Strolling along the River Charles yesterday - sidestepping the grim-faced, mosquito-like rollerbladers, and those racing cyclists apparently in training for the Tour de France - as the discarded soda and beer cans bobbed along in the water's edge like rusting buoys in a brown foam so disgusting that it seemed even the seagulls disdained to get their feet wet, I thought to myself: what kind of Venus would be born from the waves of an ocean into which such a river flowed?
And then suddenly - as if belched out from the guts of some mutant, bottom-feeding mollusc - there she was, standing before me in all her grotesque, obese, acne-scarred, frizzy-haired, gum-snapping, incoherent shouting glory. Her flabby stomach exposed, bulging out from beneath some sickly pink top that barely covered a pair of red-raw, scrawny breasts, she staggered across my path in filthy flip flops, weighed down, no doubt, by the weight of her cheap jewelry and industrial strength cosmetics applied in a haphazard manner to every inch of her misshapen face.
She was also - or at least had been - attended by two "cherubs"; but these our Venus of the Slag Heap had momentarily lost while grappling on a bench with the pile of beer-stained and cigarette ash-covered basketball clothing that she seemed to accept as her lover. Fortunately, she found them quickly enough. They were standing beside the highway, watching the trucks and SUVs speed by.
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Ha!
The Stephenhead in top form. Now please put the archives back up.
Posted by: J.K. | June 16, 2004 at 16:57