(Well, Lust Anyway … But Let’s Not Quibble Semantics)

Jacky! Jacky! Jacky, look! Look, Jacky, look! Jacky! Jacky! Look, Jacky! Jacky, look! Look! Jacky! Jacky!

‎‎

Oh, my!

I think I’m in Love.

‎‎

Maaaan … I would be prepared to sell other people’s limbs and internal organs to get my hands on that.

And not only people who are unloved (like Stephen M. Tomic ¹) and whom nobody would miss, but people like you, dear reader ³.

Fortunately (for you ), however, I don’t need to.

But you appreciate the sentiment: just look at it. The things I could do with it. And not just when it/you were naked either!

I’mma have to get me summ’a that!


¹ He’s adopted, you know — that’s always a mistake ², but the adoptive parents are naive and don’t appreciate that until it’s way too late.

‎² Think about it: there was a reason why the biological parent(s) couldn’t get rid of their (if nothing else, at the very least, hideously ugly) spawn fast enough … people don’t leave perfectly good babies in the rubbish/trash/garbage/dumpster for no reason — not perfectly good ones.

³ Worthless though you may be … a subhuman lifeform, slightly below tapeworm on the evolutionary scale … there is, I have to concede, the remote possibility that you are nevertheless loved (at least after a fashion ).

⁴ Not unlike Stephen on the worthless and unlovable scale ¹.

⁵ Maybe your parents see you as a means of (financial and/or other) support in their (future) old age … or, perhaps, an older sibling sees you as spare parts in the event of an accident or organ failure … and they, therefore, care about your wellbeing inasmuch as they need you to remain fit and healthy — which might be construed as a sort of love, I suppose.

⁶ Personally, I completely understand the mustard advert

There was a series of them:

… all with the same basic premise that, at the end, the butler would have to go on an inhumanely long and treacherous journey to fetch some mustard.

After a few of them, there was one in which they were all in an airplane and, clearly, keen to give him grief and had either hidden (or deliberately ‘mislaid’) the mustard. But the butler had planned ahead for just such an eventuality and mentioned taking the precaution of bringing a spare pot. They all looked downcast. Then one of the women looked up, beaming from ear to ear, and exclaimed “I know! … Let’s throw him out anyway!

So … you’ll appreciate that, as far as I’m concerned, not needing to sell your internal organs (and, maybe, limbs) isn’t necessarily cause for celebration.

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There he goes. One of God's own prototypes. A high-powered mutant of some kind never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live and too rare to die.

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Where Angels Fear

Where Angels Fear

There he goes. One of God's own prototypes. A high-powered mutant of some kind never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live and too rare to die.

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