"If you want to truly destroy a man, give him everything he ever wished for" - Boulet

When they posted the winning lottery numbers online, I thought someone was pranking me - somebody I knew spit in the ball machine or something, and... I don't know how but... they made it so that all the balls that fell matched the ones on my two-dollar square of chemically-treated paper. I gazed blankly around my dingy apartment like a soldier moments after losing a limb, too shocked to even register the pain.

I'll have to amputate this place, won't I? I thought stupidly.

Taco bell wrappers splayed out around me on my sofa-ottoman throne.

I won't have to gorge myself on beef-flavored sand anymore, will I?

I double-checked the numbers on my ticket, confirming the reality of the situation... salivating.

I could eat this ticket right now... then my life wouldn't have to change.

The madness passed, and I staggered out of my apartment on atrophied legs, squinting at the sun. Though partially obscured by clouds, a few rays squinted back at me.

Time to hire three lawyers to... I don't know... fight to the death? How does this work again?

[Seven days later]

I held up the check triumphantly. A small crowd had congregated outside the unassuming 7/11 to watch me accept the largest bounty that had ever been claimed in the United States - 1.5 billion dollars - 750 million of which would shortly become mine, the other half would go to the state.

Uncle Sam always wins the lottery.

I looked back at the oversized, ceremonial slab of cardboard, like Moses admiring the word of God on the stone tablets.

Wait a minute... is that... surely not...

How many zeros are there in a million again?

[Ten years later]

I sipped my bubbly contentedly, the notes of apple a blending perfectly with the spectacle before me.

Three lawyers bumbled around like chickens within a chalk circle. Their arms were tied behind their backs, and they pecked at each other viciously with the knifes sticking out of their mouths, held in place with repurposed kinky ballgag straps.

I do enjoy a good cockfight.

My other hand trailed lazily across the strong back of my pet catgirl, who purred contentedly. She needed all of that tough, sinewy muscle to support the massive fucking GMO titties swinging in the front.

"Sinthia, I hear a knocking at the door. Why don't you greet our guests?"

She nodded, her hardwired near-perfect submissiveness kicking in, and sashayed over to the imposing iron-bar gates.

"Give us our money back!" They shouted petulantly.

No. I thought, unwilling to dignify the peasants with a movement of my mouth.

I won that lottery fair and square. It wasn't my fault that the government had given me 750 trillion instead of 750 million. I can't be held accountable for their mistakes, and if they aren't willing to put in the work to pay back what they owe me... they should just be... exterminated.

Sinthia bared her fangs, and shrieks rang out as the delicious scent of blood filled the air.

A novelty...

In the decade since my good fortune, as my bloated morphology can attest, I'd tried every edible substance and chemical known to man. Or so I'd thought...

With great difficulty, I descended on atrophied legs from my 50 foot obsidian sofa-ottoman throne and waddled over to the carnage.

Each step was a 400 lb burden, but I had long prided myself on my steadfast determination. I would make it to the gate, even if I had to crawl.

I had to crawl.

It's not my fault! One of my numb, greenish feet fell off, so I couldn't walk anymore, obviously. Dumbass.

I slurped at the puddle on the ground, the fresh (NOVEL) taste washing over me, through me. I rubbed my groin, moaning with pleasure, and died of ecstasy.

I instructed my trusted butler Sinthia to compose this story in the event of my untimely demise, so that future generations of catgirls can know of my greatness, and to promptly swallow several pills of cyanide, so that she can never live to contradict the official account.

She'd better do it, or I'll be very angry.

It pains me to say this, but I'd have to go with the chicken option. I wouldn't enjoy it. It would be like killing a good friend over and over. Dollar-for-dollar, chickens are the cheapest source of animal protein on the planet. They are delicious. They make eggs, which are used to make tons of delicious desserts. I love everything about them, their supple breasts, their tender thighs, their succulent drumsticks. I would never want to hurt the blessed bird of gainz.

But bro, google "orangutan strength". Those things are 5 to 7 times stronger than humans. A sword isn't going to make any difference in a fight against one of those things. While you're trying to figure out which end is pointy, that thing will slam you to the ground and unplug your balls with its teeth. It'll wear your face as a trophy after it tears you limb from limb. A kangaroo would probably be the better animal for this question. They're also way stronger than humans, but a bit less coordinated, so you could almost see yourself winning.

Whereas, if I fight a chicken every day, I'd get used to it, and figure out how to win the fight with minimal effort. And in exchange for that minor inconvenience, I'd get a lifetime of free chicken. It's just common sense.

I build satellites for a living, so I absolutely cannot sit by and take that comment on the chin. Try designing and manufacturing one of those things yourself before you go on the internet and call them puny :'(

It just so happens that the satellite I'm working on right now has a special significance to your prompt. Somewhere out in space, orbiting the sun in-between mars and Jupiter, is an unusual asteroid named "Psyche". Preliminary investigations of the asteroid have indicated that, unlike the other rocks in the asteroid belt, it may be composed of high-density, valuable metals. It stands out so much that scientists hypothesize that it could be the naked core of a former planet, stripped of its mantle by some cataclysmic event.

Enter NASA's "Psyche" mission. The puny runt of a satellite that I'm working on (about as large as the trailer you live in) will fly to the asteroid and take high-res photos and magnetic field measurements to confirm that it is indeed worth an estimated 10,000 quadrillion dollars in iron and nickel.

It's anybody's guess what happens after that, but America is full of eccentric billionaires who would love the opportunity to mine something worth that much money. The trick with mining an asteroid is that, to minimize travel costs, you should first guide the asteroid into a near-earth orbit, using nuclear explosions or some other extremely powerful method of propulsion. And there you have it: another moon.

What I'm trying to say here is, humanity will deserve another moon when we can acquire one for ourselves.

April 18 2022: I turned on the television.

"In other news, a 12-year-old girl was murdered last night by her estranged father Jeremy Jurpurson after being brutally -"

April 17 2022: I turned on the television.

"In other news, an elderly man was assaulted on the subway in what authorities are calling -"

April 16 2022: I turned on the television.

"In other news, a video has gone viral of a shoplifter walking out of a store with several hundred dollars worth of -"

What is the exact value of a human life?

April 15 2022: You get the idea.

Until eventually...

April 18 2022: I turned on the television.

"Breaking news! The F.B.I has released new details in what many are calling the crime of the century... because of course no crime has been committed in a century."

The television showed helicopter footage of a massive sinkhole.

"At the bottom of this seemingly artificial geologic feature, an amateur spelunker made a shocking discovery: Hundreds of thousands of human corpses, miles across and in some places several hundred corpses deep. Yet, somehow, perfectly preserved, as if their flesh had turned to plastic."

The camera cut to a fidgety little man, whose eyes bulged slightly out of their sockets as he spoke.

"Yeah, so... when I found the bodies, I thought it was just a gigantic doll collection, like the terra cotta army or something. So I cut into one of them, to see if they were solid or hollow and..."

His eyes went wide. "It was alive! Like cutting into a steak for dinner, except the meat started jerking in pain! But the plastic shell never changed, their mouths frozen open in a silent, eternal scream!"

"You've amassed over ten million followers on TikTok after posting footage of the bodies. That's got to feel good, are there any causes you'd like to promote with your newfound celebrity?" the reporter burbled cheerfully.

"Yeah." said the man. He was composed, though he could hardly contain his fear. "I want to find the person who owns this collection, who froze these poor souls and burned their names into their own flesh. Jeremy Jurpurson - First Degree Murder. Adolf Shitler - Genocide. Rodney Lemon - Shoplifting. Your names will not be forgotten!"

"Well, the curtains have been pulled, and free will was an illusion all along! Back to you Tom."

April 19 2022: I only went back a century because honestly? Righting all the world's wrongs got boring after awhile. I get that I could have prevented so much more suffering, but, you know... once you've seen enough depravity, you start to become a bit desensitized to it.

Panning around, it looked like people were starting to realize that crime was allowed again. They dipped their toes hesitantly, then jumped in headfirst, using their firstborn children to cushion the impact. Riots in every major city. Nowhere was safe. Kind of a thrill to watch, actually, like a house of cards tumbling down.

April 20 2022: I blazed it, and the world burned

She is water. She moves with a fluid grace, soundlessly padding along the ground, an apparition and a beauty, a coy smile on her face. She shakes her head and her tresses flow around her weightlessly, suspended in the air, tumbling forever. Men want her. Men need her; if they don't have her for nine consecutive days they will die. They crowd around her, jostling for position, but never dare touch her, lest her evansecent features dissolve at their crude touch. They start forward, but she melts them with a kind smile, and as they slowly collect in a stagnant puddle on the ground they rue the decisions that led them to their current state of unworthiness.

Pushing through the crowd is a restless young maverick intent on trying his luck. Alas, he is oil. His thick hair is slicked back with black tar and bacon grease for that erotic je ne sais quoi. He wears a cowboy hat with an aesthetic that somewhat clashes with his black trench coat, carefully chosen to conceal from the world his pain and poor hygiene. After a long and difficult battle with gum cancer, he resolved to never again chew tobacco. Instead, he swallows it whole. He's a hacker, and life is his computer. He's a daredevil. He's a tempest. He's responsible for the suicides of over a dozen social workers, maternity ward nurses, and nuns. He's a fart wafting in on a cool summer breeze. He drank paint thinner once. His brain is mostly lesions. How the hell does this idiot even survive? What does he eat, other than fucking chew? I've never seen him eat anything else, does his body just get everything he needs from it? I know what's under that trench coat (he's fucking fat) but he doesn't even fucking eat?!? He's a living violation of the first law of thermodynamics! I'm just now being told that he once supplied a local sperm bank with over a liter of spunk from his own personal collection. When the doctors emptied the jar they found a my little pony figurine inside! In their haste to discard the excretions of this worthless slag of human refuse, they accidently spilled it into their main vat! His hydrophobic sperm rose to the top, and he has now fathered over two thousand children across the globe, on par with the great conqueror of history: Genghis Khan! Perhaps this is what compelled Mother Teresa to deepthroat a Colt .45. Humanity is lost!

It is inevitable that water and oil meet, and when they do they inevitably clash. They are diametrically opposed: one polarizing, one covalent. But what filth and promiscuity lurks beneath her pristine and tranquil surface? What sparks of intelligence dance in his lifeless cow eyes? Meet the dynamic crime-fighting duo: Water and Oil!

When I gaze in wonder upon the sexy beast in the mirror, lost in his ageless eyes, full of wisdom beyond his mere 24 years, I ask myself that nagging question: Is intelligence heritable, and if so, to what extent? Though not immediately obvious, the affirmation or negation of this statement has wide-ranging implications for politics, economics, biology, evolution, morality, the very meaning of life, and whether or not that jackass in front of me can truly be blamed for cutting me off in traffic. It's the difference between being regarded as a hero or a pariah. It's the difference between vegans, vegetarians, and omnivores. It is an absolute fact that pigs feel pain. It an absolute fact that bacon is the perfect balance of salty and savory, with every essential amino acid your body needs to become strong. On the subject of protein requirements, you can deduce from nutrition facts label on any item of food that the government recommends a daily intake of 50 grams of protein per day. This is worrisome. Any bodybuilding forum will tell you that, to properly build strength, you must eat approximately one gram of protein per pound of body weight per day. For a sexy, technically overweight beast like me, that comes out to about 200 grams per day. The following question is important, so I'll give it its own line:

Why does the government want to keep us weak?

Everything happens for a reason. There are a lot of high-profile arrests happening right now, under the guise of quarantine. To maintain public order, the civilians have been kept off the streets, from the most satanic friday (the 13th) in the calendar, 3.13.20, until the most holy friday (Good Friday), 4.10.20. The fourth, tenth, and twentieth letters together make DJT: Donald J. Trump. There may be more than one time machine in play here. Betelgeuse is waning: the fourth horseman has been sighted on his pallid horse. Epstein did in fact kill himself; he did it to gain immortality. Follow the molecule shaped like the white rabbit, acetylcholine. There should be a whole factory of it somewhere in China... where was it again? Wuhan. If you haven't already, now would be a good time to research the Bogdanoffs, the Rothschilds, and the other, more elusive convexes of the dodecagram. They are every voice you've ever heard in your ear.

I wake up in the middle of the night and I see entities. I refer to women as pretty-pretties. I refer to their breasts as boingy-boingies. I've seen memes you wouldn't believe. What a funeral procession looks like when they drop the coffin, and the body comes tumbling out. What two girls can do to one innocent cup. I've seen a man dressed as a five-point demon reading a book about inclusivity to a group of small children. I've seen things that have aged me. Things that couldn't possibly exist. Interracial Incest.

In conclusion, I am single.

Amber flowing, cheap cologne

is mixed with ochre hues,

a dainty faintly flirty smile,

a man she left confused.

She beckoned to him from beyond

the curtain of his gaze;

she shed her clothes and thus exposed

the error of his ways.

He nibbled gently at her nape

and gaily took a whiff

of amber flowing, cheap cologne

collected at her hips.

Now how would such a pungent hint

arrive at such a place?

Could it be her flighty free

demeanor was to blame?

He sought the answer in her eyes

until his traveled south

and landed on contusions

at the corners of her mouth.

"Alas!" he cried "I've chanced upon

a massive raging whore."

And amber flowing, cheap cologne

propelled him out the door.

Now that I've answered your question, I'll use the rest of my words to answer another, one that has captivated scientists, philosophers, and 90s dance music afficionados alike: what is love?

Disclaimer: I've known the undivided, passionate attention of a tall, smart, beautiful girl for a grand total of about three hours in my life. The rest of my experience with true love is second-hand. Now let me tell you the gospel truth.

I allowed Disney and the Catholic Church to define it for me as a kid, because unfortunately my parents never showed me anything that would count. They married for a clear objective: he was 40, she was 35, and they needed kids. In a moment of unguarded emotion, my dad also admitted that he liked my mom's cookies. I wish he was being metaphorical. Receiving the definition of love from Disney and church is all well and good if you're a girl, because guys will come to you. All you need as a girl is a set of standards to sort out the idiotic fuccbois and manipulative niceguys from the real men. As a guy you need to be a bit more proactive; I knew there was a problem when Jesus and Santa never answered my prayers for a girlfriend under the christmas tree, year after year. I became so demoralized by the experience that I even stopped believing in Jesus.

Without any further guidance for how to find love, I latched onto the first idea that seemed promising, and became the world's most prolific, least successful pickup artist. Pickup isn't a set of tricks so much as it is a philosophy. First and foremost, you must believe yourself to be worthy of love. Otherwise, when you compliment her hair and introduce yourself, you will feel and come across as a used-vacuum salesman. It doesn't feel good. Then she'll smile at you and say "nice to meet you!", which somehow feels even worse. I've heard that line so many times, sometimes accompanied by two taps on my shoulder. Never one or three, always two. I wish they'd spit in my face or spill their drink on me. At least then I'd know that I elicited an emotional reaction from them, and actually connected with them on some level. If you're having trouble loving yourself, then try giving yourself a reason to. What do you love in others? Attitude? Work ethic? Skill at a task? Emulate that. Always be improving. Once you do cultivate self-love, then you can work on acing the sociology test that the girl will present you with. But that's off-topic.

Here is what I believe true love to be, with input from psychologists and neuroscientists. It has three components. The loss of any one of these three will not ruin an established relationship, there just won't be any "true love" any more. Each of these components corresponds to a different chemical in the brain. Translated into english, the chemicals are:

1. Lust. You have to want to fuck. So guys, make sure your girlfriend is hot. If you aren't able to get a girlfriend that you consider attractive, then try harder. This is your happiness we're talking about. I don't even know what makes a girl want to fuck. If I did, then I probably wouldn't be on this website. I'd be out at the bars every night acquiescing more fuck buddies, business connections, and friends for life than I'd know what to do with. It probably has more to do with personality than looks; girls are weird like that.

2. Affection. You have to want to cuddle after you fuck. If Lust is when your body says "I love you.", then Affection is when your mind says it. This is Disney's conception of love; admittedly, it makes for a good subplot within a movie. You do feel affection for your partner, right? What qualities do you admire about them? Please don't say tits. A good answer would involve her objective virtues as a person. Conscientiousness, tenderness, ambition, whatever it is that you value. As an added bonus, when you do feel like it, cuddling has been shown to lower cholesterol, neuroticism, and chance of developing Alzheimers.

3. Attachment. You have to want to make her pancakes after you cuddle. Seeing each other becomes a routine, like going to the gym, except when the routine is disrupted, you get depressed. This is the mechanism that allowed our ancestors to remember who their partners were while they were not cuddling and fucking. Without attachment, there is no relationship, no monogamy, no way to effectively raise children. I've never had a girlfriend, so this is also entirely speculation.

There are three balls to juggle here, and if you drop one, your wife will secretly hate you. She will divorce you and take half of your house, your savings, and your testicles. Your kids will not respect you, and your parents will disown you. Your only friends will be lawyers, and only while you're a paying client. No pressure.

Your companion in pathetic longing,

Swag

The year is 2042 and it finally happened. A new flesh-eating virus has been circulating recently that has the potential to be a true extinction event. It spreads through droplets in the air, it takes three months to cause symptoms in the infected, who are contagious the entire time, and it is 99.7% lethal. Two days ago, I tested positive. The doctors had no idea when I would begin to exhibit symptoms, only that once I did, an excruciatingly painful end awaited within the week. I don't want to live long enough to see myself turn into a boiled, brisket-looking thing, so I'm preempting the virus and taking my own life. I believe in reincarnation; the only reason I hadn't killed myself a long time ago is that the pleasure and happiness that I take from daily life is greater than the average of any sentient lifeform that I could presumably reincarnate as. Since that criterion is no longer met, I will briefly and explosively overload my pleasure centers, and then greet death as an old friend.

How will I make the most of my final moments, you ask? Excellent question, here's my roadmap for success:

Cycle 1: Methamphetamine. This should be self-explanatory. Meth releases 6-12 times as much dopamine in the brain as sex. It's an exclusively artificial compound; there is no plant or geologic process that produces it. It's unnatural. Nothing in the real world is supposed to feel this rewarding. Which is exactly why, before I die, I must experience it.

Cycle 2: DMT - the "god" molecule. The most powerful hallucinogen known to mankind. People often report conversing with otherworldly "entities", feeling as if they are going to die, and waking up with the vague notion that their whole life has been a television show.

Cycle 3: Fentanyl. Double a typical lethal dose to make sure the job gets done properly. An engineer would call this a safety factor of "2", which is more than ideal. Why do they not execute prisoners with this? It's the happiest ending you could possibly give them, and we could confiscate it for free off the streets.

I've never tried any of these drugs before. I've never even smoked weed. But since the sky is falling, I have no logical or moral arguments against going out in a blaze of glory.

See you on the other side,

Swag

Finally, a chance to download my bullshit onto a young, impressionable mind.

Here are the things you didn't realize you needed to worry about, but that you should be terrified of, in no meaningful order:

Television does rot your brain. Your brain is highly adaptive, especially when you're young; If you don't use it for difficult, complex problem-solving, your brain function will deteriorate. Use it or lose it. The medical term for this is Alzheimers. If you ignore this advice you'll be a much happier person, and I hope you do. Because if you try and stop TV/video games, you'll quickly realize that you cant. They are just as addictive as heroin. This is fine when you're in high school and you have friends, but just wait until you move out of town for your first job, and video games become your everything.

If you don't make at least six figures, you will be looked down upon as a lower-class citizen by others. I'm not saying that I'll be one of them, but you probably will. Aim for a career that accomplishes this, it's the reason that doctors/lawyers are such a mom meme. Or don't, and suffer crippling insecurity, your call.

Did your grandfather remarry later in life to ease the loneliness of idly waiting for death in a nursing home? Do you love your adopted grandmother? Just wait until your grandfather dies and she inherits all his money. She's going to leave it to her biological children and you're not going to see any of it. Everything that a man you knew and loved is going to be stolen by the woman that he trusted enough to marry. The major key here is that you should be self-sufficient and expect to inherit nothing, that way you'll never be disappointed.

You're never going to fuck the pretty girl, unless you're prepared to do morally questionable things to win her attention. The key word here is attention, not affection. Every girl has a price. Or maybe you want the pretty girl to fuck you because she loves you? I like your style. Either become sociable and flirtacious (difficult), or sell her drugs (easy). As a corollary, every pretty girl you know will eventually fuck on camera for drugs. So you could just wait until that happens and catch her on cams.com.

When I was your age, I couldn't wait to live on my own. My vision of adult life was being able to buy and drink Hawaiian Punch whenever I wanted. But I don't want Hawaiian Punch any more, I just want the loneliness to stop. It's a gaping void that you can only fill with so much food. Antidepressants are a plot to keep the populace satiated, and schizophrenia is just a symptom of an unfortunate condition called "knowing too much".

Livestock actually enjoy being eaten. So who is working for who?

One final note: there are a lot of idiots out there in the world. Not all people who give you advice are idiots, but invariably, all idiots love giving advice.

Good luck kid, you'll need it.

Swag