Cunt spews out blood

Cruising around the supermarket. Searching for a potential victim. Looking for my aging beauty. Now I think I've finally found her. My centerfold with silver hair. Longing for her varicose veins.

A former waitress finds a new line of work when the restaurant closes down! It was a cold and rainy night in April and she was tucked as far back into the deep doorway of the older, brick office building as she could get, trying to get out of the wind and rain. It was Friday night and the building was closed for the weekend. Despite people's desire to enjoy themselves on Friday night and forget the toils of the week, it was a bad night to look for customers. In reality, business hadn't been "good" in some time. Between the wet, miserable thirty five degree weather, and the fact that the economy in Cleveland was about as bad as anyone had ever seen it, there wasn't a lot of opportunities for a "working girl" these days. Unfortunately, Vivian Ryder wasn't running over with options.

As the door closes, we are enveloped in darkness. You fall into my arms and our mouths are joined. Your tongue hungrily searches for mine. My hands, under your jacket, are warmed by the heat of your skin which radiates from beneath the fabric of your shirt. As my hands travel up your sides, I feel the soft, pliant fullness of your breasts.

But these mysterious punk rock vigilantes from New Philadelphia, PA are quite literally more than a band. There is castration here. Yet nothing about its violence feels excessive. The lyrics rain down vivid torture on male predators. The title exemplifies this: does it insult God, or does it reveal her embodiment as a transcendent vagina?