“But you cannot will unless God wills”
-Qur’an 81.20
Larry Johnson and I sat in two large reclining chairs facing one another with no desk between us and I said, Yeah exactly. So basically we’re selling buttplugs more or less. But buttplugs for fuckin you know. Like the pet market. Larry Johnson said, Really? You mean like cats and dogs? Shoving shit up their asses? I said, Dude. The dog plus cat buttplug market is about to blow the fuck up. You really have no idea. People are going to go fucking ape-shit over the possibility of shoving anal beads and whatnot right up their pets’ asses. This is what people want right now. They just don’t know it yet. To shove sex toys directly up their pets’ anal cavities. But in a really streamlined type of way you know? Basically all this shit. This so-called vision so to speak. It started for me a few years ago. This vision came to me. And by vision I mean that I actually received a physical fuckin letter. No return address. Guy by the name of David Wingate apparently wrote it. Said he was from the year 2981. Middle management type. That pedophilia had been legal for literally hundreds of fucking years. That in the future Jeffrey Epstein actually becomes a Christ-like figure for more than a few galaxies.
Larry said, Like Epstein Island Jeffrey Epstein? I said, Well technically they call him Jeff Christ in 2981. But yeah basically. The pedophile sex trafficker or whatever. So I guess it kind of put this whole idea into my head. Like what’s next for the sex toy market? Larry said, You didn’t want to make. I said, I feel like right now? Running a bootleg pet sex operation will be a lot more politically viable that a child dildo one, you know? He said, Honestly. I don’t disagree at all bro. Do you think we should we get lunch? It’s like 11:40. I said, Fuck yes we should. Where at? He said, Bell Pepper Plus? I said, Eh. He said, You know Bell Pepper Plus? The vegan spot by the river bridge?
I said, Yeah I know it. Yeah. The river bridge that cost like 2 million to build? He said, Yeah, exactly. I said, Of course. Honestly. Not a big fan. He said, Of the bridge? I said, Of either to be honest. He said, Yeah I mean I get it. I have some issues with it conceptually myself. I said, Yeah personally? I don’t know. I kind of fucking hate it? Personally. I don’t know. I think it’s a little gay how they have the three different restaurants. It’s allegedly three levels of restaurants. They tell you it’s three restaurants in one. But then when you get there you have to choose which level to sit at? And each level has a distinct menu? Larry said, Oh yeah I know. I’ve always found that slightly off-putting. I said, It’s just like. What the fuck? You have the one building. But if I want a burrito I have to quote-unquote make a reservation for your make-believe Mexican restaurant? But if you want, say, some vegan spaghetti and meatballs or something then we have to make a reservation at the quote-unquote Italian restaurant? But they’re both in the same fucking building. You don’t have the same kitchen making all of this shit? You’re preventing me from ordering a burrito because of a purely make-believe kitchen? Fuck you. Larry said, No. I totally get it. We could probably order from somewhere else. To be honest I’m not even married to the whole vegetarian angle. I could go for like a steak and cheese even.
I said, Yeah. No just give me like 20 minutes and we’ll order from somewhere. I’m open to pretty much anywhere but Bell Pepper Plus. But anyway. Back to these buttplugs I guess? Larry said, We could also do Raska? In 20 minutes I mean. I said, The Indian place over in Garden City, right? He said, Yeah exactly. I love it there! I said, Eh. He said, Have you been there? I said, You know I actually went over there the other night? To fucking Raska. He said, Oh yeah? How was it? They have this deal on Mondays. I think it’s like sixty bucks for two people. With a bottle of wine included!
I said, Yeah we were in the area and we were, you know. We wanted to eat. We needed to grab a quick bite. And I’m with you. Generally speaking I’ve enjoyed Raska’s overall cuisine. So it was kind of late. And their website said they closed at ten. It was I don’t know. Like fuckin 9:15? And we were five minutes away, so I drove over there. We walk up to the host. He makes this, in my opinion, extremely homoerotic bodily gesture. And he’s like Oh the kitchen closes in five minutes, if that’s ok with you? I told him, Yeah that’s fine. If you’re still open. Because it’s their own website that’s telling me this.
For the record. I’m not pulling 10pm out of my own asshole here. That’s what I was informed via their official website. Closing: 10pm. It was maybe 9:20. 9:25 at the latest. Plus I knew I was getting the Lamb Biryani. So no big deal. Sit me. Bring me that Biryani. Let’s do this. But once we sit down it was just like every 90 seconds to two minutes. We’re getting approached. No. The first thing the waitress does is reiterate to us that the kitchen closes in five minutes. Just so you know the kitchen closes in five minutes, she said. That was literally her version of hello. She may have even said, So if you want to put your order in now . . . Which we did. Sure, I ordered an entire bottle of wine. But I was obviously going to chug it! It wasn’t like I was going to sip it deep into the evening. And it was terrible house white. Just barely drinkable! And then after that it’s every 90 seconds. Like clockwork. We can’t complete three sentences without a member of the waitstaff asking us if we’re ok. If we need anything. Moving one of our forks from a forty five degree angle to a ninety degree angle. They did everything but physically come over and fondle my balls while counting down the seconds aloud until their kitchen closed. I’m trying to have a polite dinner conversation with my better half over here and some cunthole is disingenuously fluffing my napkin for me between every other declarative statement. So, finally. Because now I’m actually pissed off. I’m fuming. I’ve chugged almost an entire bottle of this piss-adjacent house white wine.
So on our way out I go to the host. I just tell him. Just bluntly but politely I say, You know what? Next time? Just don’t let us in. If it’s that much of an inconvenience. If this is such a Holocaust for your waitstaff, that two people would arrive at your precious restaurant forty minutes before your listed closing? Just fucking turn us away. And he has the audacity to say, Well I did say we were closing soon. I lost it, Larry. I absolutely lost it. Oh you told me you were closing soon? That’s now an excuse for grotesque dinner service? You can treat people like orangutans because you told them you’re closing soon? Then he said, But next time. I said, Pal. Let me be crystal fucking clear for you. There will be no fucking next time. I’ll fuckin jack off a series of goats before I step foot in here again and remunerate you for a bowl of Lamb Biryani. I came in here and paid full-price to eat and you treated me like you were doing me a favor. One of the waitresses actually yelped out. Right as we were in the doorway, she said, Wait, your leftovers! And I said, No keep them! That’s how pissed I was, Larry. I fucking love leftovers. For me to leave leftovers I have to feel almost suicidal. I’m not even kidding. More than anything I adore leftovers. And I voluntarily left our leftovers there. Purely out of spite! I would have loved to eat that Biryani the next morning. But anyway. Yeah I don’t know about them for lunch.
It was Larry Johnson’s first week at Brunson Industries, my software engineering company on Branch Ave in Providence. I’m Rick by the way. Rick Brunson: founder and CEO! At BI, we specialize, I guess primarily our focus is in the electro-sex toys and vape paraphernalia markets? Yet on this particular Tuesday morning in February Larry Johnson honestly had no fuckin clue he’d become a crucial cog in the machine of designing illegal sex toys for small dogs and cats. That we were in the midst of creating one of the truly revolutionary illegal underground sex markets in American history!
Still sitting in our reclining chairs I continued to Larry, I said, Yeah. Let’s face it. Puppy buttplugs? Sure it’s a little unorthodox as a concept. But all innovative business is. The iPhone was essentially a Persian cat vibrator when it first hit the market. The reality, Larry, is this: the margins on porn and its adjacent businesses are all compressing. In a major way. The cost of porn is near-zero now. The competition in the dildo space is fuckin beyond ridiculous. If you can’t make a third generation flesh light for 12 cents or less then you’re fucked. Basically beyond the strip joints almost all channels of revenue are being seriously challenged. Innovation is going to be key in the coming decades. It’s going to literally be the difference between the companies that stay in the business and the ones that don’t. The idea. Well. Like I said. It really came about when just a couple years ago, at the height of COVID, I stumbled upon this letter from this so-called David Wingate. This extended note so to speak. It’s my muse in a way. It’s a letter with a kind of weird origin? Fuckinnnnnnnnnnnnn, ummmm, let me see if I can find this thing. I said. I rummaged behind my chair into my desk drawers. Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Ok! Here it is. Here. Let me read it to you. I want to paint the landscape for you in full. So you’ll be fully engaged with the mission here at Brunson Industries. We’re gonna get fucking rich off this shit Larry! I can’t wait! I unfolded the pages, said, Fuckinnnnnnnnnnnn, as I extended them into readable form then read aloud:
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