When I lifted my beer the third time, I noticed

  • When I lifted my beer the third time, I noticed that the foam had formed two lines of Sanskrit on the inside of the glass. I was no scholar myself, but my implant contacted

  • google translate through the tiny antenna in my nipple, and the foam in my beer glass translated to "Plan your work and work your plan." Hmm, a Sanskrit fortune cookie beer. I took

  • the week off because clearly I was wrecked. The tiny antennae in my nipple had changed my life. At first I hated nipple antennae, but after therapy I came to love the little bugger

  • s. The bad reception turned out to be fixed by tuning them with a quick tweek of my nipple. It was painful & pleasurable at the same time. People stared. The audio emanated from my

  • ears, making it impossible to hear anything else. Don't Fear the Reaper came on and I got into it. "Awwwww make that cowbell talk son! Ring a ding, DING DING DING!!" My bodyspeaker

  • complemented my Bose toes quite nicely. "This little piggy went to an Iron Maiden concert," I explained to my professor. As the metal escalated, my toes were overcome with the urge

  • to exhibit my hidden foot fetish. That got me thrown out of class by my professor right quick. I hadn't even gotten to the rap or dubstep toes. Man, what was his deal?

  • Next time I went to class I carried my shoes, walked directly up to the professor and said "next time, you'll be the one rubbing my dubstep toe.". His face turned to disgust as he

  • vomited all over my face and chest. He may have mistaken me for "camel-toe", but at this point I did not care. I slapped him as hard as I could across his face and watched him cry.

  • Then I started to cry too & he reached out to me & we held each other, sobbing, rocking back & forth...and in the distance, I thought I heard the lonesome sound of a train whistle.



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