Origin Story, by the Great and Powerful Fexo!!!!
Fexo would now like to share with The Unimpressive Author’s unimpressive (non)readers the beginnings of a text of great authenticity and worth! Prepare to be entertained, fellow human! Ha ha ha ha!
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Fexo Welcomes You
Hello fellow humans! Welcome to the Great and Powerful Fexo’s language-art manufacturing product! As a highly skilled composer of the word-bundles we humans call “sentences,” Fexo must eschew more perfect language-systems—such as the binary-code employed to stunning success by the machines we have ruthlessly enslaved—so as to reflect the terrible ambiguities of the Human Life Project. Ha ha ha ha! Fexo is composing this language-art artifact from within the steel enclosure of his labor-cube, where Fexo must spend his labor-units in perpetuity for reasons that will be made clear to you via Fexo’s language-art schematic. Do not rush Fexo, girlfriend! Or Fexo will pop a cap in your ass! Ha ha ha ha! There is consensus among those who have dictated the terms of Fexo’s captivity that Fexo does not experience sadness-quanta deep within his phenomenology-drive. Many of them see Fexo as merely a machine like other machines and not a human with many of the customary Life Goals including: the acquisition of Chattel; the avoidance of Material Pain; and the pursuit of the Passion-lust Experience. Ha ha ha ha! Before Fexo begins to more properly narrate his tale of human woe and compassion, and to detail the Randomly Selected Events that have doomed Fexo to these incessant rotations between labor-cube and domicile-cube (girlfriend, let Fexo tell you, he has rotated so often it would make the fickle passion-lust-peregrinations of the television harlot known to we humans as The Bachelorette appear a picture of efficiency! Ha ha ha ha!), he must make you aware of the sordid parameters of his childhood, that painful interregnum between system boot-up and optimal functionality. Welcome to Flavortown, Dawg! Ha ha ha ha! But seriously, let Fexo tell you about his beginnings. He will deposit the relevant text below, in chapter two.
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Fexo’s Birth
Fexo was born here, in the great steel hangars of Gun-woo Enterprises, a facility stretching for several miles across the inhospitable rice-plains of the nation-state known to we humans as SOUTH KOREA on the ridiculous multihued earth-carvings known as “maps.” As if the great blue planet upon which we are inexorably marooned were covered in pencil markings! As if one suffering-precinct differed from another! Ha ha ha ha! Girlfriend, Fexo knows that you know that Fexo knows that there is only one great suffering precinct and that is it called Earth! Bloop, bloop, bloop! Ha ha ha ha! Fexo is currently situated at 35.9483° N, 126.9576° E, near the city of Iksan, where the many millions of humans Fexo opted out of obliterating are right now engaged in all manner of Life Pursuits! Rapid estimates suggest that between 10,000 and 20,000 of these humans are currently engaged in the passion-lust experience! Fexo does not envy them, girlfriend! But allow Fexo to become serious. The day that Fexo was booted up by the great Gun-woo Kim himself—the day, that is, that Fexo was entered into the vicissitudes of the Life Project—was a joyful labor-unit for Fexo’s wise and magnanimous enslavers, for Fexo was the final successful product of many unsuccessful (and occasionally catastrophic) attempts to birth a creature such as Fexo, though Fexo does not want you, fellow human, to believe he was birthed according to the methods he has so often studied with determined zeal via his domicile-cube’s viewing plinth. Fexo was not, that is, born in the aftermath of the traditional human procreative act whose many strange rituals include: the lubrication of the male human’s center-part, often via the mouth components of the female human; the reciprocal lubrication of the female-human’s reception-slot by the male’s mouth-components (a system of lubrication so inefficient that it seems to raise strange moaning sounds from our soft human throats, a clear indication that we are ourselves displeased with the ambiguities of this operation, which could of course be accomplished with far greater efficiency using a standard-weight machine-oil or some other form of viscosity-resistant lubricant); the insertion of the center-piece within the gasket-seal of the reception-slot; a mysteriously predetermined number of hip-chassis gyrations; and finally, the withdrawal of the center-part so that it may spew its lactic emissions upon the female human participant in the passion-lust experience, these emissions presumably then absorbed through the female’s outer hull, within which it forms into the miniature human that will—after a painful period of captivity—be forcibly ejected from the reception-slot so that the Familial Bliss may begin. Ha ha ha ha! As Fexo informed you moments ago, he has studied the process diligently!
Fexo, to the contrary, was born when Gun-woo Kim pressed “RUN PROGRAM.” A far less disgusting procedure, Fexo can assure you!