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VELMA'S
NEKKID CITY
HIPPOS ALWAYS BE STEALING MY MAN
 And
wouldn't you know it,
Velma gets a gusher of a 'monster'al period the night Gary
was coming over. My ex-old man, Kermit--we went out (not too
often, believe me) for almost a month, two Sabres seasons
ago, when The Dominator was still here--used to say about
my periods, "I'm afraid of anything that bleeds for five days
and doesn't die." But, I really liked Kermit. He could be
really sweet. Except he had this thing called CVS, or Cyclical
Vomiting Syndrome, and I had saved up some money from working
over to the plant and took us on a vacation cruise to the
Bermudas. It was real nice and not even weird. Everybody talked
English and had heard of all the same music from here and
the TV shows and everything. So when we got to Bermuda and
went to the hotel, Kermit starts throwing up like he had drunk
twenty pitchers of peach schnapps or whatever. I mean he was
fine on the boat and everything, when I all's I wanted to
do was puke, but he got really sick in the hotel room. I was
like "Hey, I didn't pay for all this shit to watch you curled
up on the fucking bathroom floor like Rod Stewart or some
fucking faggot who just had 20 guys jizz into his gullet or
whatever." And he was like, "Velma, I'm really sick. It's
this condition I've had since..." Then he'd go back to heaving
again, making these animal sounds from way down in his guts,
and all's I was thinking was, wussy, pussy, sissy. I mean
I could see if he had eaten some old, warm oysters or drank
like two bottles of pure grain or something but "condition"
and "syndrome." Cut me a little for real time, loser. Do you
want your mommy to come over and give you a hot water enema
and wash your little pea pod nut sack off with a silk napkin?
I
went out anyway and danced all night with this really cute
guy from Tampa, Florida or somewhere who said he sometimes,
in Florida, danced in girl's clothes for money or whatever.
I thought, whatever blows the gas outta your ass, fella. Fucking
freak, if you ask Velma.
So
now, Gary is on his way over and I was going to wear these
really tight Lycra, crotch-hugger shorts but I had this huge
pussy mop taped to my bloomers. So I had to put on this slinky
black dress that I haven't worn since I used to go to Bisons'
games cause everybody said that some of those ballplayers
were going to get rich one day and they were from out of town
and were all from the country someplace and were supposed
to be married and have like five kids by now, to cover up
the Kotex, but it still showed. And this dress has those,
like, thin bra straps, so you can't wear a bra--unless it's
black and then you look like a tramp--and don't leave much
to the imagination in the juggy region. But nine o'clock came
and went and then ten o'clock went by and he didn't answer
his phone so I thought I would go over to The Tralf, which
is where he said we were going to go cause, he said, it was
a real classy joint, and see if his bald ass was down there.
So
when I got there the cover was like twelve fucking dollars
for this band I never heard of called Ike Turner (I mean,
I could see it if it was Tina Turner or whatever) but these
guys that I did know about, Willie & the Reinhardts, were
playing too and I thought maybe they might remember me from
when they played at The Mohawk Place after Pat Benetar at
Thursday In The Square, so I tried talking to the door guy
for a minute but this prissy little twit with an ass as flat
as a used rubber kept butting in. So, I just paid so I could
get away from them.
Big
surprise, I don't see Gary anywhere. And I'm drinking these
Jaegermeister and vodka shooters and I see this guy I remember
from high school, Paul Kosmk. And I says, "Hey, Mr. K. bet
you don't remember me." And he looks at me like "Huh?" It
was real funny. Then I said, "we made out together," (I don't
think we ever did, but I always wanted to). "Don't you remember
me?" And this hoggy bitch on the barstool behind him rears
up and says to Paul "Who's your friend?" And now Paul gets
squirmy, stammering and shit and says, "Uh, this is, um..."
I says "Velma, honey" And all she says is "Oh" and looks away.
Paul is friendly though and we talk and then he remembers
me and I buy him a drink and the whole time Miss Piggy is
pouting and acting all catty. Then, when Paul walked back
to look at t-shirts by the front door, I went back and talked
to him a little more and we were standing in the hallway by
the restrooms and I was leaning against the wall and he reached
out to touch my arm and Bertha Butt came rumbling down the
hall and gets all bitchy with Paul and pulls him into the
ladies' john and I wait like five minutes and then Paul comes
out and won't even look at me.
So
I push in the door of the john and Fatsack is in the mirror
doing damage control and I say, "Hey, cuntscab, what's your
problem with me?" And she's just like, "Oh, whatever do you
mean?" So I just shove her into one of the stalls and grab
her by the back of her bleached-out straw mop and push her
over the toilet and turn her head toward me and say "I hate
twats like you. You're gonna lick my wad, you fucking cow."
And she's all terrified and shit like some snively little
cheerleader. But I just don't give a fuck. I'm so fucking
sick of these blimps running around spreading it for any guy
drunk enough to pump them. And I pushed the heifer's face
down between my legs and pulled up my dress and ...
Velma
had a bad week. I hate those fucking hippos.
nekkidcity@hotmail.com
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