Mark's lower colon tightened like he was Robert Young in the role of Dr. Marcus Welby with Consuelo at the reception desk & Dr. Steve Kiley on his trusty motorcycle riding in smooth & steady to assist the senior doctor. Mark's wife, Betty, was a wizened hag with nose-warts & bow-legs. She was from Italy and she was very unattractive. Mark hated her a lot and wanted to commit uxoricide which means wife-killing. If only he could get Betty on a look-out at the Grand Canyon – he could push her sorry *** over & get together with his true heart's desire – the mail man who was really a woman with a keen ****** & everything. Oh, the mail man's ****** must be the greatest one in the world! Mark would get so excited thinking about it – adding a second storey to it, plumbing it for a luxurious bathroom, papering it with exotic prints of naked Sumatran women with brown ******* – oh yes – he could do it if only Betty were not living anymore – lost in the Grand Canyon – eaten by giraffes. Betty's sister was **** too – mail man **** – and Mark wanted to hug & kiss her ****** forever along with the mail man. They could take turns. Anyway, dreaming will get you nowhere as it's actions that matter a million times more than Negroes do that's for sure. Betty pushed her ****** along the breeze-way, tired & sickly. Her knees were discolored from rug-burn. She missed Mark's loving vaginal attentiveness & she was very sorry for being from Italy. She dreamed of the mail man who was a woman and the icy-hearted lesbianism that makes America better than Toronto. Lovingly she removed her last ******. “If only Mark could see it,” she whispered into her ******. “He loved to pet you when we were alone with my sister sitting on the couch, eating hand-dipped ice cream cones covered in latex paint. Oh why did Ricky Nelson have to die? Why couldn't he have lived long enough to see Obama in a Texaco men's room whispering sweet-nothings to the ghost of Oscar Wilde?”