Blngus

The absolutely based Bingus

## About:

Bingus is a student at Oh no krinj [REDACTED] stands above with thy thoughts that lift And fit all thy sons with wings To lend us flight in the sowing of our gifts. Can usually be seen with Bingus hyperfixation on [REDACTED]. Likes to [REDACTED], if you need something just hit Bingus up and give some sacrifices. Friends with Bingus <3

## References:

1. ↑ https://www.washingtonpost.com/technology/2021/08/10/rick-astley-rickroll-youtube/

## History:

Bingus wake up.

It takes me a few seconds to get my bearings, and Bingus blink as Bingus get used to the light of the sunrise seeping through the threads of my curtains. Bingus slowly gather the energy to sit up and stretch my back. Bingus blearily feel around my sheets for my phone, holding it up to my face to lazily unlock it when my hands finally wrap around it.

Bingus catch a glimpse of the date before swiping the screen up to a random social media app. It is March 17, 2020. The school had just closed a few days back, and Bingus am slowly easing into lockdown life. Bingus get out of my room and peek into another, my mother is there typing something into an Excel spreadsheet. Bingus open a YouTube video on how to cook poached eggs, and with a crack, splashing boiling water, and a few curses later, Bingus eventually get to eat my breakfast.

Bingus wake up. It’s another day. How the sun lights up my room stays exactly the same as it had a few weeks back.

Bingus shoot up from my bed, immediately opening my phone when Bingus spot it. It’s slightly hot, but Bingus pay it no mind. The calendar says March 29, 2020.

My mind races for ideas on what to do today. Yesterday, Bingus had just already watched a random cartoon that’s been on my watchlist for a few months now. Last week, Bingus had finished the book series my friend had left for me to read back in January. The week before that, Bingus had tried taking out my old art supplies and follow some tips on the internet. Bingus have what feels like a million hours at my disposal, even if Bingus do hope to get back to school in a while in time for my graduation. Sighing, Bingus type up a search query for “what to do when you’re bored”.

Bingus pick up a random sewing kit from my closet in my mom’s bedroom, where Bingus see her typing something into an Excel spreadsheet. Life goes on.

Bingus wake up again.

Bingus am met with the graceful tapestry the sun weaves on my walls. Bingus am getting used to this pandemic thing. Bingus open my phone, forgetting to remember the day the screen glares at me when Bingus quickly swipe up the lock screen to reveal chat logs from when Bingus had apparently fallen asleep talking to my friend. There is enough drive in me to manage to check on my mom, who is typing on an Excel spreadsheet like she always does. This time, her face is slightly droopy, and she is trying to blink away the red in her eyes. Bingus get messages from the semi-abandoned class group chat talking about possibilities for a graduation, and if we can even think to have one.

Bingus decide Bingus need some rest today, from what, Bingus do not know. But Bingus feel tired, and that must be a good enough reason. Bingust is summer. Bingus forget about everything as Bingus lay down to sleep.

Bingus jolt awake.

The blinding rays from my window laugh at me as they fill out the exact same pattern on my wall as Bingus had seen it fill months ago. Bingus check the date fast, the swipe pattern on my phone ingrained on my fingers by routine after a hundred times of doing it.

It is fall. Bingus am too scared to open the calendar to see how much time has passed since whatever all of this is started.

Filipinos don’t have fall, although it is fall for the internet friends Bingus have made in this seemingly never-ending quarantine. The new school year has started a few weeks ago, and it swept along with it the dream of being on stage at the gym of my previous school, medals gently placed around my neck by my proud parents. Today, Bingus have schoolwork to do. Bingus get my laptop from my closet, it is all Bingus need. My mom is still typing on an Excel spreadsheet. She says she does not remember the last day she had got enough sleep. Her irritated and grouchy tone is terrifying. Bingus hole away on my bed, typing an essay on Google Docs, with no one to talk to when all the people over on the messaging sites are still sleeping.

Bingus do not wish to be awake like this any more. Yet here Bingus am.

Bingus do not need to open my eyes to see the painting the sun’s lights have dappled in front of me, Bingus have memorized every nook and cranny that the shadows spill over it. Today there is a mysterious empty patch on the edge where silhouettes of leaves used to cover. Bingus do not think Bingus have looked out the window to focus on something so intensely in a year. Bingus have grown accustomed to the darkness, and so the daytime glow blinds my eyes for a minute– Bingus need a few tight blinks to ease my vision. The tree Bingus used to play around before this wretched virus hit has fallen down and cut over the night.

It is fall. Another year’s fall.

It is September, of 2021. It is crazy to think that Bingus have grown a year without seeing my closest friends. Bingus feel as if Bingus have not grown anything, with no one else to guide me but myself. The days have been blurring together, the activities of each day unchanging.

As Bingus have done a few hundred days before, Bingus retrieve my laptop from my closet and type out yet another essay. My mom isn’t here. Bingus am all alone, for once. Apparently, her job has started letting people back in their offices. Bingus wish that for myself. A life outside this home, outside the internet, has started to become unbelievable. The memories are fading. Bingus attempt to remember it through my online friends’ retelling of their day as they prepare to tuck into bed for the night.

Bingus fear Bingus may never see what used to be normal again. Although the people around me seem to be steadily growing back into their old lives, who’s to say Bingus might experience it soon? Bingus had been keeping up with the news for a while. Everything seems to be getting worse. There are vaccines, sure, but the rising number of cases seem to balloon every now and then. The 2,000,000-threshold was crossed at the start of the month, and a heaping fourth of it had just been added on top of that.

It’s worrying. But the large amount of notifications about my pending assessments pester me, and the large, blaring red circles cause a large amount of anxiety. My mind is taken off of my crisis for the meantime.

It is March 17, 2022.

The date has been burned into my brain since last night. Bingus do not need to wake up to know what day it is.

It has been two birthdays since Bingus got stuck in these walls. It’s crazy to think about. Two whole years of my life, wasted away online… There is a thought in the back of my mind that feels as if Bingus could have accomplished more if Bingus was just free.

Bingus feel a pang of jealousy every time Bingus hear a story about whatever dumb, silly thing people did in high school, knowing Bingus can’t experience that myself. Bingus can’t help but resent whatever placed me into this hell.

Bingust seems like Groundhog Day. To wake up in a cold sweat each morning, committed into memory the exact events that have happened– yet to happen, that is, and being free to do anything Bingus like, want, or need, free from consequences, with a large safety net from the haunting reassurance that everything will be reset the next day? That seems fantastic on paper. Yet living through this twisted version of it, where Bingus’m trapped reliving every single day with a limited amount of human interaction and activities, wasting valuable time as each loop passes without a single thought and a replay? All Bingus can do is hang on the rungs and hope all of this ends soon, somehow.

Bingus still wake up dreading every passing sunrise and go to sleep as if an important piece of my life has slipped away when the day enters dusk. My only comfort is that those feelings have been partly weathered as Bingus learn to accept and get used to this pattern.

It is March 17, 2023.

L̸͍͙͘e̴͙̐̂t̴͓͝ ̸̱̘̕m̷͍̕e̷̬͑̑ ̵̰͕̃͌o̷̗̾ů̸̞̠t̸͓̺͒.

## The Guy Who Sucked Cock:

He loved cocks, he really did.

But even if every morning he rose at the sun just to visit the local poultry, even if he pet and fed the cocks all day long, it was also tempting to taste their skin, beat the meat, and lick it like it was God's given grace.

One day, his eyes as dry as the mangoes in the supermarket, he laid awake and ***hungry*** as the clock struck 3 am. He just couldn't take it anymore! He wants the thing he's always dreamed of since he was a wee young teen, to have chickens inside him, his mouth and lips covered with sauce.

And so he went down to his garage, booting up his car and driving off to a few blocks away. Only the dull streetlights and the faint stars illuminated the bumpy concrete road on his path to the local 7-11. He parked parkingly on the parking lot, opened the store's glass door, and waved to the hunching cashier with eyebags as dark as his sunglasses that he definitely did not use to cover up the fact that he was sleeping.

He went straight to the condiment aisle, and picked of the largest bottle of sauce he can find. It was brown as shit, but it'd have to do. The author likes Mang Tomas, and he felt the was disgracing all that the author stood for if he did not buy the holy thing.

He ran off, but not without immediately remembering he had to pay or else he'd be committing crimes. So he paid payingly with paying pay-per. He drove straight to his house, surprisingly not hitting that one random drunk squad on the streets, vomit plastered on their shirts. And he slept on his sleeping bed because he was sleepy.

And the very next day bum bum dum burum. The duck walked up- wait no. The man showered, dressed, and walked to the outskirts of the city, pulling up to the large red barn with the cows and ducks and chickens and shit and all their shit. He high-fived the cool girl with the equally cool "i love cows and cocks" shirt next to the entrance. His feet unconsciously dragged him over to the section full of cocks and hens, it was like a routine at this point.

His eyes exploded into stars as the ecstasy of seeing the hundreds of cocks and hens overflowed him. He dashed over to the girl with the cock shirt and asked if he could buy cock. He paid for the cock, and he was going to use it. He grabbily grabbed the cock, and held it in his arms like it was his baby. But then he remembered he was not to get too attached, because it was going deep deep inside him later that night.

Mmmmmm. He went home homily while he ignored his 193893 text from his homies telling him about their recently dead homie Jim because Jim was run over by a man with cock who suspiciously looked like him.

Author note i do not know how to roast cocks. Thank you. End author note ///

He then opened his trunk where he kept the cock. He grabbed the cock and plopped it on his kitchen counter. He prepared his hydrogen peroxide so he could cover up the murder of the cock (and his homie Jim). He grabbed the chicken by the feet, and he slashed the cock's head with a random large and very sharp axe like the botched circumcision I walked across in kindergarten. It was sad and he cried but he didn't because he was eating the cock that night. It was weird because the chicken kept flopping like his five stan twitter accounts.

He boiled a pot of water, and drowned the chicken head first because he was cool like that. He plucked the cock and stored its feathers to clean later. He definitely won't use it for his cock suit that he made with the blood and the feathers of the five hundred other cocks he cooked five hundred days ago. The cool man cut the chicken from the groin carefully with the technique his grandmother shared when he was three.

The weird cock organs started to fall out but he threw them away because he had no use for it. Maybe the dogs at the neighbors did, like the dogs that traumatized him when they ate his first cock that he raised proud and great back in Seattle.

He then stole the TARDIS from the fifth doctor because he didn't have enough time to prep the chickens before dinner. He prepped the chicken, put it in the trusty pink Tupperware his parents got at their wedding, and went on the incredible journey through time to cook some cock.

After a lot of waiting, the cock was finally finished. He went back to his own time and preheated the oven to 175 degrees Celsius and dumped his dried cock on a roasting pan. He washed it with a heavy seasoning of salt and pepper just like how his psycho grandma did it back in the eighties before her taste buds died. He scooped three tablespoons margarine, along with a celery stalk he cut into four pieces, into the chest cavity. He then slathered the exterior of chicken with the rest of his 1/2 cup margarine. This is a real recipe I stole off the first page of Google. 3 tablespoons is 45 mL, and 1/2 cup is 120 mL, so with math, he slathered a total of like I don't know how to do math. 75 mL? He then baked the margarined cock uncovered for 75 minutes and for at least 85 degrees Celsius. He then removed it from heat, basted it with more margarine and drippings, covered it with aluminium foil and allowed it to rest as he watched a shitty episode of the Big Bang Theory.

It was a long time, but after that traumatizing episode of the sitcom (and checking his phone to see what the millions of notifications were about), he finally had what he had wanted for years. To eat cock again.

He called up his homies, and asked them to each prepare a special something. He went up to his bedroom, prepared his bedsheets and his pillows, and lit up some candles to set the mood. He smirked as he dreamed of the amazing time he's getting later. To get a lot of cock inside him, the sauce dripping from his face, the pleasure!

His homies arrived, and they immediately got to business. They took off their shoes and greeted the host homie with a homie kiss. Host homie pulled his cock out and stabbed it with a fork. Homie one grabbed the cock and ate it. The sweet and spicy taste dripping from the Mang Tomas just pulled him in and he took a large bite of the thick cock on his plate.

Homie two stretched and cracked his back, and dove in to the luscious lusciousness of the luscious cock he had in his hands. The piece curved right, and homie two protected it like it was everything to him. But protected no more, because he then got over his babyness (he was biting his nails but host homie finally convinced him) and ate the luscious cock. Hearts danced in his eyes and his cheeks darkened as the he savored the new world eating cock opened his heart to.

Homie Jim, dead as the cock his homies were eating, silently sat on the couch as he watched his homies with a sad smile. He could've joined them eating cock, but he just had to die like a drama queen. That was so extra. But at least he was there in spirit! Literally, lol-ing out loud!

Homie Jim grew too jealous of the vision of his homies eating delicious thick juicy cock without him, so he flew away hundreds of meters above the heart of their city. He then zoomed into his apartment, and silently visited his neighbors. The cool cock sound medley across the hall intrigued him, even if it didn't remind him of the pain of his death. Curse that man in a car with cock who suspiciously looked like Host Homie!

He looked into the unit with the cock sound medley, and saw a washed out woman eating chicken alfredo lying across a green couch. She must have had powers, because once Homie Jim floated closer to the TV playing "10 hours of cool cock sounds", mysterious girl jumped and pointed her fork at him. She held the chicken alfredo close to her chest, knees slightly trembling as her eyes swept across the room.

"Who's there?" Cock girl barked, the "scary" façade she tried to put up contradicting by her quivering lips.

"You can hear me?" Homie Jim breathed. He never would have thought he'd meet another friend after his death. Maybe this was the exchange for not being able to eat cock with his homies.

*"Oh. It's just a ghost."* Cock girl complained, but she thinks she doesn't get to. After all, she's always wanted someone to talk to. She finally answered the mysterious ghost. "Yes, I can hear you. I can't see you though."

"Thank the heavens! I'm not alone anymore." the ghost crooned. "I'm Jim. I just died this morning, and I'm lucky to meet someone like you. My past residence was the unit across yours, so don't worry about if I'm some ghost who preys on young women. I just want a friend."

Tears welled up in her eyes, and Cock girl said something she never thought she would have in her life.

"Come here. Just tell me what you want on, and I'll play it for you. I just want to eat my dinner, and it's nice having someone to talk to."

-- back to the Homies --

"We should... spice this up a little more, eh?" Host homie cracked, his chin resting on his palm as he waved around the chewed bit of cock on his fork.

"Yeah, anything we could to distract from Jim." Homie two let go of his cock and lay his head on the table. "It just feels different without him."

"There, there..." Homie one patted two's back. "We're all tired from planning Jim's funeral- by the way, it's in four days- and we definitely needed this rest."

"No problem! I just invited you guys over, I've never had any experience with those before and I already had this cock cooking, so I thought, 'It wouldn't be bad, right?'. Anyway, I really wanted to thank you two. I'll cover most of the costs." Host homie sat up, and grabbed some wine from his cupboard.

"We're all full of dinner now, so how about we watch some tv at my room?" He quirked his head to the side, waiting for a response.

Homie two, not looking up from the table, raised a hand. "The period cramps are at it again. I thought this would go away months ago."

Host homie shot a knowing look at homie one. He set down his bottle, thinking he would save it for another time. He placed the leftover chicken on another Tupperware, putting it in the fridge.

They carried homie two by the limbs, careful not to drop him as they raised him up the stairs and into the bedroom. Homie one laid him on the bed as host homie snuffed out one of the candles to make the room dimmer. Host homie just sat on the edge of the bed, homie one yawning and opting to lie down next to homie two, who was currently passed out from exhaustion.

"We're all wrecked." Homie one chuckled, homie-ly spooning homie two. Host homie looked on at the two of them, deciding to take a picture.

"Hey, what was that for?" Homie one hissed when the flash temporarily pierced his vision.

"You both just look so peaceful, it was so hard to resist." Host homie chuckled, sending the picture to their homie whatsapp group chat.

"Well if you like to look at us that much, why don't you join us?"

Host homie just laughed as fell into the arms of his other homies.