Double Flee A

What follows should not be read by anyone. You've been warned. I wrote this about a year and a half ago when I was really bored.

Call me crazy, but when I felt the slime dripping from my chin as I chewed a hard-boiled egg from inside a hooker's diseased vagina, I couldn't focus.
It isn't that I don't enjoy eggs, or vaginas, or hookers, I don't even mind the diseases, being blessed with a powerful immune system like I am. I took another bite. Over my shoulder, Conan O'brien was apparently doing something hilarious. She laughed, and when she did, the rest of the egg fell out onto the filthy couch-cover. I looked up. She looked at me, and rather than feel bad, she looked up at the TV again. A pube was tickling my throat; the pain was unbearable. For a spell I coughed, and when I opened my eyes I saw that bits of egg covered her vagina, which was otherwise a perfectly normal matted wad of hair and green mucus. I reached over and grabbed my punisher series four t-shirt from the floor, and wiped her off, then, noticing her watching tv, suggested we sixty-nine. I don't pay people to watch television. I couldn't 'get it up', which may not surprise you, but I did my best to fuck her mouth anyway. It wasn't working. I farted and gave up.
Standing, I talked about what was bothering me; my job. She rolled her eyes. She had been warned about me by her friends, I think. Strange to me that she went along with everything until now without all this goddamned drama. As I went on, naked, chubby, and sweating, in my mighty and persuasive tirade against the evils of the comic-book store, she continued to lay there like an idiot, touching her face. I asked her why she was doing that, and as if we shared a thought, I reached up and felt the slime on my face. Snotty substances tend to go unnoticed at times. When I wiped it off, I noticed there was blood in it, and I let her know this. Looks like she was getting her period. 'Who's embarrased now?' I thought, laughing, as she thumped down the hall to the bathroom. For a few seconds I watched a gillette commercial, wondering what women do when this happens. No, I couldn't go and find out. It wasn't right. I really couldn’t.
I deliberated a few seconds more before deciding to go check it out. This is company time, after all. I either watch or get a discount. Ha.
She had one leg up on the sink, the water was on. My miserable water pressure accentuated her difficulty in cleaning herself. The blood was intermingling with the abscess, and I might have thought the discharge was brownish overall if I hadn't been so close. From there it seemed almost christmaslike in its festival of colors. Yay. I decided to comment on this, and when I did she blushed, her hands paused on my dirty bar of soap for a moment, and she stared somewhere into the middle distance. It was poignant.
I went on whining about my job as she scrubbed and squatted over my toilet. Tiny noises went plip, plip, ploop, and I thought my rant went rather well with 'clotted blood dripping' as a soundtrack. I'd have to write that down. I am, after all, writing a screenplay, and I won't be in the employ of the comic book store once someone picks it up, either. I'll buy that place and burn it o the ground, and then we'll see who's laughing. Me, that's who. Kevin Walters, man of the universe.

posted by dale @ 4:47 PM