(tHROAT fUCK PT. 2)
Travis took in some air.
“It became so that I wanted to have my own Suicide story, so I started imagining a variety of whacked out scenarios, every time I played the record. Busting your first nut to Suicide’s debut album was perfect. I knew that nothing short of exceptional would be required to carry the Suicide legacy, at least on par with my buddy’s acid virginity adventure. Unless I was planning to auto-asphyxiate or begin shoving weird things up my ass, I knew I’d need an appropriate partner-in-crime to make my story happen. So as a goof, I started trolling Tinder and saying stupid shit, just to see if I could come up with something good.
“CORRECTAMUNDO!”, he exclaimed.
“You are wired for danger, Mr. Travis.”
“Don’t fool yourself, Blossom Dearie. Deep inside, I’m a Barbie Girl in a Barbie World. I never took the thing seriously, but I do enjoy a good story and my record collection has stories. That whole Max Hardcore scene is too much for me, but a simple blowjob just isn’t memorable enough to make the cut. It has to be a throat fuck or it’s not a Suicide story anymore. The details, they matter. Even depravity should have a gold standard.”