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"Well, I suppose you're old enough to talk about this kind of thing with your ol' pop, huh Ace? Sure you are. Sure. You're a big boy, now." Pop ruffled Ace's hair. "Eleven! My word. How the time flies..." Ace's mouth opened, but no words came out. He just sat at the kitchen table. "Look, I know the divorce has been tough on you. I know that. Been tough on all of us! You see, your mother and I-- Do you know what internecine means? Have we done that word in your vocab workbook? I can't remember. It's foggy. I can't pin it down. Language Arts. Weird name for a class, don't you think? Language Arts? Anyway it means, like, everyone gets hurt. See? Ace? Aww, come on. Look at me." Tears collected in Ace's eyes. His lips trembled. "Oh, that's wonderful. Look. Look! Listen to your father. Listen. When you were conceived...I mean...not when we first thought about having you, but when your mother and I were having intercourse--sex, Ace. Sex. It was a hate act. There, I said it. As I was bucking my hips and Mommy was crying out -- you know, right? There's a point during the act of coitus when sexual partners, no matter how loving, no matter how refined and logical we are, they, we reduce ourselves to wild, grinning, mindless imbeciles. Thrusting. You've seen neutered dogs fucking the legs of businessmen? When dogs get that smile? And the sticky ribbons of their gums flap stupidly to reveal the canines and saliva and the panting breath of instinct? That kind of vacant, unctrollable humping? Do you? I remember it so clearly, being so disgusted by the act. Bucking. Humping. Sweat. And your mother's face. I -- I asked her to look away. And I just grabbed her thighs and started slamming her pussy into my hips. And I thought to myself, "Look at her throat! Look at her throat!" as a way of focusing my thoughts. For some reason I cannot articulate, I desperately needed to think about Mommy's trachea. Her trachea. Are you listening?" Ace's cheek rested on the formica table top. "Ah, I can see you've already bled to death. You really are your mother's son."

Date Written: November 03, 2005
Author: Dick Vomit
Average Vote: 4.5

11/3/2005 Mr. Pony (4.5): I liked this!
11/3/2005 Partytime: Pop and Acme you mean.
11/3/2005 Mr. Pony: Dude, that's Dylan's gag.
11/7/2005 Ferucio P. Chhretan (4): Stuck at "sticky ribbons"...I went somewhere else.
11/25/2005 qualcomm: Hey Vomit: Is this what you call shiterary? Maybe you don't understand what the "short" in acmeshorts stands for.
11/25/2005 qualcomm: (any exceedingly stupid comments, like this one, are mr. joshua hijacks)
11/29/2005 Dylan Danko (4.5): Hey, this is good! Or should I say, guuuud.
12/9/2005 scoop (4.5): Why are all your characters so dark, Dick Vomit?
01/9/2006 TertiaryWinesAreTheOnlyWinesForMe (4.5): I like this!!!
04/26/2006 Master Bates (5): the larnyx puts the lotion on its trachea
02/28/2007 Master Bates: reel good