"JUPITER BOO-HOO" is a story inspired by those who've expired because they've perspired too much. Sort of. This story is about that and sex. This is the second to last photo in a series of portraits I've been getting from the lovely and talented Marieta Tsenova. While I'm no prude I hope this image doesn't start a trend of people sending me photos of their boss in her underwear. This isn't that kind of site. I repeat: thisisntthatkindofsite.com. I mean that. I mean that pseudo-seriously. Yup. mixedmessages.com
(Question: What did we do before we could add "dot-com" to the end of any string of words ? Answer: Nothing. We had nothing to say and there were more gaps and pauses in conversation several decades ago. During those pauses people would sometimes simply stare at the sun. Ancestral fools.)
Oh yeah so here's the sexy photo:
From behind a battered up English 10 text-book he glares outside at the reddish sunshine. "What's the fucking use !" he mutters, lobing the Science Fiction collection across his room and directly into a little plastic basketball hoop. It knocks loudly on the door and his mother, from some far away corner of the house, answers in kind.
"That is not the sound of studying. The sound of studying is silence. Silence," she screams from someplace like the basement.
The text-book opens on the floor to a thinly drawn illustration of Jupiter next to a story about creatively telepathic adolescents in space. The gist of the story is that they can transmit "waking dreams" into physical items which are then passed on to somone else through a simple touch. There are doodles of breasts and anuses all around the margins of the story.
He closes his eyes and crashes lands quietly on his bed. "Telepathic retards in space," he sighs into the sheets. Summer school homework is hell, his friends have told him, but they don't know the half of it. He has been holed up in his room trying to write a stupid essay about the creative use of telepathy for what seems like a life-time. All he wants is to go out with his friends to the party in Langley where there will be drunk girls. Thinking of girls, he reaches for a photography magazine beneath his bed that he stole from his friend's weird older sister.
He opens it to two women undressing each other with lazy hands. They are looking out to him.
He is transported into the picture where these suddenly 3-D girls giggle and offer him the tops of their breasts which he then proceeds to kiss sloppily. After several seconds of lip-action, he passes out. The breasts have been doused in poison.
Back in the bedroom outside this fantasy, he is stretched out on the bed covered in sweat.
And the "retarded" telepathic adolescents in space - who sometimes walk among us- have their revenge.