The enormous blob of a man writhes in ecstasy on the road. Not a shred of clothing adorns his massive body. His gelatinous folds roll in and out from under his considerable weight as he turns over and over again in front of the construction sign which declares FRESH OIL. Having wormed over the dirt-oil mix for several minutes now, he’s accumulated a thick film on his skin which gives off a gritty, uneven sheen under the bright halogen street lamp.
Noticing your attention, the man strikes his best centerfold pose.
“There’s plenty of grease to go around,” he says coyly, pushing a chubby finger in a circle over the slick dirt in what you can only assume is an attempt at a sensual invitation.
The force of the stream of vomit that erupts from your mouth can only be described as “thunderous,” the vomit itself as “crunchy.”
The fat man at first seems taken aback, but his indignant expression softens in to one of relenting curiosity. “I mean…if that’s what you’re into. My motto is ‘Try Everything Twice” after all.”
You turn and flee. You do not know where you are running to, but you imagine you will never escape the dark memory of this place. No, the shining, well-lubricated monstrosity you’ve witnessed today will forever be burned into your dreams. You will see him in your sleep, you know, until the day death takes you.