Untimely #23 - Sin City

Dim Tim 'n' Phil Pills sit in 'Slick Rick's Skin Gym - Strip Clip 'n' Titty Bin'.
Dim Tim chin-chins, swigs his pink fizz.
Phil Pills grins, sinks his gin.
Minty Tits slinks by.
"Fitty McFitty! Wibbly Bits! Giz licks!" shrills Phil.
"Niffy fish whiff." Tim gips.
His chick is Miss Sixty-Six.
Tim sits, his bitch tits slick with prick milk, his itchy dick dripping with piggy jiz.
Tim slips his thin inch in.
Miss Sixty-Six sighs, “Fill it! Fill it! Is it in?”
“It’s in! It’s in!” Tim lisps.
“My clit – flick it.” Miss Sixty-Six hints.
“Frisky, frisky! Kissy-Kissy!” Tim wimps.
Tim is limp.
“Tiny. Brisk.” Miss Sixty-Six hissing grimly.


Chinky Kingpin, Slitty Ming, pimps skinny nymphs.
His vid biz ‘XXX Bint Films’ slings Big Billy’s filth flicks.
“Which vids is in?” Big Billy clicks.
“Kiddy Fiddling in Rhyll? Flid Rimming Six? Thick Lips ‘n’ Big Dicks? Fisting in Windmills? Which is it?” winks Ming.
Big Billy brims, his chin shiny with spit. Flinging his limbs in stinking swirls, tickling his sticky tip with vim, Billy thrills, “I is sick, innit!”

Untimely #23 - Left Field

The various parts of my head and face which contain hair, are currently at war with each other. The top section, which currently holds the most ground, has been lording it up over the rest for some time now, and it appears they have had enough. Now, they say, they are going to fight back. However, there is no camaraderie to be witnessed here; each faction is out for themselves, looking to stall, trim, or steal from their opponents at every turn. It has started to get ugly.

At three twenty-seven yesterday morning I was awoken by the tiny cries of battle. As I lifted my head, I saw by the light of my thankfully hairless alarm clock that my pillow was littered with the fur of the fallen. Putting my hand to my face, I was horrified to learn that the right side of my beard had been almost completely removed, brutally torn out in great hunks. I turned on the lamp and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I swear to god that the lashes beneath my left eye were smirking. How could this happen? Surely, I thought, it can’t get any worse. And yet it has.

When I awoke later that morning, I realised that the remains of my massacred beard were no longer on my pillow. I had been too drained, both emotionally and physically, to clear it up in the night, so where in the hell had it got to? I had my dreadful answer but a moment later when I looked in the mirror, only to discover that my vision had become murky and lopsided. Squinting with my one good eye, it became evident that the hair from my beard had somehow been grafted onto the lashes beneath my left eye, creating a rugged perm effect, covering the eye itself, and the best part of the face. This is the worst thing to have happened since the great chest hair riots of ’99.

I fear how this will end. The permed left eye has begun talking in street slang, changing the rules of engagement from a gentlemanly battle into those of a turf war. The top section still claims to be the king pin, but the sideburns have begun to whisper of a secret alliance with the mustache. The left side of my face looks like a nightclub carpet, the right resembles a dried up teabag.

I tried to comb some of the hair out of my eye but it kept moving out of the way. I don’t know that I’ll ever leave the house again.

Untimely #23 – Skeezer

They hear a noise but no one looks up. Not because they didn’t hear it—because like I said they heard it—but because they don’t. They are unflappable. The unflappables. The Unflappables capital u. Sometimes people call them that. OK, no one calls them that, but you could imagine people calling them that. “The Unflappables capital u.” You know? Kind of thing. They’re just used to it, the noise. All noise. Any noise. Any noise, I am not joking. Imagine a bee in your ear singing “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary” at the top of its lungs. Kind of thing. Do you know once I got a fly in my eye and it got so far up there it only came out the next day? Truth. OK, maybe it was a gnat. But it was very painful. I slept with it in there, because I had to, because I was very tired, and so I tried not to touch it and in the morning I had actually forgotten about it. And I showered and everything and got on the bus and read my magazine and went in to work and then about two hours later I scratched my eye, because I had an itch, and holy hell did it hurt! I must have dislodged the gnat or the fly or whatever it was but it felt like a helicopter in there. And I started crying, uncontrollably, minus the sobbing and all of that. Just the tears. But floods and floods. Like my shirt was getting wet kind of floods. And Gary—he sits across me—he looked up and he’s like Bill, what the hell is wrong with you? Because of course what he meant was like omfg are you OK? But with Gary it always comes out like he’s gonna kick your ass. And I guess a lot of the time he is. Maybe half the time. But then for whatever reason he doesn’t, maybe ’cause he doesn’t want to go back to jail. Anyway, so he doesn’t kick my ass but I can tell he’s totally skeezing out because my nose has started running now, because they’re connected, all the pipes in your head, and so my shirt is wet and I’ve got snot dripping onto my lip but I am really and truly paralyzed it hurts so much. OK I’m not actually paralyzed but I just completely and totally forget where I am such is the intensity of the pain in my eyeball. Because it is a pain in my eyeball, seriously in it, not like near it or next to it or by it or on the side of it. It is my actual physical eyeball and I am in so many kinds of pain and I’m blinking like crazy almost like a reflex, like I can’t control it, and I’m freaking out like maybe I’m going to have to go to the hospital or something and then all of a sudden the pain passes like God plucks me from the sea where I’m drowning because I can’t swim and the instant His hand touches me the water clears from my lungs and I can breathe again. Like that, but I mean like less of a fairy and stuff ’cause I don’t even really believe in God or whatever. So then I feel something in the corner of my eye which is your canthus in case you didn’t know, the places where your boogers collect in the night if you’re the kind of person who doesn’t really wash your face before bed because you’re not a fairy or like if you’re a child and just dirty. I’ve never quite figured out if it’s something your eyes make like snot out of your eyelids or if it kind of drips out your nose and up and around but either way it’s pretty gross. But I guess it’s grosser if you snot out your eyes. No wait, maybe it’s grosser if your snot goes up and around the side of your nose and into your eyes. Either way it’s pretty gross and I haven’t had boogers in my eyes since I was like four I’m just saying. So I feel something in my canthus and instinctively I just reach up and touch it and it comes away on my finger and I look down and it’s this huge fucking gnat and it’s still alive and it starts flapping it’s wings all feebly and then I think, you poor silly thing, you were probably on your way to your family, maybe bringing back the food you had scavenged in a flower or a dead squirrel or something (fucking gross! That fucker was in my eye!) and all of a sudden you took a wrong turn and you wound up in my eye, but you didn’t die, you hung in there, you tried to survive as you slid back and forth across my eyeball and you nearly suffocated and you were too tired to fight it anymore and then miraculously just as you were about to go under for the last time the hand of God plucked you from the deeps and the instant His hand touches you (hey hang on a minute!) OK well whatever this fucking poor lost gnat spent the whole night in my eye and nearly died and I looked at it and all of these thoughts that took like twenty seconds to explain flashed before my eyes in like a quarter of a second and I contemplated the universe and my place in it and the gnat’s place in it and I felt a mystical connection to this tiny, powerless creature that had caused me so much pain and I thought of the mouse & the lion and Amos & Boris and David & Goliath and I looked down at this poor, half-squished bugger with wet wings and then I brought my thumb around to my forefinger like if I was making the A-OK! sign and I squashed the fuck out of it until it was just black streaks between my fingers. Piece of shit almost blinded me.

Untimely Stimulus #23

I don’t really know where this came from. There’s a lot of pollen in the air and it makes my eyelashes stick together and it really freaks me out. Also, yesterday Gary told me about this old teacher he had who one day came into class and scared shit out of the students because she’d been sitting down at her makeup table and curling her eyelashes and she was squeezing the curler really tight and she was tired so she was leaning on her elbow but she was kind of near the edge of the desk and she must have shifted her weight or something because next thing she knew her hand slipped and she was in all kinds of pain and she looked down at her hand and she had like three quarters of her lashes in her curling device in her fist and she looked in the mirror and she looked like a fucking droog. So maybe that’s where this came from. I don’t even know.