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The Naked Lunch - The Talking Asshole

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Published on Jun 23, 2013

Did I ever tell you about the man who taught his asshole to talk? His whole abdomen would move up and down, you dig, farting out the words. It was unlike anything I ever heard. It was unlike anything I ever heard. A bubbly, thick stagnant sound... a sound you could smell.

This man worked for a carnival you dig, and to start with it was like a novelty ventriloquist act. After a while the ass start talking on its own. He would go in without anything prepared and his ass would ad-lib and toss the gags back at him every time.

Then it developed sort of teeth-like little raspy in-curving hooks and started eating. He thought this was cute at first and built an act around it, but the asshole would eat its way through his pants and start talking on the street, shouting out it wanted equal rights. It would get drunk, too, and have crying jags nobody loved it and it wanted to be kissed same as any other mouth. Finally it talked all the time day and night, you could hear him for blocks screaming at it to shut up, and beating it with his fists, and sticking candles up it, but nothing did any good and the asshole said to him: "It's you who will shut up in the end. Not me. Because we dont need you around here any more. I can talk and eat and shit."

After that he began waking up in the morning with a transparent jelly like a tadpole's tail all over his mouth. He would tear it off his mouth and the pieces would stick to his hands like burning gasoline jelly and grow there. So finally his mouth sealed over, and the whole head would have have amputated spontaneously except for the eyes, you dig? Thats one thing the asshole couldn't do was see. It needed the eyes.

But nerve connections were blocked and infiltrated and atrophied so the brain couldn't give orders any more. It was trapped inside the skull, sealed off. For a while you could see the silent, helpless suffering of the brain behind the eyes, then finally the brain must have died, because the eyes went out, and there was no more feeling in them than a crab's eyes on the end of a stalk.

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