Standing before the dirty
creamer-merchant was a desk made out of something that looked like
human flesh. Now, I have told you about creamer-merchants before –
I know I have – but you must understand this: there is a great
difference between creamer-merchants and dirty
creamer-merchants, and never the twain shall meet.
The dirty creamer-merchant folded his
hands, and then flexed them, extending his soiled fingers like
tentacles. He placed a single soiled finger on the desk and found
that indeed, it did feel like human flesh. He bent down
and put his mouth near the desk's surface. He leaned in a bit and
lightly brushed his lips against the flesh-like substance. He rubbed
his lips back and forth and then opened his mouth ever so slightly,
extended his tongue, and touched it to the fleshy desk. He grew bold
and placed the full surface of his tongue upon it and lapped at it
several times. It was salty, and he noticed that it even had small
hairs protruding from its surface.
The strangest desk he had ever seen.
Or tasted.
It was an otherwise normal desk, he
would have to say. It appeared to have normal drawers and even a
green blotter with leather corners. He opened the top desk drawer
ever so slowly, and found the interior to be bright red mucous
membrane, much like the inside of a person's cheek or even more
private regions. The dirty creamer-merchant tried to force certain
thoughts from his head, and was only slightly successful.
He bent down over the open drawer and
once again extended his tongue to touch the red, moist interior. It
was warm and inviting. “Come inside,” it called to him. He
withdrew his tongue and stood upright.
He had noticed the teeth.
On that Tuesday like so many others the
dirty creamer-merchant stepped away from the desk made out of
something that looked like human flesh. He stepped far, far away and
lifted leg after churning leg to the beat of a safety drum. A dry
and pale safety drum.
I have said it again. I will say it
again. Go learn what this means: I desire mercy and not sacrifice.
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