Wolsamnoraa's Blog

I learned how to read just like you.  Except not like you at all.  You prick; you think you’re better than me?  When I see the word “big”, I think of bestial anatomy.  When I hear the word “skipper”, I cringe.  Reading is a chore.  A sexy chore of disgusting images and male on male intercourse.

My story starts when I was a young lad.  My parents abandoned me and left me to die in a pie shop.  They knew I hated pie.  I made an immaculate escape.  It was daring and spectacular and that’s all I’m going to say about that here.  This story is about what happened next.  I was rummaging through a dumpster one night after my escape looking for a cat to eat.  All of a sudden I was rescued by a maiden.  She was tall and her Adam’s apple was poking through her skirt.  Her vibrant voice startled the cat and I got mad.  She asked me what I was doing.  When I told her that I was a lone ranger with no one to love, she grabbed my neck nape and kissed my lips.  The cat came back and we ate.

I knew that I could trust her because she was tall.  She took me to her house.  It was the whoryist house in the whole neighborhood.  There were all sorts of skank-ass hos and their Johns.  There were pizza boxes and pimps; recycled newspapers bins and crab shells; dogs and sweat pants.  The lady who found me told me she would raise me as her own and teach me how to read.  She then kissed me again and punched me in the gut with her fist.  The next day she taught me reading.

She said the only way to learn is to envision the words.  She taught me to think of an image each time I saw a letter so I could remember the sound.  She said that I could break down the words into letters and remember whole words by imagining the words that each letter represented to me.  Normally, this strategy might have worked, but I was in a whore house.  The only words for letters I could think of were the perverse images I witnessed.  Take the word “duck”: D is for the DEA, U is for uterus (I actually had one like as a pet rock), C is for big, gigantic, black c*ck (modifiers were another one of her lessons) and, K was for kiddie porn (I was also a movie star).  When I put it all together it looks like Ving Rhames dressed as a cop ripping the uterus out of an old hag watching me on VHS.  Far from an actual duck.

I am grateful I learned to read.  I despise that it was at the expense of my innocence.  Now where did I put that calico kitten?  I’m about to have me some dinner.  Let me know if you want me to spell out some other words for you.