So one day the thought struck him. He got really worried. He used to wonder. Whether it's really him who's doing the fucking. Can holes fuck.
Isn't creation the reason for the creator being called so?
Isn't the shadow in the mirror watching you as intently as you?
Don't the shoes wear you when you wear them?
Doesn't the TV watch you?
Isn't it mice experimenting on humans?
Wasn't it man who created god?
Doesn't the bed sheet sleep over you?
Wasn't the world falling on you when you last jumped off a building?
Isn't life living you too?
Won't your death die with you?
Doesn't money exchange the hands of men?
Didn't the water bottle just drink air?
Don't your hands cover the glove?
Doesn't the ball play the batsman?
So when you're fucking a fucking asshole, who's really fucking whom?