But I Don’t Know Anything About Golf: Arms of Redwood City.

This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to any real person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Warning: zombies, tentacle monsters, MF-con, TmF-noncon

The Human Necrotic Fugue Virus outbreak centered on a homeless shelter in Redwood City had just ended. r/BayArea covered the story, and blamed it on a combination of a spider, human negligence to do with cleaning products, and unethical human sexual activity. One expression they used was “perfect storm”. Given the simple fact that they and the spider were all there, they had committed every mistake set advice on how to not get infected with Human Necrotic Fugue Virus always warned people against. It’s not any one factor that caused the outbreak, instead their mistakes but together were a [“necessary” and sufficient condition](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Necessity_and_sufficiency) for the sexually transmitted version the shelter clients and staff carried it in their blood to combine with the animal-borne version the spider bit them with. I didn’t really consider that to be necessary, but I know that’s not what they meant.

Though rotting and unarmed, they proved surprisingly resistant suspects. All of the shelter clients and staff and at least one of the police turned into zombies, and the police killed all of them with 12 gauge shotguns. Noontime was dark as a normal dusk, for mega fires continued to rage outside city limits. Similar HNFV outbreaks occurred about the same time in and immediately around homeless shelters in Mozhaysky and Shenzhen. Some people speculated it was part of a cycle of retaliation. In any case, someone had contact with bats.

McKenna and I had been fired from a golf company in England, and it’s just as well, for the firm went under under corruption as part of a worldwide trend of director on director corporate firefights. One of the directors showed up to work armed with a wakizashi by driving a motorcycle into the building. She and her aides forced their way into the hallway outside c-suite. Finding the door locked, she and all but one of her aides put the suitcase full of explosives against the door, and turned the corner. Hiding behind the corner, she set off the suitcase. One of her aides was still straggling in the hallway, and he only survived because he was wearing body armor. She and her aides burst into c-suite, upon which a fight of course ensued. The highest ranking of the defenders was reportedly a long time corporate rapist, and during the firefight was reportedly trying to f*** one of her men in the ass. He deflected her wakizashi blow, so one of her aides high-tech shot him in the head. He died from it instantly.

Then in the USA to where we had been fired, I had McKenna tied up face up on the bed, and I was upon her, sucking the dental dam on her clit so hard that she screamed. This was the angry sex since we just argued over an ivory figurine in the display case. I left the room for most of the argument, explaining how we got through it without hitting each other. And then like an imbecile I went back in there and I brandished the figurine and claimed it was a pretentious dildo. She claimed it was a dildo necessary to f*** some sense into me through the ass. No one has ever been sure why the couple-fight erupted, but I suspected it was because I was more proud of our frugal lifestyle than she was. Back when she was a corporate director, she was, after all, doing it for intrinsic motivation, money, power, and attention. I was doing it for only visa extension on the basis that I needed to do it to stay in what passes for a safe and supportive environment, for my plan was to use what little deference I would receive as a director to protect me from the rigors of being me. I have Asperger’s, and that doesn’t really go over very well with people even when I’m not trying to fight anyone. It failed once the fighting erupted and we lost and were fired because we were not ruthless. And it’s just as well, because if we had won and stayed, we would likely have been killed in directorial workplace violence or been deported afterwards anyway. As Alux.com teaches us, being a successful director is awesome. It feels good, like being a gangster. The problem arises when being a successful director no longer merely feels good like being a gangster, being a successful director requires being a gangster. Success is never worth your physical health, so if you have to choose between the two, always choose your physical health. This includes not making a habit of being screwed up on energy drinks and modafinil, being at work, all day and all night long. It also includes acting on one’s fear of being fired, and not being ruthless enough for those acts to actually succeed. I was silent during most of the confrontation, and the cash strapped host was there. The only reason I didn’t leave during the argument was the fire and brimstone hell like environment outside. These factors meant that I won the argument after the fact.

Presently, I tore off her dental dam, and I unceremoniously and without warning began the frenetic shoving of the male condom into her crotch by means of the male condom being wrapped around my penis. “I want attention from r/Ihavesex!”

“Oh my God, okay! You got it.” By the way, she already expressly consented at the beginning of the foreplay.

“Did you fall over from a gust of wind unable to topple a old Danish Pointer dog, or did you buckle because the gravity increased with the tides?”

“Yeah?! Do you think of that in your blockhead, or did you think of it in your stomach, which sticks out,” she said in retort. Pensively, I slowed down and continued to penetrate her with a few dozen more thrusts.

“I thought of that in my head, where I also realized that you need to be f***** like I’m doing right now, because you need to be turned into a f*** pillow through f******,” I said, speaking of frustrations while showing no feeling other than the simple fact we were having angry sex. I sped up for a few more thrusts to drive my point home. She screamed in discomfort. “Do you wish to continue,” I asked.

“Yes, yes, oh my God, yes I wish to continue!”

I grunted and sped back up, looking unconcerned at her facial expressions, which I had difficulty interpreting. “What is going on inside of you,” I asked. “I asked you, what the f*** is happening inside you? You need to answer that right now.”

She screamed. “Oh my God, that is so uncomfortable. You are so awkward at this.” She started crying, and I began thinking about consent and whether she was sure. My genitals made the decision for me and got off. I pulled out, untied her, and cleaned up in the bathroom. I took more of my meds. I laid back down on the bed. When she was done in the bathroom, she laid back down on bed. We kissed each other and both agreed that it was amazing – and awkward. We talked about somnophilia, and I didn’t really understand what she had to say, so I kept my pants on and slept.

I paid my rent, logged into my online job and worked. There was a manufacturing scandal with the quality or lack thereof in the Chinese made sex toys. I was going with the company’s official plan to cease outsourcing to the factory in China. It was an obscure procedure to instead outsource manufacturing to some Maquiladora in Mexico instead. My part of it was small, it was just some light office work done by typing, but I was just doing the job anyway. Corporate was still vacillating on whether to outsource to Haridwar or Zaporizhia, neither of which was the plan. I thought the plan was to outsource to Mexico because it was closer and minimizes transportation. Anyway someone wanted to outsource to Zaporizhia, I think because someone wanted to make the massage wand as a car accessory. I think maybe someone wanted to f*** in a car without tinted windows, although knowing the worldwide car market, as long as it’s inauthentic and unsubtle enough the worldwide car market can make cars with tinted windows as well. My second choice was actually Hardiwar, since then they could sell it along with the jeans. When when the employer is of one mind, the employer’s will is the employer’s will. One must comply or die. However, one of the things that is even worse than that is when someone does something wack and creates chaos. At that point, one must just do whatever interpretation of the job comes naturally to them. My nature when I’m able to even do anything is to follow the plan.

The company of course did not use my work, and they outsourced to Zaporizhia, with the express intention of making it into a car accessory. I was right after all, they went and picked the factory that would make them go the long way just so that someone could f*** in the car. Then, the boss wrote me up for procedural inflexibility, citing my Asperger’s as the reason why I didn’t cooperate with the transfer to Zaporizhia. Corporate anuses. If they had just thought of that when they were making the plan, they might have actually used any of my work. Instead, they paid me, I worked to accomplish nothing, and they attributed the failure to my Asperger’s. Other than the simple fact that I made money, it was a no-win situation. I installed a profanity filter on the computer, which was one of the few productive acts I’ve ever done working with that company.

McKenna was not faring much better at work, either. When she came home, we ate together, and she told me about how her work at the sexual dysfunction Counseling Clinic fail due to a failure in communication. De jure, she was there as a receptionist. However, management was de facto terrible, and they wanted her to do work as a nurse or physician assistant as well. She witnessed someone covered in c** having angina. She told a workmate, “we’re in a bit of a sticky situation here.”

“Oh, I see how it’s a sticky situation. It’s sticky because the c** is acting like glue. I’ll just get the patient cleaned up.”

“What is come?”

“Come over here, I’ll show you how to clean up a patient.” McKenna’s workmate showed her how to clean up a patient.

“That’s not all that’s wrong,” McKenna tried to tell the workmate, “they also have chest pains.” The workmate was long gone, outside in the hall discussing the case with someone else. McKenna went out there and said, “we’re still in a bit of a sticky situation here.” Baffled, they looked it up on Urban Dictionary. There were six different meanings, none of which she actually meant. Presently, I asked her why she didn’t just say the patient was having heart trouble. Her answer was that it is some sort of etiquette, neurotypical culture does not allow just imposing information, because on the basis that you are just imposing information, they will just tell you “whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down,” and then ask presumptive, irrelevant, otherwise unhelpful, or otherwise trick questions. When is supposed to go through a lengthy procedure based on short utterances to negotiate to gain and maintain attention. Like with anything else about neurotypical culture, getting someone’s attention is based on negotiation with both people and protocol, it’s meant to confuse outsiders, bend for the sake of bending every rule of humanity there is, of language, of ethics, of morality and even of law, and to test in-group members, but in-group members are supposed to manage somehow and it’s supposed to more or less follow the group’s bylaws and selective prosecution is not supposed to befall them. This is meant as a cooperative equilibrium.

However, medicine is a field in which failure has different consequences than a field such as retail. In retail, you can bond over a comedy of errors and still do the job. Not so much in medicine. Therefore, in theory they use crew resource management. In that particular organization however, they had long since made a decision to use imbecilic leadership instead, resulting in one costly and embarrassing failure after another, all attributable to this one mismanagement. Managers have been fired on some basis or another from that organization for trying to do their jobs conscientiously. Managers have also been fired on some pieces or another from that organization for not trying to do their jobs conscientiously. The real reason why that organization fired people is the simple fact that the organization hired them. This seems like a clear-cut, by the book case of toxic work environment, but oddly enough a lot of people worked there for about eight years. This is yet another case in which neurotypicals bend easily followed rules for the sake of bending easily followed rules and get away with it because they’re charming. Well I did not find it to be charming, so presently I asked McKenna to hold on, and I looked down hard and start the part of my hand in between my thumb and forefinger deep into my mouth. Frustration coursed through my veins, both literally and figuratively, for my stress hormones were at above-average concentration for me.

“Are you okay?”

I tapped on my legs nervously and rocked back and forth in the chair. I made her wait. “Not really. McKenna, it burns. Unbelievable. What you were describing is nothing more or less than leadership of the second most imbecilic order I’ve ever heard of. Humans. Humans are the most frustrating species I know of. Oh, God.” I facepalmed and waited out the frustration. At the end, I was panting from the emotional stress.

“What’s the ‘imbecilic order’?”

I thought what about what she said and what to say back. “The most imbecilic leadership I’ve ever heard of is government and the golf company, which is the same thing, because they were acting the same way. The second most imbecilic leadership I’ve ever heard of is the firm that you just described. Wait a minute, I have to fold up again.” I was paralyzed with frustration. I took some more of my physical medicine meds. Many have recommended that I get therapy or psych meds, but that didn’t turn out very well for me the last time it was tried.

Then, McKenna got up and went into the bathroom where she began her evening routine. I sat there and pondered just how f***** up in the head Humanity was. I got over it and joined her in bed. She asked me for some somnophilia, and she slept nude. When she was asleep, I sucked her nipples. She woke up, and I grabbed her hands and pensively got her off with another dental dam and some rudimentary cunnilingus. I wasn’t really focusing on her. I put some slow thrusts in there, and lost my erection. I uselessly mulled over the frustration for that day and tried to figure out some sort of grand scheme that it fit into. Finding none other than my simple opinion that humans are frustrating and are loneliness inducing, I regained my erection, put a new condom on, and slammed it into her. I got off. It wasn’t awesome sex, but it was right. I was not and am not very good at having sex, but it wouldn’t make sense for me to have it any other way. I cleaned up, came back, and checked out her beautiful polyhedral weird butt cheeks by illuminating it with the penlight. God, she had a weird-ass ass. At least she did not have my ass, I’m not attracted to men’s asses. Her weird-ass ass was a woman’s ass, it had that going for it. I kissed one of the cheeks and went to sleep.

The next day, she went back to her “Butt Eff Clinic,” as I began to label it in emails with her, and I went back to what passed for my online freelancing. It was only enough to pay for a 5-star Airbnb located in a slum. The ASR at first heard “swamp,” and that’s not a completely inaccurate description of downtown Redwood City. The place is a wretched hive, from north to south, from east to west, from top to bottom, and from start to finish. McKenna and I were in something of a task conflict as to whether Redwood City would get annihilated with SLBMs, I said I was serious, and she told me I was just being dramatic. She had an active job search anyway, and we would ultimately skip town, shortly after which I proved to be right. Presently, a lot of contacts on email were confronting me over my alleged error, claiming that I had erred by being one of the few people follow the plan while the company vacillated over two different options, neither of which were the plan. What they didn’t want to hear was that they had created a frustrating situation, and then accused, blamed, and attacked anyone that did not create the frustrating situation with them. They were cracking down on me again because of the simple fact that I was there, and on the implicit basis that I am Asperger’s. And I wasn’t the only one, there was no way to predict who would get reprimanded there, and it could even be difficult to predict on what basis they would be reprimanded. Someone could get reprimanded there, right or wrong, white or black, male or female, young or old. It didn’t matter to them whether you’re Asperger’s, neurotypical, psychopathic, Williams Burren syndrome, Down’s syndrome, or anything. Someone was reprimanded there for the simple fact that they were there. They even reprimanded outsiders who attempted to give advice, on some sort of basis that was probably the basis that they were not there. The following is from someone that instead of being silent when confronted, emailed in response to confrontation over voicemail, during which he was told “When you are an idiot, it creates task conflict.”

> So, when I am an idiot, it creates task conflict. Well, I didn’t really understand what it is that you had to say in the Indian Language. I’m so sorry if that’s too idiotic for you. But when you try to tell me what to do, it creates conflict too. Were you here when we created our first massage wand in Menlo Park? No, you were not. You were f****** around with some sexual misconduct case in Hyperbad after you told another man’s wife something in Indian, which I can’t be bothered to understand. Were you here when we won the Roto Wonder explosive rotor escape failure lawsuit by all-nighter-ing our way through the discovery at Pete’s Coffee? No, you were not. You were f****** around with some butt-dick-nilitary project to put someone’s tiny little boy-subordinate on the front of their uniform and making sure they could both fire what passed for their handguns at the same time, that way they can engage four Chinese kids at the same time. Were you here when our female director had phone sex with the RPA made from instance zero shot learning, and proclaimed ‘lol sex, unlimited sex’ and was red in the face from it? No, you were not. You were taking some placement test instead of a job interview, treating a job like it’s school. Well learn it and forget it, that’s not a proper interview. Who’s the idiot now? You are f—–. Up, little man. U—– yourself. Then maybe you can tell us how to run our business. Until then, seriously? F—. You. F—. Off.”

My workmate sent that to the guy’s entire department. The language the voicemail used was in fact the English language, and what I think he is calling the Indian Language is the guy’s accent, which can be incomprehensible to someone if they have noise-induced hearing loss, are deaf, are suffering from less than ideal telephony equipment, or are an idiot. This is an example of how people that had contact with either of them were treated because of contact with them. For example, it is known that during a shouting match against a male fellow homeless shelter inhabitant, the guy in Hyperbad told them something in Hindu that roughly translates to “When you are an a******, it creates fistfights,” and was told afterwards “You’re not helping.” This is an example of how people were treated for the simple fact they had contact with that company. I’m not even sure if that’s the correct term for the machine learning that they were using. I just checked. The guy still works at what is left of the company. He is still a corporate anus.

Presently, I took some more of my physical medicine meds and asked the host if I had the rent paid and everything. I shirked on the internet, trying to blow off frustration. He must have done his best work in person, because from what I could tell from email, if only they would have just fired this guy, it wouldn’t have stopped them from solving any of their problems, and they could have been rid of his cluster f-bombs. The company asked me to come in, which I did. I emailed McKenna and the host an itinerary, and took the bus up to San Francisco. There, a homeless man cussed me out. I figured out I’d been walking the wrong way, so I went back past him, holding a traffic cone. He clapped slowly. I got into their office. There, I witnessed a guy from marketing or purchasing showing a woman a hair dryer and explaining its functions.

There was a whirring sound, and I didn’t feel very well, so I took a bathroom break. I recovered from it and asked someone, “May I be reassigned to another cubicle?”

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/j13w5i/but_i_dont_know_anything_about_golf_arms_of