This is now also done. "Powering Through." 3500 words.
If I was one of these people of the diseased system and I wrote one work every three years, like these fools and frauds do, we'd all be talking about how the most beautiful, heartbreaking new fiction in America is about a guy trying to suck his own dick. Which would be a story itself, wouldn't it? News. An event.
Genius Grant. Why even have them? It's all lies. The biggest lies possible. All of it.
It's good, isn't it Norberg? Bet you never thought this was possible. That someone could write a story about this and have it be this. I actually applauded the screen when it was done. That happens sometimes.
Maybe he wowed those girls with tales of many and repeated cums, and the occasional pelting of a ceiling provided he had a bed beneath him, because those three feet up from the floor or whatever it was made all the difference in the world. And you know what? I feel like there’s something in that. I could see how the slightly stoned and decently drunk would respect his honesty. Plus, there’s an intimacy factor. “We are doing this and we are the only two people in the whole world in on it. Now watch me.
Such moments double as epoxy for human souls.