Contributor: Misti Rainwater-Lites
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Purple Pieman is lurking around, peeking through windows. Goddamn he needs to find a yummy bitch! Then he chances upon the candled glow of Golden Dream Barbie’s bathroom window. Oh fuck. Oh GOD. There she be, all creamy incandescent nubile plastic glory, reason enough to swoon beneath the pumpkin moon. She’s soaking in a garden tub filled with bubbles and she’s SINGING. Purple Pieman slobbers but does not ejaculate, not yet. There is world enough and time. He opens the window, climbs in. Golden Dream Barbie sure is surprised!
“Who…who are you?”
“Baby, I’m your preacher. I’m your teacher. I’m your daddy. I’m the baker of your miracle pies, the manufacturer of your most gleaming dreams. I’ve come to take you away, baby girl. Calgon can only take you so far. I take you the rest of the way. Next stop…O-Town!”
“You’ve…you’ve got a purple mustache. I don’t understand.”
“Hush your mouth. Don’t analyze. Don’t compare this to an Eagles song. Forget your goddamn nursery rhyme training and relax, angel cunt. Everything will make sense soon enough.”
After the rape there was Cohibas and cognac. Golden Dream Barbie hopped out of the tub, put on a Bee Gees record. “Run To Me” began to play. Golden Dream Barbie hopped back in the tub, cuddled up all sudsy and warm to her boysenberry scented benefactor. His mustache was buoyant. It did not droop. He put his arms around Golden Dream Barbie, smooched her nipple free breasts.
“I just wanted to memorialize this moment, make it more poignant than it already is,” Golden Dream Barbie said.
“I know, baby. I know,” Purple Pieman said.
They found themselves in the vicinity of love. It was kind of creepy, kind of unsettling. But most of all it was a most stimulating way to slaughter time.
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I like to drink beer and play with my vibrator.
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Purple Pieman is lurking around, peeking through windows. Goddamn he needs to find a yummy bitch! Then he chances upon the candled glow of Golden Dream Barbie’s bathroom window. Oh fuck. Oh GOD. There she be, all creamy incandescent nubile plastic glory, reason enough to swoon beneath the pumpkin moon. She’s soaking in a garden tub filled with bubbles and she’s SINGING. Purple Pieman slobbers but does not ejaculate, not yet. There is world enough and time. He opens the window, climbs in. Golden Dream Barbie sure is surprised!
“Who…who are you?”
“Baby, I’m your preacher. I’m your teacher. I’m your daddy. I’m the baker of your miracle pies, the manufacturer of your most gleaming dreams. I’ve come to take you away, baby girl. Calgon can only take you so far. I take you the rest of the way. Next stop…O-Town!”
“You’ve…you’ve got a purple mustache. I don’t understand.”
“Hush your mouth. Don’t analyze. Don’t compare this to an Eagles song. Forget your goddamn nursery rhyme training and relax, angel cunt. Everything will make sense soon enough.”
After the rape there was Cohibas and cognac. Golden Dream Barbie hopped out of the tub, put on a Bee Gees record. “Run To Me” began to play. Golden Dream Barbie hopped back in the tub, cuddled up all sudsy and warm to her boysenberry scented benefactor. His mustache was buoyant. It did not droop. He put his arms around Golden Dream Barbie, smooched her nipple free breasts.
“I just wanted to memorialize this moment, make it more poignant than it already is,” Golden Dream Barbie said.
“I know, baby. I know,” Purple Pieman said.
They found themselves in the vicinity of love. It was kind of creepy, kind of unsettling. But most of all it was a most stimulating way to slaughter time.
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I like to drink beer and play with my vibrator.
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Author:
Misti Rainwater-Lites
