“I have a pounding headache.”
“Did you try relieving it via fart?”
“Yes, and now I have a stink cloud and a pounding headache.”
Scene.
They walked off the stage, sat down next to the director, and re-watched the riveting drama that just unfolded. The director held each’s hand and whispered into Myrian’s ear, “your tits looked great.” She whimpered. Rolling her eyes wasn’t a usual gesture, but this time she didn’t roll them again.
“Wait till he leaves and I’ll show you my pounding hammer fist.”
“Help!” He cried, without any luck. The director had already forced him into the ground and began shoving marionettes into his rectum. It was a display of power. The director’s way of making sure his subjects remained docile and obedient. If he hadn’t, who knows what they would do. Rise up and twist his nipples? Dance nude and fling piss and shit into his forced open mouth? Mime the lyrics to Hotel California while riding goats and making stabbing motions with knitting needles?
All threats he couldn’t risk introducing. So the marionette inserting continued, and after a while David subjugated (i.e. shot a load in his pants, at which the point the director collected for later using as “cooking cream”).