Why should I get a roommate? Who would live with me? I, the cross dressing fag who spends his spare time reading Henry Miller and fucking himself in his mothers dresses.
Who will fuck me? The fat whore next door who’s tits sag to the floor, who doesn’t move, but screams for her next donut?
Even if I tried strapping a dildo to her waist —it wouldn’t reach—, or to her chest — it would snap—, she’d have to clutch it like her thick television remote! But she can’t move her fingers that far… only enough to grasp her next donut.
Only in America can one live with a cross dressing fag…
Only in America can one live next door to a fat whore who mops her floor with her football nipples…
Only in America.
- Ricardo Gomez
‘M’embrasser!’ she whispers, peering at me. Her face is disgusting, making me want to vomit. Her tits are like jello, flopping around as if knock objects off of shelves chairs onto floors… they just slapped her drink to the sawdust. Why should I kiss her?… She smells like shit, as if she showers in perfume from morning to noon…. A butterfly seeps into a cocoon to turn into a caterpillar, she came out her mothers vagina and should’ve been shoved right back in. If her father had any sense he would’ve killed her in her sleep, pounded her skull into a white-red heap and flushed it down the toilet. The white stale fish covered in hair should’ve killed her itself, intoxicating it with venom, drowning it in the earl Cher.
I finished reading Hell and am now starting Tropic of Cancer
My life is full of Henry’s