c. 2005 by Chris McBeth
The Raging Queer was screaming, swearing, throwing furniture, foaming at the mouth and generally acting out as his Mother lay dying on the operating table.
He was angry from not being able to be with her-the indifferent Security Blackbots had escorted him from the operating room. And he was angry because he knew that even when she was conscious she talked in riddles. Honesty was not her way. From a broken home background rife with alcoholism, abuse and incest-emotionally she herself was more of a stunted child than a woman.
He raged because there was no name for the twisted jumble of emotions he felt for her; and no way for him to express them other than through violence. If he had been a healthy GAY man (how he loathed that term--as if there was anything GAY about being queer) he would be able to turn off his emotions, detach, objectify, (as it was so easy to objectify, turn off and detach from men-AFTER you came with one of them that is) maybe call his shrink or his sponsor; calmly ask for reassurance of some kind from his lover (another absurd word) if he had one.
These healthy supportive actions however weren't part of the equation in his life. He couldn't afford a shrink at this point-he'd had so many bad ones in the past he distrusted them all instinctively. He fallen off the wagon so many times in his anti-sex 12 step program, it hardly seemed "Program" was still a part of his life. Besides his sponsor was probably dead of AIDS by now. As far as a lover, he had none. The longest relationship he'd had was Elizabeth with her honey-colored hair. Back in the day she had been a teen-aged prostitute replete with black pimp turning tricks in the best hotels in New York. A few months after their relationship began, Elizabeth had thrown him out, as she didn't approve of his bisexual lifestyle. "Get rid of the men or get out" was her ultimatum. He'd gotten out. No man had ever replaced her as his lover. Fuck her, he thought, she'd been a whore and SHE was telling ME to lay off the men-HA!
No, all he had was his Mother. She was the only balm in his life--besides cumming with men. But cumming with men had little heart, so emotionally he kept looping back to her, seeking some kind of warmth from her. And after staring at her like a deer frozen in the headlights on a cold snowy Wisconsin highway, the headlights of her eyes never said that "Yes" to him. He always ended up skidding on the cold icy patch that covered her heart.
He rested from his violence for a moment; the Blackbots were nowhere to be seen. He approached the porthole window to the operating room and peeped in. The lovely old woman lay covered with a sheet up to her neck. The cold steel table was illuminated by bright white surgical lights like a fabulous Hollywood opening night or a star-studded charity event at the Met. And there she lay there, motionless, like a grand beautiful old Queen. Some of her wounds screamed out from just under the edge of the sheet, gaping crimson holes sparkling like wet rubies.
Finally the Blackbots appeared and motioned him into the Animal Transplant room, which adjoined the Operating Room. He entered and walked along row after row of cages of large white lab rats. Some sleeping, some copulating, some feeding, a few fighting. One was chasing itself and then catching and chewing on its own tale, mad from the confinement. The room smelled of cedar chips and rat shit. Closest to the Operating Room door was a single large cage in which in the bodies of two rats lay, unmoving and bandaged, breathing through tubes with miniature rat IV's connected to them.
He understood then that they had transplanted pieces of these rats into his Mother. Miniature rat lungs or tiny rat livers. Since the early part of the century, the poor, the uninsured and immigrants were given organ donations from animals. Only the rich could afford the luxury of human transplants. Drugs had made the animals transplants function almost as well as the human ones.
The Blackbots gently motioned for him to enter the adjoining door to the Operating Room where his Mother lay, conscious but groggy. Instead of her usual soft golden brown ash blond-tipped coif, her hair was stiff like wire and straw-like, almost bleach-burned white, like the kind of cheap wiry wig they placed on naked mannequins in the window of small-town run-down department stores on Main Street in Anytown, U.S.A. And at the very top of her head was a shaved and bandaged bald spot that looked like a yarmulke skull cap. “Oh Jesus” he thought “they COULDN’T—“ but the thought was too ghastly to finish.
She was beyond looking white trashy—he had never pictured her in that class anyway. But now she looked different. She was “uber” white trash, white trash nightmare; white trash Mad Lab-Rat experiment gone bad. And still, as he stared at her, he loved her more.
He felt himself growing hard. He flashed on his earliest Mother sex memories. Forbidden and repressed. The taboo veil of his body again feeling her body; the pressure of her hungry "Motherness-that-loves-too-much" squeezing his little puppy body closer and closer into her until her coarse pubic hair was biting into his stomach, hands and arms like needles and he couldn’t breathe from the pressure of her. Then that sound--that gurgling sound as she came on him, wrapped around him in a dream, holding and smothering him.
Now he wanted to lie down on top of her again. That she was groggy, still drugged from the anesthesia made him get fully erect. He fought the urge to jump on top of the cold hard steel table and mount her, penetrate her, pump and pound her with those hot hot super silver surgical lights burning over them like suns. He flashed on another memory of how she used to lie prostrate for hours under her sunlamp, loose towel covering her breasts, small damp cotton wads over her eyes. Sometimes she would do her “leg-up” exercises at the same time. Her six-pack was the most fabulous and the first he could ever recall seeing. How he longed to fondle it now, massage those gorgeous Venus stomach muscles of hers, caress and penetrate her…
He longed to feel what her cunt felt like. He wanted to enter her hole again and see what it felt like to be touching the place where he came from; that place where he’d emerged from some thirty odd years ago. To shoot his cum into her mound—to explode inside her old woman beauty was all he needed to reach supreme Tantric enlightenment!
It was mad but he saw his fucking her as being some kind of catalyst for his life energy to change. An exorcism to fling out all the demons and darkness that haunted him day-to-day. She would transform him through her excitement. There would be no screams but only half-murmured whispers of hot pleasure and little girl-nothing words cooing from her lips like small Vermont birds singing in the green lush summer. As he fucked her and fucked her, her juices would flow again inside her, her body electrified by his pounding waves; a steady and unstoppable stream of power giving them both new life.
As she began to open her eyes his fantasy ended. She tried to reach for the large bandage that covered part of her chest and trailed her fingers down toward a large exposed wound further down on her torso.
“It took two—two to fix me” she slurred softly “that’s what that doctor said.”
“Shhh Mom—quiet now—just rest. The nurse‘ll be in soon. Just rest now.”
Like changing a bike seat, or the oil in a car. I changed the direction of the story. Then I became my Mother in that hospital bed, recovering. The transplanted pieces of live rats renewing my life, my chi with their tiny energy. Then I was young again and following my emotions to their solitary stunted source of rage. I was 11 or 12, a tomboy loving to play with my model wooden airplane in the back of the house in the garden in the dirt and weeds on a street in Sterling, IL. It's the Depression. I am bruised and bleeding from “The Old Man” coming home all boozed up and throwing me down on the kitchen floor like a rag doll and fumbling with his zipper and sticking his Peter in that place between my legs…my brothers and sister screaming, screaming for him to get off me, blindly batting at him like so many flies buzzing around a buffalo. Father McBeth, big ragged whisky drunk bearing his weight down on my soft white virgin tomboy place—squeezing and squeezing the rage into me like some poisoned kind of vise squeezes the heart out of a chicken till it emerges engorged with sex up to it's neck and out through it’s beak, then you chop off the head and let it go running, running shooting the hot chicken blood into the cold white perfect Illinois snow.
This is where rage comes from I thought recalling my Mother’s stories of growing up during the Depression in the 20’s and 30’s in that small house in Sterling, Illinois with a Dad who was a boozer and six brothers and sisters and mush every day and never enough to eat and one day brother Ward was mowing the neighbor’s lawn and it rained and he got wet and caught a chill and had a nervous breakdown and died. Sad stories. Sad stories from a beautiful old Queen. Sad but so so rich the memories passed on and on for future generations to be horrified by, to be tainted by. And they in turn, needing the healing, the release from the rage. The release from living.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Friday, December 7, 2007
"Bisexual Love" c.2006 by Chris McBeth
Bisexual Love
c. 2006 by Chris McBeth
There were too many people in Tucson. Too many fat people consuming. Consuming products, cars, DVDs, land, etc. An overabundance of everything!
Coco Puff fancied himself to be a connoisseur of taste in all things--food, wine, men, women, and a bit of a charming clown, or a sprite, though a rather large one weighing in at 340 lbs.
He was next in line at the checkout of Blockbuster Video with two classic Bette Davis’ DVDs in hand when he noticed the handsome muscular dirty blond-haired boy. The kid must have been in his early 20’s with longish hair, a handsome roguish face and a muscular, stocky body, probably about 6’. He was just Coco’s type of guy. Of course most of Coco’s ‘types of guys” laughed at him or wouldn’t be about to give him the time of day. There was a dark-haired cunt hanging onto the boy and making him laugh feeling his torso and hugging him. Coco was immediately jealous of the girl and wished it were he lovingly nudging the gorgeous jock-like man. However he didn’t find the girl all that unappealing either. A thought occurred to him—“Mmmm, together, the TWO of them—and little old me!” He pondered to himself deliciously. “I MUST have them. I will have BOTH of them!” A wicked smile spread over his face and made his huge jowls twitch with pleasure.
“Umm, never mind—I have to do something” he told the acne-faced clerk. Coco quietly dropped the DVDs and nonchalantly followed the couple out of the store. He followed them stealthily along Pantano Boulevard in his vanilla cream-colored van until they turned off onto a quiet, dark side street. Making his move he floored his van up next to the couple’s car and then edged it off the road into a ditch. Luckily for him there were no houses on this stretch of the road. The boy charged out of his car screaming his head off and swearing to beat the band. His anger excited Coco Puff. He felt himself getting erect. As the boy reached up and into the driver’s side of the van, Coco shot him with his super deluxe stun gun. The beautiful boy fell to his knees and collapsed. The big Puff babe exited his van, knelt down, and kissed the jock boy fully on the lips while injecting him with a paralyzing poison that would render the boy conscious but unable to move.
Onto the girl “Oh shut UP you beautiful babe!—Don’t you know Coco Puff’s here to take you and your hot boyfriend out on a date?” He said, all 350 lbs. him galloping toward the now hysterical girl. Coco reaching into the interior the car and shot the screaming cunt with his power nail gun. “Pop” the first nail pierced the girl in the left eye. “Oh” she said. The second “Pop” projectile nailed her right between the eyes, the girl passed out.
Coco collected both the lovely couple’s bodies into the back of his van, placed them side by side, arranging their bodies as if he was arranging dolls. He headed for home with his dream date couple in tow.
After he got the bodies home, he lovingly carried them both into his gigantic bedroom, undressed them and tied them both up on top of his huge heart-shaped bed, stretching them out full length belly up. He sucked the muscular jock boy’s flaccid cock then until it got hard. At the same time he was fingering the girls pussy with a metal glove studded with razor blades. He ravenously sucked and bit at the Jock boy’s cock until the big fella started moaning. The girl was moaning too as Coco dug deeper and deeper into her cunt. Bleeding freely now and getting quite mushy, Coco began to fist punch bitch’s pussy with his razor blade glove as if he was fist fucking a man’s asshole. After a huge commotion and lots of flesh-tearing, Coco penetrated out the poor girl’s asshole and he could feel his bloody fist emerge and feel the mattress beneath her. Thank Goodness he had put down a think layer of lime green canvas as a kind of bedspread “fluid catch-all-fuck-sheet” before he’d laid down the couple, for now the blood from the cunt was everywhere.
At this point Coco felt like taking a break from the cunt. Coco Puff disengaged his razor glove from the girl cunt’s pussy (which now was literally a ragged red hole) and anus with a loud “SUCK-SWOOSH” noise he freed it from her big body crevice. He tore the glove off and cast it aside.
“Now for you my pretty!” he said to the boy, razing himself back from the boy like a Funnel Back spider preparing to bite, Coco Puff then immediately brought his head down and down into the boy clamping down hard on both his cock and balls with his fat head and very strong teeth. He then pulled his head backward, tearing tissue like taffy; raggedly tearing both cock and balls from the beautiful boy’s torso while at the same time exploding with a fierce orgasm that sent small tremors all the way to Los Angeles! He mauled the bloody soggy mess of male genital sandwich, continuing to chew on it as he first sat up in the bed, savoring his bisexual boy feast snack and blinking stupidly over the hapless couple. Still chewing he straddled the boy, cut off wires that were affixing the boy’s hands and feet to the heart-shaped bass bed frame, drew a hold of the football jock boy’s now cockless and ball-less body and rolled it over so that the boy’s muscular yet still untouched ass arched high up in the air. The boy was barely conscious…
Madly, merrily drunk with bloodlust, Coco Puff the killer sex clown grasped a large pick ax hanging next to the bed. He kept it there just for these special occasions. Grasping the ax in both hands and towering over the muscular jock’s butt he raised the pick ax high, high into the air. “I AM GOD—LOVE ME!” he bellowed making the walls of ranch-style house shake (Good thing he was miles from neighbors). The fat killing demon brought the point of the ax down with a thundering SLAM breaching both the gorgeous boy’s anus and stabbing deep deep inside of and into lower pelvic floor muscles, ripping and shredding through cartilage, bones, and tendons.
“I’m a SOUL MINER—looking for a heart of Gold” Coco sang an old Neil Young song, partly making up the words as he plunged the pick ax again and again into the muscular boy’s buttocks, obliterating them. The garbled song turned into waves of mad laughter, loud and high-pitched and penetrating as that pick ax was penetrating the flesh.
Coco Puff finished and threw down the ax. He rested and lounged in between the lovely but quite bloody and quite dead couple now, curling into their juices and feeling a kind of perfect bisexual love. He nestled within the (formerly) beautiful and virile man and his cunt date like some blood addicted fetus demon. He felt safe. He felt peace.
He must have fallen asleep or a few hours, for when he awoke, the blood all around him had started to congeal and the bodies were beginning to grow cold and stiff. There was a shit smell too which he hadn’t noticed before, for when the torture really got going both the couple had become incontinent.
Coco got up off the bed, took a shower and then removed both of the bodies to another room in his basement. To what he later referred in his anonymous note to the Police as his “Plastication Chamber.”
Here he laid out both his lovelies onto another different white canvas and began carefully arranging them. He was “the auteur of death.” He outstretched the muscular arms of the boy and spread-eagled his legs (what muscular quadriceps the boy had mused Coco Puff. How those quads must have run and jumped—like an uber-College Jock Football player flying over the other players in the Super Bowl!). The cunt’s body he fashioned so that she was curled into the boy’s torso on his right side, nestling into it. “Nothing’s Going to Harm You” Coco hummed was he worked.
When completed with the final manipulation, he dismounted the canvas and tipped a huge overhanging vat of liquid polyurethane spilling it onto his dead bi-lovers, now relegated to live forever as memorials to art and beauty. He left the Plastication Chamber, went upstairs and ordered 4 pizzas. Waited patiently watching cartoons until the delivery came and engorged them all as if starving—making love and death is hard work. Making it into art even harder. His appetite was boundless! About three hours later Coco returned to the Plastication Chamber and poured another layer over his sleeping beauties, his lovers now stillborn forever.
This he continued to do again and again for the next few weeks, daily until he was sure the encasing polyurethane would cover up any telltale odor or stench of decay and freeze dry any signs of decomposition.
As a final touch Coco Puff went to the neighborhood art store, a fabulous one he frequented near the University of Arizona campus--and bought about 10 lbs. worth of gold leaf. This he used to cover the couple until they looked like a gorgeous Greek frieze worthy of ANY Classic Roman or Byzantine Temple—worthy of the worship of any High Priest of the Nile. Coco Puff was the emperor immortal--the magic spawn of the Gods, the ultimate artist sculptor of high art and beauty…
When the conglomeration was hardened to perfection and gold as the sun, Coco spray pained tiny fine key-light effects of pink here and there to bring-out a kind of Arizona sunset sparkle within the piece. It was a kind of testament also, he thought warmly --to the couple’s living days in the gorgeous fascist state of Arizona. There was nothing quite like Western light. Coco then hung the beautiful horrid mass vertically, on the west wall of his living room, surrounded by black velvet. And a few small subtle orange spotlights.
For many evenings, he sat or lay before the death-gold-pink frieze studying, relishing and masturbating to his gorgeous otherworldly art again and again. Sometimes he played love songs on his antique banjo, serenading the dead lovers (who never decomposed and never grew old or offended with obtuse smells). By and by through the lonely nights-he paid homage not only to young, lithe (though dead) virile love, but also his perfect bisexual love obsession, which he had finally managed to capture.
This went on for many years until one evening when a great meteor crashed into Coco Puff’s ranch style spread flattening both the house and the fat killer bi-clown as he sat one night tenderly serenading his still-as-death glittering art children.
c. 2006 by Chris McBeth
There were too many people in Tucson. Too many fat people consuming. Consuming products, cars, DVDs, land, etc. An overabundance of everything!
Coco Puff fancied himself to be a connoisseur of taste in all things--food, wine, men, women, and a bit of a charming clown, or a sprite, though a rather large one weighing in at 340 lbs.
He was next in line at the checkout of Blockbuster Video with two classic Bette Davis’ DVDs in hand when he noticed the handsome muscular dirty blond-haired boy. The kid must have been in his early 20’s with longish hair, a handsome roguish face and a muscular, stocky body, probably about 6’. He was just Coco’s type of guy. Of course most of Coco’s ‘types of guys” laughed at him or wouldn’t be about to give him the time of day. There was a dark-haired cunt hanging onto the boy and making him laugh feeling his torso and hugging him. Coco was immediately jealous of the girl and wished it were he lovingly nudging the gorgeous jock-like man. However he didn’t find the girl all that unappealing either. A thought occurred to him—“Mmmm, together, the TWO of them—and little old me!” He pondered to himself deliciously. “I MUST have them. I will have BOTH of them!” A wicked smile spread over his face and made his huge jowls twitch with pleasure.
“Umm, never mind—I have to do something” he told the acne-faced clerk. Coco quietly dropped the DVDs and nonchalantly followed the couple out of the store. He followed them stealthily along Pantano Boulevard in his vanilla cream-colored van until they turned off onto a quiet, dark side street. Making his move he floored his van up next to the couple’s car and then edged it off the road into a ditch. Luckily for him there were no houses on this stretch of the road. The boy charged out of his car screaming his head off and swearing to beat the band. His anger excited Coco Puff. He felt himself getting erect. As the boy reached up and into the driver’s side of the van, Coco shot him with his super deluxe stun gun. The beautiful boy fell to his knees and collapsed. The big Puff babe exited his van, knelt down, and kissed the jock boy fully on the lips while injecting him with a paralyzing poison that would render the boy conscious but unable to move.
Onto the girl “Oh shut UP you beautiful babe!—Don’t you know Coco Puff’s here to take you and your hot boyfriend out on a date?” He said, all 350 lbs. him galloping toward the now hysterical girl. Coco reaching into the interior the car and shot the screaming cunt with his power nail gun. “Pop” the first nail pierced the girl in the left eye. “Oh” she said. The second “Pop” projectile nailed her right between the eyes, the girl passed out.
Coco collected both the lovely couple’s bodies into the back of his van, placed them side by side, arranging their bodies as if he was arranging dolls. He headed for home with his dream date couple in tow.
After he got the bodies home, he lovingly carried them both into his gigantic bedroom, undressed them and tied them both up on top of his huge heart-shaped bed, stretching them out full length belly up. He sucked the muscular jock boy’s flaccid cock then until it got hard. At the same time he was fingering the girls pussy with a metal glove studded with razor blades. He ravenously sucked and bit at the Jock boy’s cock until the big fella started moaning. The girl was moaning too as Coco dug deeper and deeper into her cunt. Bleeding freely now and getting quite mushy, Coco began to fist punch bitch’s pussy with his razor blade glove as if he was fist fucking a man’s asshole. After a huge commotion and lots of flesh-tearing, Coco penetrated out the poor girl’s asshole and he could feel his bloody fist emerge and feel the mattress beneath her. Thank Goodness he had put down a think layer of lime green canvas as a kind of bedspread “fluid catch-all-fuck-sheet” before he’d laid down the couple, for now the blood from the cunt was everywhere.
At this point Coco felt like taking a break from the cunt. Coco Puff disengaged his razor glove from the girl cunt’s pussy (which now was literally a ragged red hole) and anus with a loud “SUCK-SWOOSH” noise he freed it from her big body crevice. He tore the glove off and cast it aside.
“Now for you my pretty!” he said to the boy, razing himself back from the boy like a Funnel Back spider preparing to bite, Coco Puff then immediately brought his head down and down into the boy clamping down hard on both his cock and balls with his fat head and very strong teeth. He then pulled his head backward, tearing tissue like taffy; raggedly tearing both cock and balls from the beautiful boy’s torso while at the same time exploding with a fierce orgasm that sent small tremors all the way to Los Angeles! He mauled the bloody soggy mess of male genital sandwich, continuing to chew on it as he first sat up in the bed, savoring his bisexual boy feast snack and blinking stupidly over the hapless couple. Still chewing he straddled the boy, cut off wires that were affixing the boy’s hands and feet to the heart-shaped bass bed frame, drew a hold of the football jock boy’s now cockless and ball-less body and rolled it over so that the boy’s muscular yet still untouched ass arched high up in the air. The boy was barely conscious…
Madly, merrily drunk with bloodlust, Coco Puff the killer sex clown grasped a large pick ax hanging next to the bed. He kept it there just for these special occasions. Grasping the ax in both hands and towering over the muscular jock’s butt he raised the pick ax high, high into the air. “I AM GOD—LOVE ME!” he bellowed making the walls of ranch-style house shake (Good thing he was miles from neighbors). The fat killing demon brought the point of the ax down with a thundering SLAM breaching both the gorgeous boy’s anus and stabbing deep deep inside of and into lower pelvic floor muscles, ripping and shredding through cartilage, bones, and tendons.
“I’m a SOUL MINER—looking for a heart of Gold” Coco sang an old Neil Young song, partly making up the words as he plunged the pick ax again and again into the muscular boy’s buttocks, obliterating them. The garbled song turned into waves of mad laughter, loud and high-pitched and penetrating as that pick ax was penetrating the flesh.
Coco Puff finished and threw down the ax. He rested and lounged in between the lovely but quite bloody and quite dead couple now, curling into their juices and feeling a kind of perfect bisexual love. He nestled within the (formerly) beautiful and virile man and his cunt date like some blood addicted fetus demon. He felt safe. He felt peace.
He must have fallen asleep or a few hours, for when he awoke, the blood all around him had started to congeal and the bodies were beginning to grow cold and stiff. There was a shit smell too which he hadn’t noticed before, for when the torture really got going both the couple had become incontinent.
Coco got up off the bed, took a shower and then removed both of the bodies to another room in his basement. To what he later referred in his anonymous note to the Police as his “Plastication Chamber.”
Here he laid out both his lovelies onto another different white canvas and began carefully arranging them. He was “the auteur of death.” He outstretched the muscular arms of the boy and spread-eagled his legs (what muscular quadriceps the boy had mused Coco Puff. How those quads must have run and jumped—like an uber-College Jock Football player flying over the other players in the Super Bowl!). The cunt’s body he fashioned so that she was curled into the boy’s torso on his right side, nestling into it. “Nothing’s Going to Harm You” Coco hummed was he worked.
When completed with the final manipulation, he dismounted the canvas and tipped a huge overhanging vat of liquid polyurethane spilling it onto his dead bi-lovers, now relegated to live forever as memorials to art and beauty. He left the Plastication Chamber, went upstairs and ordered 4 pizzas. Waited patiently watching cartoons until the delivery came and engorged them all as if starving—making love and death is hard work. Making it into art even harder. His appetite was boundless! About three hours later Coco returned to the Plastication Chamber and poured another layer over his sleeping beauties, his lovers now stillborn forever.
This he continued to do again and again for the next few weeks, daily until he was sure the encasing polyurethane would cover up any telltale odor or stench of decay and freeze dry any signs of decomposition.
As a final touch Coco Puff went to the neighborhood art store, a fabulous one he frequented near the University of Arizona campus--and bought about 10 lbs. worth of gold leaf. This he used to cover the couple until they looked like a gorgeous Greek frieze worthy of ANY Classic Roman or Byzantine Temple—worthy of the worship of any High Priest of the Nile. Coco Puff was the emperor immortal--the magic spawn of the Gods, the ultimate artist sculptor of high art and beauty…
When the conglomeration was hardened to perfection and gold as the sun, Coco spray pained tiny fine key-light effects of pink here and there to bring-out a kind of Arizona sunset sparkle within the piece. It was a kind of testament also, he thought warmly --to the couple’s living days in the gorgeous fascist state of Arizona. There was nothing quite like Western light. Coco then hung the beautiful horrid mass vertically, on the west wall of his living room, surrounded by black velvet. And a few small subtle orange spotlights.
For many evenings, he sat or lay before the death-gold-pink frieze studying, relishing and masturbating to his gorgeous otherworldly art again and again. Sometimes he played love songs on his antique banjo, serenading the dead lovers (who never decomposed and never grew old or offended with obtuse smells). By and by through the lonely nights-he paid homage not only to young, lithe (though dead) virile love, but also his perfect bisexual love obsession, which he had finally managed to capture.
This went on for many years until one evening when a great meteor crashed into Coco Puff’s ranch style spread flattening both the house and the fat killer bi-clown as he sat one night tenderly serenading his still-as-death glittering art children.
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