“We the best,” he whispered in my ear.

I could not believe my ears. It was DJ Khaled. I swiftly turned around to see the lubricious man all buttered up and nude. He was holding himself confidently, but I could see the sadness in his eyes. Perhaps sadness was not the best word for it; in retrospect, it was as if I could see through his confident persona and understand the nature of his unconscious mind like Lacan once did after his fifth seminar in Paris. It was all there - that unbridled bravado, but also that subtle vacillation which seemed to be at the base of his confidence.

“Khaled, I had no idea you were a Fan of the Insane Clown Posse,” I said, disregarding his nude and buttery body.

His eyes glimmered in the rainy moonlight. They were like raspberries. I wanted to make a plucking motion with my hands as if I were about to eat them. I wanted to eat him.

19 July 2025