B. Coleman was singing about the sky crying, I was inside staring vacantly at my armoire, wondering what the fuck I was going to wear. A glass of red ...as in my right hand, to calm my nerves, but so far it hadn’t done anything, other than make me feel a little tipsy. I hadn’t eaten much at all that day, aside from the odd nibble of some seaweed crackers and a few cherries. The alcohol was going straight to my head.I turned down the stereo until Gary’s voice was no more than a low, bluesy soulful. You'll be wishing you'd had this fuckhood cut off boy, we want it real ugly, a few inches of nasty skin drooping off your shiny aching glans. Of course stretching it so fast really damages the fragile flesh, forms plenty of scar tissue, so your new cocktube is gonna be thick, dark and numb - real fun for our games, not so good for yours. It'll be so long your plum cockhead ain't gonna see the light of day again - a real shame, it was quite a beauty, but watching you struggle with permanent. More

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