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To Seth Tosi McMillan's previous piece

from Good Hock
 
I sit on a chair and open an
umbrella, as God begins to 
masturbate, and I clap
my hands for him 
when he is done, and God says

"Thank you, Seth."

And I say "Why did you favor Jesus?" 

And God says 

"Get down on your knees, Seth.  Keep writing on your dirty floor."  

And then I'm dead, right, and I begin to
hate the guy.  So I sit in the chair with the
umbrella as cum drips off its rim onto my writings.
I'm watching as God's beasties impregnate themselves
into my manuscripts, changing all the phrases
and sentences to raisins, so now everything is
dry and it's supposed to be cleansed, right?

So I sit in the chair and watch
these dry humanoids start rising up,
and as they age they begin to
fuck and reproduce one another.  

I reach into my pants and pull
out my dick, and I dip my dick in ink
and start inking these assholes, right,
and now they're starting to sin, right,
so they start giving the finger to God
and I'm sitting in my chair laughing
having a great old time, and I'm dead, right?

So I take my dick and I ejaculate
into one of these assholes, 
so now there's these humanoids 
combined with my dead sperm,
and then everyone starts walking
around like they're dead, and they
start sailing ships around salty oceans,
trying to find some stupid land or something.

So I scoop under my testes and I
take out my dead grass, and I sprinkle
it on the floor as they film me doing it.  And then
they take their stupid guns and start shooting
at the grass as if it's a bird or something, so now
all these dead birds are falling to the earth
and people are eating them or just leaving them there.

I'm getting really pissed now, because all I wanna'
do is write, but God keeps wacking off and blowing
his load on my umbrella, and those fucking beasties
keep multiplying into humanoids, singing 
their stupid nature songs by spiritual campfire.

So I get down on the floor with my sopping umbrella
and I start to write with my dead fingers,
taking the ashes from their spiritual campfires,
creating manuscript after manuscript, while God's seed
keeps burrowing into what I write, so I keep writing
and writing trying to keep my odd world from
going dry, but God is up on his barber's chair, getting
his beard shaven, and he's hee-hawing with the
barber like a mayoral asshole, so I grab a screwdriver
and I stick it in his throat, but he just flinches, right,
and he takes me and puts me in his mouth and 
eventually pushes me out with his sphincter, so here
I am now in this opposite reality again, 
where everyone smells like God's ass. 

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