Oh, Won’t You Be My Fantasy?

I want you to imagine …

… the following scenario:

I have bothered to waste precious life-moments, listening to the inane drivel gushing, uncontrollably, from your lips, like a Niagara Falls of verbal diarrhea.

My brain has virtually heamorraged trying to follow the completely unrelated and random sequence of nonsense that you … somehow … manage to palm off, on a daily basis, onto an unsuspecting world, as ideas and thoughts.

I have … God knows how … managed to discern the basic crux of what I shall, laughingly, call your ‘argument’ and, furthermore, work out, on your behalf, what it is you are actually trying to say.

I have given it thought and, choosing my words carefully, given you a considered and apposite reply.

In return, you do not actually listen to me, as I did to you but, instead, spout further bullshit, under the alarmingly conceited delusion that you even know what you are talking about, never mind what I just said.

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Now imagine this scenario: …

You are tied, by the ankles, naked and upside-down, to two nylon ropes … (powder blue ones) … passed through pulleys screwed into the ceiling … your legs apart, forming a ‘V’.

Stuffed into your most intimate orifice is a funnel.

And I have a kettle of boiling water in my hand.

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Imagine that scenario for an instant

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… I did.