cereal killer

Anton Chigurh

My New Pink Button

It’s a scenario every man dreads: You meet a nice girl at a bar. You share drinks, biographies and head-tilt gazes. Confident that your respective inhibitions are sufficiently muted, you both decamp for your place. Once there you waste no time undressing her while kissing her neck . . . her chest . . . her sto—AND THEN YOU NOTICE HER LABIA ARE A STRANGE COLOR. Mood ruined, you sit on the end of the bed and wait for her to take the hint and leave, horrifically hued genitals in tow.
Neil Janowitz

Seriously folks, painting your fun bits? What will they think of next?

Manniquins

Cold and perfect.
trading artificial beauty
for flesh bound life.

Max Sauco