Day 33 (Bitches Know the Ropes)

The dander of the gods is a burden I can no longer shoulder. If only this boulder would molder and move, lose its steam and cream its pants, ants running downhill, just for the thrill. I grow older and bolder with every chill, every pill, every zing bang and pop. Bim bam bang, it’s a wang, you fool. Try to wrangle it, entangle it in bed sheets and entrap it with your girlish wiles, from the woes of your toes up to your perky little nose. No one knows how hard you try, cake up all that make-up, nobody cares how you fake it as long as you make it, but what are you making, girly? Twirling around, twisting and tying your hair into air, so long as it covers your terrier derriere. Tawdry schemes go awry as you try your bawdy themes and the dog broadly dreams of bones to chase, mailmen to race in this rat race of a civilization. You’ve only got four legs, you’ll never catch that truck, bitch, no matter how much ice cream he promised you, he’s a fraud too, you ugly broad. The trap you so carefully laid has now been paid out by the mafia, and they want to cash in and strap in, strap it on, those strapping suits, fruits to the core, they just want a whore. Do you dare to be more than just what you are?

Clench, clench, clench to my loo, my darling. The wench’s stench fills my nostrils, enraging and engorging them, blood rushing through veins and capillaries and capstones, tap those stones, tap it baby, tape it up, shape it up. Rushing, flushing my cheeks and my toilets, down through the sewers of my mind, out the pipe into the vats and endless pipes through the wastewater treatment facility, or WTF for short. WTF indeed, why the fuck do we need to feed our bowels on these blood-soaked towels. Howls at the moon will never bring it any closer to fill your eyes. Pie in the sky, pie in your eye, dye it with pi.