[From New Tales of Victor Ballstench, Harper Collins, 1989 (Out-of-Print)]
“What the fuck is that!” She shrieked, recoiling from under the covers.
“That’s the smell of a man, baby.”
“I thought I told you to wash your balls before I gave you any more head!”
“Where’s the fun in that, baby? They’re just starting to get ripe.”
“Well you better learn to suck your own dick then, ass-wipe.” She retorted,
popping her teeth back in and reaching for the crack-pipe.
“Goddamnit!” She shrieks. “I thought there was another rock left!”
“Oh there is,” says Victor, a wide grin spreading across his face, “But you’re
gonna have to earn it. Happy Thanksgiving, baby—hope you like turkeyneck!”
“What the fuck is that!” She shrieked, recoiling from under the covers.
“That’s the smell of a man, baby.”
“I thought I told you to wash your balls before I gave you any more head!”
“Where’s the fun in that, baby? They’re just starting to get ripe.”
“Well you better learn to suck your own dick then, ass-wipe.” She retorted,
popping her teeth back in and reaching for the crack-pipe.
“Goddamnit!” She shrieks. “I thought there was another rock left!”
“Oh there is,” says Victor, a wide grin spreading across his face, “But you’re
gonna have to earn it. Happy Thanksgiving, baby—hope you like turkeyneck!”
