ray... if anyone ever asks if you're a god... say yes!!!

slew/ bob slid up to honey pot on the bench and rubbing his scabby elbow into her side blurted out "my super power is that i can't eat peanuts. i can't even really touch them. i'll break out into hives and my throat will close up... cool huh???"
"that's not a super power numb nuts, that's called an allergic reaction" honey pot stated rolling her eyes for effect "why don't you just go drop dead and help save on oxygen for the rest of us."
bob slunk off carrying his cold dented can of corned beef hash. exit stage left
honey pot continued "he thinks he's so special, but really he's like special olympic special... short bus, you know?" thumbing her fat thumb in the direction that bob left in.
the boy whose real name was wiznick/ lunchmeat sighed deeply "and this too shall pass"
before honey pot could register what just happened lunch meat lunged across the table and grabbed a hold of honey pot's hand interlacing her plump sweaty fingers across the back of her hand with his own.
"can i ask you something... just between us prom queens???"
honey pot attempted to wring her hand free but the boy named lunch meat tightened his grip.
"are you a god???"
before she could answer the boy named lunch meat leaned over and blew his nose all over honey pot's chest. wet snot rockets... gray and gelatinous peppered the front of her shirt and bare skin.
honey pot stood up clutching her lunch tray to the front of her chest "this conversation isn't over you gross little jesus freak." and stomped out of the lunch room, her squat frame shaking as she stormed out of the now still room.
the boy named lunch meat with a self satisfied smirk leaned back and picked up the chewed apple that sat on his tray and cupping it in both hands began humming, careful so no one over heard him, what if god were one of us.
the half bitten part of the apple began turning yellow and then a shade of brown as a white moldy fuzz grew from the exposed jagged parts made from his teeth marks. a black bruise slowly spreading across the skin, beginning from the damaged part of the apple, as it time lapsed... turning into a rotten fetid lump of flesh in a matter of seconds.

sigh

it's been a minute...
drinking little penguin... all wines taste the same in the end... acidic, the same going down as they do coming up...
the vomitorium. the vomit comet. wallace and vomit. that's a funny word in english. like the eskimos have twenty- seven different words for snow... vomit.
seen on a t- shirt "i'd fuck me"