Harry Guakomoli was floating around through space contemplating what door to open and enter next. The Guak was not sure how long he had spent in this astral wonderland: days, months, years?
What he did know was that the last thing he remembered was rocketing through the air while rapidly incinerating, The feeling of his skin melting then sloughing off his body was hands down the most painful thing he had ever experienced. Thereupon his world turned black.
Then The Guak was in the fuchsia spongy cavernous room known as The Pink, the home of Filthy O'Possum, the patron saint of dirty dreams. O'Possum also claimed to be our hero's ancestor, though The Guak found this claim highly dubious.
Flithy O'Possum, wearing nothing but a green silk robe and an assortment of gold chains and rings, sat atop his throne of human sex organs watching his two "assistants," Ginger and Ebony. The young voluptuous ladies were on all fours facing away from each other reenacting a scene from Requiem For A Dream. O'Possum looked bored.
The Guak, liquefying only a second ago, was then in the warm embrace of The Pink's squishy floor. O'Possum yawned and looked up to see his descendent lying on the ground a few feet away.
"Hot damn! It's The motherfucking Guak!" O'Possum exclaimed. His ennui rapidly changed to excitation. "I was dreading you were dead!"
"I think I was," replied The Guak, confused. "Or I still am."
"No, no, no," our hero's alleged ancestor retorted while he shook his head. "The Pink is for the living, my boy."
"I'm not your boy." The Guak instinctively clenched his fists.
"Whoa, man!" O'Possum held his palms out to show he meant no harm. "Put those mitts away! I meant no offense. I'm just excited to see the last of my line!"
Filthy O'Possum stood up and stepped off the breast-shaped dais and crossed over to The Guak, stepping over his girls in the process. He stood in front of The Guak and smiled broadly, showing off his diamond-encrusted platinum grill.
"Before you wake up do you want to get your rocks off?"
The Guak indeed wanted to get his rocks off and told Filthy O'Possum as much. So O'Possum obliged him. Over and over and over again.
It was obvious something was not right; The Guak did not wake up. While it was impossible to accurately gauge time in The Pink, the amount of fornication our hero indulged in without a break of conscious reality was not natural.
The Guak was not the only person Filthy O'Possum visited with naughty dreams so Filthy assigned his descendent an aide, a buxom Blasian with long platinum hair named Fantasia to guide him through the many rooms of carnal delight that comprised The Pink. Before long our hero was so well-versed in exploring and traversing The Pink his guide was no longer needed except when she was the moment's object of desire.
Filthy O'Possum told The Guak it took a special mind to traverse The Pink, to consciously pick and choose what fantasies to explore. Most sleepers could only indulge themselves in naughty acts plucked from fragments of their subconscious minds with few or no options, even individuals who spent large chunks of their existences in the world of dreams, Only the truly gifted can move from dirty dream to dirty dream via The Pink's backdoor. This, of course, was said with a chuckle. O'Possum theorized that given enough time our hero could learn to invade...er...visit...the sexy dreams of others.
At first The Guak thought The Pink was the greatest thing ever, but eventually the wonderland lost its appeal. All he could do was screw. In fact, whenever he attempted to engage in non-sexy conversation the other party would always steer the exchange back to fucking. The Guak had become bored of The Pink.
To encounter this intense feeling of ennui our hero would engage in acts the vanilla-minded people of the world would consider kinky at best and depraved at worst. And that worked for a while, falling deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole of wanton debauchery, He finally learned the meaning of a Tijuana Knife Fight after participating in one. This left him disgusted with himself, but not so grossed out he didn't try it for a second time. And a third. After the sixth time he decided to hang up his cuchillo for good.
After that The Guak took a time-out. A prolonged period of celibacy. Boredom be damned! He resisted entering the rooms for as long as he could before the boredom became too much to bear. It may have been hours or days or weeks. Maybe just minutes; it was impossible to tell. The Guak needed to visit The Pink's backdoor. The scene our hero was envisioning in his head, the one that would break his bout of chastity, took place in The Wild West. He was to be a marauding desperado stopping into town to visit the local brothel with lust in his heart and groin. There he would procure the talents of hussy-for-hire Diane Lane, a saucy minx who was getting along in years but was still as spicy as any sarsaparilla. Yes, Diane Lane would see to all of gunslinger Harry Guakomoli's lascivious needs. US Marshall Josh Brolin would be bound and gagged and forced to watch his wife service his most hated of enemies. John Brolin would cry as The Guak desecrated Diane Lane's temple. Then our hero thought of adding Fantasia to the mix as another harlot.
And, speak of the devil, at that moment the busty Fantasia, The Guak's frequent dream lover and former guide to The Pink's backdoor, appeared beside him.
"I was only thinking of adding you," The Guak growled, though, in all honesty, the appearance of the Blasian bombshell made him forget all about his Diane Lane-Josh Brolin fantasy.
"Bad news, baby," Fantasia said as she pouted. "Something's happening. It's time for you to go, but first Filthy wants to talk to you. I miss you already."
And with that a pink starfish manifested close to the pair with a pop. The Guak was suddenly pulled roughly by some unseen force towards the echinoderm. Closer and closer our hero was yanked towards it. Upon closer inspection The Guak noticed the starfish's madreporite was replaced by a dark circle of nothingness.
Now what the fuck is a "madreporite?" The Guak thought to himself right before being sucked into the void. He saw nothing but impenetrable shadow before being shot out of a hole in the ground of Filthy O'Possum's pink cavernous chamber. Filthy was once again sitting on his throne watching Ebony and Ginger, this time naked and wrestling in a pool of whipped cream and cherries. Ebony appeared to have the upper hand.
"What's going on?" asked a confused The Guak.
"I got my girls doing some sexy wrestling," snapped Filthy. "What the fuck does it look like?"
"No, about something happening? Fantasia says I'm leaving."
"Right. You've been out for a long time,and for some reason you're regaining consciousness. It's time to return to the real world. But I have a funny feeling about this, Guak. Keep your wits about you."
"Thanks," replied The Guak. "I will."
"You're welcome back anytime, man," Filthy O'Possum said with a smile. "And remember to find a way to break that curse that Jezebel of a mother put on you. The world needs more Filthys running around."
And with that The Guak was sucked back into the starfish curious and a bit concerned with what awaited him on the other end.
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