Crazed dazed maniacal laughs wafting through the stench of popped corn granules and salty dry beef.
She turns, says – ‘Wazza matter, don’t you understand English, Claris.’
An utterance of reply – ‘Whazza you say, Janice?’
‘Doncha understand English?’
‘Yep, but this excuse for a fillum leaves me empty, like hanging from a meathook upside down.’
‘Whazza you said?’
Credits start to ascend with a brand of generic notes pumped behind them.
Out in the little car now. It starts with the sound of bee’s buzz then makes a pur blump blump.
‘We’re outta gasoleum.’
‘Mmmm. Want to walk to the pornographia supplier?’
Inside the big lubey blurred shop now. The shop keeper, wearing a glow in the dark T-Shirt which cannot be read in the fluoro lights, is singing a song by a dead rockstar. The one who died whilst practicing self flagellation and fellatio atop his washing machine. He keeps forgetting the words though and just sings yeah, yeah, hum, hum instead.
She just has to add – ‘You dress quirky.’
‘With the green beret, and baggy orange pants, and the pink scarf, and the T-shirt which says ‘I love kittens.’’
‘So? You dress normal. With your white dress and it’s abhorrent cleanliness. And your shoes that sparkle.’
‘Then why do we see each other?’
‘I don’t know. Good Glob, what the Heath is that?’
Framed on the wall is the world’s largest rubber orgy penile replacement.
– Sixty seven speeds of pleasure, all controlled at your leisure!
Joyous tears quiver.
‘You have been. Replaced.’
‘Don’t even think about it.’