Sunday, October 25, 2009

armed to the teeth with LIPSTICK:25.

by Blag Dahlia


"Good evening and welcome to the Intercourse Barn. I'm Hungry Jack, your mack dad in training."

"I'm not hankering for pink Zorro, just looking for that certain someone."

"No need to be bashful here, sir, a little anonymous companionship never hurt anyone. And if it did, well that's five bucks extra."

The Intercourse Barn. The world's first house of ill repute based on fast food marketing principles and a never-ending supply of comely tarts in the labor pool. Talk about your entry-level debauchery though, a hard-on seemed as unlikely here as the life sized portrait of Iceberg Slim with his nads in the deep fryer that hung on the faux velvet wallpaper.

"Look pal, I didn't even come here for S&M Green Stamps..."

The fancy patter was starting to wear on my nerves, so I grabbed a hold of the oversize collar of his polyester pimp coat and gave a healthy yank. The scent of Aqua Velva played off chartreuse fringe and a personalized nameplate.

"I'm looking for a girl about twelve years old with peachy freckles and a size 00 brassiere."

"She's tied up at the moment, how about Li'l Anna Rexie, the best in petite passions? No teeth left, but a great personality. Or, if pain is your pleasure, why not take a stab at Pinky Slim? She's got Lou Gherig's Disease and she's willing to share."

Oh, Lordy; what kind of a greasy womb had I slid into this time? Was this guy pulling my leg or yanking my chain? And why had I once again tempted the e-coli call of carnality?

I guess because the business of pleasure's a rough one, no quarter asked without two dimes and a nickel in return. And it wasn't over yet, not by a long shot.

"If you can't decide on a whole one, why not sample our 'A La Parte' menu, sir?"

"A La Parte?"

"Mix and match exotic genitalia at our Pornocopia Buffet. It's a real mess o' satisfying passions for the man on the go. After all, you deserve a break -- from the rest of her."

Now, I wasn't always known as Mr. Sensitive back in the trenches, but I'd come to understand the value of estrogen, sometimes even the price of it. I conjured the spirit of Amelia Dairy Airheart, stuck my Luger in the little ferret's mouth and cocked it.

"For a nickel, I'd blow your swollen head off."

"For a dime, I'm authorized to swallow the bullet."

I pulled the trigger to thunderous internal applause. An avalanche of horse-faced glamorettes exited screaming from the back room, followed in short order by an army of lunch-hour Romeos shielding their faces and pulling their drawers up.

Then, razed and confused, looking like a rag-trade cover girl came Suzy-Q. Her lips were black and crimson, her hair teased up in a ratty B-five-2, but the final effect left no doubt she was cradlebait. If I'd ever wondered what kind of a twisted wreck could lust after one so young and obliging I suddenly saw the rearview mirror turned directly on yours truly, and I felt the kind of lurid desire that no one but that certain fatal femme had ever aroused before.

"You bastard! Jack was my inside guy. He was gonna get me a job on the line."

"With friends like that, doll, who needs enemas?"

She teetered on razor-sharp heels for a second, peeped through my looking-glass hormones. You could fill a burning chasm with what she knew, and I knew she knew. She was older than springtime and too high to care.

As she merged with the lipstick stampede I had the urge to tell her my feelings for her were far from paternal, but strategy dictated otherwise. If she'd wound up at this juke joint, she must have been heaved from that retard glee-club's passion posse.

A sweet young thing alone and headless on a strange and diabolical planet, nothing but cannon fodder -- goodbye cruel world. I thought about chasing her down, but I figured she'd wind up at the Mars Bar tonight looking for romantic retribution. And she wouldn't be alone.

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