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King Kincaid, the Assman, and His Mutt before/after So nothing is set, and nothing is certain. I just wish I could pull my head out of my ass long enough to taste the alpine air. I mentioned my plight to the good Doctor, and this is what he had to say. Knew a fella once, by the name of Jim Kincaid.� Contortionist.� Spent his whole life bending in obscene positions.� People paid him a quarter to peek in his tent, and made a killing at the evening freak shows, along with the bearded lady and the siamese twins, who, according to the bearded lady, were supposedly hung like a horse, bye-the-bye, isn't it wonderful, that balancing act of karma...giving� two men a mishappen deformity like that, and then giving them equipment that would make Geronimo jealous, he was supposedly equipped to legendary proportions, but I digress. Jim was a narccissist, but he didn't realize it.� Its worth noting that this is legendary denial, as how many days in a row can a man spend trying to sniff the crack of his own ass, and upon achieving this feat, count it as a success. He was a natural freak, as they say, and spent most of his free time blowing himself.� Night or noon, everyone knew best to knock before entering his trailer, which is sound common advice prior to entering any freaks trailer, so as not to be party to a veiwing of such loathsome fare. Rarely, but every-so-often, in the big cities the circus traveled to a couple of butchy looking skag queers would pitch in a buck or two, just to watch. One time, the circus was in Austin, Texas, and he performed his after hours self-fellating act for a house full of fraternity boys.� The beating they gave him was severe. He was a proud man, patient with his looks, but proud, and he could not handle the difiguring scars given him.� Horrible scars on the face and the neck, crudely hacked there with a broken bottle of beer. So to save himself the pain, he stuck his head up his ass wherever he went.� Walking about with one's cranium stuffed in one's own rectum has its advantages and disadvantages. Certainly no one saw the scars.� He kept those scars hid good. And people would point and stare.� He gave out autographs as he walked to the store to buy a pack of ciggarrettes. But he had trouble walking, not being able to see where he was going. Outside of Dallas, he bilked a blind man out of his canine, and the dog led him wherever he went.� The pair were quite a sight.� "Here they come," they would say, "King Kincaid the Assman and his mutt."� as Jim and his hulking german shepard would walk idly by, strutting. He became a cult figure of sorts.� T-shirts and all.� Got interviewed on late-night television, such as it was.� The producer cut the segment quickly when they realized he couldn't answer the questions. His cause d' celebre had became his albatross. He never pulled his head out of his lower sphincter anymore.� And all the joys of life passed him by. Eventually, after years had passed, he finally pulled his head out of his ass to reveal a new man. Over the time spent in his humid chamber, the scars had slowly healed.� He was healed and whole. He was renewed in spirit.� He never put his head in his ass again. However, they still knocked whenever they went into his trailer. The point is:� either enjoy it while its in there, or pull it out and enjoy.� Regardless, enjoy. �
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