Print This Thing On Your Shirts, Perverts.

You are 20-inch short of being a basketball superstar.
Had you been so, you wouldn’t be wanking a lot over
a Scarlett Johansson; you could easily pick one pirated
version of her plus a kinky schoolgirl with her twin sister
altogether scewered in the male’s shower room, your pals
are cheering, you are their envy, the local Rocco Siffredi,
the patron saint in that regard. How about filming a video
scandal with some fans all over your cock? I have an idea
how to make it more than the usual youporn treat: give it
a classical music for background while some sonnets marquee
up the screen. But since you are a basketball superstar with
the golden cock, you can’t afford to have the time for such
sentimentality. Control+z. Concentrate on being a testicular God,
a coital divinity. Art sucks, right, art sucks. Only beautiful women
who suck don’t suck. Holy fuck! Artists do art because they are
bored and imagination only works for their daily masturbation.
Cum on. Learn that wisdom while you are young, you can do better
than to write a poem about your fucking, literary fucking frustrations.