Flights of Fancy

vulgar voluptas

The English Language Analysis and Matrix Deconstruction of Surveillance Prints teacher was very young. She was so young that ten years ago she was a fangirl of a popular boy band, and she spent all her savings to legally change her last name to 'Direction'. Her first name was Wan. Her original last name was Vernacular. Hank thought Vernacular was a much more appropriate name for the teacher of this class. In return, he was lapidated at lunch break.

One morning you noticed your Frosties were expired, so you became obsessed with wanting to fuck Miss Direction. You had a particular interest in wondering what color of nail polish she used on her toenails, and you also liked the idea of her bare feet hanging off your back as you fucked her.

You thought of yourself as a high-minded individual, an intellectual of sorts, but it didn't help that whenever Miss Direction was near, your breath appeared on a milk carton. It also didn't help that you liked to use orgasms as inhalers. The only thought your brain could produce was that your tongue was too long to be contained inside your mouth, so you had to get it out.

And there you were, with the girl of your dick's dreams, and you sat there with your tongue out, looking like a dilapidated dog. Oh, the things you two could have talked about; the rise and fall of socialism, the pros and cons of totalitarianism, the ups and downs of democracy, the disservice of pharmaceutical companies in the face of mental illnesses, the planned obsolescence of our ecosystem, the barbarism of the educational system, the generational gap between you two.

But you know very well one cannot talk with the tongue out, and the other feels offended by it. When she slapped the taste out of your dry tongue all you could think about was where her hand had been before it touched your face.

You thought you were in love, but your story ended with a defenestration.