Lonely November Testicles

Contributor: Edward T. Keller

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Whenever I decide to take a flight over the city with the gray pigeons I get undressed and crouch on the windowsill, the wind tickling my sagging genitalia, the cars and pedestrians below fondling my nipples. Or is it me doing that?

But every time I do this, the bosomy, sturdy lady that inhabits an apartment right across the street plops a leg on her windowsill and starts shaving it with elaborate queenly movements. She meets my gaze and smiles an oily smile, making me want to tremble and gnaw on things.

Today it started to rain. Cats, dogs and hedgehogs splattered on pavements and car roofs, bringing down old ladies and the cats and dogs that were on the street at the time. I saw a cat fall on a cat and kill it.

The lady in the window across the street yelped and her leg also fell downwards. She must have cut herself while shaving.

The plump leg fell for eternity, ripples running through the cellulite in direction opposite to the fall. Then it landed on another walking leg and killed it.

Then a granny fell from a lower window and fell on another granny, smashing through her umbrella and killing her stone dead.

The sky was now clouded over; the temperatures fell and my balls shriveled up.

Alas, my pigeon friends, this could only mean that November is just around the corner.

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