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.

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treehouse of horror (the rejected bits)

your face occupies the entire doorway
or has the room become suddenly small?
i feel like thwacking your smile with a death ray
or smacking it fervently into the wall!

your nasty moustache with its fried egg stains
those urticating bristles on caterpillar lips…
just one look has given me stomach pains
i’d soon as not kiss you as cut off my nips!

when you lean over me with your fresh garlic breath
i feel like a vampire that’s getting ready to die
so i wouldn’t mind overdosing on some meth
if it meant i could avoid you in sheol’s by and by

you whisper, ‘what can i ding dong diddly do?
for you?’ sounding suspiciously diddly ho sweet
and you adjust those glasses you’re peering through
making my flesh want to crawl away up the street

at the altar of the temple of ghastly dreams
i am ready to swear on the shiny shinning
anything to expunge all the flanderish screams
visions of red and yellow cartoon skinnings

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