Cabbage Patch 2012

by jerrontables

The air was smoked. The band was loud. The frat house dudes were fraternizing with nipple jokes and the ancient art of air-humping, sodomizing that which is breathed, and kneading the nothing, pantomiming that which is heaved. The place was packed and it was loose–just-so hair gel cacawing to the mousse. There were pert spectacles of human bodies and purposeful grindings behindings of them. Sturdiful, protrusing proposings of them.

Will you bury me?

Lyle sat with his beer in the crook of a nook booth with his friends, looking through the noise, trying not to become pregnant. Thinking about investations in condom hats.

I can’t breathe!

Thomas and Samantha sat across. They had drinks and they had effervescent views of the world, the bar, their movements within and through it. They breathed freely–riding the bubbles of soured champagne, screwing each other through scuba material.

Corpus Annonymous.

His beer was light, was something of the old thing, something perpetuating the same train–product to people, monies between, cha-chinging from vine to vine on tree to tree–a primate scream: Scoo-Scoot AAAAHH! AAAAHH! It was someone he knew. It was Vidalia. Vidalia of the Boozenflites, kissing Lyle of Cheekovface, grasping hand to hand, fingers on fingers, smiling brightly, surprisingly. The whore of some morrow today.


It was hot. It was burning hot, and Lyle, unable to freely breathe, asked this woman, this person of past acquaintance, if she would please, ever so mind, removsing herself from the beside of his seated bump-post. He felt cornered, caught in a crook nook, perspiring insatiably and screaming on the soulside. He felt the need to move. Besides, the streamed persistence of a certain  inner organ would not permit his loungings a moment longer, and he was now inclined to obey its pinched impressings.


He climbed the ladder, felt the rush of cool up there. He had to pee, and, urinals used in full, opted for outside air. He had a notion, a noble thought, and he lay down with his pants off and begain urinating up and on himself.

“Towards thee I roll, thou all-destroying but unconquering whale; to the last I grapple with thee; from hell’s heart I stab at thee; for hate’s sake I spit my last breath at thee!”

And that, my friend, is where babies come from.