The Opiate, Summer Vol. 14
PornMe2: Gribby in Space David Leo Rice
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oor Gribby’s on his last legs, so to speak, dying in the bathtub with the other Gribby standing over him, filming it all on his phone, uploading the shower scene to the central PornMe server, so that Gribbys the world over can get a sweet, sweet taste of what they’re missing. Now Gribby’s huddled, fetal, stinking the ol’ drain up with his dumpling-salty blood and gamey panic sweat, color leaving his skin like a lychee that’s been soaked too long in ice. He’s looking up at the other Gribby, the one he glommed onto in all that porn he watched of himself getting busy with everyone who will now outlive him, when what does that Gribby say but, “Look, chubchub, you wanna die here like a little hog-boy, or you wanna live a little longer and see what happens next? Cuz, what with the state you let yourself fall into in this here dank tub of yours, only PornMe2
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can save you now.” Gribby looks up at him, eyes all swimmy and pupil-less, unsure of what to focus on, and tries to nod. Do I wanna die? He asks himself. No, I don’t suppose I do, comes the answer. No, I’m pretty sure I do not. Not if you’re asking, no, I’d definitely prefer not to, thanks. “Well then hoo-ha-Sally,” says the Gribby-inhis-prime, as he reaches down to insert something under the dying Gribby’s left ear. To be totally honest, the dying Gribby thinks, that big fat needle thingy hurts—I’m still a flesh-hunk, not a hard drive, aren’t I?—but given that I’ve just been stabbed to death in a vicious shower scene (though already the memory of this feels more pornographic than biological, if it’s still possible to separate one from the other), it doesn’t hurt all that much in the larger scheme of things. In any case, the needle pain becomes a moot point as soon as the non-dying
