Skip to main content

Cupid, as imagined by Camille.

I haven't met Cupid, personally

But from his behavior I assume

That he is a fat hairy greasy 

Guido fuck with a stupid sense of humor.

A reality show reject sitting in a stained

green lazy boy chair in his grandmother's basement,

Masturbating furiously to the blurred edges

of Showtime soft core porn after ma goes to bed.


So Cupid,

Fuck you, you ugly tub of lard.

Comments

  1. haha best description of cupid, may i borrow it? ill even reference u

    ReplyDelete
  2. go ahead! I'm glad I'm not the only one who sees him as a slob who jerks it to lopsided 90s breasts

    ReplyDelete
  3. hah thanks..btw top middle pic is a nice change.

    not that i know any better but it, in my opinion, sets the tone for your umm playful, yet cynical and sensual brevity that's portrayed throughout your rants lol (i hope i said that right)

    only thing missing is a cig in your hand lol

    ReplyDelete
  4. i wanna bang camille to show her that she would love me if she would get wet with me.

    ReplyDelete
  5. hey anonymous why not make your identity known so you may have a chance with the young lady ? i personally just enjoy the literature but i say you go for it!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

I Can't Hear Your Little Red Rooster

Fright

I call this room Home.

He will not look at me

His eyes flicker with

a speck of violence.



my strained smile,

disgusted by

my pleading eyes.

my veins freeze

icy blood

tearing through coronaries




May Day

'Hope, you don't have to use it on your wedding night.'

She handed the pistol to Hope, right after the vows, right before the reception.

'I'm just kidding, darling. Don't worry. He's a good man. You did well sweetheart. He's a good man. You'll be fine.'

Hope's paper-thin smile tried to grow as she stared at her grandmother's reflection in the mirror. The mother-of-pearl grip sparkled in her grandmother's hand, bathed by the Chapel's cheap buzzing lights.

'There's a bullet for you, just in case.'

Hope had left the gun on the table.

A week earlier, drunk off self-pity, she had taken it out of its case and walked to the kitchen, where she stuck the barrel in her mouth and proceeded to take pictures of herself to send to Ray.

In a rare instance of good fortune, her phone ran out of battery before she could indulge her sense of pithy revenge. She woke up and pried open her tear-salted eyelashes then made sure to delete an…