The meaning of life in Fargo

Toil. That was the word the clerk at the porn shop in Fargo told me was the temporal meaning of his life. Walking into this Mecca for masterbators I was greeted by dildos and various creams. A wall of videos delineating themselves from the rest by exposing it’s signature sex act on a glossy box. One of these sexual Mandala’s held the image of a woman pleasing herself with a log. Laws of physics be damned. After having lit a lid outside, tenderizing my tendons for the long bus ride ahead, I walked upon this temple to the testosterone and decided it was worth a peep. I sauntered in with the gait of someone newly initiated into the world of smoke and porn and I let my eyes buzz about this hedonist hive of honey coated eye candy. The aforesaid clerk sat behind a high desk reading Descartes. This was entirely to much for my already glee soaked noggin. I giggled in short bursts having a difficult time keeping it in. He was this clean cut college kid reading philosophy in a world I always associated with denial. “My wife gives it up all the time I’m just boning up on a few positions!” Denial. “I’m no pervert. The female form is an art” Denial. “This proves I’m a heterosexual” and again denial. This clerk broke my comfortable stereotype and for that I was elated. I walked up to him and asked him the one question I knew would help me pin down his personality in such short notice. “If you had to choose one word to describe the meaning of life what would it be”? “Toil my friend, toil.”