Technique SEVEN: Birth a Homunculus

Homunculus: a little man (miniature) like the little dead guy hanging between your legs.

You'll need a condom for this one. A condom used and discarded by a 300 pound bisexual taxidermist with an extruded navel that resembles a pagoda if you get up close with a microscope and a pair of rusted pliers.

You can order the used condom off the net. Cyberspace bristles with condom and taxidermy websites in case you didn't know. I used to think taxidermy had something to do with taxis. Turns out I was right. Taxicabs around the world are now being replaced (at gunpoint) with stuffed mooseheads on wheels.

Order that used condom off the net. Chances are, it'll be delivered by a four foot albino in a clown suit, a guy named Willard Poteet. Pay Willard in drachmas. Then paste a yellow rose to his forehead and stick a Marlboro cigarette up his left nostril. He'll leave with a smile on his face. A sinister, serial-killer smile you'll see over and over in your recurring nudist beach nightmares.

Bark out random phrases in Serbo-Croatian as you carry the condom to your kitchen on a small silver platter. Set the platter on the counter, strip down to your underwear and reproduce the mating call of a Bhutanese mountain goat with your mouth gaped wide. Now grab the condom and carefully fit it over an overripe Chiquita banana (unpeeled). The condom should cover half the banana, give or take a mile.

Mix a quart of maple syrup and chocolate sauce in a glass bowl and sprinkle the mixture with cayenne pepper and powdered goat milk. Smear the resulting paste over your hirsute and sagging udders while humming a Scottish coronach in a low-pitched drone. Now grab your condom-sheathed banana, peel the uncovered half and devour it with obscene relish.

Hold still a while with syrup and chocolate sauce dripping off your man-teats. Then drop to the kitchen floor and lie face up with your slathered dugs and distended gut aimed at the ceiling. Pull back your lips in a simian grimace and breathe through clenched teeth. Picture an iron-pumped Mother Teresa kicking the crap out of a bikini-clad Prince Charles.

You'll notice something in a few minutes. You'll feel a growing warmth around your bellybutton. If you hold a piece of broken glass to your gut you'll see your navel gaping open as a four inch manikin squeezes out into the open. This is you giving birth. This is you birthing a homunculus.

If you're lucky your homunculus will resemble Popeye. He'll be bald, tattooed and heavily muscled, with hypertrophic forearms. He'll be stark naked save for a dead piranha glued to his pecker and a tinted monocle taped to his pubes.

Your homunculus will tap-dance on your gut for a minute while crooning an old tune by The Inkspots. Then he'll put out a bull-ape victory cry and cartwheel out of sight. INSTANT NIRVANA WILL ENSUE SECONDS AFTER YOUR HOMUNCULUS DISAPPEARS FROM VIEW.

Commentary:

This technique is described with breathless reverence in the Mayan Popul Vuh and in The Egyptian Book of the Dead (Abyssinian Addendum: The Howling Marsupial Birth of Bubba Ho Tep). The technique awakens an acupressure point located three inches above your crudded omphalos (navel). I don't know what this point is called in Chinese or Sanskrit but I'm certain spavined Lutherans from Oklahoma refer to it often as that Lickety Split Yeeeehawww.

The point can be holographically mapped to the left buttock of any country club Republican living or dead using Maxwell's Equations, the Zeroeth Law of Thermodynamics and a healthy dose of Fractal Geometry with an emphasis on the Mandelbrot Set. Remember always to heed the wise counsel of the Elder Homunculi and don't forget to jam a honey-dipped drumstick up your Lickety Split Yeeeehawwwww!!!