“…along with the cat suit.”
—Margaret Atwood

Naturally, he proceeds to high-five his flat-brimmed buddy
then soaps his large hands clean in the stainless steel sink.
High on the urinal-caked fog, hypnotized by such ugly
green tile, I am suddenly numbed by the echo of their clap.
Such music in his diction! The fescue of his big dick!

Bestiality is halfway normal, when you think about it.
Did he realize this halfway in, or halfway out?
How unique, too, this cat raised by dogs, a channel of discovery
all its own. Rhetorical sex must be pretty lousy, a general rule of
dewclaw. They must be terrible fucks, right? I flush. (more…)