Polsa Blood Suca Phuca

Night #1

My name is Zebedeusza S. Kubrokovich. My last name rhymes with “Cute boy who loves dick.” Call me Skowronek, or in English, call me Skylark. I’m part Japanese and part Polack. I’m a PolskaJap so shut your yap! I’m a little chicken who likes sucking Dickens or, maybe I’m tofu and Dear John’s the fool. Am I a minor, or a well-preserved wallet miner? My youth is the truth, but my age I won’t let those damned chickenhawks gauge. If they ever find out, with dinner I might go without. Since you’re my pal, I’ll give you a tip-in, I voted for Mr. Algyro J. Kwapien. Right now, I’m somewhere in Krakow, hanging with my baby-girl crack ho and getting a blow from her boyfriend, His pimpness, so slow.

Her name is Rocket. She loves to smoke it while sitting on her boyfriend’s face. That buck isn’t the only schmuck she fucks in this place. Heh! That fat chick is phat shit. She fucks me alone for some cheating, when he’s too busy ho-beating. Don’t tell her dude though, or my ass will be skewered through. Rocket and the Lark, two prongs on the pitchfork, inseparable like AIDS on a bareback cock-itch dork.

Check out my teeth. Aren’t they beyond belief? They’re filed as evil as the Joker’s wild. Thanks for the compliments. They’re fangs for my condiments. Blood and the man milk are tasty treats for my dirty feats. Don’t worry; I only bite when the time is right. Oh yes, I’m a sucker for the suckers. For two hundred bucks, I’ll turn you into a bad-assed vampire motherfucker. At least that’s my hustle when I’m working the muscle. Is my claim true or just an illusion? Just think about it, and guess the allusion. I heard that some bleeders have the cures for all illness. My “H” and my Ivy, you need some excising. Thus, until I find that clean blood fucking, I guess I’ll continue to keep right on trucking.

America, land of the cash and home of the bad; it’s where I always want to be at. I’ll be pimping and not skimping, living off the land, saying what I want, not giving all my money to some phony ass who calls me homey. I should be retired, not pimped out and tired. I want to meet the nigs that will get me some gigs, dancing and playing, rhyming free-style. Fuck Poland, I’m leaving! I’ll be cruising to the white sands of … I’m so damned dumb, New Jersey’s got no white sands. My grasp of geography is in absolute atrophy, but you bet your ass, I’ll still get the trophy. Jersey has the bitch who will listen to my pitch.

Lady Liberty the French copper-skinned cutie; she will make sure that I collect my booty. I don’t mean my ass, as cute and round as it is. I mean it in the piratical sense, so don’t get hysterical, Spence. Rocket is coming with me, and we’re going to have a blast. It’s going to be her, a postcard from her spaz, Chaz, and the flesh-and-blood me. Just the thought of that full-bodied mama’s anallingus gives me the tingles. I guess I’ll continue to give cunt some cunnilingus.

“Oh Skylark, that’s the shit.” Even with lights so dark, you can still see her tits doing the jiggle to the left and to the right. Earth Goddess allures me and takes my will to fight in this angle. She’s wearing red suede boots that barely reach her ankles. Looking at her fishnets, I realize that her nets are cuter than mine are. The bitch has garters and hitches. I got elastic doing the same trick. Oh yeah, did you notice? I’m always cross-dressing. It keeps me from stressing about looking like a twelve-year-old girl. It isn’t that bad, so don’t be so sad. Babe I’m so pretty, even the heteros give me dinero so they can blow up their tip as I’m taking a sip of their... Need I be graphic, Mr. Fantastic?

Her noises so zany make me as hardheaded as Dick Cheney. Akinyele the rap boss once told us, “What do you choose to lick: pussy or dick, people throughout the world, it’s your pick.” I’m eating Chaz’s prick too, so I guess I haven’t made my pick. It’s too hard to choose, so how can I lose if I play it both ways. The asshole thinks I’m one-hundred percent gay and that’s okay. That just makes him less suspicious of my bitch-stealing ways. It makes his less expectant of the extermination I proposition.

Bóg, the trog, he’s bringing the rock with the smog. Rocky wants the freebase, so she leaves the Lark in Chaz’s skinny punk ass. He takes my might in his hole so tight; takes it all in while she’s smoking her baddabing. She hadn’t had any in four years, yet she’s still crackheading. Her craving is craven. Like a Snicker’s bar, the rock’s satisfying. “Where did you get the shit?” Rocket cheered through her crying. “I thought there was an embargo.” She didn’t know much about Bóg’s cargo.

Bóg’s spokeswoman, Ace, explained the situation as if she were Harry Truman on a base. “It’s the last of the coke. I scored it from a hoarder. After you smoke it up, it’s all gone. America is still under quarantine or some sort of embargo. I think it’s one of the two.” You should’ve heard that fat girl sing like crimson and clover. The opera was over and it was so over. I’ll be hating and dreading, upcoming withdrawals. Rocket’s sweating like mad. She needs a damn towel!