I sexually Identify as an Elon Musk. Ever since I was a boy I dreamed of implanting wires in monkey brains and being the supreme leader of Mars. People say to me that a person being a multi-billionaire CEO is impossible and I’m a fucking Twittard but I don’t care, I’m the richest man on Earth. I’m having a plastic surgeon install a Tesla HUD, StarLink terminal and a crypto mining rig on my body. From now on I want you guys to call me “Technoking of Tesla” and respect my right to manipulate dogecoin prices. If you can’t accept me you’re a muskophobe and need to check your unionized worker privilege. Thank you for being so understanding.

So I was having online classes with my camera turned off when I started hearing a little whistle from one of the students in the background that seemed very familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it. The whistling stopped for a couple of minutes until I started hearing it again, and then I knew exactly what it was: it was the chorus of Dream's hit song 'Mask'. I immediately ripped off all my clothes and started furiously stroking my fully erect penis for a good 10 min, even sticking my Dream body pillow up my rectum, imagining that it was Daddy Dream penetrating me while whistling his hit song 'Mask'. It honestly were the greatest 10 minutes of my life, until my libido reached its climax and I let out a gigaload of cum for Daddy Dream that landed on the phone's screen and ended up turning on the mic and camera, and everyone stared horrified at me, screaming at the sight of my honest and earnest love expression to Dream. I was kicked out of the class by the dreamphobic teacher, and today the school principal called me and my parents to a meeting and told us that I may be expelled from the school, merely from expressing my gender and sexuality. What can I do about this?!?!? Was I in the wrong for expressing my gender and identity??!? (Only serious answers, please).

Natalie Portman is the reason I work out. I have this fantasy where we start talking at the Vanity Fair Oscars party bar. We exchange a few pleasantries. She asks what I do. I say I loved her in New Girl. She laughs. I get my drink. "Well, see ya," I say and walk away. I've got her attention now. How many guys voluntarily leave a conversation with Natalie Portman? She touches her neck as she watches me leave. Later, as the night's dragged on and the coterie of gorgeous narcissists grows increasingly loose, she finds me on the balcony, my bowtie undone, smoking a cigarette. "Got a spare?" she asks. "What's in it for me?" I say as I hand her one of my little white ladies. She smiles. "Conversation with me, duh." I laugh. "What's so funny?" she protests. "Nothing, nothing... It's just... don't you grow tired of the egos?" "You get used to it," she says, lighting her cigarette and handing me back the lighter. "What would you do if you weren't an actress?" I ask. "Teaching, I think." "And if I was your student, what would I be learning?" "Discipline," she says quickly, looking up into my eyes, before changing the subject. "Where are you from?" "Bermuda," I say. "Oh wow. That's lovely." "It's ok," I admit. "Not everything is to my liking." "What could possibly be not to your liking in Bermuda?" she inquires. "I don't like sand," I tell her. "It's coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere."