brain learns. Your body learns. Your muscles, bones, neurons, synapses all adapt and you get better at that thing. And the more you do it, the better you get at it.
And if you have a child after you’ve gotten good at it, that child may inherit some of your hard-won expertise. So they may grow up to be even better at it than you are.
So athletes have kids who become great athletes. Actors have kids who become great actors. Doctors have kids who become great doctors. Scientists have kids who become great scientists. Your Mini-me exhibits talent and ability far beyond your own. Provided there is an interest, of course.
And the converse is true. If someone becomes a junkie, a dropout, an alcoholic, a quote unquote loser, do they now have loser alchie dropout junkie sperm? If you take that sperm inside you and absorb it, assimilate it, are you introducing junkie alcoholic loser DNA into your own DNA? Thereby introducing a microscopic suggestion to exhibit that same behavior yourself? Or to pass it on to your children?
Further, is epigenetics sexist? Misogynist? Patriarchal? Is Mother Nature herself a patriarchal psychopath?
Because men produce new sperm about every 90 days. Women are born with all of their eggs.
Right?
So a woman’s genetic code is fixed in those eggs while a man’s genetic code is allowed to change? To flourish and grow or wither and turn to shit? Depending upon one’s activities, habits, interests, practices, et cetera?
To what extent does Nurture play a role? Does it share the stage equally with Nature? How you’re raised versus what you’re born with?
What about penis size?
Which Earthling Human cohort has the largest penises? How did they get that way? Were large penises valued by their prospective sexual partners? Were people more aroused by a big dick than a small dick and therefore more likely to mate with and reproduce with the owner of said dick? Therefore more big-dick genetics were passed on over time?
What about in cultures where small dicks were preferred and big dicks were considered vulgar? Look at much of the great art that came out of various parts of the world. Which sculptures have the biggest, or smallest or most modest, dicks and when were those sculptures sculpted and by whom?
Would a woman or a gay man or someone aroused by the notion of a big dick sculpt a dick differently than that sculpted by a person more interested in hands or feet or clothing or facial expression?
What about the origin of quote unquote man? Humans. Humyns. The evolution from a single common ancestor. Was that ancestor packin heat? Or was it throwing a hotdog down a hallway?
Do Black folks have the biggest dicks? Generally? Generally? Don’t we all pretty much know that? That while there are exceptions for and against, of course, amongst all ethnic groups, generally it’s the brothers that swing the lowest? Which, I would argue, contributes to the Cool Factor.
Is this racist? With a capital motherfuckin R?
Or is it science?
Did the Common Ancestor have a regular dick and then over time, through environmental experience and epigenetics, as well as simple genetic mutation, some dudes were born who simply had bigger dicks? And the breeders were like, Oh, yeah, give me that footlong with extra meat! Extra salami. Extra turkey. Extra roast beef. And lots of produce. Mustard, mayo, oil and vinegar, salt and pepper, and make it a combo with the drink and the warm cookie. Because even our Common Ancestors enjoyed a nice warm cookie.
What about watermelon? Watermelon has a lot of L-Arginine. L-Arginine is an amino acid that helps with blood flow. It prompts the epithelium to secret nitrous oxide. The epithelium is a smooth layer of tissue on the inside of our blood vessels, throughout our entire bodies. This tissue secretes a gas called nitrous oxide. The same laughing gas you can talk your dentist into giving you if you pretend to be really scared and nervous. This gas also increases circulation. More blood flow means more nutrients reach your tissues and cells. More blood flow into the genitals means bigger genitals. Just ask Pfizer and the team who discovered stroke invented Viagra A-K-A sildenafil.
So if more brothers eat watermelon, do they have bigger dicks than men who didn’t? So who’s been eating the most watermelon throughout history and what is the size of the collective cohort’s junk? The African Continent versus the American Continent.
Is this Racist?
SV/SB: Yes.
Or is it Science?
SV: It’s extremely Racist. It’s the same kind of absurd generalizations made by racist White anthropologists about Black people throughout time.
Is it more or less racist than taking Black people and White people to the zoo to be exhibited to the gorillas?
Because that wasn’t about race. That was about being Cool.
Cool. With a capital C.
Rank these 3 things in order of Coolness, from Most Cool to Least Cool:
Gorillas.
Black people.
White people.
You don’t even have to think about it. So much so that they’re already in order even as I said them. We all agree gorillas are Cool, right?
Right.
Gorillas are super, super, duper Cool.
And we all know that, generally, Black folks are cooler than White folks.
Now that is not to say that there aren’t unCool Black folks. And it is not to say that there are no Cool White folks.
There are. There are. Just as there are Cool and less-Cool people in all cohorts.
But what makes someone Cool and who decides that they’re Cool?
Is the definition of Cool fixed or is it malleable?
And to the degree which it is fixed or malleable, how does it change over time?
What is Cool now is probably not what was Cool 100 years ago. 200 years ago. 300 years ago. 500 years ago. 1000 years ago. 10,000 years ago. What was Cool then? Whoever had a dwelling to escape the elements, whoever had food and clothing and fire and the wheel?
Basically Fred Flintstone?
I always kind of hated The Flintstones to be honest. I was too young to appreciate it.
But what was Fred? He was an idiot. He was Homer Simpson in a cave. With an idiot friend named Barney who could only laugh annoyingly.
Maybe he had a laughing disorder, you Laughist fuck! Maybe he had Tourette’s! Like in The Joker! You’re making fun of the mentally ill. Fuck you!
Maybe Barney did have Tourette’s Syndrome. Probably undiagnosed. Even though I’m pretty sure Fred went to a doctor at some point.
But the important thing to remember about Fred is his wife Wilma. And the important thing to remember about Barney is his wife Betty. Whom I always liked more than Wilma for some reason.
Point being that behind every great man is a great woman…rolling her eyes.
Which psychology tells us is a disgust response, by the way. One which has a greater likelihood of ending in divorce.
Why was Wilma with Fred? Because he could stop a car with his feet? Because she liked it when he took her to the drive-in? Because she liked the way he could slide down the back of a dinosaur at quittin time?
Or was it because they were codependent as fuck and she suffered from an unresolved rescuer complex complicated by the fact that her parents hated Fred and she was determined to appear as though she didn’t need their approval?
By the time the series ended, were they still together?
Didn’t Marge divorce Homer? Did they ever get back together? Or wasn’t that a dream? I don’t know, I quit watching The Simpsons a long time ago. I know people love it but I thought it was a tad annoying. Bart was a sarcastic little shit and Homer was just too stupid. And I don’t really care for animation.
When was clothing invented? When were penises covered up? Is that when humanity diverged into Big Dick and Not-as-big Dick?
Because if everyone is running around naked, everyone knows who’s packing what.
But if everyone is clothed, it’s a surprise. And you only find out when you get down to business, right before the act is about to take place and the sperm are about to make the transfer.
Is that like a sperm rollercoaster?
A spermcoaster?
The Great Spermcoaster?
Do they enjoy it?
Some probably do. Others are like, Oh, fuck, I forgot my Dramamine! Yak! And they hurl. So when they get into the other person, they’re too busy vomiting to start swimming.
Plus, it’s dark and no one has any idea which way to go. There’s no sperms in there wearing headlamps or turning on the flashlight on their phone, looking around and going, Ooh, it’s hot and sticky in here. Are we in Florida?
And then Florida Man jumps out dressed like Fred Flintstone and is all like, Ooga-booga, motherfuckers!
Is there any sperm cosplay? Can you buy a sperm costume on Amazon? Or do you haff to make it yourself?
Are there people who show up to the convention dressed as sperm? Is there sperm POV porn? It’s just a lot of splashing around in ectoplasm and goo until they find the giant ball?
There’s Pony Play. People who pretend to be horses and people who ride them and lead them around and treat them like a horse.
So ought not there be Sperm Play? People who pretend to be sperm and people who ride them and lead them around and treat them like a sperm?
If Aquaman can ride a fish or a dolphin or a whale, can’t Florida Man Fred Flintstone ride a sperm?
That would be an interesting Halloween costume.
Or a float in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. A giant, inflated Florida Man dressed as Fred Flintsone sitting atop a giant sperm, with a few dozen people holding onto the ropes to keep him it they them from floating away.
What if it DID get away? Like that time Chandler burst in and said Underdog had gotten away and was floating free over the city and they all left and neither Rachel nor Monica had the key-EEZ and potatoes were ruined, potatoes were ruined, potatoes were ruined.
Point being, when it comes to the penis, is beauty in the eye of the beholder? And for every dick of every size and shape there’s someone out there who won’t be able to get enough of it?
Are there any closet cannibals who use fellatio as Diet Cannibalism?
Or is that off limits?
Don’t cannibal lives matter?
Or is the very question outrageous and insensitive?
Or is that what makes it funny?
What is funny?
Why is something, or someone, funny until something is said which hits too close to home?
Why did the chicken cross the road?
To get to the other side?
Or to appease you and your chicken-mocking ass for the sake of a punchline? What if the chicken doesn’t want to cross the road? What if it’s rush hour? What if it’s Summertime and the asphalt is hot as fuck? What if the other chickens are here on this side and the chicken wants to stay here because birds of a feather do what? They flock together. Safety in numbers, right? Which is why so many animals live in groups and hunt in groups. A lion will just go out and grab something by its throat and drag it home for the babies but wolves hunt in packs. And a wolf that is ostracized from the pack usually dies.
And the chicken knows that.
So maybe it doesn’t want to cross the road. Maybe it’s insensitive to even suggest such a thing.
Maybe that joke should be banned. Think about all the people who had a pet chicken growing up and one day that sweet little chicken, their buddy, their friend who they had since it was a fuzzy little yellow chick, gets run over by a car. Squished. Gone. Dead. Because it was trying to cross the road.
That makes you a chicken murderer. That’s involuntary chickenslaughter. That’s 10 to 40 years easily. You’d better lawyer up. Because you know the family of that chicken is coming prepared. They’ve got PETA money. You don’t. You’d better hope there aren’t any vegetarians on the jury. You need a bunch of Fred Flintstones on the jury. People who eat meat.
And if you get convicted and sent to the pen, you’d better find the other carnivores and omnivores and do whatever you’ve gotta do to get protection. You’ll need them to protect you from the animal lovers and the vegetarians and vegans. Because they’re coming for you. They’re going to shank you in the yard. Or in the shower. When your tiny dick is out. And you’re going to die partly from blood loss and partly from shame.
Unless maybe you’re hung like a bear and they take one look at it and decide they don’t want to kill you, that they want to mate with you. A bunch of vegan size-queens show up and see your big fat prodigious hog and you guys wind up having an orgy in the shower.
And then the boss who ordered the hit is like, Is it done?
And they’re like, Um, not quite, boss. He was packing heat so we all decided to fellate him instead.
And the boss is like, Bigger than mine?
And they’re all like, That’s right!
And they jump on him her it they them and shiv them until they’re roadkill.
And you become the new Boss. Because of your big dick.
Until a bigger dick comes along.
Or until public perception changes and the next generation believes small dicks are better and suddenly you’re out through no fault of your own. You can’t help it if you were born with an elephant trunk between your legs.
So you sue for discrimination under the Americans With Disabilities Act. And the jury is packed with people with big dicks who understand the struggle. So they award you $17 million. And what do you do with the money? You buy a big American pick-up truck to drive around in. And everyone looks at that truck and thinks you’re compensating for something. So maybe you should wear pink and drive a Fiat 500 to show that you’re secure in your sexuality, like Joey when he wore Rachel’s panties.
Except then a bunch of closet-sexuals see you and decide they’re going to take their repressed sexual rage out on you. So they beat the crap out of you.
But then Fred Flintstone Florida Man comes along riding a sperm on the way to the convention center and beats the crap out of the closet-sexuals, who all get back in their big trucks and drive away in a great cloud of black exhaust smoke and confusingly unrequited bloodlust.
And then you and Fred Flintsone Florida Man go to the cosplay conference together, and you climb on the back of the sperm and away you go together.
And when you arrive at the conference, you meet up with all the other spermriders and spermwarriors and spermtigers and spermicorns and spermpeople, and they assimilate you into their sperm collective and together you all prowl around the convention center together, because there’s safety in numbers.
Until you see HER…the Egg.
And then it’s every sperm for itself. And then it’s a race. And you all line up and everyone at the convention gathers around to watch the Great Sperm Race, which is what a lot of them came for in the first place. And there’s an obstacle course. And it’s American Ninjasperm Warrior. And the sperm with the best grip strength and the stickiest athletic shoes wins and gets to be the one to go inside the Egg, to be assimilated by Her, to the exclusion of all others. And just before you go inside, you look back and see the two-headed sperms and the sperms with no tails cheering you on, calling out, We never had a chance anyway! You’re the best of us!
And you truly hope you are. And thus the genetics for your big dick are passed on.
And once you get inside the Egg, she’s all like, Hey, baby. Glad you could make it. I was getting kind of lonely. Let’s merge. Let’s get this meiosis started. Because my osis was getting tired of waiting. Do you like my osis? Let’s put THAT on a tee shirt, baby: Do you like my osis? L-O-L. Here, let me assimilate you and we’ll take your pairs and we’ll match them to my pairs, and we’ll make something entirely new and different. You ready? I am! Ooh, yeah, it’s so hot. I just LOVE sperm! Oh, my osis is so hot and tingly!
And that egg is seriously pansexual. Because she’s female. She’s XX. But that sperm could be anything. XX. XY. Gay, straight, trans, queer, some combination of one or more…. Who knows?
So she’s gotta be up for anything. She’s ready to party. Whoever knocks first, she spreads her legs. It’s like The Fuckening Part Deux. The owner of the egg just got inseminated. That’s how the sperm got in there. Now it’s happening again as the sperm penetrates the egg to deliver its genetic material like a microscopic Russian nesting doll.
And the Egg goes, Get ready to divide, sugar, because once it starts, it’s not gonna stop. And our union will be so glorious that a new life will be created, even though some people don’t call it that, because it’s a matter of opinion and philosophical potentialities mixed with viability. But our first division will create a channel that creates the mouth and anus of the new being. Which is why your mouth and your anus look so similar. And which is why so many people love to eat ass or to have their ass eaten, because it hearkens back to a simpler time when they were just a ball of genetic material that hadn’t divided yet, and they were one with the Egg, the Great Mother, imbued with life force that may or may not begin at conception and which may or may not weigh 21 grams. And I personally recommend French Vanilla stroke Vanilla Bean Haagen Dazs. Because it’s sweet and yummy and doesn’t look like anything else. And a little goes a long way. And the secret is the contrast between the cold ice cream and your warm, wet, soft tongue.
I read a story once a long time ago in which a woman put a Lifesaver candy in her vagina before she went on a date. The idea being that the Lifesaver, which is a sweet, hard candy made of sugar which comes in several flavors and colors, would slowly melt. So by the time her lover got down there, she would be sweet and delicious.
The only problem is putting candy in your vagina and introducing a large quantity of sugar seems like a bad idea. Sugar is the preferred food of yeast. So it would probably be great for that evening but the next day, look out! Better have some Monistat 7 on hand, a 55-gallon drum of it.
The other problem lies in the flavor of the Lifesaver. Particularly the color associated with the Lifesaver. Butterscotch is neutral. Doesn’t really have much color. Probably a good option.
But Cherry?
Is your lover into eating menses? Because that’s kinda what it’s going to look like.
Are there people who are into that? Surely there are. Is there cosplay for that? Surely there is. Is there a category of porn devoted to that? Red Wings? Not hockey, by the way. Rainbow kiss? Do the cosplayers show up wearing big red wings with rainbow lipstick? A person wearing red wings is menstruating and uses the wings as the social cue that they want to be devoured. A person wearing rainbow lipstick or a big set of rainbow lips on their body uses that social cue to the Red Wings that they like it, too, and would like to do the devouring. A hot dog with ketchup is the cue for people who like penetration during menstruation.
What about Lime Lifesavers?
What color are limes?
That’s right: green.
Which is why lime-flavored Lifesavers are green.
But how do you explain that to your date? No, baby, it’s just a green Lifesaver. It’s not an infection.
Unless you’re into that. Ooh, yeah, baby, eat my pus! Slurp up that infection, ooh yeah! Put your large-cohort or small-cohort dick in there, yeah…. Don’t worry, I have a bugout bunker doomsday shelter full of antibiotics, you’ll be fine.
Speaking of infection, check out tonight’s shirt!
For those who may be unable to read it, due to geographical or temporal dislocations or whatever, it says, In space, no one can hear you scream. It’s from Alien. One of the greatest sci-fi movies of all time. It wasn’t actually in the movie. It was the tagline on the poster.
Now, why you’re in space and why you’re screaming are separate matters. Hopefully, ideally, you’re in space for fun and you’re screaming because you’re having a powerful zero-G orgasm.
The only thing is, when you’re in space and there’s no gravity, you sort of feel like you’re falling all the time. And there’s a certain amount of pressure you feel in your face and head. It takes some getting used to. Or so I’ve heard stroke read. I’ve never been in Zero G myself. I was under 1 G when the nice man with the red skin and white hair brought me up here and I’m under 1 G now. So I feel fine.
Point being that the movie poster showed an egg. A big egg. Cracking open. With green light pouring out. Ready to assimilate you. With an alien face hugger hugging your face, with its tail curled around your neck and its…vagina stick thing down your throat, laying an egg in your chest. So assimilation was more unpleasant than that of the Borg. If you’ve seen Alien, actually seen it, not snippets online or talked about it for 20 minutes in a film class, you know.
But that’s not exactly sexy.
You guys think they had astronauts mating in space in order to test for fertility? And somewhere, there are a bunch of unknown, undisclosed space babies walking around who were conceived in space and maybe even delivered up there? But no one talks about it. But now they know it can be done.
What if someone found out they were a space baby? And they got the names of all the other space babies? And they formed a coalition? A coalition of space babies. Space Babies, Incorporated. And they copyrighted themselves and their genetic code as intellectual property. Because they’re unique. They were conceived in zero G. And their parents were whipsmart. Imagine that both of your parents are astronauts. And probably engineers or scientists and or mathematicians and or fighter pilots. Supersmart brilliant people. And two of them made you.
But you’re kind of a moron. You run a snow cone cart in Manhattan. And each of your snow cones is twenty dollars. Because they’re made of ice made from Fiji Water. And the syrups are all natural flavors made from real fruit. Real organic, locally-grown, farm to table sustainable fruit. And the paper cones are made from recycled materials. And everyone knows your snowcones are the best in town. So they gladly pay you twenty bucks a pop. Your business is kinda seasonal, though, because not that many people, even New Yorkers, really wanna eat a snowcone in the middle of a New York Winter. So during the winter you switch to twenty-dollar hot chocolate. And you usually sell out by lunchtime. And your parents keep asking you if you wouldn’t rather come down to Florida and join the astronaut training program so you can sell snow cones and hot chocolate on the Moon someday. So you’re thinking about it. You’re not sure how the Moon’s one-sixth Earth gravity will impact the snow cones and the hot chocolate. If you spill a snow cone, it’s a mess, sure. But it’s not like spilling steaming hot liquid all over the inside of the habitat. Perhaps drink pouch technology will make the enterprise less precarious both physically and financially. The last thing you want to do is ride a rocket to the Moon, the child of famous astronauts, only to go bankrupt and lose your shirt on the Moon and haff to come back to Earth in shame.
But wouldn't that be a grand adventure?
And isn't that really the point?
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