For reasons I’d rather not get into, I receive the CatClaws quarterly catalog. Usually it’s just a matter of removing it from the mailbox and placing it directly into the trash, but this time I actually leafed through it. I think you’ll agree that I’ve been missing out. These models are absolutely working it.
Excess Nexus
Pukers puking on pukers.
Over 60,000 chocolate, cinnamon and marshmallow bodies writhing in the late afternoon under the golden glow. The nearby lake is frothing and foaming from the heat their bodies put off.
It’s the biggest orgy of all time, one last blowout giant fuck for mankind. “God has failed us, so this is it. The meteor impacts in 6 hours.”
Some are pulled across by their hair because they like it, others are being dragged by their hair because they’re simply too weak from all the sucking, gumming, riding, ribs with sauce, ribs without sauce, fatty foods, sex machines and trance music heat.
A thousand bodies writhe in mud to a familiar techno beat, shoving pecan pies and cocaine-pot-brownies into mouths, anuses, orifices and anywhere else the imagination can dream to imagine. The Tyrannosaurus Sex pleasure-bots use their tiny hands to pleasure, their mighty tails to clear out space for the battle pits. In the pits, thousands of newly freed federal prisoners are offered a virgin in exchange for the craven slaughter of doves, lambs, mules, ugly horses, beautiful horses, horses that would probably rate a 6 or 7. Some forget about the virgin and take what they can get.
The pyromaniacs light the still-locked-in-coitus nymphomaniacs on fire. 10,000 Maniacs refuse to play their only good song.
The king and queen preside over their filthy subjects, finding that their pleasure does not rely on pecan pies, but defecating on one another while reciting poetry that was never appreciated, never enjoyed by human ears, they chirp the song of the dolphin, sing the song of the whale and croon the graceful manatee.
Russell Brand, Nicole Richie and Richard Dawkins shout to the crowd, one last moment of being loved by strangers before all are beheaded, speaking in tongues as an 8-foot abomination tears their still convulsing corpses apart. A beast man, the DNA of Andre the Giant (for size and power) combined with the chromosomes of Rita Rudner (for insane tenacity) finished destroying the bodies before living out his dream: to dance slow with a girl. The ghost of Anna Nicole appears, mentions that she doesn’t give a fuck, then disappears. The crowd squeals with pleasure. It’s moments to the end.
The surface of the planet erupts. All the scientists observe from their Mars based colony.
That’s what my friend told me, anyway, since I was in the bathroom with an awful case of the shits.
