Blood clung thick on the walls of the small

Blood clung thick on the walls of the small room like a double coat of paint, filling the air with a cloying smell that burned the nostrils. I couldn't believe what I'd just done.

Nobody would get the obvious socioeconomic implications of such a contemporary albeit macabre art exhibit. I needed to shave my head and change my name to Walter Fickdiggery of

just a means to an end for me. I pick up women who sit in the museum all day telling people not to get too close or take pictures. Outside working hours, they liked both

of my balls. I told them not to get too close, but I did let them take pictures. I also picked up the ladies who gave out the free triscuit halves at Sam's Club.

They were easy to pick up because I was an american citizen and had my own car. The Costco Food Ladies didn't seem to care that I still lived at home, but man, could they

cook. Last night they made this homemade pu pu platter with deep fried crappie and creamy shiitake sandwiches. The shitz tzu even got to have some. The flavor

crystals had grown too large. I was unable to crunch them to release the minty freshness. The fresh breath I had been promised was replaced by merde. My reading from the book of

Sea Monkeys was nonetheless applauded by seven seals in the front row, and even got a good review in The New Yorker, but my jaws ached from the expanding minty crystals in my mouth

. Mr. Wonka's new candy was making us very upset, and the expanding Live Saver wintergreens were shooting off luminous sparks that began to catch the audience on fire.