this afternoon – a sparkling afternoon, bubbled in teacups and bloody cunnilingus – i have a hearty breakfast of Kiddie Heads – a new crunchy nutritious Post ready-to-eat cereal of young human cephali, with 19 essential vitamins and minerals.
one isn’t quite dead and it sings horribly in my throat until digestive juices shut it up.
i write to the ceo of Post – a b. bobby vitality – to note the bad singing, receiving a free carton of Kiddie Heads and a letter apologizing for the packaging mistake. apparently as a limited time offer 1 in every 10,000 boxes of Kiddie Heads contains a living cephalus entitling the holder to a trip to GN-z11. the box should have said this. so began an intimate exchange where bobby tells me about his homosexual inclinations, about loving Rev. Schplat, senior minister at First White Baptist, whom he isn’t supposed to love, and i make up shit about the sex clubs i go to, all the democratic cock and liberal pussy up here in canada.
he tries to hook up with me so i use the opportunity to blackmail him, seduce his daughter, sodomize his wife, free his dog and his maid, and make him eat his son’s head and Rev. Schplat’s dijon-fried prick while watching The Last Temptation of Homer.
distributing the free boxes of Kiddie Heads to a social housing project, i return to eating buckwheat with fried leeks and pine nuts, wild blueberries, and rice-coconut milk alongside my cunnilingus and some days aren’t half-bad i say. thanks bobby.
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