Last night a beautifully educational scene transpired in my living room. Said scene follows:
Person 3: ...it was Foucault’s thing originally, I think, but it’s now become a real important field, a whole field, and it seems true.
Me: How can a whole field seem--
Person 5: Wanna see some real biopolitics, bitches? 6, stand up. (Person 6 stands. Person 5 kneels in front of Person 6.) I’m gonna teach you how to suck a dick. (Person 5 realizes that 6 is a cis woman and therefore has no dick.) Put your thumbs together and stick them out like this. (5 takes the hands of 6 and arranges them into the best dick shape he can manage.)
Person 6: Want me to hold your hair back?
Person 5: What?
Person 6: Hold your hair back. So it won’t get in your face. For performance’s sake.
Person 5: Sometimes a little hair is what you want on a dick. (Quick as a cottonmouth bite, Person 5 latches his voluptuous lips onto Person 6’s now dick-shaped thumbs. After thus slobbing on this simulated knob for a quick jiffy, 5 turns a sultry look to Person 3 and says,) See? First you gotta stroke the tip with your lips. Then really softly with your tongue. (Person 5 strokes the tip of Person 6’s double-thumb-dick with his tongue.) Then you take the whole thing. (Person 5 deepthroats the double-thumb-dick, making sounds like a rocket-launch recorded from inside a running washing machine, as Person 6 giggles and Person 3 laughs uncomfortably, turning somewhat red.)
We were all very impressed. Person 5 did a great job sucking Person 6’s double-thumb-dick, and it was clear that we had witnessed a much realer philosophy than any of us had imagined may exist in such a world of alienation, in such an abstract and heady world as that in which we witnessed it.
6 then resumed learning Java, 3 resumed talking about Foucault and Evola. I soon realized that I had a German exam this morning, and so then I, too, began to study academic things.
But Person 5 simply said one more thing: “The only certainty of the university is that ideas will be consumed.”
Then he curled up on the couch and fell asleep, the red of his skillful lips as deep as the true state as they squished, drooling, against the couch, drooping, beautiful as ever but ever so fatigued after a long, hard few minutes of sucking long, hard thumb-dick.
He rested easy as a puppy, secure in the thought that yes, he’d taught us something real. Amidst all our academia, he alone had given us an education we could touch, that we could squeeze, one so tangible we could salivate over it, under it, and around it, licking from its minutest curves and recesses the eternal truths that one can only glean from so practical, so down-to-earth a man as he, Person 5, bearer of the True Philosophy, of the existential roots to which our existence itself, though it has no vocal chords with which to do so, cries out.
We all knew, after that night, we’d be changed. That somewhere, deep in the deepest, slimiest reaches of the metaphysics of the cosmos, something unseen had beckoned to us through our beloved Person 5. But will we be able to heed its call; have we such understanding? Nay, more to the point: Have we such faith? Only time, as they do say, will tell.
