GMA and the Weird Repressed Dream

GMA and the Weird Repressed Dream

The basterd-ized version was weirder; it’s still vivid now. I’m somewhere in Malacanang, in a very small secret room where GMA and FG do their thing. There is a loft. On the other side is a long corridor and a secret door to the kitchen. I don’t know how I got there; perhaps by a small door from John Cusack’s floor.

The pygmy leads me on hand to the loft. Up we go. Up on the bed. She faces her back, removes her panties, and proceeds to have a butt-fuck. I do. I don’t know why, but I do. I won’t describe the others.

So after ‘the thing’ or ‘the act’, a party ensues. My weird friends come in. Her weird whores come in and we have a Party, like Peter Sellers. We’re all soaked with foam and drunk as hell, prolly stoned too. The drinks are lavish and sweet in cute martini glasses with a frolic of the umbrella and a paradise within. We were all lucid and this big orgy happening with the evocativeness of immeasurable delight. I was stamped with hedonism.

This—happened days after watching Coraline, and having a Recollection over the weekend. How F@#$@# I am.