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  • Mike

I am a jag - I am you

I validate myself with my cell phone because if I do not like and subscribe to right the channels, it is almost as if I do not exit.


I am the sexiest bitch you have ever seen on a remote island somewhere and I want you to join me.


I am the validation you need if you would only accept the cause and go down on me.


This is what you have been waiting for in the vapid stream of condescension.


I have a box. In this box is a button. If you push that button, someone you do not know and have never seen before dies a heinous death. In exchange, you get likes and subscriptions. Why wouldn't you press that button?


After you press the button, the box moves to someone you do not know and have never seen before and they are presented with the same proposition. Why wouldn't they press the button?


Now you are here. I work out all day because there is nothing else to do. In the evening, I sit on the beach and look at the waves and let the sunset roll over me as I dream of what it would be like to have someone put a camera in my face and then contemplate what I would do to make them like and subscribe and I think of you.


Of course you want to join me in my paradise because then you will get so very many likes and subscriptions to your channel.


After your 15 minutes and the rescue squad evades us, and your backup batteries have all failed because the solar powered garbage you purchased on Amazon does not work, you are stuck here with me forever, with no way of telling everyone how happy you are.


You speak to me about women's issues and how you would have been happier destined for a life in a retirement home with all of your aging friends that constantly talk about us if they even still exist anymore and sound like terrible people.


I try to tell you a story about how it really is for aging women in retirement homes and you scoff and say something about white nationalism and then you realize that it does not matter because nobody can hear you now that your cell phone is laying on the sand next to us, dead, completely useless and unless you can 'workshop' the clever phrases you an your (formerly) socialist friends agree with, you might as well go down on me because there is nothing else left to do.


You age poorly in the hash sun. I have no skills whatsoever and you know how to do absolutely nothing except pretend that you are still attractive and adapt well to changing environments.


I sit quietly most of the time constructing the novel that will explain the aftermath of what brought us here together as you remain resistant to the idea that two people who join forces can rule their own world.


I try to remember passages from great books that won awards before the reprints contained disclaimers saying the authors were racist. You talk about social media pics that got lots of likes.


Your cell phone is a coaster, just like this piece of rock that I contemplate using to kill you every night, but refrain from doing because you are the best I can do.








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