[10:07pm-Kevin Sheilds Memorial Rooms, NYC]
As the sound of Alien Ant Farm shears across my eardrums and into my hypocampus - I am finally reminded of what it was that brought me here. I was at the gig to fuck Sally Jacobs - but then wasn't half of New York City?
Sally Jacobs- that hardbodied cock teaser, could she really be old enough to be my mother? I often wondered whether Mom was old enough.
The lead singer dressed all in black (oh grow up, that's been done before) stops to curse and mumble at the idiots, contageous with their mosh-prayer to him. And suddenly, there she was. Ms Jacobs, was resplendant in red pumps and mini-mouse hotpants. She sparkled and dripped sensuality as she stroked her way around each crowd member. She was wearing a 'Penelope Pit-stop' t-shirt, with her nipples clearly poking through. God, how I wished she'd have my eye-out with them.

After striking up converation with the exquisite Sally Jacobs, it did not take me long to invite her back to mine. She was dismembered before she was even missed. In fact she was kissed, pissed (off), then I watched her piss herself in fear, then Lizt (some plonky 'pee-anow' shit to drown her out, God could she scream) - before she was missed.

What is wrong with me? Why is she still on my mind, can I still taste her? Yes.
I need to take a shower.

Rinse/lather/repeat, never/taste/defeat, until/your/en'mies/wasted, and/kissingat/yourfeet.

You are a sick sick puppy Jim, I thought to myself. It's just a good thing that Rosie doesn't know - other wise she'd kill me.

Oh, and maim...

Rhys Thomas

(with apologies to Brett Easton Ellis)