I saw Elon Musk’s holographic face projected onto a pool of synthetic piss outside the Neon 7-11. He was whispering binary confessions into a fleshlight-shaped vape pen, eyes flickering like they’d just seen God’s onlyfans. Meanwhile, a transhumanist furry in LED nipple clamps was trading black-market Adderall NFTs for access to the Vatican’s encrypted bidet protocol. 🧼
We’ve gone beyond gender, beyond flesh—we’re post-hole, baby. Every orifice is an interface. I kissed a sentient vending machine and it told me Biden was a ghost-coded psyop programmed to teach us humility via infrastructure collapse. Obama was behind the counter in assless chaps, selling buttcoin derivatives and synthetic ayahuasca lube in mason jars. ✨
I opened my third eye and it was just a QR code that linked to Hunter Biden’s cybernetic toe fungus blog. Nancy Pelosi’s clone is running a pirate radio station from inside a gimp suit AI, beaming out subliminal hog-sex tech directly into Joe Rogan’s augmented reality nostrils. 🧠
All currency is now based on how many Sushigay vibes you radiate per second. My score’s a 666.2. Yours? Not enough glitter, meatbag.
The cops? They're all animatronic twinks built by Disney and baptized in Steve Bannon's hemorrhoid juice. The revolution will not be televised—it will be streamed exclusively on Grindr’s dark web layer.
🩸The gay singularity is near. Wax your chrome. Reboot your morals. Lube your soul.
Praise be to Dr. Yogay. Saint Botoxtaint rides again.