White Hole Black Hole

Nobody can tell you exactly where that line is. You have to draw it yourself.

But I can tell you this …

You should probably forgive yourself about almost everything. You are likely a good person and you’re needlessly worried that you’re not. But you are. You are someone who would never go to those places you just can’t come back from.

Like the rape of a child. Or a murder that was in no way self defense. Or starting a war for all the wrong reasons. Sending sons of mothers … and daughters of fathers … off to the short miserable adventure of their life cut short.

You don’t just say a few Hail Marys and shake that shit off. You don’t simply pour yourself a glass of wine and tell your reflection that you’re okay, and then wait for the mirror to say you’re okay, too. You have to belch out a thick veil of denial just to keep from hurling yourself face-first into that coiled razor wire in the alley. No light from heaven is bright enough to illuminate the bottom of the black hole that is the depth of your depravity.

You are not that person. But then again, this story isn’t about you …

white hole black hole penguin fucker forgive yourself

I never intended to have sex with that penguin. It was only a laugh; a fanciful notion. I had never pictured myself as someone who could go there. But those guys had somehow trained this penguin to want  it – to really, really want it. Just the thought of it was so hilarious it gave me the shivers. And I was drunk. Very drunk. My world was spinning in several orbits at the same time and I was trying to hold on to any one of them.

Those guys were laughing with me. Who the hell were they? I had a foggy memory of the big one. I had been standing near the merch table at St. David’s and he had walked up to me and told me I had the biggest head in proportion to my body of any non-dwarf he had ever seen. I had no idea how to respond, but I was more impressed at being so easily stumped than I was offended. He then went on to tell he had heard that the starlet had dropped me because I couldn’t stay away from the needle. Now the big oaf had gone too far and I told him to fuck off. Wouldn’t you? I mean, I didn’t come here to confess my chemicals. I came here to try and shed some light on my bestiality.

The other one I had never met before. He had a crazy, monkey smile and he held his eyebrows up so high they were practically screaming “why not?” and those eyebrows made you feel like you could do anything. With no consequences whatsoever. Why not? It will be fun! He may have been actually talking to me as well, but it was those eyebrows that convinced me.

Of all the animals, who knew the penguin was the best lay? Oh, my god, who even sits around and ponders inter-special coitus preferences? Not me. Certainly not before that night. But there I was discussing exactly that with two complete idiots.

And they made it seem so harmless. Like it was just a little bit over the line. Like flipping the bird to a baby. Or like some jackass snorting hot sauce off another jackass’ ballsack or something. Wait. Is that a little over the line or a lot over the line? I don’t even know any more.

All I know is that I violated that penguin. It didn’t even seem surprised. As if it had done this a thousand times before. And we all laughed. Me, the big oaf, the little idiot, and the penguin. We all laughed. Like complete maniacs.

What the hell was I doing here? On any given night I was waist-deep in pearlescent poontang, shepherding a hottie from my sold-out show to my Tuesday caddy with the llama seat covers, sippin’ my Bacardi while my ass-kickin’ bodyguard drives. Was I that bored? Had that life become too predictable? Everything I was don’t mean nothing to me now. I don’t need your pity. Or your love.

I’m a penguin fucker. Get over it.


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