gimmicked to stretch, the other the real McCoy. But
that Latah get up in feud state and put on his Santa
Claus suit and make with the switcheroo. Come the
dawning. The citizen put one rope on and the Latah,
going along the way Latahs will, put on the other.
When the traps are down the citizen hang for real
and the Latah stand with the camy-rubber stretch
rope. Well, the Latah imitate every twitch and spasm.
Come three times.
“Smart young Latah keep his eye on the ball. I got
him working in one of my plants as an expeditor.”
Aztec priests strip blue feather robe from the Naked
Youth. They bend him back over a limestone altar, fit
a crystal skull over his head, securing the two hemispheres back and front with crystal screws. A waterfall pour over the skull snapping the boy’s neck. He
ejaculate in a rainbow against the rising sun.
Sharp protein odor of semen fills the air. The guests
run hands over twitching boys, suck their cocks, hang
on their backs like vampires.
Naked lifeguards carry in iron-lungs full of paralyzed
youths.
Blind boys grope out of huge pies, deteriorated
schizophrenics pop from a rubber cunt, boys with
horrible skin diseases rise from a black pond (sluggish
fish nibble yellow turds on the surface).
A man with white tie and dress shirt, naked from
the waist down except for black garters, talks to the
Queen Bee in elegant tones. (Queen Bees are old
women who surround themselves with fairies to form
a “swarm.” It is a sinister Mexican practice.)