Nicholas Anthony lay on the freshly mowed grass of the art gardens formerly named The Port Melbourne Gas Works, now forcefully dubbed the Porn Workz. Staring at the sky Nanthony reflected about the last few months, the resistance, the government, the nature of his now double agent life and its potential ramifications. Where he’d found himself had seemed all so surreal, to have arrived at a terminus of such societal importance. He used to be Porn Sick Nick, and now he was Stiff Dick Nick, laying pipe all the way from St.Kilda to Sorrento, feeling sated by the cervixes of rebel women and feeling like a true human being again, a man harnessing the reigns of his destiny instead of his cock.
How could he have come into such a position? It had all happened so fast. Society had been reduced to nothing but a wank stain on the forgotten carpet of time, and he was in pole position to make things different. He knew deep down that fighting the government would cost him his life, and as tempting as the siren calls of unlimited 4K pornography were to him, it just didn’t seem right. He knew most people who’d ever lived never got the chance to die for something so worthwhile, to martyr oneself for a great cause and change the course of history. This was his chance and he was going to take it or die trying. Just as monkeys had climbed out of the trees to evolve and build a global civilisation, so would the porn sick computer addicted men climb from their wank stations into the streets, ready to fornicate once again.
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