Wednesday, February 11, 2004

Last night I really enjoyed the following fantasy, in which Leticia the Popstar was told by her agent that, unfortunately, she overlooked a clause in her contract that said she would have to be run, naked, vertically, through the Song Machine that, while she sang, would turn her into pure audio for recording on a smash-hit album. I get off on corporate fantasies. Weird. (Yes, I had been reading too much Jennifer Government.)

Oh, but before that, my naked popstar trio was kidnapped by space bandits who placed us in a giant... clamp thing (you know... the WinZip logo!) at the back of their ship and turned the crank. (The space bandits were teenagers, with scruffy hair and impeccable hygeine. I think they rebelled and stole their rich dads space shuttle to go around picking up naked popstars. But anyway...) We moaned and giggled and forced weak smiles as the ceiling lowered and eventally we were crushed into... something. I think a Game Boy Advance cartridge. I seem to fantasize about those too. What?

(oh, the cruel and yet pleasurable entrapment of plastic...)
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