Let’s All Fuck Each Other This Summer
It’s time to fully reopen our genitals
You see it in every coffee shop, every subway station, every grocery store you go to; after locking down our libidos for the better part of a year only to emerge from quarantine to realize that dating still sucks, public displays of horniness have reached an all-time high.
I could tell we were all down bad. But it wasn’t until I saw the following video that I fully grasped the urgency of the situation:
I watched in horrified arousal as the reality clapped at me from between Vanessa Hudgens’ undulating butt cheeks, the grim truth relentlessly grinding itself into my mind like the chorus of a high school musical:
We all desperately need to bone right now — otherwise, we’ll all end up on TikTok, gyrating to WAP on a beach towel in our own backyards.
So I’m just gonna say it…
…We should all just fuck each other this summer.
Not just, like, everyone fucks a lot; but, like, each person should fuck every other person in their city — or at least their neighborhood — at least once.
It will be kinda like The Purge, except instead of violence (unless you’re into that!), we’ll just be boning a bunch. We can call it The Splurge.
Now, I know you’re thinking, “But, Travis, that’s a lot of people to have sex with!”
Indeed it is. So I put together a list of rules for The Splurge, so that we can get the entire country fucked, without fucking the entire country.
1. Be Fucking Efficient
I’m guessing none of us has ever attempted to hook up with literally everyone in our city before, unless Ben Affleck’s reading this. Without the motivation that comes from being a recently-divorced, out-of-work Batman, we’ll need to improvise.
We need to fuck smarter, not harder.
Have you ever seen one of those videos online where hundreds of people spontaneously break out into synchronized dance in public? Now picture that, but for sex. Like a flashmob, but a fuckmob.
Fuckmob Do’s and Don’ts (Just the Tips):
- Keep introductions brief. No one wants to hear about your book in progress — not on a regular date, and certainly not in a fuckmob.
- After a minute, rotate partners (imagine a country music bar, but fun)
- Whatever you do, do NOT make direct eye contact with anyone; there will be no time for mass-cuddling post-fuckmob.
2. Use Protection
Remember: just because we’re all getting naked and fucking in the streets does not mean the pandemic’s over. The last thing we need is to create a new strain of Herpes-19. Let’s all play it safe and use protection.
I’m referring, of course, to face masks. Make sure it sits snugly at the base of your chin. Don’t wear double masks, as this risks tearing one of the masks through friction. Remain socially distanced at all times. Space threesomes out in a 6-foot equilateral triangle.
3. Track Your Progress
It’s important that everyone steps up and does their part here, regardless of their personal beliefs about fucking strangers. And to that end, I think it would help if we tracked it.
I suggest creating a mandatory Fuck Visa for every citizen. It could have a bunch of punch holes on it like a Subway sandwich rewards card. The more strangers you bang, the more freedoms you get; one punch hole, and you can go to Cold Stone Creamery without wearing a mask; two punch holes, and you get to give away one of your kids, etc.
Don’t think of it as the government tracking how many people you fuck. Think of it as having strangers with benefits.
4. What Happens in Tier 5 Stays in Tier 5
Naturally, as is the case with any unspeakable debauchery of this magnitude, anticipate several moments of awkwardness as the city-wide orgy dies down (imagine the ending of The Joker, but with more running mascara). There will be condoms strewn in the streets. Broken heels. Piles of empty White Claw cans. But no matter what happens, we must never speak of the sweaty, roiling mass of humanity that heaved in and out of itself, coalescing into one giant beast with two backs; a transformer made not of cars but of naked, horny human bodies; the collective weight of our pent-up sexual frustration collapsing in upon itself in an atomic reaction of ecstasy and regret that propelled us through the night until, bleary-eyed and naked, we awoke the next morning in the gutter to find we were holding direct eye contact with our boss.
Rather, when we all have babies from this, and they grow up and get old enough to ask questions, we should all stick to the same story:
We’ll say we met at Coachella.
Help Spread the Love
To get it started, try sharing this article with a friend you’d like to Splurge with. Just text it to them at 2 AM with something like, “Hahah.” And then wait a couple minutes and text the eyes emoji. 👀
