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  • Garg Fam

The Pleasure Palace

That’s right, kids, the rumors are true. The Union has reopened after a lengthy and taxing renovation, and students across the university are eager to welcome in a host of new corporate sponsors (and other tuition-raising shills)! And by golly, these bastards are just beside themselves as they ready their gullets for sucking down our spare pocket change.

Many students are confused by the renovation, appreciative of the updated aesthetic of the Union but confused as to how on God’s green Earth she could have cost a whopping $85.2 mil. In the name of collective curiosity, I took it upon myself to venture inside and put my immature, uneducated brain—which, I might add, contains absolutely no fiscal knowledge whatsoever—to the task of determining whether the renovation could really have cost such an ungodly amount of dough. You’re fucking welcome.

At first I was disappointed, despaired, gutted. Who gives a goddamn fuck about the Union’s new beautiful high ceilings, stylish new furniture, or elegant charm? Not me, that’s who. However, as I continued my journey through the Union, I stumbled across perhaps the most coveted feature of the recent renovation.

Deep in the Union basement, just beyond the matrix of absolutely fucking nothing, there exists a secret passageway disguised as an Ann Arbor Gentrification Laboratory (yikes!). Open the door, and you shall come across a narrow, winding staircase leading down to a dank room lit only by a handful of mounted torches. This chamber has been adorned with an impressive collection of erotic toys and tortures and reeks of a mysterious, moist odor not unlike that of a mangey alley cat slinking out of the Pacific a on a humid evening in the tropics. The space clearly bore the sins of secrecy; what was once the innocent underground of Ann Arbor had been transformed into a scandalous yet titillating collage of latex, chains, leather, tethers, and spikes. At the very back hung an artisan wooden sign that read:



As I ventured further into the depths of the lair, my eyes scanned its riches enviously. In one corner, one could find an assortment of trinkets for the milder dom. On the other side, an elaborate labyrinth of industrial-strength power sources had been built beside a glass case of the President’s most prized nip titallators (tit2), including but certainly not limited to clamps, magnets, and cables. Settled deep within in the shadows, a glossy object was hidden. I stepped closer, and as the light fell upon the figure I saw that it was, in fact, an latex dog suit. Still more, a collection of gleaming sounding rods indicated that whoever claimed this carnal cavern was no amateur. Damn daddy Schliss, you sure are one kinky bastard.

Having thoroughly admired the cover yet alluring sights of the Union underground, I was experiencing a plethora of complex emotions and sensations. I felt amazed, perplexed, and mesmerized all at the same time. I paced the perimeter of the room, relishing its electrifying aura and wallowing in the pleasure of past exchanges. I was entranced by the apprehension I felt and the #chillvibes of the dungeon, less so by the inexplicable musk that lingered overhead. Mark, or should I say Master, you have truly outdone yourself this time. Once again, the Wolverines have won the prize.

Not long after I had first stumbled across this beautiful and mischievous lair, I had finally had my fill of its lure. Heart aflutter, I made my way back up the stairwell and slipped through the doorway back into the cold confines of reality and worse, sexual normalcy. My journey to the pleasure palace was over… at least until next time.



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