I want a machine to tell you who you are. Like a psychoanalyst in a box machine. That will tell you what you mean and what your crazy ticks are and how you're specially odd just like everyone, and when it told you this you would say uhmmm, uhuh, how did you know, I did not realize this but it is right, and you would insert quarters in a slot for more insightfulness, like a peep show box, happy happy and could you keep going a little longer, ooh, say why I never flush the toilet, ooh ooh. You would keep inserting quarters. You would keep inserting quarters and you would learn more and more things you didn't know and then you realized you did, until you got so surprised from all that noticing yourself that you died. You are very curious, machine would say at your deathbed and you would say yes, yes, you read my mind, and then the machine would become a world famous fortune teller, and get the nobel peace prize, and win the olympics and best porn director, but the pope would call it sacrilege because it is only a machine, which is so racist, so no catholics would get to use it except for american catholics because they are not really catholic, and they would use it and start hearing gospels out of clicks and beeps until machine was hallelujahed god, and then the crusades would start again because muslims would say, hell no, we aint worshipping no voodoo mechanical thing, but the catholics would just burn them and not say sorry until three hundred years later when they would say very very sorry with fingers crossed and a picture of allah for their evening toilet paper. The world would explode from allah rage and machine would be promoted to king of the universe. He would be happy and lazy and every time he farted titanium stars would pop out. THE END, did not know I was telling a story.

 

 

 

 

 

[back to issue six]