Pit Lords and Ladies
Today I go to pickup friends at the airport. I’m actually on my way there now. At 19 stops, the U7 takes me most of the way. The remainder of the journey will be a single stop on a bus. To ensure I’d be awake for this early morning adventure, I went to sleep at around 10:30 last night and forfeited the chance to sleep with two different women; a German girl who lives within walking distance of my apartment, and a fun Argentinean dj living here in Berlin. My friends will be ungrateful for my sacrifices, of course, but who can blame them? I considered masturbating before bed and ejaculating into the pillowcases they’d be sleeping on during their stay.
“These pillows smell like bleach,” they’d say.
“Yeah, would you rather they smell dirty?” I’d reply.
But luckily for them I didn’t have the heart. I didn’t want to go overboard with vengeance. Instead I constructed elaborate pubic-hair voodoo dolls in their likeness and cast a blood curse on their sex lives which should last for about the next decade. I just googled blood curse and, this word, it doesn’t mean what I think it means:
“...is when an orc or group of orcs consume the demonic blood of a powerful pit lord to gain supernatural strength, speed, resilience and stamina.”
Fuck, I wish someone would cast a blood curse on my libido. Where can I find myself a resourceful group of orcs and a gullible pit lord? I’m sure I’ll be able to find at least one of them this weekend in a dungeon inside Berghain or Kit Kat. Keta will need to be stockpiled to produce the necessary delirium in the pit lord. Maybe I can draw some blood without the help of the orcs. Hell, maybe I’ll be able to mainline it right into my dick right there on the spot.
This is the first time I’ve taken public transit to Tegel airport. It’s slightly more inconvenient to get to than Schönefeld is, but not by much. It makes up for this with its lack of umlauts. My friends, known terrorists and Nazi sympathizers, may have trouble at customs this morning. I wonder how much of a delay there will be because of this. My one friend, Nicole, had her nipples replaced with fidget spinner swasticas that will certainly go off as she passes through the metal detector. Alfie, who’s face simply
SCREAMS white power, not only has a tattoo of a Hitler mustache on the underside of his penis, but is also sporting an SS tramp stamp underneath a mountain of ass hair which he on special occasions shaves to show off his hidden message. Once, after he’d been recruited by ISIS to be the star villain of a terror attack he would ultimately botch, instead of exploding when it was time to blow himself up inside Madison Square Garden he pulled down his pants and began to enthusiastically auto-fellate himself while repeatedly coming up for air and shouting Allahu akbar in between breaths. Luckily, because he had no weapons or explosives when the police arrived he claimed plausibility deniability and said it was performance art.
Well I just got to the gate. The plane landed two minutes ago. I guess they failed hijacking once again...unless Alfie told her it meant jacking off in the bathroom.
