The Slovakian Traffic Cone

Unlike some other content providers here, I have a life outside of Barstool.

Not an enviable one... Just one that is different.

So if I write or record something socially acceptable, I have people in town that will openly talk to me about it while I do married-with-kids stuff.

I'll hear something like, "Hey, Large... I read that Princess Di thing, and I totally agree.  She was kind of a whore, when you think about it." when I bump into a neighbor at the grocery store.

Or "Man, Mike (my real name)... Sorry to hear about the car.  That fender bender you posted on social looks NASTY." from a friend as I am walking into mass on Sunday.

However, if I write or record something socially UNacceptable, people aren't as chatty.

This is one of those times.

According to the Urban Dictionary...

The SLOVAKIAN TRAFFIC CONE is the act of stuffing the small end of a regulation orange traffic cone into the anus of your sexual partner and then jizzing, puking, pissing, AND shitting into the open end. Then you take a plunger and force the concoction through the traffic cone and into your partner's intestines. Your partner then takes a large dose of laxatives and shits out the concoction onto your chest while you are wearing only the filthy traffic cone as a hat.

Now, I know what you're thinking...

Either, "Why didn't I think of this?" or, "C'mon, Large... You can't believe this is true."

Well, I do believe it's true, much in the same way I believed in Santa until I was 15... Because I want to believe.

I am at a point where I watch The Avengers and can't help but think that Thanos had a point... This town needs an enema more than that poor girl who was just impaled on the traffic cone.

And maybe that Thanos snap or cultural enema won't occur until there is enough hard evidence to support it, but I think the Traffic Cone is a step in that direction.

I just finished recording a podcast about cannibalism.  About Albert Fish, who ate a 10-year-old girl and then sent a detailed note to her mom describing how she tasted.  About Dahmer having so many dead bodies piling up in his apartment that he had to share a shower with a rotting corpse that he was storing on the bathtub floor.  About Bernd Jürgen Armando Brandes, who let a stranger anesthesize, castrate, and then feed him his own penis.

So don't tell me there is that type of murderous fetishism out there in the world, but there isn't some coprophagic weirdo with a willing partner and access to a tarp and traffic cone.  

And if you join me in believing this is true, then I want to invite you to also join me as I swim to the edge of this allegedly flat Earth and throw myself out into the cosmos.

There we can just float among the stars, content in finally knowing that there is no God... Because even though I have struggled with believing there was a higher being who supposedly created and loves us but still allows global pandemics, pediatric cancer, and church collapses, I have complete confidence that there is no higher power that would've dedicated her time to a race of people that evolved into shitting re-purposed vomit onto some aroused partner's chest while he or she wore nothing but a soiled traffic cone as a hat.

There's just no fucking way.

So let's sum up:

God is dead... We're all doomed... Enjoy the upcoming long weekend.

And if I see you at the grocery store, a passing nod or a simple tip of the cap will suffice.

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