How Captain Winky Broke My Heart

In the beginning, there was chinese. Noodles atop rice atop pepper steak. My mother admonished me for eating such food so deep in the afternoon. She slapped me across the jowl and sent me to nap. It was 4:30 in the pm.

In bed, I followed the fate of many before me and fell anap amongst the heaps of crack money I had inherited from my father. Although I slept to escape the pain of reality, I was incredulously unaware of the hellish torment my mind had in store. It must have been the chinese.

*Dream State. In my bathroom. How did I get here? Don’t ask. Just abide.

"Now listen here Sophia, this machine didn’t just randomly appear inside my bathroom for you to chicken out now." I had been holding the device for over three hours, my dick pressing against the restrictive jeans.
"If it's so important to you, why don't you use it?" Sophia asked.
"Cause I lack the necessary equipment." I responded, eager for her compliance. In my hands lay a state of the art Vagina-Blow-Dryer, fresh off the lines of Vagina-Blow-Dryer Industries. You could still smell the ceramic finish.
"Well, before I use this to dry my vagina, we should at least test its function." I agreed in disappointment, for her gleaming body would not yet be revealed. Why would I want to see her naked one might ask? Because this particular woman was Sophia Levine. She was in her prime complexion of 15, before the dark times of junior year old when she deflated into something of a balloon that had been stretched too many times. For confidentiality purposes, this person's name will be abbreviated to S. L. Alert with lust and curiosity, I constructed the device. We had only to press the button.

*All hell breaks loose

At first glance, I didn't really understand what was going on. It wasn't until the black guy from the short lived action drama, “Supah Ninjas”, on Nickelodeon yelled "Run nigga run!" that I began to react (1). Apparently the Vagina-Blow-Dryer consumed so much energy that it resulted in a power outage. Uncharacteristic of a power outage was the strobe-lighting of bulbs above my bathroom mirror. Instead of running nigga running, I stood in awe contemplating just how the hell lightning was striking through my bathroom ceiling. Just as anybody in this situation would do, I quickly turned on the faucet to wash my hands. To my displeasure, I discovered that the soap dispensers excreted a mixture in resemblance to semen. In fact, it was definitely semen. I observed in horror as the soap dispensers began to take on a mind of their own and unleash their sperm without my command. This was undoubtedly a terrifying experience. As you can imagine, an ejaculating soap dispenser shows no mercy, like a dog humping a woman's leg. Afterall, this is sexual fluid we are talking about, and I can honestly mention that throughout my entire life I would have never imagined a scene such as this.

Amidst the anarchy, it occurred to the angry god that I had suffered enough and thus sent a messiah in the form of a toothbrush. I rejoiced at what was offered and in it, found solace. Soon the bathroom had repented and returned to its bathroom-like qualities. Even the semen had disappeared; I was left with a clean bathroom, a toothbrush, two frightened guests, and, of course, a Vagina-Blow-Dryer.

Delivered from hell, S. L. reemerged into my bathroom. She smiled, winked at me, and placed her hand seductively on the dyer.
"I think I'm ready for it," S.L. said.
"The Vagina-Blow-Dryer?" I asked in astonishment. Finally, back to the main course.
"Of course! I can't wait to blow dry my vagina. It's been wet since Chemistry with Mr. Reuben. Just let me get undressed." Supah Ninja and I immediately tense up, I am gripping the pockets of my jeans, my knuckles turn white when her dress falls down to her waist. Her breasts are the perfect combination between volume and perkiness, and her caramel-brown skin is "so hot it melts your popsicle." I tremble. Her dress falls below her ass, she's hiding her front as if to reveal a present. Then, in conclusion to this nightmare she turns to uncover the last unseen inches of her body. My lustful eyes were met with heartbreak as to my vision he bestowed none other than Captain Winky.

*A scarier, second hell breaks loose.

A cock. I shit you not a limp, fucking cock waved at me from across S. L.'s perfect tits. The disappointment, astonishment, and complete mental discombobulation I felt in those last five seconds of dream state cannot be expressed in an illusion such as words.

I awoke in a quick sweat, shed a single tear, and held a shotgun up to my mouth. "Captain Winky you broke my heart." A quick death. Silence.

My mother found me littered across the piles of cash. She slapped me across the jowl and reminded a corpse the consequences of eating chinese so deep in the afternoon. I had no regrets in life, in retrospect, that chinese food was the greatest morsel ever to enter my body, even if it meant my suicide. And so it continued in my afterlife: a perpetual circle of penises and death, always beginning with my addiction to MSG. I never was able to resist temptation, a feat unobtainable by many. Some despise me for this inability, while others watch in reverence. In the end, I had no regrets. Is that not the point of existence?

(1) I don't know why Carlos Knight, lead actor in Supah Ninjas, decided to vacation in my nightmare nor why I dreamt his arrival in such a stereotypical fashion. I don't generally consider myself a racist; however, Chinese food can revert even MLK to a junkie from the hood.