Writings » Home of the Dead 4 (Deja Menollie)

    1922-1993 felt drained, I mean, his condition was increasingly awful and extremely sexual.  We thought some good old-fashioned elbow grease might send a lightning bolt of hatred through his heart of sickness, so I drew up blue-prints for a dog house and we hit the grindstone, hats but no pants.  I drilled two three quarter inch holes in Patrick's chest; where his nipples once was - where his vagina once were.  Next, thrice parts copper tubing - inserted strongly in the butthole (to be no more than a diameter in trajectory).  Three to four furry lesbians (a.k.a. soggy cotton balls), welded straight to the eyes with the aid of a raging fire, harnessed by a burning desire [sic].  For the wallpaper, ten sheets of lettuce, hold the mayo (save it for future oral), stapled to the left and right ventricles.  Presto, no dog.
    Obviously, this did nothing but cure Patrick and his stupid ailments forever.  He thanked me generously, preparing a chicken dinner fit for an army of pipers (the kind who marched with a rabid dick-swing).  As I sealed the meal, I noticed 1922-1993 gazing at me from across the table, melting my icy heart with his understanding eyes of cotton.  Sure as shit, it was like me and my so-called broshus had never been happier.