18th Century Ottoman and May West: “Does anybody feel like bacon?”

by Katie Heffring and Brad MacDonald a.k.a Ka-Rad

When I’m eating May West Vachons/unique desserts I don’t like to be disturbed.  I get really perturbed. Inevitably however, my neighbour Steve, who happens to have been born without pigment or a personality, knocks on the door. He yells to my face, “May West was a whore.” I react instantaneously by choosing not to show my emotions outwardly but rather, through a series of mental processes, I immediately bottle my anger using a technique I learned from a Filipino Shaman eighteen years before.  It requires one to focus intensely on the perpetrator while one-handedly rubbing one’s core. And by core I mean the space where my testicles used to be; where did they go? Did they fall in the snow? That’s a long story my man but let’s just say it involves a horse, a dwarf, and an ill-fated nad-kicking contest of strength and will.  So, anywaze, I told Steve, “Yo, dude, just chill. May West was no whore but was a respected film actress in the international motion picture business, dude.  Basically, fuck off ‘cause yer rude.” Steve reacted with verve and tenacity but twas too late I’m afraid.  I smacked him twice on the back of the head whilst shouting, “buddy, you need to get laid.” Reader, you may think I mean sex but you’d be whore-ably mistakened.  ”Does anybody feel like bacon?” I said as I gently laid his lifeless body onto my antique 18^th century ottoman.  The one I purchased from that money-laundering Puritan. Don’t get me started on that guy ‘cause that relationship went on way too long (I mean for the most part, I was like “Dirk, I try and I try and I try and what do I get for it?) Geez, again I’m having a flatulent fit! That’s what my great aunt said to me during a heated porcelain figurine painting contest.  Needless to say, it’s time to have another May West.

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