The Being, a fetid mud accreted between the wrinkled, greasy labia of Michael's mother's ruffled and decomposing pussy, like a slimy, pea-colored mayonnaise slathered onto a rumpled and weathered ham sandwich half-crammed into an agape and threadbare mauve sock, "mutilates and decapitates".
The Being batters hapless victims with his enormous and crooked poisonous erection, at the end of which is a flaking, mildewed toenail. The bludgeoned are then subsumed into his man-eating scrotal sac. This menacing fanged nut-purse then balloons with digestive fluids, and victim's remains are excreted in The Being's swampy, bone-filled urine. In one upsetting scene, an entire intact rhinoceros cranial structure emerges from his warped, over-elongated frankfurter, which then explodes, disrupting the chronology of the narrative.
Now in diachronic disarray, The Being leaps senselessly from scene to scene, forcing the viewer to stitch the non-contiguous fable back together. It turns out The Being has fashioned an even deadlier reproductive member utilizing elements of his victim's pets. But this gnarled and knuckled ad hoc monster-sausage turns on The Being himself.
Constant, non-stop lightning subtly establishes the momentousness of the final scene, which takes place on a bright sunny Easter Sunday night. Beneath a thunderous clear blue sky The Being's murderous Frankenwang confronts a loyal testes-bag.
Preposterously disgusting, provocatively absurd--Jackie Kong, you've done it again, you bloodthirsty anus.
Ben Ford is ad hoc monster sausage who also hosts his own blog, TorturedEnglish.blogspot.com. Hi, Pat!
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