How Much For Your Free Mind?

by: Tom Rau

I’d like to take this time to shit on the future.

According to the ACLU, in ten years time we may have 30,000 drones flying over US airspace collecting evidence and supposedly preventing crimes. [^1] They may not be the clairvoyant precogs of the Dickian [^2] variety who would hurl us into a privately owned prison for just thinking about how much fun it would be to murder all the right wing republicans, but I’m sure they will be more than capable of monitoring, tracking, recording, and mind-fucking our paranoia’s to an all time high. [^3]

I’m going to take a different route. I’m going to start by locking myself into my always humid bathroom and then proceed to puddle myself with LSD. This will last exactly forever. Picture me ten feet deep in my bathtub trying to snort the rest of what used to be cocaine, but now resembles some sort of struggling-to-live toothpaste semen hybrid, all off a bathroom mirror that has long since been separated from the grey cinder-block wall it once called home. My eyes look like those possessed on HBO’s True Blood. [^4] The rest of my face is reminiscent of a washed out print of Munch’s “Scream.” I do not feel well.

The following represents the train of thought that I will occur while I am freaking out in the bathroom. It was once (will be) mine, but has sincebeen confiscated by the United States government for use as evidence in proving my alleged perversions: [^5]

What the fuck! Was that cum? I thought that was coke. I can’t believe I just snorted my own cum. Holy Shit that was definitely semen. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK! FUCK!  OH MY GOD! I’m gonna fucking puke so fucking hard right now. Why is there cum on the mirror? Did I cum on the fucking mirror? I haven’t been hard in like a month. Why would I cum on the mirror that my coke is on. Fucking sicko. I’m pretty sure I can taste it in my throat. Remember that time I shot a load and hit myself in the chin? If not for super-deft reflexes, I would have definitely swallowed it. That was hilarious. If that happened now I would definitely know what my semen tasted like. Wow! I am tripping my face off. I am definitely going to be sick. Uhhhh, gag… wait…gag. Oh wait. It’s minty. Semen isn’t minty. Is it toothpaste. I think it’s toothpaste. It’s just toothpaste. Sweet Jesus! What the fuck is going on inside of my mouth right now. It is so Frothy. FRRROOOTTHHHHHY. Frothy. F-R-O-THEEEEEE. Is that even a word? Frothy. What a strange word. It looks nothing like what a word would look like. Shit man. Shit. LSD tastes weird, like some strange and yet undiscovered metal that is liquid at room temperature. Let’s go ahead and rub this toothpaste into my teeth and gums to get rid of the acid taste. This will be great. No more metal, no more cum. I can’t believe I almost sniffed my own cum. Close fucking call. Why can’t I feel my face? Was that coke….

Any amount of time later…..

I’m still K-hole deep in my tub; engulfed in porcelain plate mail. I can hear them flying overhead, trying to catch me in the act of something. Anything. Swipe my card. Pay down the debt. No crime is too small. No penny too big. I know you see me in here you dastardly motherfuckers. You can see my little dot on your screen. But you don’t know what I’m doing? I’m plotting. Planning. Building my defenses. The only walls I can create that can’t be touched, seen, or shot down; committing heinous crimes of the mind. Spun the fuck out; drunk-driving across an infinite expanse of bathtub floor. Shooting down the drones that infiltrate my bathroom airspace. I’m working on a new high score, killing the cameras in the clock, microphones in the lamp. I know you got it all bugged.  I can hear the feedback. Protecting you from protecting me. Mic check. Check Mic. Mic *Check. Check. Check Mic.*

This is my privacy, this is me alone now. Thank you for all of your protection. Can you hear me now?

[^1]: This was written in Feb. 2012. That puts us in roughly 2022 or the era known as “America: the Parking Lot.”

[^2]: Philip K. DICK. Writer. Genius. Paranoid Schizophrenic. Hero. Popularizer of the term “precog” in science fiction literature.

[^3]: Always wanted to star in remake of Will Smith’s Enemy of the State? Soon you can. Everyday.

[^4]: I’m writing this on Valentines Day, 2012. It reminds me how much I have grown to hate this show. How did I ever watch? I  don’t buy it. Just like I don’t buy the romantic violin music, passion-soaked fuck scenes you are trying to sell me. As a vampire, why would you want to make passionate love to a human? My guess is that that would be something akin to trying to fuck an origami swan without ruining any of the folds. If I were a vampire I would be having sex with dragons and race cars and shit. I’d also probably be open to fucking Xena, Wonder Woman, and a few of the more powerful X-Men. But Sookie Stackhouse? Sorry Rogue, you couldn’t handle the truth. Something is a muck. True Blood, like Valentines Day smells grossly of flatulence.

[^5]: Dick move. Get it?

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