I'm a pig, and I smell bad. Mr. Smuther is my God, and that's what he says. He's always right. I kiss his butt. I suck everything down into my guts. I never shit. My body's greedy, there's nothing I can do about it. I'm bloated. I'm soft. I weigh 349 pounds. I'm fat scum. I despise myself. I'm sitting here in the pink pajama bottoms my mom gave me when I was fifteen. They still fit. I hate them, but I wear them. They're caked up around the crotch with various foods that I dripped and old sperm that I never wiped up. My sperm's sweet.
A lot of that sperm's there now because of Mr. Smuther, so I like it. I like to break it off in chunks and grind it between my fingers thinking about him. Then I feel disgusted with myself, but I like feeling that way for him. I'd like him to take a shit on my face while I lay on the sidewalk and people crowded around and laughed. He'd point down at my face and tell them how I deserved it, and they'd laugh again in agreement with him. I'd feel good, I like to feel good. I like to touch myself, especially when I pretend I'm someone else.
Sometimes in a restaurant I lose myself, I forget I exist. I sneak my hand up under my shirt and rub it, along the hair that collects around my bellybutton. The hair is soft, like the hair on a baby's head. I get hot and I can smell myself. I'm being smothered in my own armpit, then I c*m, but I don't feel anything. I discover a puddle of sperm in my crotch. I hurry and pay, then I leave, afraid they'll notice.
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Alright folx, we have 41 teachers, 27 librarians, 16 baristas, 9 gardeners, 6 cooks, 4 child caregivers, 2 prostitutes and 1 communal diaper boy.
However we are still missing some key occupations, including laborers, builders, civil engineers, electricians, plumbers, farmers, waste management workers, mechanics, and factory workers.
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Have no fear, I will be the communal grocery store runner, and bring the food to those who need it
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Wanna hear a joke?
A commune starts up and once everyone has decided what they want to do, someone brings an urgent issue to the people's meeting.
She stands up and says "comrades, we don't have any food runners!"
The central committee deliberates, then reassures her "that's ok, we don't have any food either"
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