Bag of Foreskins
Guillermo had this great supplier out of Guadalajara.
Came through every time like a fresh nail
into seasoned wood.
And the whole gang was over at Holland’s place.
Slamming careless darts into the board like horny
strip club men that hadn’t been fucked right in months.
Some glacial piss beer from an overactive icebox
in the next room.
When are you finally gonna fuck the landlady
and get around to earning a break on the rent?
Guillermo poked.
Kasparian laughed in that busy gulag way he did.
A black belt in ju-jitsu, or so he told anyone
who would listen.
Building himself up like a greasy New York skyline.
All those hours in the gym, fighting off Staph infections
and lousy cardio.
You stick anymore roids in your ass,
and that bubble butt will put out the sun,
Guillermo said.
It’s the other things he sticks in his ass
that I’m worried about,
Holland grinned.
Kasparian was easily flustered.
Threw a dart at the board that missed everything
but the wall a good three feet away.
Guillermo retreated to the kitchen.
To check on the goodies he left de-thawing
in the sink.
Beside those many dirtied dishes
that never seemed to clean themselves.
When he came back,
he had an old cd case of these wobbly
gelatinous lines.
Holland and Kasparian threw down their darts
and sat on the pull out couch.
Like easily bored children with a new toy.
Snorting lines of pure bovine ejaculate.
The ultimate high.
Guillermo went third to make sure there
were no stragglers.
Threw his head back with that burny Jello-mold feeling.
Bovine ejaculate went straight to the frenzy-finders,
turned you into a beast.
Made you bullish about everything.
Kasparian challenged Guillermo to a fight.
Holland flipped a table and began goring it
with imagined horns.
***
The drive down to Mercy Hospital was a blur.
Breaking into the back trash yard with a pair
of bolt cutters and bulging jumping bean eyes
that threatened to charge right out of the frothing
boom town stratosphere.
And the garbage bags were set right there beside three angled dumpsters.
Filled with all those unwanted foreskins.
The many screaming baby boys welcomed to the world
and sent straight to the chopping block.
There was an honesty in that.
No one could be surprised by the cruelty
that came later.
Holland grabbed a bag and slammed it against Kasparian’s naked leg.
Howling with laughter as it broke apart.
All those little unwanteds flying everywhere.
The excess.
What the fuck?
Kasparian picked up a few errant foreskins
and threw them at Holland’s head.
Holland felt a sudden tap on the shoulder
and turned to find Guillermo
holding out a bag of his own.
How much did this bag of foreskins set you back, El Presidente?
Guillermo swung the bag in a wild swooning hammer motion.
Slamming it down over Holland’s swoll raving head.
An army of squirmy mush like a sloppy skin waterfall.
Kasparian was ripping on the chain link
and howling at non-existent moons.
As Guillermo and Holland fought it out for bragging rights.
Tiny exploding foreskins shooting off in all directions.
The discarded slipping on piles of the discarded.
Stripping down and beating their chests
in mutilated hysteria.
No retreat from the dropping
bombshell arena.
Horror Sleaze Trash 