"Don't say shit!" she screamed, swiveling
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"Don't say shit!" she screamed, swiveling her head like the night before under completely different circumstances. "Even if you DO talk to the hand, only one of my fingers has
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been cleaned. The other fingers have a mysterious musk on them the origins of which will remain nameless. Now, if you don't want me to stick
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feathers in my hair, stop plucking the chickens. But where did the mysterious musk come from? I decided to consult a
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a muscologist I new from when I worked for the Whale survey in Japan. I flipped open my whaleskin address book and looked for Yoshi's phone number.
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He owned a sushi place that served good whale blubber, but I was more interested in hitching up with his sister Saki. In my eyes, she was 140 kilos of hot
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yellow tail. I longed dip my maki in her sauce. She had other ideas. I sat in the same spot at the counter every day, but she never saw me. In desperation, I
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brought in my own sushi, figuring that this was the no-no that would finally get me noticed. She took one look and asked if mind if she changed the channel on the TV. "Wasabi!" was
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on, but I'd already seen this episode. I told her "no" anyway, because I wasn't about to watch another episode of Oprah today. I bitterly returned to my tiger roll and thought
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"Tiger doesn't taste near as good as they said it would." We turned back to the television to watch the live match of
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the day, though the tiger was disappointing, I was still enjoying the moment, football, sofa, deep fried tiger in a bucket. . . .and a tall glass of freshly squeezed spermatosa and
2
- Started
- 2011-02-02 22:55:08
- Finished
- 2011-04-14 07:30:59
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