The Essence of Curdled Milk and Salami

You smell like curdled milk and salami, forever emitting odors of the rotting sweetness you possess. You have a bubble butt, bubble brain, bubbly spit pouring like Niagra falls out your forever open mouth. You turn everything you touch to mold, Midas’ evil twin. You are forever drunk, high, puking, caught in a haze where you mistake your friends as human meat-puppets, whose necks get caught up in the grasps of your knobby knuckles. I hate you and your stupid sailor boy haircut. Your stupid mud-caked boots, your stupid crooked teeth, your stupid twin sized bed that you seldom wallow in, unless in the presence of a woman scant of clothing. I hate all that and more, from the tip of my pen to the ground my feet tread.