I Found Some Sex Positions (From The Discordianist Manifesto)

Post date: 12-Sep-2018 02:28:57

I Found Some Sex Positions

An intriguing subject line for a spam email, and the more I think about it, the more I can’t stop thinking about it. I hit “delete,” then instantly wanted to scream, wait fake internet lady! Tell me of your secrets! But, alas, he/she/it vanished along with the opportunity to spend my hard-earned cash on their self-admittedly secondhand sex positions. And it’s the secondhand nature of these sex positions that I can’t get out of my head. It burrows ever deeper like a Mongolian Death Worm¹ seeking underground refuge from the frosty nights of the Gobi Desert. Consider the phrasing: I found some sex positions. This presents a whole buffet of burning questions (offering many strange dishes) and implies that the world is a far more wonderful and mysterious place than I had previously imagined.

For example, where did this individual find their secret sex positions? On the ground? Abandoned in the dumpster behind the Sex Position Mart, expired and flavorless? Where does one go to seek them out? In a temple guarded by elaborate traps? Could Indiana Jones whip-swing his way to finding some cursed, ancient pharaoh’s coveted pile of sex positions? One must wonder if this information is truly worth chancing identity theft and financial ruin. One must weigh the risk versus the reward. If sex positions are just scattered about waiting to be found, then perhaps we can mount an expedition to find them ourselves! Our Brave Email Scammer claims to have made just such a discovery, and if they can do it, so can we.

Point, the second: Brave Email Scammer (a.k.a. Fake Internet Lady) has kept the exact quantity of the found sex positions deliciously vague. After all, when you bait a mousetrap, you don’t then go blabbering on about exactly how much peanut butter you slathered on there, EH? DO YA? No. You let the mouse investigate that on their own until the crushing weight of their curiosity (represented by a spring-loaded metal death-bar) comes a-thwacking their fucking neck in twain. Remember the Associative Property of Scammification: If you can pull it on a mouse, then an internet scammer can pull it on you. QED: You are a mouse. So, Fake Internet Lady piques that mousey interest with the promise of sex positions (plural) without spoiling the surprise of just how many she might have on offer. To solve that mystery, money must change hands, you see. A-thwack.

Finally, the enigma of what Fake Internet Lady meant by the term sex positions itself taunts my imagination with images of heretofore undiscovered physical arrangements which produce forbidden pleasures unattainable by other, more pedestrian means. What could these positions look like? Would I need to stretch beforehand? How strong or limber must I become to taste of this dark fruit? I envision Fake Internet Lady in a bookstore, stroking her considerable beard, leafing through the most recently updated Karma Sutra, and shaking her head slightly with a knowing smile on her face. She knows these bland positions, and they are quite unlike the ones she discovered. Inferior and clumsy, the floundering attempts of the Karma Sutra cannot hope to capture the wild ecstasies of her sex positions, for truly fulfilling sex positions cannot be learned. They must be found. And, once found, they must be emailed to others for a nominal fee.

And I go and delete the email like an asshole. What a baboon! What clown shoes I wear! Let’s just hope she emails me again, like she already has 23 times this week.

1 Some people argue that Mongolian Death Worms don’t exist, and they are neither right nor wrong about that.