/lit/ - Literature

Steamy Foucalt's Bedroom
A Short Story
by Zizek
Thomas Pynchon looked at the large butt-plug in his hands and felt aroused.

He walked over to the window and reflected on his hot surroundings. He had always hated steamy Foucalt's Bedroom with its boiled, boiling brothel. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel aroused.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Michel Foucalt. Michel was a manipulative phallus with spiky genitalia and greasy abs.

Thomas gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a well-endowed, strong, orange squash drinker with sweaty genitalia and hard abs. His friends saw him as a boiled, boiling banana. Once, he had even revived a dying, old man.

But not even a well-endowed person who had once revived a dying, old man, was prepared for what Michel had in store today.

The moon shone like sodomising bulls, making Thomas humiliated.

As Thomas stepped outside and Michel came closer, he could see the loopy glint in his eye.

Michel glared with all the wrath of 7682 creepy many monkeys. He said, in hushed tones, "I hate you and I want a Banana."

Thomas looked back, even more humiliated and still fingering the large butt-plug. "Michel, I love you," he replied.

They looked at each other with anxious feelings, like two curious, curly cockroaches blowing-off at a very rude booty-call, which had jazz music playing in the background and two submissive uncles licking to the beat.

Thomas studied Michel's spiky genitalia and greasy abs. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," began Thomas in apologetic tones, "but I don't feel the same way, and I never will. I just don't hate you Michel."

Michel looked surprised, his emotions raw like a blue, boiling banana.

Thomas could actually hear Michel's emotions shatter into 5641 pieces. Then the manipulative phallus hurried away into the distance.

Not even a drink of orange squash would calm Thomas's nerves tonight.