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My name is Gary Cooper. I work at a
McDonald's restaurant franchise
in Elephant and Castle
in a town called London
in the United Kondom.
I am twenty four years old.
My hobbies include getting lagered up on the weekends
and eating biscuits.
I do not have a girlfriend or significant other.
My favourite colour is blue and my favourite material is synthetics.
Three weeks ago I discovered that I had become desensitized to online
***.
The first day I thought
maybe I'd just eaten too many chips or that perhaps my *** had evolved
to hibernate every winter like a tortoise
and I'd never noticed before.
But no,
after three days without a *** grenade I was watching a video of
two teenaged girls with orthodontic braces making love to a Jamaican man with a giant ***
and I could not become aroused.
I went into my bathroom and performed this weird technique where I close my
eyes and I visualize my former business studies teacher competely ***
naked
and she was giving my old chap
a high-quality fellation.
The images in my brainscreen were dark and grainy,
unlike those banging HDTV vids I have
on the harddrive on my grubby laptop.
I made *** go in my bathwater and that's where the
trouble started.
First of all the *** coagulated and stuck
to my body hair.
Secondly,
while still in this mess, six large men with sticks who claimed they were
nursedoctors or something bashed down
my door and entered my house
shouting, "We've found the ***,"
they took me out of the bath a put a black plastic coat on me
and one of those avian 'flu masks.
They said, "Get him in the van before he *** up anyone else's todger."
One of them screamed, "Don't let him breathe on you, he's got *** TB."
I was drugged
with hypodermic needles and sometime later I woke in a room with other men.
"I should leave now," I said,
"it is time
to go to work."
The other men sat in the darkness and said no words.
I asked them
what was the matter and still they said nothing.
Then a voice came through the speaker and said,
"Gary Cooper please sit down you will not be going to work ever again,
you have infected these men with a condition called Acute ***
Desensitivity Syndrome.
It is a potentially fatal illness.
We are rounding up every man who bought a Fillet-O-Fish that was touched by your
infested hands.
All masturbators will be shot like horses.
We are workign on your deportation
papers to a country that does not yet have the internet
such as France or Turkmenistan.
You will be fed chips on the hour every hour through the trough by the door."
It turned out sometime later that the chips were laced with the radical
new drugs that might
save our lives from Acute
*** Desensitivity Syndrome.
The drugs,
I later found out,
were made from the pink fluid that leaks from the Archbishop Rowan Williams about two
or three times a week,
and so are very expensive.
Finally, one of the men spoke to me.
He said, "Your name is Gary Cooper
like the cowboy."
I said "That is incorrect,
Gary Cooper was an actor."
The next day the nurseman came into the room
dressed in a suit like those what you see in a nuclear powerplant.
He sat down and
called me to his desk.
He said,
"Do you feel like watching some MILFs
doing the *** scissors?"
I say I didn't feel like watching
*** at all.
He muttered under his breath,
"You sickening freak
may God have mercy on your soul."
He looked up from his paper and smiled at me again
in a kind of way which made his eyes look
dead like a bag of Mini Babybels with the wax peeled back.
"Do you feel like watching some gay
*** with me mate?"
"No, thank you," I said, "I do not feel like that at all."
He ticked a box on his paper
which was next to the sentence:
'Dangerous animal broken from the *** trance.'
I could not read the other options.
"I'm afraid there's not much hope for you," he said,
"Not for any of you.
Get used to each other,
it's going to be a long stay."
He asked if I had
performed any unusual *** acts away
from my computer in the last month.
I admitted that I had used the gentleman's room
in my workplace to frisk one out
and had wiped the globulous
residue on a rather sharp Fillet-O-Fish wrapper.
They asked me if it was at all possible that the offending wrapper could have
reentered the regular circulation of Fillet-O-Fish wrappers.
I said I left it on the counter where they
cook up all the burgers and ***.
The man said he thought this might have been the root cause of the
outbreak but that he could not yet understand
how I had originally developed the syndrome.
"It is," he said,
"extremely dangerous to have a country where young men are not mostly preoccupied
with cracking one out while looking at the ululating
globes of a couple of
top quality *** straight out of high school in the US of A."
The third evening they waited until
we were all asleep and a huge projector fired up and loud noises
of *** rang throughout the quarantine room. On all the ceilings and walls video
images of UK amateur babes getting spunked on played out.
We all lay there feeling quite tired.
One of the other lads remarked,
"That's Helen Gibbons-Christ,
a girl I went to school with."