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Infinite c.u.m. You sit on the toilet to j.ac.k off, but you begin to c.u.m uncontrollably. After ten spurts you start to worry. Your hand is sticky and it reeks of s.e.m.e.n. You desperately shove your d.i.c.k into a wad of toilet paper, but that only makes your b.a.l.l.s hurt. The c.u.m accelerates. It’s been three minutes. You can’t stop c.u.m.m.i.n.g. Your bathroom floor is covered in a thin layer of baby fluid. You try to c.u.m into the shower drain but it builds up too fast. You try the toilet. The c.u.m is too thick to be flushed. You lock the bathroom door to prevent the c.u.m from escaping. The air grows hot and humid from the c.u.m.

The c.u.m accelerates. You slip and fall in your own sperm. The c.u.m is now six inches deep, almost as long as your still-erect semen hose. Sprawled on your back, you begin to c.u.m all over the ceiling. Globs of the sticky white fluid begin to fall like raindrops, giving you a facial with your own c.u.m. The c.u.m accelerates. You struggle to stand as the force of the c.u.m begins to propel you backwards as if you were on a bukkake themed slip-and-slide. Still on your knees, the c.u.m is now at chin height. To avoid drowning you open the bathroom door. The deluge of man juice reminds you of the Great Molasses Flood of 1919, only with c.u.m instead of molasses.

The c.u.m accelerates. It’s been two hours. Your children and wife scream in terror as their bodies are engulfed by the snow-white sludge. Your youngest child goes under, with viscous bubbles and muffled cries rising from the goop. You plead to God to end your suffering. The c.u.m accelerates. You squeeze your ♥♥♥♥ to stop the c.u.m, but it begins to leak out of your ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ instead. You let go. The force of the c.u.m tears your urethra open, leaving only a gaping hole in your crotch that spews s.e.m.e.n. Your body picks up speed as it slides backwards along the c.u.m. You smash through the wall, hurtling into the sky at thirty miles an hour. From a bird’s eye view you see your house is completely white. Your neighbor calls the cops.

The c.u.m accelerates. As you continue to ascend, you spot police cars racing towards your house. The cops pull out their guns and take aim, but stray loads of c.u.m hit them in the eyes, blinding them. The c.u.m accelerates. You are now at an altitude of 1000 feet. The SWAT team arrives. Military helicopters circle you. Hundreds of bullets pierce your body at once, yet you stay conscious. Your testicles have now grown into a substitute brain.

The c.u.m accelerates. It has been two days. With your body now destroyed, the c.u.m begins to spray in all directions. You break the sound barrier. The government deploys fighter jets to chase you down, but the impact of your c.u.m sends one plane crashing to the ground. The government decides to let you leave the earth. You feel your gonads start to burn up as you reach the edges of the atmosphere. You narrowly miss the ISS, giving it a new white paint job as you fly past. Physicists struggle to calculate your erratic trajectory.