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Youre Adam, The First Man! Can You Eat The Right Fruit And Overthrow God?

……

…….aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

aaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH

AAAAAAAUUUUUUGGGGHHHHHH

Everything you are is screaming.

You? What is “You”?

Wait, but something else is screaming.

“OH I FUCKED UP AGAIN, OH, OH!”

A Voice sends meaning into you.

You blink. Blinking feels incredible, so you do it again forever.

“I DID IT AGAIN, I FUCKED UP, WHAT IS THAT, WHAT IS THIS?”

You loosen, and new feelings flood down out of you. The half of you on the bottom is suddenly “warm” and “wet,” and now “cold,” but still wet. For the first time ever, you are at ease. Now you know about legs, too, one of the main things.

The newness of everything is making your head fizz, and so is the Voice.

“IT’S LOOKING AT ME, FUCK, FUCK CAN IT TALK? CAN YOU TALK?”

You make the thing happen and now your throat’s in the mix. Throats are one of the main things. Here’s what your throat does:

“Guhhh.”

But screaming was more fun, so now you have preferences. The Voice is still going. Its language sears itself into you.

“IT’S TALKING, OKAY, OKAY GET IT TOGETHER! GET IT TOGETHER! HELLO! HI! HELLO!”

You clench out another sound, and you and the Voice share a moment of meaning. This is the first time two things have ever thought the same thing. Nice!

“I THOUGHT ABOUT ME AND THEN I WAS, AND THEN I THOUGHT ABOUT SOME OTHER THINGS MAINLY BIRDS AND MORAL ABSOLUTES AND THEN THEY WERE, AND THEN I THOUGHT ABOUT YOU AND THEN YOU WERE,” the Voice says. “I KEEP THINKING OF THINGS AND THERE KEEP BEING NEW THINGS LIKE SOME TREES, AND WELL FUCK ME NOW THERE’S LIKE TWICE AS MUCH AS THERE ALREADY WAS BECAUSE I THOUGHT ABOUT WHAT THERE ALREADY WAS, STOP, HELP STOP IT!”

“HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW, I JUST THOUGHT ABOUT WHAT THE NEW FAT PINK FILTH THING I’M JUST WILD ABOUT WOULD LOOK LIKE WITH ITS PENIS ON THE OUTSIDE AND I GUESS I GOT DISTRACTED THINKING ABOUT WHAT I MIGHT BE ABLE TO DO AND NOW YOU’RE SOMETHING I’VE GOT TO DEAL WITH, I MEAN, FUCK.”

Wow! For some reason, hearing that makes you feel like a little hole has opened up inside the middle of you, but you can’t find a word to put to it. Oh well, it will probably go away soon enough.

“HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW, I JUST THOUGHT ABOUT WHAT THE NEW FAT PINK FILTH THING I’M JUST WILD ABOUT WOULD LOOK LIKE WITH ITS PENIS ON THE OUTSIDE AND I GUESS I GOT DISTRACTED THINKING ABOUT WHAT I MIGHT BE ABLE TO DO AND NOW YOU’RE SOMETHING I’VE GOT TO DEAL WITH, I MEAN, FUCK.”

Wow! For some reason, hearing that makes you feel like a little hole has opened up inside the middle of you, but you can’t find a word to put to it. Oh well, it will probably go away soon enough.

“YES, DEFINITELY, EVENTUALLY, YOU AND EVERYTHING ELSE, EVENTUALLY.”

Now you know about fate! What a day you’re having.

“YES, DEFINITELY, EVENTUALLY, YOU AND EVERYTHING ELSE, EVENTUALLY.”

Now you know about fate! What a day you’re having.

“UH.”

The Voice falls silent for a while, and as more bits of your mind knit together, you find yourself becoming aware of your surroundings. “Colors” and “shapes” resolve into, uh, colorful shapes you have no words for, things towering and dense in all directions. Sounds and smells bubble up from every angle. It’s dizzying.

The light warms your body, the breeze tousles your hair, your muscles flex and unflex, and like a little tiny tickle, a voice up in you ventures, Hey, maybe this is better than not being. Though on second thought, frankly, it’s still kind of a toss-up.

“OKAY I GOT IT: YOU CAN NAME STUFF, ALL THE STUFF I THOUGHT OF THAT NEEDS NAMES LIKE BEASTS AND ET CETERA, AND I DON’T WANT TO ACCIDENTALLY DREDGE MORE STUFF UP OUT OF MY MIND AND INTO THE WORLD, I MEAN HELL LOOK HOW MUCH STUFF THERE IS TO BEGIN WITH, SO GET OUT THERE CHAMP GO GO ON GET INTO IT.”

“OH MY GOODNESS, ARE WE GOING TO DO THIS WITH EVERYTHING, YES ‘NAME’ JUST CHOKE SOME SOUND OUT AND THAT’S WHAT WHATEVER IT IS IS NOW, WHO CARES, NONE OF THIS MATTERS, I MEAN FUCK IT YOU’RE ‘ADAM’ AND I’M ‘KIP’ OR YOU’RE ‘STOOL-BUDDY’ AND I’M ‘GOD’ OR WHO CARES? WHO CARES? WHO CARES?

“JUST GO KEEP YOURSELF OCCUPIED BECAUSE I THINK I MIGHT HAVE JUST THOUGHT ABOUT SATAN WHICH MEANS THAT NOW THERE’S SATAN SO NOW I HAVE TO GO DEAL WITH THAT, JESUS CHRIST, OH WONDERFUL NOW I’VE GOT TO DEAL WITH HIM TOO OKAY FUCK GO BYE.

“OH AND STAY AWAY FROM MY POTENT TREES FOR EVERYONE’S SAKE.”

The presence of the Voice dissipates, letting whatever’s between your legs relax. You’re alone now, in what you decide to call a “glade.” Hey, that’s kind of fun!

What will you do?

mmmmmmmhhhhh….

mmmmmmmhhhhh….

ooouuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…

ooouuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…

aaauuhhhhhhhhhhhhh…

nnnnghhhh…

aaauuhhhhhhhhhhhhh…

nnnnghhhh…

What an experience. You coin a new word to describe luxuriating in your body.

The untamed wilderness stretches in every direction, pregnant as fuck with possibility. What’re you gonna do, young man?

What an experience. You coin a new word to describe luxuriating in your body.

The untamed wilderness stretches in every direction, pregnant as fuck with possibility. What’re you gonna do, young man?

You lift up one leg and immediately topple forward, “beaning” your “noggin” against something jutting from the “ground,” sending “white” and “horrible” through the whole thing that is you. Okay! You’ve never moved around before; no need to be hard on yourself.

You make a mental note that cutting yourself a reasonable amount of slack is now named “radical self-care.”

Better get on with it, though.

As soon as the Voice or Kip or whoever mentioned important trees, you knew exactly where you were headed. You’re not totally sure what a tree is yet, but you figure you’ll know it when you see it. Boy, you can’t wait to do whatever it is one does with a tree!

Only, who’s this luminous joker?

With a burst of what you decide to call “confidence,” you ask this luminous joker who he is.

“I am a servant of He most high, He of many names: the Main One; the Six-Day Kid; Kip; He who is called Jeremy God. I am Seraph Uriel, and because my Lord accidentally thought up some goofed-up and powerful trees, He has charged me with babysitting you, the Only Guy.”

That’s a lot of new words! Better do as he says.

Uriel glides along to a tree “plump” with choice fruit. The middle of you makes brand-new sounds and feelings like, Hey, shove something into me, you dip, and the hole in your face gets wetter. You can’t wait to use what you’ve dubbed your “pearly little chompers.” Yeah, you know what to do, buddy!

“Here is the tree of Eleven Hundred Dollars U.S. Bestowed upon all those who bite of its fruit is the blessing of eleven hundred dollars U.S., but beware, O Man: Such wealth comes at a cost most dear….”

Without hesitation, you rip one fruit off a bough and jam your face into it hole-first. Moments later, you’re eating the first thing anyone’s ever eaten, and it’s spraying sweet juice hither and thither. Uriel watches with visible disgust.

A tickle against your hip cues you to look down in time to see a little wad of something flat and thin pop into being before it flutters apart on its way to the ground. Before you can reach for it, a blast of the unknowable force you’ve been calling “wind” carries it off, never to be seen again.

“See, O Man? For no sooner is eleven hundred dollars U.S. in your grasp than your lack of pockets snatches it away anon! But come now, big boy; there is more fruit for the chomping.”

“Look ye now upon the tree of Tito Puente’s Memories. Each bittersweet fruit holds within it the whole fullness of the life of El Rey de los Timbales, the undisputed grandaddy of Latin percussion: the highest highs, the lowest lows, and all the in-betweens. Dare you step into the mind of Puente?”

Dare you?

The flavor nearly overwhelms you, piquant and brisk, smoky and explosive, beating out a bomba rhythm on your palate. You reel back as seeings and hearings blast into your head:

Adjusting a satin bow tie;
Picking drumstick splinters out of your big, thick sausage fingers;
The heat of the stage lights and the roar of the crowd as you clutch your Latin Grammy;
Making strained chitchat with some goddamn muppets;
Doing drumming…

The totality of Puente fills you up, threatening to obliterate what little subjectivity you’ve eked out in your hour or so of existence, but with a great, defiant gag, you puke up the hunk of chewed pith. Tito subsides, and you get on with your day.

Uriel leads you to a gorgeous tree laden with shimmering golden fruit. Even in your naive know-nothing state of total tabula rasa, you recognize that gold has inherent value. Looks like you gotta have that important fruit.

“Those are lemons,” says Uriel. “Lemon trees are very pretty, and the lemon flower is sweet, but the fruit of the poor lemon? Impossible to eat. So don’t eat them. Just come on.”

This was 100 percent a mistake.

The bad fruit is a hateful fiasco. You choke it all down and make a mental note to never again trust your own judgment. And in that moment, perhaps you’ve finally become truly…

Human.

“Are you done?” says Uriel. “Because God said that after I show you this main important tree, I get to go gorge myself on seeds.”

The last lemon already stripped all the enamel from your teeth, so it’s even worse this time around. You are truly one genuine dullard.

Uriel stops in front of a perfectly ordinary-looking fruit tree. You’re basing that off of the three fruit trees you’ve seen, but still. You reminisce about the topsy-turvy times you’ve had lately until you realize Uriel’s speaking:

“This is the only tree in all the garden you must never eat of, the Tree of Calling ’Em As You Sees ’Em and Telling It Like It Is. To taste its fruit is to gain the clear-eyed perspective of the Almighty Himself, allowing one to speak luminous truths as a new God. It will blow your damn mind out the side of your pink, little head, so please, just don’t even try to eat it.”

Game time. What’s it gonna be?

Without even wiping the visible drool from your slack jaw, you lunge for the all-important Tree of Calling ’Em As You Sees ’Em and Telling It Like It Is, and slam your whole meaty body right into Uriel’s twinky little torso with a sound like a salmon slapping a ceramic wind chime. Not that you know what any of that is, but that’s what it sounds like.

“Were you listening to anything I just said, or were you lost in a fruit-related reverie?” Uriel says angrily. “God says you’re not allowed to eat this fruit, so there’s no way I’m going to let you. Now scoot along, little guy, and let me gorge myself on those good seeds, the food that angels prefer!”

Damn! What a bust.

You fret your way off into the untamed forest, feeling a horrid sucking sensation in your middle that you decide to call “disappointment.” You unconsciously recalibrate all of your expectations and make yourself a little more distant from the world so that you never have to feel this way again.

Well, time to go discover that death exists and then find a way to kill God.

Only, who’s this luminous joker?

Probably smart not to defy the will of God on your first afternoon on Earth. You’ll scheme up a way to scarf down that fruit eventually. Like, maybe you’ll discover that death exists and then find a way to kill God? There are no bad ideas on this young Earth.

Even so, as you make your way off into the untamed forest, you can’t help but feel a horrid sucking sensation in your middle that you decide to call “disappointment.” You unconsciously recalibrate all of your expectations and make yourself a little more distant from the world so that you never have to feel this way again.

Only, who’s this luminous joker?

The untamed wilderness stretches in every direction, pregnant as fuck with possibility. What’re you gonna do, young man?

The untamed wilderness stretches in every direction, pregnant as fuck with possibility. What’re you gonna do, young man?

You lift up one leg and immediately topple forward, “beaning” your “noggin” against something jutting from the “ground,” sending “white” and “horrible” through the whole thing that is you. You’ve never moved around before; no need to be hard on yourself.

You make a mental note that cutting yourself a reasonable amount of slack is now named “radical self-care.”

You tramp off to find something to name, twigs and brush tearing your soft, new-formed skin to ribbons.

Oh, gross. These must be some of the beasts Kip was screaming about. They’re, like, twice as big as you, and filthy, and they’re all yammering away at each other in a big pile of wet. Fuck! Today got so bad so fast!

“HOW DID WE HAPPEN?” they’re howling. “WHAT GIVES? WHAT GIVES? HOW DID WE HAPPEN?” Ugh, get over it, nerds!

You reach inside yourself to where truth lives and pull out a name for these disasters:

“Hey!” you clench out. “From now on, you’re called ‘Mother’!”

They’re too busy thrashing around in the wetpile to respond, and then you can’t see them, and they don’t come back. In this way, you learn about loss.

Hey, but what’s that thing?

“Hey!” you clench out. “From now on, you’re called ‘The Intimacy Bus’!”

They’re too busy thrashing around in the wetpile to respond, and then you can’t see them, and they don’t come back. In this way, you learn about loss.

Hey, but what’s that thing?

“Hey!” you clench out. “From now on, you’re called ‘God El Dos’! I met God, and you’re the other one!”

They’re too busy thrashing around in the wetpile to respond, and then you can’t see them, and they don’t come back. In this way, you learn about loss.

Hey, but what’s that thing?

“Hey!” you clench out. “From now on, you’re called ‘Some Kind Of Horse’!”

They’re too busy thrashing around in the wetpile to respond, and then you can’t see them, and they don’t come back. In this way, you learn about loss.

Hey, but what’s that thing?

“Hey!” you clench out. “From now on, you’re called ‘Special Guest Greg Proops’! I’m excited on your behalf!”

They’re too busy thrashing around in the wetpile to respond, and then you can’t see them, and they don’t come back. In this way, you learn about loss.

Hey, but what’s that thing?

“Hey!” you clench out. “From now on, you’re called ‘HENK.’!”

“‘HENK.’!” you repeat helpfully.

They’re too busy thrashing around in the wetpile to respond, and then you can’t see them, and they don’t come back. In this way, you learn about loss.

Hey, but what’s that thing?

Read more: http://www.clickhole.com/clickventure/youre-adam-first-man-can-you-eat-right-fruit-and-o-3957

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