Thunda…Thunda…Thundercats, bolt.

No, Thunderbolt. That’s what this is about. Thundercats attack. This thing strikes. Like AC/DC and Marty McFly crankin’ up the Delorean to 88 in 1955. Out of fuel. Out of time. The lighting strikes, sending them back in…wait. I lost track. This isn’t about that. It’s about Thunderbolt. (Although we should discuss the third BTTF and how shitty it was when compared to the epicness of the first two, but that’s for another time. And place…And time.)

I love her. My Thunderbolt is a girl because I want to rub my penis on it and I don’t want to rub my penis on something that could be named Rick or Troy or Burt. Like, I’d never rub my penis over a tractor. I’m sure some farmer Joe out there has. At night. By himself. He couldn’t help it. Tractor’s are pretty to farmers. But not to me. Cause I’m not a farmer. And don’t want to risk having my dick sliced off by a tractor. (Yet another article in the making? We shall see).

Technology is pretty. She’s so pretty, cradled in my hand. Always smiling. Big bright smile. Did someone use their whitening strips? God, her screen is so big. I feel like i could crush a man’s head in with it. But I wouldn’t. I would never put my baby in danger like that. I think I’ll call her Thundy. No. Too fat sounding. Like thunder thighs. I don’t want my baby getting out of shape. Tundra sounds exotic but still makes her sound like she shakes the ground on her way to the fridge.

Thirteen. I’ll call her Thirteen. For two reasons I do this:

1. The “th” sound is the obvious reason

2. Thirteen is the name of Olivia Wilde’s character on House. My friend John is in love with Olivia Wilde’s character. Like, I think he’s not even dating anyone because he thinks they’re dating. Even though she has no idea who he is and never will. In fact, if she met John, she’d probably shave her face with shards of glass for two reasons:

1. She’d rather be disfigured than continue roaming the earth as the exquisite goddess that she is, knowing that somewhere, out there…beneath the pale moonlight (Side note: New movie: Fievel Goes Gay) some asshole reject is stuffing his hands with his choad to the thought of Olivia going wilde on his cock n’ nuts. But no, not when she’s disfigured. Because John’s the type of guy who places way too much emphasis on looks. Which is why he’s single. And always will be. Because John is a giant man child who still lives in his mother’s basement.

2. I forgot where I was going…

Oh yeah, my new phone. 13. I love her, John. I love her so much. Sometimes I don’t even know what I’m doing with her, much like you. On a date. Over video chat.

I just look at her, my beautiful 13. And a tear rolls down my cheek. Gently. She’s sleeping right now. I’m patting her backside. Oh, oh, she just woke up. I’m sorry 13. I’m sorry I woke you. Here, let me prop you up on your kickstand so I can look at you. What’s that, 13? What are you telling me? Oh, how sweet of you. I have a new email. Another chime. You’re so cute when you notify me. A chat from John: “I want to fuck 13.”

Do you,  John?

Do you?

"Has nothing to do with anything, yet everything to do with everything"