home authors guest shorts graphical shorts
"Tip o'the foreskin to ya," saluted the aberrant sailor, gruesomely.
What type of shantytown was this? Where were the shanties?
I clutched my child/cousin-bride haphazardly, perhaps grabbing her by the ears, or the throat. I didn't know. It was simply instinctual to protect us from the stench of blood sausage, as we passed wearily through the portal towards my rented Escalade.
Rarely the religious type, I managed a faint "God help us" as I slipped upon something that could only be construed as...
Forget it. This is too gross.
Date Written: December 02, 2003
Average Vote: 3