Home Sweet Home
Engorged–but not in a good way. More like a strained water balloon, ready to burst. That’s what it resembles–only with fur. And you just know its contents aren’t anything like that clear tap water little Johnny uses to fill his phallic toy. No, we’re talking a putrid, bilious, olfactory-assaulting sludge in there. You touch it with your stick, softly, but that’s all it takes. Fluttering, splashing, whoopee cushion release, your rent opens on a family of rats in a raccoon carcass.
We all need a warm home to call our own.