Brown Bordellos

To Typhoid Mary. In hopes that she poisoned a great deal of the upper echelon of America with her shit and spittle. I've got enough pent up rage to become a surgeon. To revel in piece-mealing and the art of butchery. Nothing I could kill would satisfy. The loss I'm mourning is time wasted. Something I've learned. The more duckets in one's pocket makes the poor easier to forget. Take heed. They remember you. Tanning hard in third world countries, visiting brown bordellos, or their thin, surgically altered wives eating the scabs off the gardner's cock.