Beefsteak Mistake, Jake - 2

By Kelly Jameson

"Howdy cowboy."

"Er," I say.

"Awww, are you one of those Jehovah’s Witnesses? You’re such a cutie."

I think I’m in East Plano. Her eyes are like big dark oil wells. I sneak a peak. Her breasts are like thick slabs of steak. I keep my eyes on her face. Does she realize she’s naked?

My head jerks. My head jerks again. "Er, can I share some good news with you?" I ask.

"Are you alright son?" She tips the wine glass to her lips, takes a long ga-lug. She’s about 100 pounds overweight. She’s struggling with shape and control. I feel an immediate bond with her. But there’s no music blaring from inside the ribs of her well endowed home. She needs music. I need music. So I start singing.

You beautiful maudlin sobby sentimental drunk

Punk fuck I am stuck

Ants in my pants Goats in my boots

Goad implode I want to be naked but for a hat and a watch

Look at my crotch I need to match cross hatch I gallop

Bode code explode

Tongue lick lips Olympic gymnast

Cerebral overload

Mozart wrote letters crass

Fetters feathers scratching his ass

He said to his cousin Maria Anna in a love letter

"Oui, by the love of my skin I shit on your nose, so it runs down your chin."

Let’s go to the lunatic curse festival!

Pustule zit taint

Sing my words and I’ll tongue your clit

For hours

Hell son

You love Willie Nelson?

Smooth buttery fag you are

Meanness leanness cleanness

Am I a disgusting imbecilic genius

Of startling distasteful skin and bones

Condones, dow jones, flint stones, hip bones, stallone’s trombones

Davy Jones Roman Ones

Interacciones

Sue me

Kadumi, katsumi, sukhumi oh just do me

Surprisingly, she listens until I stop singing. Then she puts her big hand on my shoulder.

"You’re not alone, you know."

She laughs. "Wait a minute, I’ll be right back." I am treated to the visual of her swaying, jouncing, dimpled buttocks as she runs into her kitchen and returns with a glass of wine for me.

I mean to tell her something about good news and the end of the world, but instead I take the wine and start barking like a cocker spaniel on acid and scream "Lick out my asshole! Lick out my asshole right now how now brown cow I got butterfingers today frau!" Mozart wrote a song called "Lick Out My Arsehole," he did. I swear. I have, after all, figured out social skills to some degree. She grabs my arm and pulls me inside, shuts the door.

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