Oh! The brooding skinniness of the knees through frayed black denim, the peek-a-boo playfulness of the fray-spiders and thin black hair, daring me to imagine the hair of your dainty pubis. Delicate, I say! Delicate and horny and devilish, bone and bounce; suck on my neck and leave a misguided hickey. Pilfer through that ashtray and find a smokeable butt. Sit cross-legged in the basement and tell me what you know about Randy Rhoads, and how you plan to fix the broken down motorcycle in the front yard if you ever get the cash, and that time you and a buddy went skinny-dipping with these two chicks. Steal money from your mom’s purse and take me to Burger King. Tell me I can order onion rings, it’s all I need! Don’t listen when I say the Black Album was the best Metallica ever recorded; it’s Master of Puppets that’s the opus. Teach me, Baby. Oh, the worldliness! Oh, the strife! Find my balcony and pee from it in the middle of the night, and then cry on my plaid couch until you pass out. You chose my apartment. And oh, the strippers! I can punch a hole in the bathroom door, too. I can throw a remote control at your head, too. I can show you jealousy, too. Fuck you, Cunt! Oh, fuck you! Absolutes are the way, I see that now. You’ve given me the words never have and never will. No GED for me. No GED for you. Free and easy for the rest of our days. Take me to the all you can eat prime rib place off the highway; the fancy one decorated with red plastic grapes and lattice. I’ll wear my maroon jeans and my real leather penny loafers, and you’ll shower and comb over your frizzy bangs, ready to down eleven steaks and three pitchers of Miller Genuine Draft. Oh, the DUIs! Oh, Shania Twain’s hot ass! Oh, the baby oil in lieu of KY! Mommy’s a stupid bitch just like me. And you’re a prick, just like Daddy.