I Started Peeing out Blueberries. I Am the Second Cumming of God

By Cam Hoff | Photo by Tara Mullaney

Every three weeks the writers of the Bunion have to pitch headlines. Out of the (typically) five headlines published one will be selected to be written into an article. November 3rd? It was my turn. Now, I particularly struggled this week, my mind was drained but my penis wasn’t. I was sluggish minded and destitute. But, I persisted. My brain is power embodied. And with it, I came up with four exemplary headlines. 

“I’m the EX-Husband of the BU Student Link: He Abused Me To” - Topical and vulnerable. 

“Registration is Stressful Boots” - To the point and relatable 

“Go to Class Sober Challenge Level Impossible: I’ve Forgotten How to Count” - The story of my life, my experience, and my upbringing. 

“ The Struggles of Being Metrosexual in Questrom” - My dream self realized 

But, the last one, the troublesome fifth, eluded me. Nothing funny was birthed from my mind. Fine, I thought, it doesn’t matter anymore, let me just put something stupid. Something with no merit. Something where no comedy can be born. Something so bottom of the barrel my asshole grew scurvy. 

“I Started Peeing Out Blueberries. I am the Second Cumming of God” 

What a horrible headline. Merely there just for numbers, I was certain that it would be forgotten. But how wrong I was. While reading my headlines to the club I was receiving laugh after laugh after laugh. No one could get enough of my four good headlines. I was put at ease. I was safe from the blueberries. 

But nonetheless, for the sake of honesty and clarity, I still read the final headline I submitted. “I started peeing out blueberries. I am the second cumming of god,” I whispered. The room filled with laughter. A laughter so boisterous the scurvy growing on my asshole vanished in fear.

“I think we should go with the blueberry one,” some freshman whose name I will never remember chimed in. 

“I was thinking the same thing,” someone else said. Thunderous agreement riddled the room. Are you fucking kidding me, I thought to myself, these god damn buffoons won’t know comedy even if laughing boils infected their brain. 

“Are you good with that Cam?” Doran, the Editor in Chief, asked? 

“Absolutely!” I replied. This is a goddamn fucking shit poo poo poopy joke. Clowns with an inflation fetish, the whole lot of you. 

For the rest of the meeting I was silent, grappling with the deplorable position I just put myself in. How am I supposed to make this headline funny? It seemed impossible. But Cam Hoff is never afraid of a challenge. 

Now, as all true Bunioneers do, I put off writing my article till the morning before our next meeting, where we’ll workshop our articles. I refuse to waste my precious time during the week writing an article no one will read. My time is saved exclusively for watching Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure, masterbaiting, and complaining about my workload. Sunday morning rolled around and I had to get down to business. I sat down, created a document, and wrote the title of the article at the very top. 

“I Started Peeing Out Blueberries. I am the Second Cumming of God.” 

Suddenly, I felt a jarring pain in my penis. My eyes rolled into the back of my head, my body started to convulse, and my laptop fell to the ground, shattering in two. The indescribable pain traveled from my right ball, up the vas deferens to the base of my dick, then slowly traveled up it. It moved slower than a marble in a track of glue. I screamed, I cried, I moaned, I even groaned. Where is this pain coming from?! 

And all of a sudden it was gone. I took off my pants and underwear to see what had happened. A blueberry rolled out. What? I thought to myself, Did I just piss out this blueberry? No that can’t be right, it’s impossible to piss out a blueberry. I mean for god’s sake, I haven’t even had any blueberries for the last month (they’re too expensive in the winter). Before I could think anymore, the pain returned. 

I shot out a blueberry. It whizzed through my room and slammed into my TV, cracking it. Before I even let out a scream, another blueberry zoomed out of my slitty boy hole. The pace became rapider and rapider, the pain becoming lesser and lesser. I took my penis in my hand and aimed for the mirror hanging on my door. A steady stream of blueberries pelted it, cracking the glass before finally the mirror fell to the ground. 

I closed my eyes and willed for the blueberries to stop. Much to my surprise, they did. What kind of power was just bestowed upon me, I thought, why is my headline becoming reality? It doesn’t matter. I know what I need to do. 

I took the T to the College of Arts and Science, the domain of the Bunioneers. I climbed the steps to the second floor and arrived at the door, purposefully fifteen minutes late. The perfect amount of time. I looked through the window of the door and scanned the room. Doran stood at the head of the room, presenting yet another special project destined for no one to care about, the rest of the room barely keeping their eyes open, yawning and playing footsie. 

“Here Ye Here Ye,” I yell as I burst through the door, “Divine order MUST be reestablished!” I unzipped my pants and brought out my penis holding it in my left hand. 

“Jesus Cam,” Doran said, “put that fucking thing away. This isn’t theater.” 

“You have been convicted of unfunny,” I state, “Your punishment shall be death.” I will the blueberries to erupt from my penis. They fly out, shooting faster than a white boy with a machine gun at a production of And Julliette. They pelt Doran’s body, entering his body before instantaneously exiting from his back, painting the wall with a mix of crimson red and tasty purple goop. Doran falls to the ground, holding himself up with one hand. He picks up a blueberry and puts it in his mouth. 

“Purr mama boots okurr,” he groaned before collapsing dead on the floor. 

“YOU ALL HAVE BEEN CONVICTED OF THE DESPICABLE CRIME OF UNFUNNY.” I aim my penis for the ground, propelling me up into the air. I start spinning, raining down a flood of blueberries upon the people. They screamed, clambered for the door (which I had locked), and some peacefully accepted their fate. Catching the blueberries in their mouths and eating them. It filled up with blueberries concophonating the room with shades of blue, green, purple, and red. Even Noah would’ve been unprepared for my divine flood. And I? I’m less forgiving than god. We must completely start over. I shall be this new world’s god. Ruling over all with divine justice and an even more divine cock.