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Nice cunt fatty. But not nice enough. So I made hamburger of Hillary Clinton’s rosebud. Afterward she told me, “I used my check to get braces after Bill said my crooked teeths was whittlin’ on his cock. He knocked my teeths out anyways ‘cause onetime them wires hooked on his dickskin. That’s why I took to whorin’. I already had the mouth for it, and with the cig burns I couldn’t work in cosmetics no more.” “Yeah, that’s sure a story,” I told the bell-assed bisexual ashtray. “Now let’s set this thing up.” She said, “I done some sick shit but this is the worst.” I told her, “Honey, lots of girls have drunk a Runny Belgian.” I handed her my colostomy bag and lovingly held my hands over hers as we squeezed the viscous septic mud into the hollowed-out watermelon. Then I had her hold my dick while I pissed in a shaky geriatric stream. Together, we poured in the Ziploc of spoiled menstrual blood. Then I hacked up a lemon-lime clump from my tuberculine lungs. “You get it with a twist ,” I told her. Her soft clam eyes looked at me as she dry-heaved. “It’s …huuuuh…huuh…hulaaah…I can’t.” I said, “Don’t you understand? Look at me! Pestilent and near death. Existence is a circle. The basest act is really the sunrise of idealism and perfection. Purity though bottom-feeding. Life is unity! Yes, the pinnacle is the pit!! We are all from the black!!!” I reached my pussey, lesioned hands into the vile, life-giving stew and stirred with a clawing dog-paddle. I was so near to the womb. Soon, Hillary was drinking straight from the watermelon trough. As she writhed and wretched like a warfarin poisoned dog, I barraged her with increasingly rapturous urgings. True to form, she repeatedly guzzled and vomited until we could see the pale green of the rind.
Date Written: June 12, 2005
Average Vote: 4.125