My friend Billy stated unapologetically over earl grey tea and orange zest scones that the premise of his all-time favorite novel consisted of a man having *** with a goat.
With some resistance, and perhaps skepticism, I asked him, “Why?”
“Because the world would be incredibly ******* dull if we all just wrote about humans containing stardust.”
“Well, we are all technically…”
“I understand that. We are also full of water and feces, animated toilet bowls if you will, but I doubt that would flow exceptionally well from my calligraphy pen onto a textured piece of paper. Humans are often no more than a messy and selfish group of animals, governed by the illusion of creativity, law, and morality.”
“Is that why it was your favorite novel?”
“No, I liked it because it was ******* hysterical.”