Just little ol’ streaks. Like Nazi skid marks on the underwear of his personality.

Beep boop. That’s poop.

- My futuristic robotoilet reluctantly watching me shit in its mouth

Holsey molsey!

Took me a moment. Got it. Nodded in recognition.

The door?

No, it’s a door

That guy needs to stop fucking around in the economy and go back to fucking up into accidentally solving mysteries with his talking stoner dog.

I’m waking up

Instructions unclear. Felt bored, so I skated around the idea and considered kicking my dick. I flipped and missed.

It’s just another party run by old white men