JEREMIAD
You've got the champ in his jacket where he's
gagging to death. Like some Aqualung of old,
the snot is running down his nose. His two
gloved hands are broken, hanging limply by
his side. He cannot even life his prize-belt -
some scanty-clad bimbo does it for him. I can
see the crack between her legs, the fool. No
disguise to the bikini-bottom's camel-toe show.
This sickening crowd reels like a circus in old
Rome. A few new Christians are thrown to the
lions. At center stage everyone wriggles. I hear
new noise, and screams. The picture is turning
red - things are flying around. The body-parts
police are arriving.
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