Forum & Adult Stories
Fuck Club
"I learned a long time ago that reality was much weirder than anyone's imagination."
― Hunter S. Thompson
I am Joe's nine inch cock.
My name is Hugh Mungus. Actually, my name is something else. Provided the necessary research, you'd probably be able to figure out what that is. Not that this matters.
I reside in a one room hovel, farted out the rectum of McCarran "International" Airport, in the fictitious "city" of "Las Vegas." That would be in the equally fake "state" of "Nevada."
I use terms like fake and fictitious ― when referring to "cities," "countries," and "states" ― because these territories don't exist in reality. It's the Overview Effect; no boundaries viewable, once you leave this planet, and gaze back upon it.
Even if humans were to erect borders, nature wouldn't recognize them. Grass growing in "Estonia" continues to do so through whatever illusory barrier one pretends to create with "Russia."
It's the reason we exist under the constant fear of nuclear annihilation ― endowed with enough atomic weaponry to destroy our species multitudinous times over.
"Countries" are nothing more than a ruse ― a mindfuck ― employed to divide and conquer our breed, and coerce it into fighting itself. And if "countries" don't exist, neither do "states," nor "cities."
Should humanity awaken to reality, crushing it's self-imposed imprisonment, the ideology of "countries" will be viewed as asinine by future generations.
But you didn't come here for a lesson in Reality 101. You came here for the fuckin'!
As such, let's begin.
For the past 27 years, I've been on a quest to copulate. My goal is 5,000 women. As of the writing of this article, I currently stand at 4,823. The aforementioned Number was reached via any type of sex ― analingus, blowjobs, cunnilingus, fingering pussy, handjobs, intercourse, etc. As long as it's sexual contact with another, the Number is entered into my raunchy resume.
I've fucked my way through the suburban sprawls of "Denver" and "Colorado Springs." I've pummeled pussy in Pulp Fiction motels amidst the sketchiest portions of "Mesa," "Phoenix," and "Tempe." I've pushed penis in "St. Louis," racin' across the Mississippi, to the infamous eastern portion of the "city" in question.
Participate in porn, atop the Hollywood Hills? You bet, and many thanks for the opportunity! From the frothy foam of the "Pacific," to the neon gluttony of Sin City, I've incurred homelessness, slavery, and monumental rejection, in an effort to attain my goal.
"This is your life, and it's ending one minute at a time."
― Fight Club
How much can a person know about themselves, if they've never fornicated in front of dozens of people? Is it possible to understand who you are, if you've yet to facefuck a housewife, while her sister watches? Can you comprehend what you are, without some shemale porn actress telling you your cock is too big, when you're only halfway inserted?
"Everyone smiles with that invisible gun to their head."
― Fight Club
Do you feel your "career" ― an endeavor you solely engage in for cash ― defines you, as an organism?
"You are not your job, you're not how much money you have in the bank. You are not the car you drive. You're not the contents of your wallet [...]."
― Fight Club
When asked what they do, most people answer: "I'm a retail store clerk"; "an insurance claims adjuster"; "an advertising executive," etc. So, as a kid, you grew up chompin' at the bit to be the manager of a Chili's?! Come fucking on! You've conformed to what this system demanded of you, and you know it!
"We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off."
― Fight Club
I'm Hugh Mungus, and I'll never be any of these things. What am I?
I don't know. None of us knows what we are.
When asked what I do, I respond, "I fuck." It's what we all wanna do. Sadly, or otherwise, it's what most of us don't do.
" 'If you don't know what you want,' the doorman said, 'you end up with a whole lot you don't.' "
― Fight Club
Instead, we pursue "careers" we don't realize never existed, until we're pukin' up our final breaths in a rotting hospital bed. Adjacent, some doctor ― who sees us as nothing more than a means to another Mercedes ― feigns compassion, as we "depart."
"Warning: If you are reading this, then this warning is for you. Every word you read of this useless fine print is another second off your life.
Don't you have other things to do? Is your life so empty that you honestly can't think of a better way to spend these moments? Or are you so impressed with authority that you give respect and credence to all that claim it?
Do you read everything you're supposed to read? Do you think everything you're supposed to think? Buy what you're told you want?
Get out of your apartment. Meet a member of the opposite sex. Stop the excessive shopping and masturbation.
Quit your job. [...] Prove you're alive.
If you don't claim your humanity, you will become a statistic. You have been warned."
― Fight Club
Fuck Club. It surrounds you; engulfs you; embraces you. It's the whole of humanity, yearning to connect with itself, yet forcing its constituents to do so in darkened basements, amid the sickly glow of waning fluorescents.
The first rule of Fuck Club is: You talk about Fuck Club.
The second rule of Fuck Club is: You talk about Fuck Club!
The third rule of Fuck Club is: As many people as you want per fuck.
And if this is your first time at Fuck Club,...you don't have to do anything. The choice is yours. That's what freedom is; the ability to do what you want, when you want, without repercussions from douche bags claiming to be "authority."
Such stated, if this is your first time at Fuck Club, I highly recommend you fuck!
After all, on your death bed, what do you think you'll regret more? The fact you didn't "own" a BMW, like your "friends," or the truth you only fucked one pussy?
"Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need."
― Fight Club
