...and the door slams open, and in walks p0ink donned in full leather gear. pool cue in one hand and a black sony boombox in the other.
the smell of expired chicken, designer imposter perfume, and wet dog permeate jarhead's double wide trailer.
p0ink unzips the mouth of his synthetic leather mask and exclaims, 'from here on out, you will refer to me as patrick.' he pushes the play button on the boombox. early 1990's industrial techno begins to blare as a voice screams obscenities in german throughout the entire song.
the thoughts of aids patients, dressed as revolutionaries, dances through dial_tone's head.
patrick walks up to friscochick and begins to sniff her neck like a dog. 'BITCH!' he screams as he backhands her, 'did you really think you could fool me?! did you think i didn't know what the real Calvin Klein Obsession smelled like? you're not fooling anyone!'
friscochick gets up, leaving an outline of her face. cakes of revlon makeup and ttlpkg's, saint808's dial_tone's, vinylgroover, and jarheads gobs of little white soldiers stain the brown berber carpeting.
no hoover in the world is strong enough to get that shit up.
'i'm sorry' she sobs, 'this is all the gas station had. i had no idea your nose was so sensitive. what can i do to make it up to you?'
'well, you can start by sitting still and allow mrs puddles to write words such as: calamity, disease, horror, visitation, slut, holy mess, and trollop all over your body using stencils and duct tape, while vinylgroover and 2thick poke and prod your body using pool cues and garden trowels.' patric murmurs.
this is what real love is all about.
the scent of day old Kentucky Fried Chicken hits the group like a brick in the face, and in walks a woman dressed in Target's finest, legs rubbing together, and tits like tube socks full of vomit.
'starfish got my invitation' saint808 says while rubbing down vinylgroover in astroglide and bacon grease.....