A bald-headed
eagle protruded obscenely from the puke filled brim of a starspangled
hat, that sat beside Sam. The bird, throttled.
Traveling visibly through himself, his vision thrust along liquid slick
of an optic sight that eased its way along his fibrous green lined
intestinal tunnel tract, running around the swollen white globe of
his prostrate gland. Flushing
out a bad-acid trip; his sight eased along the colons
furled funnel blue-white flaps of oiled innards. Sam's sight slid on,
before lodging into a turd, losing sight momentarily. He lay draped
in the stars and stripes, slashed and stitched together with steel
pins - punk like. His white hair and beard had been shaved off last
night as he lay unconscious in a puddle of piss. Hair and feathers
adhered the walls, the sticky remnants of last nights depravity.
-
Fucking limy cunt queen! he snarled on the realization
that the piss wasn’t his own, or the puke for that matter. Pulling
himself upright he followed through with a loud wet fart, making way
for his second sight as the optic acid vision passed through in
liquid shit and out down his long trouser leg an out into an oak
ash-tray; before collapsing again in an towering heap across the
kitchen floor. Rising his head ever so slightly, he gazed across at
last nights fuck - a cunt name of Britannia. He managed a licentious
smile, before passing out. Exit Sam.
Decrepit her lion lay supping the last
licks of foul liquor from an Imperial bottle of vodka. He
rose stretching himself into an arch, and yawned. A small kitchen
fork jutted cruelly from his hind.
She was slumped against the opposing
wall, dreaming in gin stupor of course. The borderlines of her mind
pulling away mechanically - revealing a black passageway – a
perpetual – fresco: A holocaust flattened out in high definition.
Lucid, to clear to be real - it reeled around in an loop.
A metallic tang severed the loop waking
her, steaming piss streamed from her mouth, her eyes rolled in a
conscious gargle before spitting it out in a steaming fountain
forming piss.
The lion limp away visibly refreshed.
She sat there, her Union dress Jacked up around her waist. An abscess
of misery grew from her cunt. Her skin tight grey seemingly to small
for her tiny frame. Her insides ruptured from last nights excess with
Sam, leaking oily blood, she groaned.
Only hours earlier a carnival of
colours covered the linoleum; now however they where acid-washed
sucked and spat out dissipated in lack-lustred hues.
She jerked upright, projecting vomit
violently, spraying her unconscious uncle in a final bitter insulting
slurry, before slumping back into her stupor. Pulpy white greyish
sludge covered sleeping Sam. He didn't wake. Britannia on the nod now, her Mohawk bobbing up and down rhythmically.
Utterly unconscious.
The lion idly strode away seemingly
ownerless towards an oblivious Sam.
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