Afterparty

The best part of being a ghost is the sex. Bro—the variety alone is insane. Everyone is DTF. Everyone. I hit this 17th century chick earlier, some Navajo girl that was just like, “Whatever’s cool with me.” She was a little short, but super fine—super fine. She had that swerve down, that arched back, that ass like unh! We were at it for like two hours, bro, no lie.

I got done with this French guy about fifteen minutes ago. I’m not even sure what he was doing over here, but he spoke all kinds of French at me. No homo, but it was hot. Super hot. He was all like, “Pepe le june te amo,” or whatever. It was unreal. No! You know what it was? Fuckin’ sensual. The French have it figured out, bro. I hope he sticks around a while. You should keep an eye open for him.

And hey, really: It’s not gay. It’s not anything. Words, and categories, and pigeonholes, none of that shit matters, bro. We’re just fuckin’. That’s it. No one cares, bro. I’m telling you!

Plus, when you’re a ghost, you can bang wherever. Me and that Navajo girl were in a McDonald’s. (Over her grave, apparently. Huge bummer.) Me and that French guy were in the sewer. Whatever, dude! Fuck it! It’s not like we can smell. Plus, we only have to touch what we want to touch, and you tell me; a river of shit or a hot French dude, which would you go ham on?

French dude, bro. No question! Every time!

You’re probably wondering what I was wondering: Why is everybody fuckin’? I don’t know, bro, believe me, but you’ll get used to it. More than used to it! And maybe you’re wondering, “What about dead babies and kids and shit?” Totally, bro. It’s super sad. But the kids are all hanging out at the Earth’s core, apparently. I have no idea why, bro, and I’m not about to float my ass down there and find out, but I’m serious. Ask anybody: They’re in the center of the fuckin’ Earth. I haven’t seen a kid since I died, bro, seriously.

All I’m saying is that it’s chill. It’s so chill now that we’re dead. Everybody knows everybody. Everybody’s banging. What’s there to be mad about? What’s there to hide? I’m not saying it’s perfect out here, but it’s way better than what we were doing before. Life? Psh! That was a dress rehearsal, playboy. This is open season out here.

There is one thing, though. Bro; the last thing I want to do is drag you down, and I don’t mean to complain, but I should make clear—this shit isn’t perfect. But don’t worry, bro, there’s only one little problem. I can’t even complain, bro. I’m just saying. There’s one fuckin’ weird thing that everybody does, that everyone’s on the same frequency about, and I just don’t get it.

When I was alive, this was how it worked: You bang some chick and that’s that. One and done and onto the next one. Nothing complicated. Don’t give her anything; not your name, not your number, nothing but that dick bro, am I right? And what you never did? Tell her you love her. Never! Christ, bro, why would you? Did you ever love a bitch after just one fuck? I hope not, bro, ‘cause that would be some serious basket case shit right there.

The way we did it was no commitments. No restrictions. No “I love you’s.” It was the 90’s, baby. Good times.

But now that I’m a ghost, all I hear is “I love you.” These fuckers, man, every two seconds each and every one of them is saying “I love you” this and “I love you” that. I don’t get it. Why? The Navajo girl said it constantly. When the French dude was about to finish he said some sort of French at me, over and over, “je vou same” or some shit, but I got it. I know what he was saying.

But I don’t get it! Did all the ghosts get together and say, “I love you is a mandatory coitus statement,” or some shit? Am I the weirdo for not saying it? Because literally, dude: Everybody says it!

For example: I was in the park watching an old dude feed some birds when this lady appeared out of nowhere—you’ll get used to it—and hovered over in her big-ass skirt. Her hair was in a super-tight bun, tighter than prom night. She was a mean looking bitch, all business, and when she was on me she grabbed my dick. Bro! Seriously! That’s what I’m saying! It’s nice being a ghost, she just walked up and yoink! Snatched me!

I was into it, bro. Hell yeah, I was into it. She stared me down like it was some taekwondo shit. And the best part? She hadn’t said anything! Not a single fuckin’ word, bro! I grabbed her waist and thrusted into her, grinding on her, I was super into it, I felt like I had finally found a kindred spirit or some shit, and bro; that’s when that’s when she said it.

“I love you.”

Great, you old bitch! Sounds good! Can we fuck, now? Please? And we did, right there on the pigeons. It was good. Like I said, bro, I’m not complaining, I just don’t get it. I love you! I love you! I love you! So what! I never even told my mom that I loved her, and we were cool as fuck. My mom was a baller—shit, bro, I just realized: God forbid I run into my mom now. I guess I’d have to fuck her. If you see her, tell her I’m in the middle of the Earth, or whatever.

Anyway, long story short, yeah, you died. You’re a ghost, just like every other motherfucker who ever died. All we do is fuck and party. Everybody loves everybody, literally, and it’s a little weird but whatever, bro. You don’t have to say it if you don’t want to. Nobody’s got a gun to your head, and if they did, so what?

That’s about it.

By the way, bro, you’re hella buff. Did you used to lift? I did. I could bench 250 in my prime, bro. I was strong as fuck.

Anyway. That’s it. You tryin’ to fuck, or what?