It is still Saturday evening. Devon had spent the totality of the previous two days watching various Todd Verow films to garner some semblance of cognition regarding the disturbing underbelly of gay society; Johnny had told him to at least throw in some John Waters for a little bit of class, but Solinis vetoed the whole subject with his ancient dark rite relevance to homosexuality that had been prevalent since the beginning of mankind. Any and all homosexual sentiment has ties to Solinis.
“I did not say it was good cinema or an apt representation of the community,” the demigod of the fourth dimension drawls, puffing on slender Benson and Hedges fags known also as ‘bitch sticks’. Satin pillows ruminated beneath his hooves, cracked as they were from the multi-thousand kilometre walk he had endured as a result of his erroneous teleportation into the third dimension. “I said only that Verow had gotten an aspect of it correct.”
Johnny, as such, felt a little squeamish next to his biological father, who had taken it upon himself to bleach his hair and adorn fish net everything circa nineteen-ninety. Assless leather chaps and twin nipple piercings that were still kissed with swollen flesh from their fresh punctures. In muted glee, his wife had assisted him in the application of what was meant to be authentic punk glam—gleeful, because she had never in her wildest thought that she would get the chance to dress up her legitimately heterosexual spouse in this manner.
Elle was not wooed by the emasculation of feminine garbs on her husband, nor even the novelty of reenacting her childhood games of dressing up her male cousin (who did not even turn out to be queer in the end) in dainty silk stockings and hot pink whatever… It was this feeling in her guttural sectors that Solinis really did have some insight into the unconscious phenomena that all exquisite faggotry did fall victim to, that the gays of Montreal would sense it in their superego that daddy Devon was unobtainable in some unknown manner, like maybe the whole of human sexuality could be reduced to pheromonal attraction and the opposed realities of a man stating that he was gay but actually emanating testosterone like a straight male would drive the faeries into some madness akin to Black Friday shopping riots.
“…So where is this snuff film supposed to be taking place?” Johnny has the advent of disinterest and youth on his side, so the dumpy old jeans and Wal-Mart brand t-shirt he adorns invokes some other form of desire. They would assume that he actually is straight and is there either for the hard drugs or the prostitution money. Johnny only wants to get to the end of everything and the gays simply cannot accept that, subscribing as they do to the thrill of the chase, the knowing that death/ejaculation is the cessation of all life’s pleasure.
Tonight, the S666 looks simply like an S6. All the extradimensional locating features and temporally fluctuating text capacities are turned off because Solinis, Lucifer bless his lack of a heart, bestowed the gays of this particular era and dimension some pointless supernatural extrasensory perception towards quantum technology from the future, because all gays and Solinis can agree that nanomachines in the bloodstream are an undesirable thing for all of God’s children on this green earth; at the least sign of forbidden technology from the future here in the present, some exquisite homosexual flits literally out of nowhere and begins discussing the private thoughts and feelings of the human that possesses the quantum machine. Even high class time criminals who try to hide their quantum machines in hi-rise condos that cost millions to obtain can attest to sudden encounters with the wife’s waif of a cousin who stops by because Billy just dumped him—-but those beady little eyes send signals that let the holder of illegal technology know that his presence is fate, that the time criminal shan’t escape the wrath of homosexuality until the technology is set down and deactivated.
Devon is not doing anything remotely productive, is in fact playing a modded copy of Pokémon GO that makes it even MORE vulnerable to hackers and INSISTS that the CIA use all the information on the phone to track down any illegal activity, or to further secret Area 51 research, as the case may be. “They will come to us,” Devon states. He is not really sure if he cares to stop this snuff film from occurring because all the participants have some link to Solinis and most people linked to Solinis deserve to be tortured and killed for some reason or another. Or they WANT to be tortured and killed. Devon persists in this line of employment for his own philosophical research into the nature of humanity. Has he just been shown a false reality in order to make him more pliable, or are there really such masochistic humans in the world who cannot be saved via conventional psychotherapy or medication?
Johnny, on the other hand, knows for certain that some people want to be murdered and killed. Because it is their only way off this god forsaken immortal coil. He wants to stop the snuff film because if he is forced to live out the natural course of his immortality, then so must everyone else who has entered negotiations with the absurd deity known as Solinis Nepzastis.