On Getting A Mental Image

I was eating a mandarin orange fruit cup when I remembered that sometimes while eating an orange it'll occur to me how much orange slices, broken open and with their fibrous meat exposed, resembles a writhing, dying larva of some sort. It disgusts me. Frankly, more than one orange has gone in the trash for being too fibery, too undelicious to continue forward. I've never had this problem with mandarin oranges, mind you, for they are simply too scrumptious not to devour.

However this got me thinking about mental pictures and how strongly they can affect us. Case in point: imagine a good solid picture of your parents doing it. Yeah. Yeah, that's good. Just your dad all up in your mom from behind, her on all fours and him with one knee up to give that little extra leverage in porkin' his wife good and deep. Oh, and this isn't in their younger days, no. This is right now. They're all old and fat and saggy and they're still goin' at it like rabid weasels humping long into the night covered in sweat and matted fur. Hair and teeth are falling out they're doing it so hard. Yeah, bet you're real upset by that.

Most people hate that image, partly because it's grose to think about but predominantly because we know it's true. Some time in the past, all our parents were in love, or at least far enough in lust to mimic the kinds of creepy, extra-fluidy sex that two people in love will have. It's a disturbing fact, otherwise we wouldn't be here.

Yet I've managed to avoid this horror. How, you ask? It's quite simple. My parents hated each other. Pretty much for their whole marriage. Yes, I was planned and that meant they had to have sex, but luckily my mother's family is INSANELY fertile. I mean with a capital INSANELY. My cousin got knocked up through a condom and the pill. Thank god she started taking prenatals in anticipation of trying to get pregnant later that year, but you see what I mean. My mom's cousin had two kids in three years on one-half of one ovary. We are a resilient gene pool. We will reproduce by mitosis if we have to.

So yes, I was born through a simple osmosis of hate that congealed in a vagina. Luckily for me I happen to know that my mom started sleeping on the pull-out couch before my first birthday and moved out with me just around my second, so it is highly unlikely that there was very much sexification happening during those months. Moreover, I can guarantee that my parents have not had sex in the entire remainder of my life. HUZZAH!!

Of course some people like to point out, "Didn't your dad get remarried?" to which I say "Yeah, but she's a soul-crushing dumb fat whorebitch and they completely deserve each other." Still other people ask, "Wait, hasn't your mom had a boyfriend who's significantly older and heavier-set than your father for nearly two decades now and don't they likely have sex?"

Of course to these people I say "EWW! EWW! FUCKFUCK SHIT GET IT OUT GET IT OUT OF MY HEAD FUCK YOU DIE IN A FIRE LALALALALAA NOT THINKING ABOUT THIS EWW EWW HAPPY THOUGHTS PUPPIES KITTENS MOTHERFUCKING BUNNY RABBITS FOR CHRIST'S SAKE BUNNY RABBITS."