It’s a Thursday morning, and you’re sitting around with nothing to do. You had a job, but it exploded, so now you’re stuck here in your boring house.
Suddenly, your phone rings.
You walk outside and find your mailman. “You have a letter,” says your mailman. “Here it is.”
Inside your house, the phone continues to ring.
Boston. The diamond in America’s face. The place where a dog died. A sprawling metropolis filled with history, culture, stores, some roads, and a guy who kissed a lady here once. It’s time to walk through this city’s hallowed gates and start fucking and killing all the stuff that’s here so that God will destroy it for insurance money.
“It’s whatever. I could take it or leave it.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty good. Listen, could you take your letter now? I have to deliver mail to everyone in the world, and you’re my first house.”
It’s a letter from the Mayor of Boston. It sounds like a pretty urgent message.
You are standing outside the historic gates of Boston. Before you can pass through them, your cell phone starts ringing. It’s your husband and wife calling.
You answer your phone to talk to your husband and wife. “Hello. This is your husband and your wife,” say your husband and wife.
“I’m your wife,” says your husband.
“I’m you,” says your wife.
“One husband and one wife,” your husband and wife say in unison.
“We were just sitting on our hands so that we could charge people money to get touched in the leg by our warm hands,” says your wife.
“We’ve made over $600 from people lining up outside of our house just begging us to put our warm hands on their neck for 15 minutes at a time,” says your husband.
“When I’m sitting on my own hands, I’m in heaven,” says your wife.
“Yeah, when I’m sitting on my own hands, I bellow in ecstasy and feel like God,” says your husband.
“I love to sit on my hands and scream, ‘Yeah, baby! Christmas came early for my warm hands!’ until the neighbors ask me to leave their bathroom,” says your wife.
“I’m your wife,” says your husband.
“Okay, we’ll let you go,” your husband and wife say. “But promise us that while you’re fucking and killing everything that draws breath in Boston, you won’t cheat on us. Fuck and kill whoever you want, but do not fuck anyone. We are the only people you are allowed to fuck. We are your husband and wife, and monogamy is more important to us than God and Bus God combined.”
“This is Boston Castle, where Thomas Jefferson and King George III co-wrote the Declaration of Independence. This is where the Mayor of Boston lives and does his private trouble.”
You blast into Boston and stand in the middle of Adultery Square, one of the most famous streets in Boston.
It’s time to do terrible sins and get God and Bus God to destroy this city. Where would you like to start doing sins?
You stand in Adultery Square and prepare to do a ton of sins. A man in a terrible blue shirt runs up to you.
“Hello. Welcome to Bompo or whatever this place is called. Please fuck me or kill me immediately.”
You send your pants and your clothes to a different country, rendering yourself nude, in the manner of sex. You begin nudely fucking the stranger right there in the middle of Adultery Square.
Due to the First Amendment, it is illegal to show you what’s actually happening right now, so the image above is a metaphor for what’s going on. The two horses fucking each other represent you and this stranger fucking each other.
“Whatever!” screams the man as you make dispassionate, lazy love to his emperor’s groin. “I don’t care about this!”
You spray the friendly stranger with Treasure Juice, a perfume issued by the United States Military that makes people smell like gold coins.
The smell of the treasure attracts a hoard of gold-crazy children.
“Hey, everyone! This guy smells like gold!” shrieks a jewel-hungry 8-year-old boy.
“I smell it!” screeches a 5-year-old girl. “I smell the jewels and the doubloons! I need that sweet treasure!”
“I live for doubloons! I smell it! I want it because I smell it!” yells a 4-year-old boy.
The mob of children jump on the man and claw him to pieces in a gold-fueled frenzy. He dies a hero’s death getting torn to shreds by insane children who keep telling him that he smells like treasure.
Nice. You killed one entire man. At this rate, God will destroy Boston in no time. Keep up the good work!
You die of old age.
You hang up the phone and sit alone in your house thinking about everything the Mayor of Boston said.
Do you have what it takes? Are you the kind of hero who can singlehandedly sin enough to turn Boston into the new Sodom, just like the Prophecies And Recipes section of the United States Constitution predicted would happen one day?
Wonderful. Very exciting. These Vikings from a long time ago are cheering because of your bravery. It’s time to get started! Go to Boston and start fucking and killing everything until the Lord destroys the city.
“Hello,” says the voice on the other end of the phone. “This is the Mayor of Boston. It’s an honor to have a phone.”
“Boston is a city in the state of Marpuss,” says the Mayor of Boston. “It is incredibly old and small. It is the capital city of Marpuss. In 1997, a man dumped $6 in coins into a fishbowl while staring at a picture of Boston, which made Boston famous all over the world.”
“Are you familiar with the story of Sodom and Gomorrah?” asks the Mayor of Boston.
“Wonderful. On behalf of myself and all the people of Boston, I cannot wait for you to fuck us and kill us in an anything-goes orgiastic carnage odyssey that will result in the divine destruction of our glamorous city. It’s very important that you fuck and kill as many people as possible. Okay, goodbye. I love you, I love God and Bus God, and I love 3D video games. Goodbye.”
Ah! Harvard University! The special jail where people with too much math are imprisoned forever and forced to teach each other about poems. It is one of the cruelest and most prestigious prisons, not just in Boston, but in the entire state of Marpuss.
Surely, one of the brilliant minds trapped here in this brain dungeon can help you sink Boston into the sea.
Which department of the university would you like to visit?
As you make your way across Harvard’s stylish quadrangle toward the Religious Studies Department, you encounter Sunrise Man and Midnight Man, the Twin Deans of Harvard University.
“We are from today,” says Sunrise Man.
“Harvard,” says Midnight Man.
No, that is incorrect. Harvard University is located in the city of Boston. In fact, Harvard is the capital of Boston. “Cambridge” is a French word meaning, “It’s Boston, everybody.” Thus, your complaint is invalid and embarrassing for you.
Please select a department of Harvard that you would like to visit.
“What now?” says Sunrise Man. “Harvard? Why, yes! Harvard! The hallowed halls and the math!”
“Quite so! Harvard! The math and the brains of children. Rolling hills and smart young bellies of intelligent infants! Harvard!” says Midnight Man.
“Harvard!” Sunrise Man and Midnight Man say in unison.
You tighten your neck, widen your lungs, and begin the difficult but noble task of fucking the Twin Deans of Harvard University.
“Harvard the school!” screams Midnight Man as you do intimate pleasure sorceries to his emperor’s groin.
“I live for Harvard! Death is optional!” bellows Sunrise Man as you commit an illegal kindness on his reproductive cul-de-sac.
Once again, the First Amendment of the United States Constitution forbids us from showing you exactly what’s going on, but the above visual metaphor should give you a good idea. The huge fish represents “Fucking,” while the middle fish represents “Getting Gross In Boston.” The small fish is a literal fish. All the fish are eating each other, which is a metaphor for something so gross that it defies description in any known language, but suffice it to say that it involves kissing.
The two sets of train tracks are a metaphor for the two halves of Fucking, which are, of course, “Exhausting Wetness” and “Fucking All The Time.” Sorry if that was obvious, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.
You take out your cell phone and call the American Bureau of Parades. You schedule a parade in honor of Mutiny The Boat Crime and specify that the parade route should be “Boston.”
Within seconds, 8 million people wearing mutiny-themed masks and riding mutiny-themed floats come parading over the hills of Boston. The Mutiny Appreciation Parade has begun!
A marching band plays “O Mutiny, My Heart Yearns Ever For Thee” as the parade-goers cheer and scream about how much they love mutiny.
Here you are in the middle of the Mutiny Appreciation Parade. Everyone is dressed like beloved mutineers from history; Fletcher Christian and Karl Artelt costumes are everywhere you look. You start marching with the crowd as the Mutiny National Anthem swells to a triumphant crescendo.
“I love mutiny!” shrieks a 9-year-old girl wearing an Afanasi Matushenko mask.
“If mutiny were a car, I would crawl inside of it to die!” bellows a man wearing a T-shirt that says “I Love To Forcibly Wrest Control Of The Ship Away From My Captain And All I Got Was This Stupid T-Shirt.”
You have arrived at Harvard’s Department of Religious Studies. This is the part of Harvard where scientists argue about whether or not God wears a shark tooth necklace in Heaven. Maybe one of the religion scientists knows how to make God angry enough to destroy Boston.
You walk into a classroom and sit down.
“Hello,” says the professor. “Welcome to Advanced Religious Studies. Today’s lecture will address the most fundamental question of all religions: Does God wear a shark tooth necklace?”
“Of course you remember the fishbowl thing,” says the Mayor of Boston. “Everyone remembers exactly where they were when they found out someone had dumped $6 in coins into a fishbowl while looking at a picture of Boston.”
“Oh, well, good thinking to check. Anyway, I’m calling because I have a very solemn request for you.”
“All right, so then you know about how the people of Sodom did all sorts of terrible sins, like thinking about their own butts on the Sabbath and dipping their middle fingers into bowls of warm water without announcing it beforehand, and so as punishment for these sins, God and Bus God teamed up to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah?”
“All right,” says the Mayor of Boston, “so here’s my plan: I’ve taken out a $10,000 insurance policy on the city of Boston. I want you to come to this city and do so many sins that God destroys Boston the way he destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah. Then I’ll get the insurance money, and we can split the $10,000 down the middle.”
“In Boston, you can only be charged with insurance fraud if you’re under 10 years old. Our prisons are completely packed with tiny children who took out insurance policies on their own legs and then set their legs on fire to try to cash in on the insurance policy. That’s the main crime in Boston, but it’s not something that you have to worry about unless you’re under 10 years old.”
You decide that instead of murdering and fucking people in Boston, you will be tired. You yawn and walk out of your house. Your car is parked in your driveway. You climb into the driver’s seat and go to sleep. This is where you always sleep. You do not own a bed.
While you sleep in your car, you have a good dream. You dream that a man holding an oyster lets you point at his oyster. It’s the best dream you’ve ever had. In your dream, you even get to point at the oyster with both hands.
You slumber peacefully in your car as history passes you by. You die forgotten, but you don’t care.
While you sleep in your car, you have a bad dream. You dream that there are three boys near a restaurant. It’s the scariest dream you’ve ever had, and your slumber is tormented as you sit in your car and sleep for the rest of the day.
When you wake up, you write the word “Money” on a piece of paper and smile at it.
While you slumber in your car, you make the wise and noble decision to die in your sleep. The next morning, you’re discovered by your neighbor Louis, who likes to sneak into the backseat of your car every morning so that he can sit in your car and brush his hair.
Louis calls the police and informs them that he has found your corpse. The police tell Louis to never call them again.
“Great, let’s start the tour,” says Old Ancient Michael. “Right now, we’re standing in Adultery Square. It’s called Adultery Square because this is where George Washington famously added the line ‘Adultery Is Good’ to the Bill of Rights.”
“You look like you need a tour guide,” says a man dressed in the traditional clothing of Colonial America. “I am a tour guide. My name is Old Ancient Michael, and I went to the Toronto Institute of Boston Trivia, where I graduated first in my class and majored in pointing at statues. I can take you to the most historic places in Boston.”
You look in the sky and see some clouds. Making clouds is God’s way of screaming, so you know that you just pissed him off with your incredible sin. You’re on the right track! What part of Boston do you want to do sins in now?
You make your way to Fenway Park, home of the Boston Red Sox, America’s quietest, hungriest baseball team.
How would you like to infuriate God here?
“Bonjour!” you shout at Fenway Park. “Bonjour, Fenway Park!”
This is a grave sin against God and Bus God alike, for as the Bible states:
“Hello. I am the Lord. Thou shalt never shout the French word ‘Bonjour’ at a sports arena as if that sports arena were a human person who understandeth French. When you shout the word ‘Bonjour’ at a sports arena, the Lord becomes incredibly confused, and He loseth track of what things are giant buildings where sports take place and what things are human men who speak French. This makes the Lord frightened and confused, and the Lord doth stand in the middle of Heaven, screaming and squirting God Syrup out of the faucet that grows out of His forehead.” (Gen. 5:15-19)
Are you sure you want to commit the sin of fornication with Fenway Park, the giant building where the Boston Red Sox live and mumble to each other about how hungry they are?