The Meat speaks: PART 2: Guest Blog

Now Playing: The Girl with the Demon Goat Tattoo.

This is the teaser from my last post.

Get it?


So, Wally D, back and blog ready.

I'm here to finish the tale of Wanda, the vag tattoo, her freaky twins, the prison guard and eggs Florentine.

I made a big withdrawal from the crazy bank that night with Wanda. I don't remember where I left you in this tale. I think it was peeling off panties and staring at the demonic goat tattoo surrounding her vagina.

Some guys would be freaked sexless, but hell, it would be worse if I pulled off her panties and found no vagina at all, just a blind mound of flesh.

I did ask though. I said, "Wanda, you've got a beautiful vag down here, but right now it's trapped in a freaky goat's mouth."

She blushed--which I loved--and told me that it's not a goat, it's the devil, as represented in Tarot cards. OK, the devil. Thanks so much, that explains everything. It's not a goat after all. So now I'm about to play tongue tag with satan's moustache.

She went on to explain that she was seriously into Tarot as a teen, and the devil is not always bad. Sure, the cruel, apocalyptic, bugger and serial killer is a sweetheart in the land of Tarot. But Wanda claimed the devil in Tarot can represent the need to overcome repressed psychology, which she had accumulated in her childhood. So the devil is actually a healing figure in her life, a turning point and a recovery.

But recovery from what? Inbreeding? Cannibalism?

I asked her if she was a Satanist. She laughed and said no, she was an Anglican.

That's good news. But I can't get thrown off the task in front of me. I'm a surgeon and my work is important.

I end up going down for the count. Wanda arrived very intensely. I doubled my effort and the encore was incredibly vocal. I know she said she was Anglican, but this was speaking in some serious Pentecostal tongue.

I always take the cue from my partners first, and if they don't ask, I will not enter. I wait to be invited, or I keep working the deep delta.

But with Wanda, I was barely able to slip on a jacket before she forced me into the devil's mouth. I don't want to be graphic here, so I'll be metaphorical. The bulbs burst, the ceiling cracked, the room went black and the soundtrack went way, way up.

I woke up with country air blowing in my face. The light was too bright to fully open my eyes. But in the room itself, the sound of sucking. Now, I know what you are thinking.

It took a moment for my eyes to focus from sleep. Wanda moved beside me and as I turned to reach for her, I discovered that it wasn't Wanda moving beside me. She was sitting against the headboard and her kid was stretched out, sucking her nearest breast. I couldn't see his face, and he shifted again, this time digging in his heels dangerously close to my testoids.

This explains the exceptional size of Wanda's breasts. Milk engorged wonders sustained by excessive breast feeding.

It doesn't take long to find the other twin. He's standing at the foot of the bed and glaring at me with an expression way beyond civil. He's holding some kind of mutilated stuffed animal. Jesus, what a pale and ferret faced little brat. And just staring me in the eyes as his brother goes right on sucking tit beside me.

I didn't flinch. I know, he's just a kid and I'm a big threat to his world. But I stared right back. No five year old is going to put the hex on me, regardless of what I did to his mother.

Wanda sees I'm awake and says hello. I turn to her and she smiles down at me. The other twin stops sucking and looks at me too. Jesus, he doesn't look at all like the other one.

Wanda says "I hope you don't mind?"

What? This kid sucking mommy milk? The other one at the foot of the bed vibing me out?

"It's only Mackenzie now. Forrester stopped breast feeding last year."

I looked back at Forrester. The little rat was still giving me the spooky eyeball. He looks thinner than the other one. Sicker, paler, meaner.

I've gotta piss.

I check beneath the covers. I had the presnece of mind to put my underwear back on. Thank you Wally.

I slid out of bed and found my shirt by the night stand. I walked past Forrester ignoring him, but did look back before I left the room. The little psycho was still staring at me. I swear if he's still doing that when I get back, I'll spank the little creep.

I start down the hallway, but as I walk past the kitchen, I see a dude standing at the sink. This is obviously a serious WTF moment.

He's in some sort of uniform. I can tell he's not a cop but maybe military.

He hears me. He turns and looks me up and down. Water drips from the latex washing gloves he's wearing on his hands.

Oh fuck! Blood is going to fill the gutters. I feel fight or flight stab me in the balls and brun up my spine.

And fuckme, he's big, over six feet and wide too. His head is massive. A head assault is out.

Okay, I'll charge the prick and try to get a crippling blow to his gonads. I move my feet apart to get a good grounding for my charge.

"Hello. I'm Branden."

What? The? Fuck? Did? You? Say?

He pulls off the gloves.

"I'm Branden Sanders. I'm Wanda's ex."

Jesus, help me to understand?

"Sorry to startle you. I come by every Sunday to make the boys breakfast."

Look man, I'm standing here in my underwear. I did carnal gymnastics with your ex-wife last night, and at the moment both boys are in the bedroom I just came from. What do you expect from me Branden? WTF do you expect from me?

"Why don't you have a seat at the table, I'll make you breakfast."

I couldn't process this at all. Finally I said to him:

"Look, I don't know what's going on here, dude."

Brenden smiled at me.
"It's okay. I know you must be confused, but everything's cool. I encourage Wanda to meet new people. You have nothing to worry about by me."

All I could say was, "What's your division?"

"My division?"

"You army?"

He actually giggled.

"No, I'm a prison guard at Warkworth."

That's rich. A local screw is going to make me breakfast.

"Look, I can imagine you are uncomfortable, but don't be. Do you want coffee?"

I love Java, under any circumstance.

"I'd take a cup."

"I have some freshly ground Sumatra. I'll get it brewing."

Okay. He's been pleasant, and admitted he's a screw. Can I trust him enough to sit down? Or, will he strike once I've taken the seat. You know, Warkwarth is minimum security prison. I wonder if he's packing a tazer? He's got the cutlery laid out real nice. I can always grab a fork and go for his eyes.

I sit down quick.

He's working at the stove with his back to me. Should I make a move?

"How long have you known Wanda.?"

Here it is. If I say ten hours, he swings around viscious and nails me hard. I grip the fork. I am taut and ready for him.

"Highschool."

"Oh, you were classmates?"

"We were chemistry partners."

"That's sweet."

Alright dude. Tazer or not, liberated ex hubby or not, don't you fucking play with me.

Then, the fire alarm goes off. I nearly leap off the chair. Brenden lifts a pan from the stove as smoke curls into the air. He fans it with a tea towel. The creepy little one appears right beside me. He starts shrieking in an attempt to emulate the alarm pitch. I should stick the little bugger with my fork.

"Dad just burned something Mackenzie. Please don't scream."

What? Wait. I thought the creepy one was Forrester?

Brenden opens the kitchen window. Wanda walks in, still in panties and her bra. She's carrying the other one. Oh yea, that's the freaky twin. Look at the way he stares at me.

The alarm stops ringing. Wanda touches my shoulder.

"Hi."

Hi yourself lady. This is melting my mind.

"What's for breakfast Daddy?" asks Mackenzie.

"Eggs Flourentine buddy."

"Does the man get breakfast too Daddy?"

"Yes. He's our guest so he gets served first."

"But the man hurt mommy."

Yea, that's the creepy one.

"No he didn't baby." That's Wanda.

"Yes he did."

I could easily reach him with the fork.

"No baby, we were having adult playtime, that's all."

I look at Brenden. He winks at me.

"Little boys," he says.

Yea. Little boys alright. And prison screws that brunch and ex-wives that screw lead singers of cover bands. This is chaos.

"Who wants to help Daddy crack eggs?"

The troll leaps out of Wanda's arms and joins his brother at the counter. Wanda sits in the chair beside me and takes my hand.

"How did you sleep?"

We didn't sleep, remember?

She looks at the fork in my other hand. I set it on the table.

"I should get my pants."

"Okay." She tries to pat my ass as I leave the table.

I grab my pants, my wallet and necklaces from the night stand and go to the window. Perfect, it opens. I flip the latch and quietly slide it up. Hell no. The screen doesn't come out. I look around and find a nail file on the dresser. I stab a hole big enough for both my index fingers, then rip it wide open. I slip out feet first and was running before I hit the grass. The neighbors hounds started up so I decided against the road and made a marathon sprint for the corn field.

The End.

Wally D. Reuben

Eggs Florentine is Eggs Benedict which substitutes spinach for ham.

There are differing accounts as to the origin of eggs Benedict. In an interview in the "Talk of the Town" column of The New Yorker in 1942, the year before his death,^[1] Lemuel Benedict, a retired Wall Street stock broker, claimed that he had wandered into the Waldorf Hotel in 1894 and, hoping to find a cure for his morning hangover, ordered "buttered toast, poached eggs, crisp bacon and a hooker of hollandaise."