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.Open thy floodgates and I shall add my own meagre five cubic centilitres of fluid to your gushing cascade.Now, tell me, your preference of football team?Oh.Oh.Hmm.Sí, Antonio, dame tu chorizo…I’m sorry, what? My sporting team? Why sir, you make a maiden blush asking such a personal question.Wait, let me get my leg up there—and the other one—oh yes, that’s better.Umm, I suppose if pressed I would admit to a fondness for the West Coast Eagles.Oh! That was an especially deep thrust.Has this illicit encounter just become a touch more thrilling for you, my lord?Silence, wench.The Eagles, eh? I’ll show you what the Dockers are going to do to you lot this year.Not literally, of course.We’re not going to enter and ejaculate inside your bodies.That would be gay, and everyone knows one hundred per cent, no doubt whatsoever, that not a single footy player in the game today or in fact ever, anywhere, at any time likes to boff other dudes.Uhh…what about the photos? I’m sure I saw photos of a knight with his squire’s jousting pole in his mouth.Mere horseplay.Good-natured banter.That doesn’t count.Besides…[ENTER, stage left, The Leopard Man, twirling his whiskers in a villainous manner.The fornicating couple is unaware of his presence.][ASIDE] And what have we here? Oh ho, that appears to be my wife with her legs over the shoulders of a strapping young lad.Despite his startling resemblance to a clean-shaven Gerard Butler, this will not do! I will step in at an opportune moment to bring this unholy rutting to a halt.I certainly shall.Any moment now.Hold on, just a second, I want to see this.Really? I didn’t even know you could bend it that way.Oof, that looks painful but someone seems to be enjoying it.Wait, I recognise that expression.Here it comes.Shields up.Goggles on.And whoosh! Old Faithful’s got nothing on that geyser.I should congratulate the boy on a job well done.But first, I’m going to kill him.Oh husband, I did not hear you come in, being as I was otherwise occupied with this hunk o’ spunk.Would you be so kind as to pass me a towel?Didn’t you put one down? Gah, woman, now I’ll have to scrub the mattress again.Hey there, Mr uh, Man.Is Leopard your middle name, or what? Please don’t get the wrong idea—this is not what you think.I am but a wandering minstrel who, while passing, saw the lady in distress and rushed to her aid by removing a painful blockage from her cookie jar with an old family recipe of mine.The crisis has been averted! Chillax, dawg.Put yo’ pearl-handled dagger away.That will not be necessary.Hey, watch what you’re doin’ with that, homie.You’ll put some motherfucker’s eye out.Hey.Hey!Mikey.Hey.Get up—you can’t sleep here.Wha? Who dat? Where am I?It’s Leo.Brother, you’re practically underneath the dumpster.How can you stand the smell? Does Ben know you’re out here?Uh yeah, he, uh, he cut the old apron strings.Gave me a set of training wheels.Looks like you went a bit overboard.Haven’t tied one on in a while, eh?Naw, yeah, maybes got a bit carried away, huh? Help me up here, I seem to have fallen in some kinda hole.Thanks buddy.Hey, how’s the, umm, missus?She’s good.Thick, lustrous coat, as always.I’m just heading in to comb her back.You want to come visit? Looks like you could do with a peppermint tea or something.Although it does kinda smell like you pissed yourself.Boy, when you let loose, you really don’t hold back, do you? Go home and get cleaned up.It’s one in the morning, Mikey.The party’s over.Mercury must be toppin’ forty degrees an’ still they be comin’.I knows they must be used to it an’ all up here but damn, hot damn, this ain’t no kind of way to live.Sideshow alley be packed full of folks in thongs, shorts an’ singlets like they be at the beach.Didn’t nobody in this state get the memo ’bout skin cancer? Slip, slop, slap, throw on a train driver’s hat? I done seen more angry-lookin’ moles today than at the Freo Centrelink.Get those unsightly blotches checked out, homegirls.An’ put a lid on your fucken kid’s dome.He’s only five years old an’ already he look like he been working in one of Gina’s open-cast silver mines.Little fucker got a thousand-yard stare on him from squintin’ ’gainst the sun all day.Clock of a thirty-year-old sniper on a child’s body.Just ain’t right.Sweaty nut sacks an’ titties a-go-go all up in here.Stink risin’ off this crowd like someone done pissed on a dead fox.Can practically smell the Chlamydia.Four chickadees already slipped me their numbers an’ it ain’t even lunchtime yet.Sad thing is, I threw ’em all away.Cray, huh? Here’s me with a head full of fucked-up fantasies, desperate to bust a nut, an’ I still wouldn’t slip my bookmark in none of these local cookbooks.Man, I wouldn’t even turn down the corner of a page.Ain’t exactly brimmin’ with hotties round here though there was one with a nice rack come through earlier.I’d motorboat her titties, but that’s about my limit, dawg.Been so busy I ain’t even had time to drain the lizard but it don’t matter none anyways.Think I done sweated out all the fluids in my body, probs couldn’t squeeze out three drops of piss.Target Ball stand be pumpin’ even though it’s like a fucken microwave oven in here an’ my shorts is so soaked with sweat they’s turned a different colour.My damp appearance don’t seem to be particularly off-puttin’ to the local populace, though.They loves the cheap games, an’ mine is ’bout the cheapest on the alley.Actually might make more chedda on the hoops than slingin’ crystal today, though it only takes a couple of buys to seriously boost the poke.Too much like hard work, all this arguin’ with sunburnt motherfuckers who think they been screwed by the game.Which they have, but I ain’t about to tell them that, dumb fucken clems.Angry, scrunched-up clocks, fat bellies, muffin tops and kids with sauce and ice-cream smeared all over their chins.An endless fucken procession of whingein’, dribblin’ mediocrity.Sugar, the big fucken pineapple and K-Rudd.This is Nambour.Welcome to Queensland.Still, ain’t no diff really to the other side of the border.Just when I’s gettin’ comfortable with my prejudices ’gainst the wrinkled squinters, thar she blows, waitin’ patiently in the queue for her turn.Pretty obvious she ain’t linin’ up to win no giraffe for the kiddlywinks.Cheeks pinched an’ lips thin, hair pulled back tight in a ponytail so’s I can see every crease on her forehead.Eyes flittin’ ’tween me an’ the crowd, watchin’ for Five-O.My guts do a back flip an’ nail the landin’ so sweet the judges are holding up scores worthy of gold.Fuck a duck, it’s her [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]