It’s spooky. One day you’re a carefree sixteen-year-old, delightfully drifting between assorted binges of watching South Park, getting high, and masturbating, and the next you’re a college graduate and settled into a fixed regiment of alarm clocks, conference calls, and student-loan payments.
Life has become a predictable blur of responsibility; “story-worthiness” has become scarce. Gone are the mornings spent giddily recanting the past night’s unrestrained silliness before the hangovers set in. Part of it is the accumulating accountability, plus it doesn’t help that the story-worthy bar is being constantly raised. No longer are tired anecdotes about typical hookups, standard belligerence, and day-to-day vomiting cutting it. I mean, combine all three of those into some amalgamation of fun and you might have something, but on their own they’re just stale reruns of a show you stopped enjoying years ago.
Fortunately though, breaking the banal monotony is as easy as going on a public-bathroom sex spree. Always reliable, a bender of public-bathroom fornication is that shot-in-the-arm/kick-in-the-pants/dashboard-bump-of-trucker-crank any so-called life can use. Think about it, a legend about uninhibited passions culminating while perched atop a Burger King changing table is amusing at almost any age to almost anyone. Audiences will truly be captivated by your escapade’s grime, novelty, and physical love as the tale burrows into their collective conscious, forever surfacing whenever said Burger King is frequented.
Once initiated, your coital companion(s) and you will have crafted a sweaty, dirty memory that’ll last a lifetime. From here on the weeks and months will no longer blur into a vague, repetitive cycle of work, television, and traditional intercoursing. A sense of erotic adventure will be instilled within you; now every bathroom will be thought of as a territory to be sexual conquered, each with its own distinct stories and stains to be made. Your routine will now take on a sense of accomplishment bundled with meaning, story-worthiness, and substance as you populate your personal history with tales of passionate forays into lavatories at bars, local libraries, and Kmart.
No longer will living feel like you’re just going through the motions. Every excursion will be a completely different rush: carnal eruptions fusing with assorted filth and the ever-present danger of being discovered. Finally, you’re savoring and cherishing your experiences instead of viewing everything in life as a means to an end. At this point everything will be in perspective; work, negativity, and local ordinances on nudity will all just seems like trivial details. When people ask what you do, you’ll calmly deflect any notions of being an “accountant” or a “twenty-something” and instead utilize the now-more-fitting “public bathroom sexer.”
Granted, dissenters will claim that the road to satisfaction and self-actualization is paved with volunteer work, teaching children, or religion, but, truly, those people just haven’t yet taken a leap of faith and engaged in getting real sticky in a Denny’s bathroom.
I want more like this!
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