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He has a mouth in his gut. An obnoxious, toothy, foul-mouthed, pig of a mouth. Luckily, his girlfriend doesn't seem to mind. Marie, the one-legged stripper and cyber-prostitute love of his life is very accepting of it. And then a little too accepting. What would you do if your girlfriend cheated on you with the voracious yapper under your belly button? If you live in Gutmouth's world-a bleak city where gruesome, spontaneous mutations are no big deal, klepto-roaches take anything not tied-down, drugs turn pain into pleasure, consumers are tortured for growing food, and your best friend is a misogynistic rat-man-you might do something crazy. And what if you got caught?
then sat by the window to kill the two hours before the meeting with Screw. As I watched the vacant street below, my mind played short movies of Marie’s death. From decapitation at the hands of a skilled blind samurai from an old movie to a gruesome end at the ravenous mouths of a pack of hairless wolves that Tony kept for special occasions, each end my imagination conjured for Marie was enacted inside my head in all its gory glory. With each one came the elation one feels when a dream is about
out what he was saying. “… you scumbags breaking everything! Yesterday some asshole decided to try to gnaw his way out of here. You know how long it took me to grow enough tissue to cover the hole? I had to patch it up and then stick around in case the biowall rejected it!” The man’s gelatinous jowls shook as he spoke. The violent head movements triggered a release of silvery scales from his bald dome. The ferret started screaming at the man, telling him to stick the screwdriver up my ass. I
going at this dude’s back.” “Sure thing,” I replied. Tony slapped the guy’s bloody ass and promised to be right back with a wink. We stepped out into the hallway and I told him all that had gone down between Marie and Philippe. I asked for his help and told Tony to feel free to say no as Screw had already done so and the least thing I wanted was to have him lose his job. Tony listened intently, nodding once in a while and shaking his head a few times. His massive, hairy chest puffed out and
corridor with bad lighting stretched in front of us. We began walking again and soon came to a cell. I realized this was the place they used to hold the prisoners that awaited torture. The guy in the first cell was naked and curled up on the bare concrete floor with his back toward the door. His exposed spine seemed to be painted like a child’s xylophone. The second cell contained a willowy woman with long blonde hair, a tattered green dress and a considerable skin flap hanging from her bloody
suicide. I stopped taking it the same day yellow-brown shit started leaking out of the hole. I stuffed the hole with gauze and covered it with duct tape, but it became bigger and then stopped hurting and oozing stinky stuff. The fact that the entire area went numb was as much of a relief as it was a worry. Procrastinating and not making an appointment with a Health Provider was about to turn into a life-changing experience. When the whole mess started caving in, I decided to sit and wait for