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Authors: Alexander Aciman

Twitterature (11 page)

BOOK: Twitterature
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What a dull day. Taught, walked, mused, contemplated God, composed a sonnet, and pissed on a rock in the park. What a day.
 
 
@DublinStateOfMind
Oh how hard it is to be a Jew. My daughter, whoʼs a fine daughter, cannot be my son. Oh that I had a son.
 
I spotted a girl, and when I met her, whipped out my love rocket, lit the fuse, and let sparks fly from the end until it exploded.
 
 
Stephen and Buck are drinking in a hospital. Only in Dublin would a maternity hospital have a bar. Oh, those Irish.
 
Whan that quente hath birthed her childe into childhede it cryde, and here the scene shall I discryve.
 
When the child was born in Dublin, behold, came several drunk men from the town. For thou Dublin, in the land of Ireland, embraces him.
Now this child, mother born, as are we all, rather infelicitously for she is the most unwise of all godʼs creatures, was put into the world.
 
Leak on! Thou dark and wet placenta, leak on! Ten thousand men have fallen slithered out of thee in pain!
 
 
The baby began to speak. By now he was quite old and matured at a ripe age and the story of his life stopped making sense.
 
Yo son, that shit was intense. That baby was dumb-smart.
 
 
With my wife now, sitting in a field. I canʼt believe I jerked off in front of that girl. Oh well, what Molly donʼt know donʼt hurt.
 
My wife wants to mingle our love juices. AND she wants to have a whole conversation during? Whatʼs wrong with her?
 
I was a flower of the mountain, so we are flowers all a womanʼs body yes that was one true thing he said - Aw fuck it, u see where Iʼm going.
 
Whose idea was it to limit tweets to 140 characters, anyway? We really do live in a time of brevity.
 
Note from editor: Sorry, Jimmy, this means the storyʼs gotta be drastically reduced in size. Make it punchy!
 
ORGASM
Venus in Furs
by Leopold von Sacher-Masoch
@SacherMasochist
 
Hereʼs what turns me on: assertive, forward women who arenʼt afraid to say, hey baby, youʼre my personal property, get in that box.
 
What does Wanda mean when she says she doesnʼt understand how a golden shower can get me hot? Who isnʼt turned on by pee in the face?
 
Wanda has learned to love the master-slave dynamic. But she thinks me a fool for letting her dominate. Iʼm having a blast! Sheʼs the fool!
 
Being treated like a slave produces a super-orgasm. Like Supermanʼs orgasm.
 
As the domination increases, the limit of sensuality approaches infinity. Math joke. Eat that, Leibniz.
 
Wanda wants to go to Florence.
 
Is it weird if I change my name to Gregor and act like her servant?
 
 
Weʼre creating a domination scenario that doesnʼt exist. Pretending is part of the fun, because itʼs not real. Yes, mistress.
 
 
What should I call this fantastic game. Sex charades? ROLEPLAY! Score!
She hired a bunch of black chicks to abuse me. Are they doing me for the money or because of colonialsʼ rage?
 
Wanda came home sad today. I asked if she wanted to talk. She took a dump on me. After all this time we still communicate. Amazing.
 
Wanda digs some new guy. I donʼt like the sound of this. She says she wants to ʻsubmitʼ to HIM. Submit? Sheʼs one sick bitch.
 
 
The thought of Wanda engaging in perverse activity is a total bone-kill. I really donʼt want to play sex-charades today.
 
 
This new man is threatening and humiliating. I no longer desire to be her slave. What doesnʼt she understand about pets before broʼs?
 
Iʼm so pissed. All I want to do is dominate women. Thatʼs what men do, we get on top and say: ʻBaby, the rideʼs over when Iʼm over.ʼ
 
I realize now that women should submit, and make me a sandwich while youʼre down there.
 
Men will always be on top, until women are our intellectual equals. Like thatʼll ever happen.
Waiting for Godot
by Samuel Beckett
@ShaggyGodotJoke
 
Sure have been waiting for a while. Gonna take my boot off and relax a bit. But I know a changeʼs gonna come.
 
Boot wonʼt come off. Frustrating, as is all of life. But nothing can be done, can it? Could be worse: boot up my ass.
 
 
Hanging from a tree to get a hard-on might help pass the time. Yeah, hard-ons are fun. And hard. And fun.
 
Ever heard the one about the brothel? Thereʼs this hooker, and she walks into a bar, and - oh, hold on, gotta take a piss.
 
 
What time is it, anyway? Is this ass-wind coming or not? Is this where I was supposed to meet him?
 
Wasnʼt even supposed to be here today, so sorry for the boring updates. Should have exciting news once Godot arrives.
 
 
Eating a carrot. Delicious carrot, but as I finish I realize that the malaise has not ended and the purposelessness of existence carries on.
 
I see some guy coming down the road. He told me his name: Pozzo. Almost as retarded as my name, Estragon. WTF?
I canʼt understand what this crazy asshole is talking about. And he just said cunt.
 
Pozzo reminds me of the gimp from
Pulp Fiction
? Boy, that scene was fucked up.
 
Where is this asshole? @Vlady: Are you sure itʼs tonight? Iʼm telling you, he isnʼt coming! Just fell in a ditch. That sucked.
 
 
Still waiting. A boy told us that Godot was going to be late. OH REALLY?
 
 
So thereʼs a dog and the dog has fleas, you know what fleas are? A thing on a dog, this dog, and the dog has fleas, you know what dogs are . . .
 
Jeez. Our lives are so boring.
 
Pozzo is back. He is blind now, which has gained him much inSIGHT. Wordplay!
 
Godot not here/coming yet again. Contemplated suicide but the rope was too short. Perhaps tomorrow.
 
 
Still waiting. Trying not to think of this awful, frustrating situational metaphor weʼve found ourselves stuck in.
 
Shit, I just lost the Game.
Watchmen
by Alan Moore
@Rorschizzle
 
A comedian died tonight. He was all about the lulz. No one laughed.
 
I should warn the Nite Owl, but first I should break into his house and eat all his beans. Classy.
 
It turns out not everyone is as paranoid as I am; they donʼt think that they - you know, THEY - are out to get us.
 
Funeral was melancholy. Itʼs perfect and moving in the rain. Can you request the rain metaphor as part of the pre-need package?
 
Must break into a military facility and visit Doctor Manhattan. I hate seeing him, heʼs always waving his big blue dong around.
 
I fuckinʼ knew it! Itʼs like heʼs all-knowing but lacks the knowledge and the etiquette of putting your junk away when guests arrive.
 
Doctor Manhattan is cancerous, and someone tried to shoot Ozymandias. What a fruitcake.
 
 
Some turdblossom framed me, and now Iʼm going to be arrested. Maybe I can take out some cops for fun.
 
 
In jail, but still managed to totally burn one cop with a flame-thrower. He was on freakinʼ fire. (No fucks in comics.) It was pretty bomb.
Hey: Iʼm not stuck in this rathole with you. Youʼre stuck with me. Did you catch what I did to that guy with all the burning oil?
 
Thereʼs a big prison riot. I want my face back; whatʼs a man without his face? A faceless man, thatʼs what. Canʼt face that.
 
Laurie and Nite Owl came to get me. Theyʼre all flushed and red. I think they got it on. Super-awkward. Now I have to ride with them.
 
Yeah, they definitely balled. Hold on, I have to crush a midget into a toilet. Pwnd.
 
Ozymandias was behind the attacks. I knew it, you can never trust a fruitcake who dances with Warhol at Studio 54.
 
Nite Owl says we have to go to Antarctica. Frostbite on your nads can seriously lower your sperm count.
 
We have to fight Ozymandias. Heʼs like the two of us combined, on crack, no, steroids. No, speed. Weʼre screwed.
 
Manhattan appeared and kicked ass. Deus ex manhactica. The ass-kicking was even more impressive with that huge blue dong waving everywhere.
 
Now ʻtheyʼ are gonna unleash giant squids in the worldʼs major cities! Either I stop this or I stop drinking the water.
 
Everyone disagrees? You express your complex conception of morality, I explain mine, then you blow me into little sociopathic pieces?
 
Fuck. Oops.
Mrs Dalloway
by Virginia Woolf
@FlowerGirl
 
Ah! A party tonight! Should be a fine time - fun, friends, nothing stressful, nothing awkward. Should be a blast!
 
 
And Iʼve got these lovely, lovely flowers. Need only now to prepare my house for this fine even—oh my God itʼs Peter.
 
He thinks I donʼt love my husband because of him. The secret is, I donʼt love my husband because I dig chicks.
 
On a side note, has anybody noticed that @Septimusʼs posts have become a little erratic since the war ended?
 
 
Really, he used to love Shakespeare and poetry. Now heʼs like the Bard of SADford upon Lame-on.
 
 
Itʼs alright though, heʼs probably suffering from a lack of proportions. I mean, sure most of his friends died but think how many lived??
 
 
Ah, my husband is home! Heʼs brought me a bundle of roses! I bet he loves m—well, this is just uncomfortable.
 
A void exists between my husband and me. Itʼs as if I am ... different, somehow. Iʼm not sure what one would call it, though.
 
Now this awful woman has come to teach my daughter. Ah, how I hate this bitch. Really, everyone in my life is stressing me out today . . .
So, Septimusʼs doctors decided he really was insane. Taking their advice, he decided to take the plunge . . . out a tenth-story window.
 
Finally, time for the party! Though Iʼm not sure how Iʼm feeling about it now, to be honest. All these assholes kind of make my life hell.
 
 
I identify with Septimus though, more than these awful people who make Victorian life so open to criticism . . .
 
Because, Iʼm not sure if you realize, but Victorian life is backwards. Really backwards. These people are insane.
 
Perhaps I should jump out of a window too, that might get me away from this ridiculous, oppressive society.
 
Or a river. Yeah, thatʼs it. A river.
Crime and Punishment
by Fyodor Dostoevsky
@RobPeterPayPaul
 
 
Itʼs hard being a poor student - lots of work, crappy room, and I have the ugliest hat this side of the Urals.
 
Man at the bar telling me a story. In essence: ʻNow my daughterʼs a prostitute, and I know why (yeah yeah) because I got high.ʼ Or drunk.
 
Though I must say, his daughter is quite the lady. Very comforting, though a bit pushy with the Jesus stuff.
 
It is a bit of a rut being so miserably impoverished. I need something to lighten up my life, something exciting . . .
 
Iʼve got it. Rather than accept financial aid from my friend, Iʼll murder an elderly moneylender in cold blood. Why? Iʼm not telling.
 
Really, Iʼm not telling. Probably something to do with that hack Turgenev and that hip nihilism shit, but my lips are sealed.
 
However, if youʼd like to guess at my psychological and ideological motivations for the next couple of hundred years, be my guest.
 
Sorry about the rant there. Will try to keep the long, introspective monologues to a minimum.
 
Casually offʼd that old maid while typing this. Some other bitch just walked in . . . well, sheʼs dead too. Bad timing, LOL.
Thereʼs no evidence, I have no motive. The police think theyʼre going to solve this one? Iʼm a Napoleon. I can do whatever I want.
 
Though youʼd think since I just wrote a thesis on committing and getting away with crimes, there might be some cause for suspicion?
 
You know, maybe I donʼt have as much emotional fortitude as I thought I did. Iʼm starting to feel a bit guilty. Should pass.
BOOK: Twitterature
12.74Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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