Beauty and the Beat

Of the things I shouldn’t see, this is a low vote, hanging score, because I’ve watched men ejaculating into milk bottles which I thought were museum relics we’d soon admire. Once, a promised laugh meant pegged balls and suspenders. You’re lucky the visual you have is imagined; like an unreleased film, replay’s less likely.

So this, I’ll forget by 2015, quicker than the rim of Ben’s mouth, the pockets of John’s duffel, webs of Timothy’s toes. Sooner than Justin Beiber’s forgotten; his is a ‘fake your own footage stolen’ fade that’ll pain a girl less until 2080.