Rejection: Fiction

by Tony Tulathimutte

for dinner she stuffs a cold flour tortilla with turkey slices and shredded mozzarella and a squirt of mayo, each ingredient the same color as her, rolled up into a hateful dildo she crams in her mouth, barely chewing.

Julian may not be vanilla, but he is still ice cream—sweet, popular, wholesome—whereas Kant is more like a plate of mashed

Nobody gets a perfect life, and the sane thing to do is to stop hoping for one and enjoy what he can.

appreciate if you could festoon your hair, forehead, nose, earlobes, chin, lips, and eyelashes with slobber in a tinsel-like arrangement. This is to address what I call “the Cumshot Paradox”: how, in porn, you want your climax synced with the performer’s, but this deprives you of the pleasure of seeing the load afterwards, since you’re already spent. My imperfect solution is to use slobber to emulate cum earlier, in effect taking the money shot on credit.

No one’s ever proved that desires are better off fulfilled.

For all people claim to hate being stereotyped, they love doing it to themselves,

Because the final irony, one that at least your writing seems to grasp, is that rejection is not one-way, and always comes paired with its opposite. For a rejection to be settled, first you—the reject—must hear, and comprehend, and accept.