WHEN I WAS A PROSPECT THEY KICKED MY ASS just to kick my ass. Fatso laid it on me one night so soft I thought these guys are fairies, he don't even hit that hard for someone with such an ugly face. I began to get it. Tenderizing meat. The rest of the crew start upping the pitch a little now with shouts of Wild, man! and Fuckimup! They're drunk with someone else's blood, some of them want in on it but Fatso lays in on them and I see he's protecting me. You know it: 'cause he wanted every ounce of me for his very own. Pain screamed. Wouldn't shut up. He built me up slow enough so there was no edge for the adrenaline to take purchase and cool my pain out like morphine. It was pure, sensitive nerves in a grip like iron monkey paw. Turn it off! I found myself yelling. He couldn't let up. My eyes couldn't see because my fat brow got in the way. I hated him. Because he was fat and sad and smelled bad. Because he was giving me the whipping of a lifetime. Because he was going to let me live.