Egghead: Or, You Can't Survive on Ideas Alone

by Bo Burnham

The Squares The Squares lived happily, in their square houses, in their square yards, in their square town. One day, a family of Circles moved in from the west. “Get out of here, roundies!” shouted one of the Squares. “Why?” asked one of the Circles. “Because this is a metaphor for racism!”

Magic Read this to yourself. Read it silently. Don’t move your lips. Don’t make a sound. Listen to yourself. Listen without hearing anything. What a wonderfully weird thing, huh? NOW MAKE THIS PART LOUD! SCREAM IT IN YOUR MIND! DROWN EVERYTHING OUT. Now, hear a whisper. A tiny whisper. Now, read this next line with your best crotchety-old-man voice: “Hello there, sonny. Does your town have a post office?” Awesome! Who was that? Whose voice was that? It sure wasn’t yours! How do you do that? How?! Must be magic.

I put a chameleon on a red dildo. He blushed.

How, may I ask, did you get so you, you beautiful true-to-you doer? I’ve met many today but can honestly say that I’ve never met anyone you-er.

Incomparable You’re incomparable like a… Shit. Like a…

I am an easel—not symbolically—structurally.

Flower Sex Flower sex! Flower sex! Flex those sexy flower pecs. Good old April shower sex that lasts for half an hour sex. Yeah! Flower power her! Devour her! Don’t cower, sir! Put the petal to the medal and powerfully deflower her!

The Light When I die, I hope I don’t see a bright light. Those give me headaches. After a long life, I don’t want to stare into the sun. I want a calm blackness— the same shade that coats the back of my eyelids.

I watched him play the crane game on the way out— the one with the metal claw and the cuddly mass grave.

former lovers.

Is he fucking the sheep?