“You are a complete idiot. I want to chew off my own arm to get away from you. I want to bathe in pumice to get the stench of you off of me. I hate myself for every second I spend with you. Look at me, I’m gorgeous, perfect body, successful. Look at you: creepy, old, ugly, ugly, ugly, repulsive, freakish, unattractive. I could do better if I spent time with a diseased ex-con crack-head Sterno™ bum.”
Soliloquatified the Librarian as we ran at full speed through the tight city streets and uphill past Frick-Westinghouse University also known as ‘Frick U!’ We were running hard but the clock was spinning faster.
“9:00 Mile dead on. WTF? We were flying, Librarian. By the way, who the f&ck so you think you are? You are lucky I even hang out with you. You are pathetic. Why can’t you get a proper boyfriend or get married? You have no real self-respect. How can I respect any woman who would associate with me? I know that I’m disgusting, but you don’t care about that do you?”
She looked very hot with her lithe body in her anatomy-showing pantie-less over-tight extreme camel-toe spandex, I noticed the huge wet spot, she was one to criticize my apparel… Why was she hanging out with me, why did anyone from the Writer’s Workshop? Was I a father figure, a creepy uncle figure? 20:30? Two miles? Was I dying? We left the surface streets and we wound down the ancient Trail in deep in the bowels of Hunt Park. I watched the Librarian lithe, supple buttocks bouncing and undulating as she ran. I wanted to pull her ponytail.
“Your freakishly enormous adult diaper stinks. Did you make a massive bowel movement? Ah the smell of it! God I love it! I am madly, passionately, romantically in love with you in a melancholy, hopeless, early 19th century Romantic-Writer’s sort of way. You know, yon Botendaddy, every time you get close to those filthy, dirty whores from the Writer’s Workshop, and you literally fill them with your hideous, macabre, slimy spermatozoa, in every orifice, which they freely make available to you, or vice-versa in some cases, I want to beat you to death with a heavy, stone, decorative Grecian (pronounced Gresh-she-yun) urn.”
She truly was insane. She was no Annabel Lee. My Annabel had been normal. Annabel had normal goals and desires. My soul went along with her when she went into the ancient Sepulcher, high above the lonely bend in the river. I suddenly had an urge to put the Librarian over my knee and spank her until she wept uncontrollably.
“Three miles. Like 33 minutes? What is happening? We’ve really ‘slown‘ down I’ve had terrible muscle cramps down my stomach to my groin the past mile and a half.”
“You are dehydrated. It’s warm out here. It’s like 57 degrees.” Said the Librarian curtly. “How far are we going today?”
“You mean running?”
We left the park and headed back across the University District. The four-mile time was horrible. We stopped at 4.74 miles.
“Maybe I mean running, maybe something else.” She said. “Maybe you should make love to me with your gigantic, gnarled thing too, you stupid freak. But shower first, for god’s sake you smell like the elephant cage at the Highland Zoo.”
“Mexican spiced Mocha?”
Peace be the Botendaddy