God

Everyone here reading this are now Old Fucks. You stink like yesterday's diapers and as we speak, new fucks pop up everywhere. So what happens to the old farts, fucks and (oops!) mistakes like us? We fade away like an old scummy piece of shit newspaper. You are old news, baby.

I was never created. The other day someone asked me to prove to him that I exist, and I said my mom and dad remember the fucking day when I was created. He said my parents don't exist and therefore your existence can never be proven in a court of law. So I sued him and lost. I really don't exist -- I am just the fucking afterbirth from non-existence, a burning photo of an event that has long ceased to even be a memory and will soon be utterly exterminated. I am dead even as I type -- an old fuck that will never be recorded, maybe just a jerk-off where whatever is left is immediately flushed down a fucking toilet. The only thing that is left is a hairy disgusting shit that they burn or dump into a worthless piece of land nobody even wanted in the first place while yesturday's fucks are spit out of the womb by the tens of thousands every second of the day in order to die and wilt in the sun and become new spittle for the spitting beast.

They say the womb is the ultimate evil in the Universe; like a spider she entices the old fucks -- destroying them mind, body and soul -- and whose life's blood greases the wheels for the next little fuck's misery. A bottomless fuck hole, whose carnivorous lust can never be quenched! But such is woman. First you're a fuck; you fuck, then you're totally fucked, and (fuck!) you disappear like you fucking never existed in the first place.