I’m trying to decide who to be. My floor is littered with faces I have torn from magazines. Most of these people are thin. It will be fun being a blade, being clear-skinned with thick hair. When I was Angelica, things got out of hand. I am naïve and too easily flattered, even when it’s all make believe, lies and come-on’s. Still I met him at the bar. Actually I’d been waiting an hour earlier than scheduled. He was fatter and hairier than his internet photos, but otherwise the same guy. He must have had an ear zit because he kept digging his finger in the canal and wincing. He kept looking around for me, looked right at me and onto the next one. That’s because he’d never seen the real me, the chubby chick was small boobs.

I paid the waitress a Lincoln to give him a note I’d written on the napkin, then dashed to the restroom. A hot Latina was applying lipstick. She nearly threw up when I screamed at her to get out.

I hit the light switch. My heart was hurdling. I felt as bloated as an unshorn sheep. He knocked first as I’d indicated. The door swept open. I pushed him against it. His mouth tasted like a fireplace, his tongue felt pasty. When he pushed me off and wiped his lips across the back of his hand, I should have run. Fire lit his pupils. He slapped me side-armed, nearly flinging me off my feet. I don’t know he could see me so well in the dark, but I guess even blind men would figure out a way to learn how ugly am I am.

On the internet, I had a stable of men. Stable. I like the sound of that. Drop the “t.” Sable. That’ll be my new name. I’ll use this picture of the brunette with the mink around her neck, the one with cobras for lips.

My goal this time around is to get each guy to fall hard. Then I’m going to cut their hearts out with a rusty knife, one by one. I want to see them beg and kneel on their Skype screens. I want to hear them squeal like piglets, which they’ll do, I’m sure of it. Oh, this is going to be fun, better than any bathroom kiss.

"Bathroom Kiss"

Copyright: © 2011 Len Kuntz

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In her spare time, she teaches the parrot Chinese - how to speak it and how to write the glyphs by dipping its claw tips into a dim sum bowl of ink, then scratching on the newspapers lining its cage.
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She moves onto rhinos. She teaches one how to hula hoop the lid of an oil drum that has been reconstructed to look like a lopsided O.
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Teaching the cheetahs to roller skate is a breeze. They’re brazen creatures, showoffs, doing figure eights and shuttling backwards blindfolded.
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The hardest thing to do is to get the snake to stand up straight. He keeps eyeing her with contempt, its wide nostrils flaring, looking just like her husband.

"Snake Eyes"
Copyright: © 2010 Len Kuntz
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