Give Me Fiction returns to its rightful place on the first Sunday of the month! Some of the finest minds in comedy, literature, and theatre write pieces around a theme, which they are free to interpret as loosely or strictly as they wish. This month’s theme is POWER, and reading will be:
Emily Epstein White
And your host, the mighty Ivan Hernandez.
This is happening on Sunday. Now with updated line-up!
Video with 4 notes
A story about an encounter in my white friend’s car, speaking Spanish, and the heart of America. Recorded at Vice Principals of Comedy at Lost Weekend Video, 1-8-14. Vocal cameo by Caitlin Gill.
Post with 6 notes
Massachusetts Institute of Technology of Sex
LOCATION: THE COMPUTING WING OF THE MASSACHUSETTS INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY
CUM: IN YOUR HAIR, YOU SLEAZY BITCH
The harsh office lighting reflected off the single drop of pre-cum welling at the top of the turgid cock, surface tension being the only force keeping it from sliding down a greasy shaft enveloped in electrodes. A woman’s mouth descended on the penis and sucked out the genetic material with all the eagerness of Aquaman deepthroating a water pump in the Sahara.
Behind a one way mirror, Dr. William Massachusetts scribbled degrees of genital angles and points of mouth to cock interception. Beside him stood his assistant, the busty raven-haired Jewess Virginia Bonerlord.
“This is it, Bill,” she said, ramping up to an expository infodump, in contrast to all the physical buttdumps she’d witnessed in the course of the study, “Once we map this final blowie, we’ll have all the data we need to begin beta testing. All these sessions spent watching Irish fuck in piles of dirt like common chinchillas, every hour spent plotting the trajectories of jizz shots like they were mortar rounds raining down on the Kaisers’ heads, every single bottle of eyedrops used after incorrectly plotting the trajectories of those jizz shots, it all leads to this.”
Indeed, they had bought so many bottles of eyedrops the local pharmacist was inspired to develop a business model catering entirely to the bulk retail needs of those who had just been jizzed in the face. He called it Costco.
“Quite right, Virginia,” the doctor said, “For too long, humanity has allowed its gross, sexual urges to stymie its development. Where men should be striding the peaks of Mars like gods, instead we rut in pools of our own vomit and malfeasance like common yard apes. All because of the overwhelming desire to have seeeeeeeex.” The head of his penis quivered beneath his overly starched khakis.
The final subjects climaxed, the woman spitting the man’s seed into the brimming fifty gallon drum in which the scientists had been saving all the produced sperm in anticipation of some future use. Perhaps to celebrate the experiment’s end, they’d dump it over the provost’s head. He’d appreciate it, as a closeted homosexual.
In the workshop, Dr. Massachusetts typed the remaining figures into a terminal. Virginia put the finishing touches on the demo unit, applying an understated rouge to the makeshift human face which protruded from the large metal cube. A pair of gloved hands extended from the box’s sides, reaching towards the bicycle seat welded to its front.
“Finally, Virginia,” the doctor muttered at the sensual Semite, “This is the apotheosis of humanity’s attempts to control its own animalistic urges. A cure for war and malaise and hate. This, the first robot blowjob!”
The machine had been calibrated to deliver a scientifically perfect cocksuck, with a golden ratio of tongue to lip to suction. The intention was for a unit in every home, sidled unobtrusively next to a television or record player. In application, the prototype resembled more than anything a slutty Dalek.
“Shall we find a subject?” Virginia asked.
“Unnecessary,” Bill said to the intriguing Israelite. He removed the pants which were belted one hole too tight and settled into the unit’s seat. Virginia hit a large red button on the machine’s back labeled “DTF.” The device whirred to life, hands tensing and probing around the doctor’s junk. The face affixed to the front opened its jaws and loosed a conical spray of lubricant before jutting forward and consuming Bill’s cock down to the base. His face clenched as cum shot eagerly down a transparent tube running into the machine.
“NGGYHEHUH,” he yelped, equal parts surprise and pleasure. The robot dinged, ejected a small white cube of compressed semen, and shut down. Bill keeled over, embracing the plastic head which had so expertly hopkinsed his john.
“I love you,” Bill whispered.
In a corner of the lab, an object beneath a large white sheet let out a chirp. Telephone wire connected it to the blowjob prototype.
“What is that, Bill?”
“Don’t!” he yelled, still too exhausted from cumsies to move.
The hedonistic Hebrew pulled back the sheet and recoiled in horror. Before her, upon a steel throne of dildos, sat a bizarrely sexual metal woman, as if Metropolis by way of HR Giger which is the most German reference anybody has ever made. Yet all the same, there was no mistaking its facial resemblance.
“Bill, did you make a sex robot that looks like me?”
“Let me preface this by saying that this is a personal project.”
“Dammit, Bill! All you nerds are the same! You can’t deal with a real woman, so you create these idealized images that you can guiltlessly pour all your mental cum into without having to form an actual emotional connection with another human being.”
“Uh, yeah. That’s the point. The robot is the core of the project. It takes all the data gathered from the cruder auxiliary units and processes it into technique enhancements. It’s a living, evolving blowjob matrix.”
At that moment, a bolt of lightning dramatically hit the building. The robot’s cold, black eyes fluttered open, and it launched from its seat towards Bill. It planted its mouth on his swollen dong, sucking at first gently but then with increasing speed and callousness. Friction built and the smell of burning flesh wafted through the room.
“Let my legacy be boners, and let those boners be legion,” Dr. Massachusetts howled as the blood drained from his brain to his shaft and he slipped into unconsciousness.
“Get away from him, you bitch!” Virginia yelled as she slammed a crowbar into the beast’s familiarly plump butthole. The action was half in defense of the doctor and half to enact a personal fantasy of being sodomized by a large piece of metal, which she’d contracted after watching The Day the Earth Stood Still and wondering what Gort was packing.
The RoboVirginia turned its head, wrenching the penis from its crotch like a golden eagle wrenching the penis off a small deer, the deer’s penis being considered a delicacy in the bird of prey community. She swallowed the fleshy length and spit up a tiny, pink cube onto the floor, which was quickly grabbed by a passing mouse. The beast lurched forward, and Virginia ran to the safety of the sex office. She huddled behind the fifty gallon barrel of cum as the machine prowled the halls. It knocked down the office door and Virginia stood.
“Ethical sluts across time and space, lend me your strength!”
From across the dimensional void, the power of every polyamorous woman flowed into Virginia. Which wasn’t that much, because just personal observation, most polyamorous women I’ve met have very little upper body strength, but it was enough to allow Virginia to hoist the cum drum aloft and throw it at her attacker. The machine fell backwards, jizz seeping into every crack and crevice of its form, sparks flying into ignition, like the remix of a child molester’s song. The robot caught fire and Virginia ran out the building.
In the parking lot, she watched the computing wing burn. As the flames grew higher, Virginia Bonerlord sighed and fingered herself to orgasm.
The scientist cradled the glass case as he entered the general’s office.
“Sir, we recovered this object from the Massachusetts incident.”
The general lowered the overtly phallic cigar from his mouth and stared.
“Is that… is that a titanium pussy?”
“It’s the microprocessing core from an electrosexual network of machines designed to stimulate male genitalia. Just imagine, in forty years time we can put a series of connected boxes in every American home that do nothing but make dicks grow, at the expense of their owners’ ambition and drive. The public will be lulled into passive bonertude, and society will be helpless to the will of our corporate lizard people overlords.”
“My god, it’s insidious.”
“No, sir. It’s the internet.”
Hey jerks! GMF IV is on February 16th. It’s gonna be a hot one.
GIVE ME FICTION continues its run at Lost Weekend Video, and this is the last month you can attend and still achieve the rank of GROUND FLOOR COOL KID. Some of the finest minds in comedy, literature, and theatre write pieces around a theme, which they are free to interpret as loosely or strictly as they wish. This month’s theme is CHANGE, and reading will be:
And, hosting eternal, Ivan Hernandez.
Ivan Hernandez and Francis - Hand to Mouth at The Dark Room, December 6th, 2013.
Give Me Fiction II was fantastic! Great! All kinds of superlatives! GIVE ME FICTION III happens January 5th.
Ivan Hernandez and adoring audience at the 1st Give Me Fiction at The Cinecave on November 3rd. It was a great show!
Next one December 1st @ 8pm. $10, Tickets here. Be there!
Page 1 of 13