Monday, July 14, 2008

lesbian porn and sabrina the teenage witch

I’m pouring myself a cup of tea when he walks in the door and says "Hey, Brother." in an accent that I can’t quite place. His skin is dark brown. Black hair and spars facial hair. He is pretty short, about 5'2 or so and has more clips and buckles on his person than a professional cave spelunker. It’s so hot outside and I can see this guy has on a black t-shirt and a black dickies jacket under his dark navy blue army camo coat. Black socks, black cargo pants with enough pockets to keep at least one memento from each of the 23 women he has raped and murdered. The most complicated white shoes Reebok has ever designed with additional silver reflector tape and flashing red lights. Black gloves with the Tips of the fingers cut off. Around his ankle is a Velcro strap with a compartment that is concealing god knows what, but most likely date rape and toxic glue sticks for sniffing. A mountain climbing back pack made by North 49 littered with similar reflectors to those on his shoes. There is a waist clip on his back pack. Used if you’re climbing a fucking mountain, that he has clipped around his waist, but his large stomach hangs over top of it. LANYARDS. Fucking this dude has four fucking lanyards. All black. From his back pack hangs a light jacket, on the opposite side, a black lunch bag. From the top of the bag there is a giant blue tube that runs along the right arm strap, to his bicycle helmet and hangs loosely by his mouth. Some transparent liquid drips from it every few minutes that at this point I’m convinced is urine he has collected from un-flushed women’s washroom toilets. His helmet is also covered in lights, reflectors, flashing lights, and wires that look like phone cords connecting them to some sort of power supply tucked away in that mess of clips and straps he calls a back pack. He is wearing a pair of those giant black sunglasses that cover your head on the sides as well, typically worn by the blind. And when he removes them, regular glasses underneath. He has a large yellow button pinned to his chest that reads “Keep on keeping on.” And has a picture of a cyclist with peace signs in place of their bikes wheels. He buys a candy bar and after stuffing the wrapper in his pocket, he brings his gloved hand out and a tissue covered, SOAKED in blood, fresh blood still bright red falls out. He takes of his glove only to reveal a tattoo on his hand, on that little piece of flesh in between his pointer finger and thumb that reads “SEXX” in block capitals. He picks up a Japanese comic that has a lot of gay man on man sex in it and flips through it. Then he asks me if we sell the opposite of this book. He starts telling me that he was pissed when Sabrina the teenage witch was canceled and immediately after its cancellation the animated series begun. The cartoon did not have the same kind of magic as the live action. He tells me about how he really liked the cat, and how Sabrina was always “messing up the magic and wearing really short skirts…” He points a batman poster and says he likes it because “It has a lot of dark shades in it…just like me.” Then he asks me if there is a comic called “Dark Shade” maybe about him. My tea is getting cold. He tells me he has to ride his bike to see a guy about buying a car. And all I can think about are those fucking lanyards and how this guy has no conceivable reason for having any keys, except for the padlocks on giant wooden boxes in remote locations around the city that he keeps his kidnap victims in.

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