Peoria

I met her in Peoria.

250 pounds of flabby porulent woman flesh is wobbling around the hotel room, farting
Mucous is dripping from her pig-hole nostrils into her mouth
Nah, streaming

Steaming, streaming
Great green rivulets
Her tongue makes sure no leftover chunks go astray
Or miss their mark

“Mama mean business!”

Put your finger on the button.
Yeah, will do.
Just let me finish this page, sheesh.
I said sooooooooey!

Sticky, sticky, sticky, sticky, sticky
Tongue’s feeling dry, swollen up like a pocket full of lint in close up.
Know what I mean?
Know what I mean?
Know what I mean?
Failing that, the falling fat.
Crack another six pack and get on with the job at hand.
Many hands make light work, but may spoil the broth.

Fists are flying and schlepping into hole, after hole, after heat..
Hey, she buys KY by the quart.
Filled up to the elbow bone, right up to the joint.
Filed at the shin, skin hanging off in sheets and shards.
You do this shit for a living?
Those grimy, greasy pores
Exuding their sick, slimy mixture of filth and pus in little white worm deposits
Every time she smiles that yellow, shit-eatin’ grin
That shit-eatin’ grin

Christ, she was beautiful