"Afar Lugbúrz! at sapat kok-ishi.

"Afar Lugbúrz! at sapat kok-ishi. Afar vadokanuk, At sapat kok-ishi!"
He repeated it again. "Afar Lugbúrz! at sapat kok-ishi. Afar vadokanuk, At sapat kok-ishi!" It was his last words before fli
ghts of angels gathered round him. "Turkish, or Urdu?" one gleamed. "Perhaps Malagok?" Never send Cosmic Angels to do Earth Angel work, he thought as he languished on the threshold
of Hell. He was the Columbo Angel. Actually, he was Peter Falk's ghost, but God loved the Columbo series so he created "Columbo Angel." He floated around in a trenchcoat
flashing at innocent women at public places like train stations. He'd use body paint to draw a target around his penis and then stand around with just his trenchcoat waiting for
the right moment. She had to be attractive, but not too attractive. Ideally, like a 7 or an 8. If he timed it just right she'd end up staring right at his penis. Good times.
Bertha always looked out the window when the horses went past the office to change the guard at Buckingham Palace. Hooves clattered. I lowered my naked form on a rope down the side
of the stone cold building, and felt the wet rain slide against my thighs. I shivered. I needed clothes. I was not about to be cast in a Ghanaian blockbuster movie like this.
Naked & goosepimply, I waved my underwear scraps out the tiny window of the building, attempting to get the attention of the hammer pants peddler on the corner. "You want hammer pa
nts?" the astute born-again capitalist asked me. Unfortunately a breeze blew my underpants scraps right into his face and he was disgusted into leaving. I shouldn't've eaten beets.

Started: 2013-01-07 14:18:33
Finished: 2013-03-29 00:22:10

0 Comments

Want to leave a comment?