Renfield's Twist

She was an unrepentant nine on the scale from nun to gangster’s moll, and her legs didn’t seem to spread so much as they sprawled.  She raised ructions without her bottle of bourbon and regularly treated me as her beast of burden.

My cards didn’t flop so much as they folded after I found I had been serially cuckolded – I vowed to see the marriage through to the end before I realized she had fornicated with most of my friends.

This beauty once so petite was now quite gluttonous with swollen feet – her love for food and booze was exceeded only by her fondness for my mouth organ, the only instrument in my possession ever touching the lips of this now considerable Gorgon.

My salvation came in the form of that Kansas City geek – an English freak that happily bit the heads off of rats and devoured live chickens’ feet.  A mere carnival distraction and yet the beginning of an undeniable attraction – her lazy and sinful ways accommodated his eccentricities and affinity for flies with mayonnaise.

Soulmates no doubt, as her girth and reliable gout made her a candidate for the big top in a dual show billed as Renfield and the Fat Lady with a Harmonica and a Trough Full of Slop.