Local Bar Alone

By Meth

An excerpt from The 2015 Fall Sampler

It’s been 30 years since I graduated from Hofstra and I’m 52. I weigh 300 pounds and have many dimples on my ass. My wife divorced me two years ago for an oyster fisherman who was my best friend and I have two kids. I’ve spent thousands on them to go to college and both have dropped out. Now, the two of them are sophisticated hobos pursuing the arts. What a waste of sperm and money. I work as a professional phallic object collector. Any piece of art or object that is in the shape of a large phallus I collect and sell on ebay. Many are surprised at my profession and question my monetary gain but I will assure you, phallic objects are very in right now and I gets lots of dough money like that 60 cents rap artist. I live in a purple house on top of a large hill that has no windows and is regularly egged and teepeed by 12 year olds. The damage is costly and I spend long hours cleaning up the flaming cow shit they leave on my doorstep every night. I have often come outside with Uzis and shot at them but unfortunately at that point in the night I am too drunk and depressed to shoot straight and I end up shooting many of my neighbors’ pigs on his pig farm. Fortunately, my neighbor is blind and deaf so he thinks they have died of neglect. The routine ties itself up quite nicely but the boredom and loneliness on top of my hill is palpable. Often times, when I get lonely, I will get out the ol’ lubey tube and squeeze some out on my dick and balls. I then will call my dog over to ‘clean up’. Like I said, it’s a routine but it often becomes repetitive and stale like my sex moves.

Speaking of sex moves I decided to go to the local bar around the ol’ campus. Taking the walk down memory lane was quite surprising. First, I visited the bar McHebe’s. It was raucous bar with many lovely ladies but I could only tell from the outside since I was not allowed in after I accidently bumped into a group of young women. They claimed I groped and fondled them but I don’t think I did. If so then I blame it on my pregame which consisted of Windex, lighter fluid, and a bottle of Lysol. Sometimes after pregame, I can do some fire-breathing through my ass. I’ve never trained with a circus or anything; I just discovered it randomly one night at a Macaroni Grill while on some horse tranquilizer my doctor friend Leary Timothy prescribed me. Apparently, I discovered this rare talent long ago while trying to take a shit in an oven. The cook found me inside and when he opened it, I farted fire right into his face. Since that accident I’ve never been to Italy since due to the assault charges.

Anyways, when I hopped to the next bar, Social, I sat in the corner downing Jaegerbombs in great solitude. Alone and frightened and very fucked up, I decided to do my own version of fire breathing. I pulled down my pants like that one time in Clinton correctional and let the fire right out into the bartender’s face. He screamed and I crawled underneath everyone legs to escape. Those who stepped on me I bit with my super canine vampire teeth and I got the fuck right out of there.

The next and final stop was Dizzy’s. Still crawling, I made my way into the bathroom. I had to vomit but I ended up shitting myself instead. Fortunately there was a pair of assless chaps on the floor and I put them comfortably on. When I came out of the stall, there was a pretty young lady at the sink. She was about six foot, blonde, and was very sweaty. She too was wearing assless chaps and I could see that she too had dimples on her ass. Finding her my fancy, I walked over to the sink and I thought about using my best pick-up line, ‘Would you like to check my prostate?’ At the time I felt it wasn’t forward enough so I decided to go with my 2nd best pick-up line, ‘Nice shoes, wanna fuck?’ Surprisingly, before I could use it, the young lady groped my genitals and began to lick the mustache on my tongue. After what seemed to be a few hours, she took me to her home on her motor scooter. On the way there, I primally screamed fuck noises while she stared back me giving her best ‘O’ face.

Once there, she brought me into her small shithole of an apartment. It was filled with Paul Morissey posters and what seemed to be giant dildos and strap-ons. I was very jealous of her collection but before I could compliment her she took off her clothes revealing what I will now struggle to describe. It didn’t occur to me before that she had a set of arachnoid pincers under her jawline and as I looked down I could see a lion’s mouth held agape resting between her thighs. The mouth called to me “P’azzou-Zhoux.” That wasn’t my name, but it could have been in a past life. She then walked away into her 2 foot wide bathroom, with her full back tattoo of Snoopy crucified on his great and honorable Dark Lord and Conqueror Yhwh’s Cross, staring at me all the way. Her 2 foot wide Lion’s maw screamed without cease. I saw on a mahogany desk in the corner a stack of business cards that read: President of Hofstra, Stuart Rabinowitz. At the top of the desk a plaque read: Stuart Rabinowitz, President of Hofstra. At the time I didn’t think anything of it and I was just too horny to care. When she walked back in we began to fuck like rabbits in a hamster wheel. Unfortunately, after I cummed, I discovered that the condom broke. After that, I ran the fuck out of the room and all the way home. The next week I was feeling very ill and I had lesions all over my body, all the while carrying her hellbore in my now bewombed tummy. I went into the doctor’s and the nurse immediately told me I reeked of AIDS. So I have AIDS. And I feel very positive about this. Everybody needs to die someday and right now life seems too miserable to go on. Thank you, Stuart Rabinowitz, President of Hofstra. You have given me AIDS and the permission to die. I’m very grateful. Fuck you. Fuck you all.

Sincerely,

John Baynor, former Speaker of the House of the United States of America