November 26, 2010

Word of the Day: Don't touch my junk!

Law school will have to wait. It will have to wait because you're pregnant and you are quite literally carrying the spawn of Satan. 

You began to suspect something was wrong when insects and spiders began infesting your home, crawling up the walls and falling out of light fixtures. You assumed it was the changing seasons, although you thought that bugs were supposed to go outside in the spring, not come in. It didn't matter though, because you were moving away to go to law school and become a famous trial lawyer like Aunt Freya. 

But when the snakes came you knew that the seasons were not to blame. First little garden snakes would cross your path, but eventually you began to wake up the sound of rattlers and cobras hissing outside your window. Finally, you couldn't leave the house without pythons sliding up your leg and gently enveloping your body in their serpentine tenderness, moving with you like extra appendages, their knowing eyes betraying nothing except their fierce devotion to your protection. 

"Maybe I should have made that goat wear a condom," you'll tell yourself, thinking back to your grad trip to Cuba. You wanted to do something wild and spontaneous before you went off to law school to become a famous trial lawyer like Aunt Freya. So you fucked a goat on grad trip. And now you're pregnant with a demon child. 

You're now in line at airport security on your way to Rome where a council of elders in Vatican City is waiting to exorcise the demon that is growing in your infernal uterus. Your eyes are red and wet with tears as you begin to realize that you may never be able to have children again and die sad and alone, just like Aunt Freya. You begin to sob again just as you pass through the metal detectors. The security guard motions for you to follow her into an adjacent room where she asks you to disrobe. She begins to inspect your body, running her hands everywhere, finally grabbing your vag like a baggage handler.

"Don't touch my junk!" you shout. Just then, your water breaks and the tears of the damned flow onto the floor. The son of Satan bursts forth and attacks the security guard, devouring her face. Hell rises to our plane of existence and humanity is enslaved and time stands still in perpetual damnation.

The Word of the Day is "Don't touch my junk," an interjection indicating one's refusal to have one's person searched at the airport in an invasive fashion.

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