Drowning in sweat, bodily fluids, and coagulated blood, I am a sack of organs.
Marla's look much sturdier than my own, as mine are still battered and bruised from the week before. Her tits are perky and cute in their own little way.
Slide, slippery Penguin, slide. You wet, dirty, little animal. Sit on an egg. Vegetate.
I tell her, I have to go.
She asks why.
I gotta fucking go.
We can't do it just once more? She caresses my juevos with her elegant, chalky hand and licks my cheek.
My testicles ache, and the bloody hole in my face stings like the Devil's trident would feel rammed your heart.
I throw a condom, full of my unborn infant potential Tylers and throw it, sticky and dripping wet, at Marla's forehead.
She says, I'm an asshole, and asks kindly, Please get the fuck out of here. She hates me. I'm only good in bed because I'm a psychopathic animal.
I say, And you're only good in bed because I was your first.
She denies it, but I know it's true...
Her hatred of men and clinging nature--it's nothing to do with love. She's a needy little swollen parasite ridden with disease and filth.
But, Tyler reminds me, her warmth doesn't feel too bad the first couple times. It's a good way to pass out every night.
A good workout--and it's beats the hell out of a pitcher of beer with unknown debris in it complements of Lou's more faithful boys.
But in the heat of a cold, damp, stinky bar basement, I don't care about that shit.
She knows I don't. She knows she's just my side job--a replacement for my projectionist trade.
She's my little pet. Slave girl. Whore.
All night long, every night.
But she stays.
And we fight.
Fight club.
Fucking.