She’s Overqualified

He’d made the mistake of saying to that generously endowed barmaid: “Why don’t you get your top off, luv?”

Naturally, she hadn’t gotten the joke. Nor should she have. It had been a condescending joke. A sarcastic jab designed to shame her into putting said top back on.

But in order to get those bounteous baps back into containment she’d have to detach her babies first. He could already imagine the cartoonish cork popping noises this would make. An ill-advised giggle escaped his lips.

“Does this offend you, bitch?”

He immediately wiped the smile off his face. “It’s just they’re…” He waved at her impressively proportioned assets. “…so in your face. As naked as a politician’s career ambitions, one could say.”

He thought this clever little quip would defuse the situation. It didn’t.

“Oh, could one?”

Her voice dripped so much sarcasm he could feel his manhood drowning in it.

“Well, I happen to be feeding my babies, motherfucker! Is that alright with you?!”

He looked away, face hot with embarrassment and indignation. How dare she shame him? He wasn’t the one with his tits out in public. And with a Walrus pup dangling from each one, no less! Look at them! Mouths clamped down like starving leeches after a downpour!

“Yeah, you better step off before I come over there and knock you off!” she practically grrred.

He made the mistake of shooting back a reproachful look. Now the mother Walrus was really mad.

“Oh, you want me to fuck you up? Is that what you want?!”

The other patrons picked up their glasses and shuffled to a safe distance.

His look changed to one of panic as she then flopped right on over. Even her babies glommed harder to each bulbous teat. Like hapless pufferfish trying not to get bucked off of four massive life buoys.

“Lady, I don’t want any trouble now!”

“Too bad, motherfucker! Trouble’s coming for you!”

He was waving his arms like two placating windmills now. “Wait! I have a proposal!”

And that’s how the Walrus got hired to be the Badger’s campaign manager, and how they won the next election. It sure beat being a barmaid on minimum wage.

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2022

captain ‘sirocco’ dustpants

if i chose a superpower
i would pick to be errant dust
i’d pass through glass and hour
fling into eyes with every gust

any batman, any joker
would be out of their league
neither spade nor super soaker
will slow my grainy blitzkrieg

you can hide your useless gun
and unclench those comic fists
my stinging blasts you’ll not outrun
get my warning, get the gist

not a sick, bloodthirsty flower
nor nipples spewing toxic lust
if i chose a superpower
you’d tire of choking on my dust

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2022

SPAM® Sushi #21

Hi, this is Julia. I am sending you my intimate photos as I promised.
— arode

Hi, Julia! Thanks for the X-rays of your coccyx. They’re really exciting but may we suggest you consult a trauma specialist instead? (And we prefer CT images anyway. They’re sexier.)
— Tati & Tony (Epic Epicurists of Erotic Medical Imaging in Search of the Perfect Stapes)

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2022

PERFECTION IN ACTION // Double Bounce

Everywhere we would walk, your lovely petite mounds would bounce up and down so fetchingly. Stairs were always a welcome adventure. Cresting every curb was always a buoyant little triumph.

What I always loved the most, however, was watching them defy gravity any time you took to a trampoline. I’d be captivated, counting my lucky stars that I’d get to share my life with the owner of such exquisitely rounded delights. Up and down. Up and down. I was besotted.

And then you’d snap me out of it: “Come on! Get up here!”

God. Those heels! Please never wear shoes.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2021

lacuna bridge

let us remember
tie our navels end to end
umbilical dreams

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2021