Damn Yankees

"Are you ready to perceive true reality?" Scratch and Lola stereophonically asked Joe.

Joe nodded, "Yes, mistress/master."

"Worm, you can't handle the truth, But here it comes," Scratch said.

Lola began to post up and down on Joe's throbbing shaft as though it were a stallion sent to bear her back to the Underworld.

"Flow into each other," Scratch/ Lombardi yelled into the megaphone. "Become one being. On my count. Sixty-nine, Six, Six, Six. Omaha. There is no 'I' in team" yelled the apoplectic Lombardi-thing.

"Behold my mighty hand," the Hall of Fame pseudo-coach said, as he held up the reverse neurolyzer like Moses parting the Red Sea.

Joe knew that he would soon see the true visage of Lola nee Charlotte Dubray, once the ugliest woman in Providence, Rhode Island and now the soulmate of one Joe Boyd, the rapidly dissolving unemployed steel worker and fledgling staff incubus at the Visitors' Center in Hell, Michigan.

As Lola faded into Charlotte, Joe clearly saw all her blemishes and other bodily features that some might call ugly: her harelip, her handlebar mustache, the cellulite that covered every square inch of her skin, not to mention the burn scars, her drooping supernumerary eye, and vestigial legs running up and down her back. But none of these mattered to Joe, she could be a Trump-anointed and Trump-groped Miss Teen USA contestant, for all Joe cared about her so-called blemishes.

The Lombardi-thing screamed once more and Joe let his individual identity begin to dissolve and merge with Charlotte's. Her body, with all its flaws, glowed and was the most beautiful thing Joe had ever seen.

She bore at least twenty G-cup breasts and a like number of dripping cunts, each sucking the air in search of a thrusting cock or a desperate tongue. Her eight eyes were the beautiful obsidian eyes of a gigantic spider. Joe was transfixed by his multiple reflections in those abysmal orbs. His own body became that of a mimic octopus, nature's consummate shapeshifter. He grew a seeming infinity of throbbing tentacles, each of them a cock or a hungry, hungry tongue. Soon they were all inserted in Charlotte's orifices, and began to pound their way in and out of her desperate being. Soon their sexual fervor crescendoed, and Joe began to lose his own separate identity, as Charlotte's fangs penetrated his body and her palps held him down on the bed. She regurgitated her digestive enzymes all over his body, and he could feel himself dissolving as he was sucked into Charlotte's body. In his last act of conscious perception, he looked through Charlotte's eyes at the web she had just spun, and saw eight images of a very simple and perhaps predictable message:

"SOME PORK!"

Joe couldn't argue with that.

AWAKENING

Joe's heart was still pounding as he awoke beside Meg's sleeping form. He spooned himself against her familiar body. Perhaps he would not check out Hell, Michigan after all.

NOTE

*Hell, Michigan is an actual place.