a Valentine’s Prayer from Bono

My name is Bono. I am not a person pretending to be Bono. I have no last name and no origin. I have no past and no future. There is no beginning to Bono and no end to Bono. Bono just is. Oh, and Bono is very, very horny for you.

Close your eyes and imagine mother earth as she looks from outer space. Beautiful, is it not? Now imagine earth with a big vein-y, purplish penis sticking out from any side of the planet. Is that not even more beautiful? Now, open your eyes. What you were picturing was me.

I am all things, just as I am the giver of all things. I am the mildew of a Sunday morning or the sweat on your lover’s back, whichever you prefer.  Bono is warmth, Bono is love. Bono is all around you. That table is me. Those walls are me. The dog humping your leg is me, just as the human humping your other leg is actually me, for real.

You will have no Bonos before me and you will have no Bonos after me. There are no other Bonos, and even if there were, they could not compare. Okay, there was Sonny Bono, but that was different. Pro Bono is not a person, it is a phrase, and it means “to do as Bono would do” which refers to me.

The things Bono will give unto you are beyond the scope of your imagination. You ask for love? Of course Bono will give you love, the kind of love you didn’t even know existed. You ask for flowers? Bono grows lots of flowers, most of them are rarer than you would think and generally fresher than the ones from the grocer. You ask for protection? Bono knows some unruly characters. You ask for solutions that do not involve violence? Look, one request is enough as it is, let alone four.

You say you have a boyfriend, but you have already forgotten the number one rule about Bono: I am omnipotent, which means I am super potent. To be potent, I explain patiently and with labored breaths, is to be of the pot. So I am super that, or omni-that. Anyway, I know you’re lying to me. Stop lying to Bono.

Think for a moment. What do you have in your life? Your mother? Bono is as loving as your mother, probably more so, because she is wrinkly. Your career? Sorry, Bono was yawning, come again? Your friends or whatever? Listen. Bono is losing his patience. Accept Bono into your life and unto your sheets and, later, unto your face, neck and chest.

You say you do not like my tone, but missy, you are not the one calling the shots here. Bono is offering nothing less than your complete satisfaction, you need only say yes. Just say yes. Say it. Say it, say it, say it.  Fine, don’t say it, see if I care, I’ll see you in hell.

…Handjob?

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