Kirby Mosher was looking at the mouth of a starfish. Through a looking glass that had once belonged to his Aunt Emily before she had passed away while rocking in her favorite early-American rocking chair.
The rocking chair was very expensive and very well made. Said to have belonged to Jefferson Davis' nephew-in-law before the carpetbaggers stole the fucking thing from him. But after much searching, later, the Davis family had recovered the rocker intact – except where some of the vandals had shaved off parts of the arm.
But three score and seven years later, it had ended up in the hands of Emily Davis, Kirby Mosher's very old and very rich aunt.
People had considered Emily to be very old because even her toes looked varicosed and because she was very senile. Like she always tried to make collect calls to Richmond, Virginia asking for a Mister Jefferson Davis.
But Aunt Emily's death only proved how well-built the old rocker was. If people so much as breathed on that old Confederate chair, it would rock and rock and rock. Like a lullabye. Like the ages.
Old Emily had simply died of old age while rocking in her chair, her carcass rocking back and forth, back and forth with each passing breeze.
And the first person to notice that she was dead was Kirby.
He had wandered over to see his aunt to use her phone. And since he used her phone every day, it was a week before it dawned on him that his Aunt Emily had not pestered him into making those long-distance collect calls to Richmond to talk to her famous uncle about what he was going to do about Sherman and his march to the sea.
At first Kirby was scared when he put his hand on her forehead, and the graying head of the carcass simply wouldn't budge.
Then he was embarrassed 'cause he had pissed in his pants. Because he had knelt down and looked at Aunt Emily. And the sight of Aunt Emily's eyes was simply ghastly.
And the rest of her wasn't too decent for public view either.
So Kirby knew she was dead. And he used her phone one last time to call the funeral parlor.
And it was almost two weeks before Aunt Emily's corpse could be laid to rest.
Then came the mortician's bill.
Christ! Seven thousand dollars.
Mr. Grimsly of the Happy Trails Funeral Home had solemnly explained to Kirby that his aunt's rigor was very mortis and that it had required putting the old lady into a coffin in the shape of a rocking chair instead of the normal four-thousand dollar, buried-in-a-box special.
So Kirby had reluctantly paid the bill. Well, it wasn't so much reluctance as it was niggardliness. Because it was the first time that so much money had flowed through his hands.
Shit, he hadn't known how rich Aunt Emily was. Christ, the rocker alone was worth a couple of thou. And the first stock certificates ever issued by Ford and General Electric and Lowry Organs weren't anything to laugh at.
But Kirby laughed.
Laughed because he had been a poor lazy son of a bitch all his life and now he was the wealthiest soul in Weedley. Well, that was debatable because some people still considered the Rathers to be A-1 in the number of greenbacks.
So, now that Aunt Emily was laid to rest, or rather sat to rest, Kirby relaxed in the rocker in his new home.
Of course, Kirby's new home wasn't exactly new. It had once belonged to Wendell Rathers before Ramona had urged her husband to build the Rathers Estate in the Belvedere section of Weedley because she needed about twenty-thousand square feet to do her yoga lessons.
So, Kirby was sitting comfortably in his two-hundred-thousand-dollar home, rocking in a rocking chair worth a couple of thou, watching his ninety-nine-dollar TV set with a ten-inch screen.
The reason he owned a ninety-nine-dollar TV set with a ten-inch screen was because Eula Peters, the famous interior decorator, had not returned from San Diego with the latest in modern decor and up-to-date appliances to fill out his thirty-room house.
So he sat in his dead aunt's rocker with a can of Hamm's casually switching channels with his toes. Kirby was very good at switching stations with his toes because he was a lazy asshole who worked hard at being lazy.
Which was a very easy thing for Kirby to do. Consider the fact that he could also pop the tops off Hamm's beer cans with his toes. And also the astounding fact that he could hold the can in a tilted position between the arches of his feet and guzzle the beer from a reclining position.
Which left his hands free to do other things. Like scratch at the crabs that infested his balls. Or pick the lint from his navel. Or scratch his left earlobe, the one that had runny earwax drooping from it like an earring.
Yeah, he was a lazy motherfucker. But that was probably because his mother was a lazy whore who didn't give a shit who fucked her cunt as long as they left a big tip so she wouldn't have to work at decent jobs like being a waitress at the Deserted Inn, or be a wrench inspector for the Rathers Wrench Company, or be unemployed like her ex-husbands.
Mother's name was Madeline Mosher. And since she was Kirby's mommy, she was older than Kirby. Like twenty-eight years older than her lazy asshole of a son.
Half the people in Weedley called Madeline Mosher "Maddy" for short. The other half called Madeline Mosher "that lazy asshole bitch" for long.
But neither the long or the short bothered Madeline. She was quite content being known as Maddy, or that lazy asshole bitch. Mainly because she didn't give a shit. About anything. Except the tips her customers left her after she had fucked their cocks high and dry.
Yeah, Madeline was a very lazy bitch. So, it was only natural that her only living baby was strong enough to avoid the quack doctor's coat hanger and weak enough to be a lazy asshole.
Thus, Kirby grew up in a lazy household. A household where dirty dishes were reused, and yesterday's leftovers were simply mingled in with that night's dinner. A house where guests and home-owner used the same towels and toilet paper. A house where the occupants were always on their asses and used their toes to grab whatever their fat bodies craved – like Oreo cookies, or Camel cigarettes, or some Certs, or some toothpicks.
And that's why Kirby was in the midst of guzzling his Hamm's while holding the can with his feet. And while he was lazily drinking his beer, he was astounded by what he saw on the TV set.
A set of tits.
A very big set of tits.
And then he heard a very familiar voice. And the familiar voice was saying: "…now, in order to check for those bumps or warts that may be cancerous, please do as I am doing. Lift your tit up. That's right, girls. Now, press against the base of your tit. Does it feel lumpy, like your tit was made out of Polish sausage? Or does it feel like my tit? Very warm and soft, yet very firm and smooth."
Kirby belched, the Hamm's foaming in his mouth.
That was Ramona Rathers' voice! And that had to be her tits!
Kirby gasped as he watched a pair of carmine-finger nailed hands massage those huge titties that filled his ten-inch screen.
Then Kirby was pissed. Shit, no decent woman should ever show her tits on TV. Balls o'fire! His mother may have been the laziest asshole bitch in town, but she still had enough energy to put her clothes on in front of him.
Christ! Who did that woman think she was? The tit empress of Weedley? Balls! Her stilt stunk just like everybody else's! Just because she was the richest bitch in Weedley didn't give her any right to expose her titties to the whole community.
Then Kirby leaned back in his easy chair and scratched his erect cock with his hands.
And it was about that time that Eula Peters came in, followed by a lot of men in white.
Kirby nearly stilt in his pants when he saw those men in white because they had solemn expressions on their faces and looked strong enough to lift him and the early-American rocker to the nearest asylum.
"W-What do they want, Eula?"
Eula smiled. "Oh, they're just the Bekins guys. I just purchased all the necessary items in San Diego that'll make this place look… look like… well, hell – it'll look almost as good as the Rathers mansion."
Eula showed the men where to unload the furniture. And since Kirby was such a lazy asshole, the strong-armed Bekins guys carted him and the rocker to one side of the room while they brought in a piano in the shape of a manta ray, a couch with armrests and cushions made of sharkskin, oyster-shell ashtrays, paintings of Dover Beach, and little starfish knick-knacks that were nailed into the ocean-blue walls.
Kirby was amazed. And flabbergasted. He had hired Eula Peters to redecorate his home in a style befitting his personality.
But he wasn't any Goddamn fish or beached whale!
Jesus! He had paid Eula Peters, world-famous interior decorator, to make his home fashionable to his taste. But what she had envisioned for his taste was an aquarium instead of Early American.
What the fuck was all this? Sea World? Charlie Tuna's castle? Moby Dick's rumpus room?
"What the fuck is all this?! Iwanna live in a home!Not A fucking fish-bowl!"
Eula got angry. Rich people knew when she was angry because her stiletto heels would make little woodpecker holes in their rugs. And she would flick her cigar ashes all over their furniture.
But this time Eula was super-pissed because she was drilling dynamite-sized holes into the sea-green rug and fucking hot ashes on the sharkskin couch.
Christ! For ten thousand dollars, what the fuck did he want? A round chair with a square cushion? A desk that had a bunch of erotic gadgets on it?
"What the fuck did you expect for ten thousand dollars, Mr. Mosher?"
"A home! Christ, this place even smells like seaweed!"
"Don't mind the smell. That's only the mussel and barnacle odor that's on the starfish knick knacks."
"What!? Oh, Jesus Christ!"
"Look, Mr. Mosher, I'm America's best interior decorator. You were a very particular problem for me. In fact, I'm thinking of charging you twenty grand for this job."
"Bullshit! That's a bunch of bullshit! You're just taking advantage of me because I'm a lazy asshole who don't know nothing about the finery of life!"
"Well, I can't argue with that, Mr. Mosher. I know you don't know a damn thing about sophisticated luxury."
Kirby fumed, put on his shoes so that he could walk across the sea-green rug that was seven inches tall in some places and flat as a board in others. He huffed and puffed over the ocean of wavy rug.
"Sophisticated luxury, huh? Is that what you call this fucking aquarium? Christ, I feel like I'm drowning in salt water! Jesus!"
Eula shook her head. Couldn't believe that an idiot – granted a rich idiot – would not understand the color combinations and the complementary accessories of her creation that she called: Ocean Indigo.
Shit, it had taken her three months to come up with this original design. Days turning pages of the TV Guide to find out when the next Jacques Cousteau special was on. Hours talking to sailors and old salts and ancient mariners in San Diego where she had picked up the necessary information to create Ocean Indigo.
With a series of taps against the oceanic rug, Eula breathed in heavily, they exhaled her anger: "Just what is it you want, Mr. Mosher? Something that truly expresses what you are? Something like a Lazy Susan for a couch? Or how about a couple of stuffed dead hobos for doorstops! Because if I truly designed something befitting you, Mr. Mosher, I would have to call it Early Lazy Asshole!"
Kirby was stunned.
Jesus! It was the first time that somebody had actually come out and declared him to be a lazy asshole. Which didn't seem fair to him, especially when he feared that others knew he was a lazy asshole.
Kirby sat down on the sharkskin couch. "But why," he asked in a repentant tone of voice, "did you design this?" Eula watched Kirby's arm as he pointed to everything around him.
"Because I love the ocean, Mr. Mosher. Because I like to fish. And to eat fish. Fishing is peaceful and relaxing. The ocean's peaceful and relaxing. The smell of brine and barnacles and…"
"Just a second," Kirby interrupted. "That's everything you like. What about me? Ain't I supposed to like something too?"
"Well, of course, Mr. Mosher. What do you like most of all?"
"Well… uh, nobody's every really asked me what I like most of all. That's kind of a general question, don't you think?"
"That's why I designed Ocean Indigo. Because you're like most men. You don't know what you like. So I made up your mind for you."
Kirby shook his head, anger making him want to wring Eula Peters' neck with his feet, but confusion helped contain his urge to put his foot in her mouth. "Well, I don't like it! It stinks. Like fish. I don't like…"
"Then tell me what you do like, Mr. Mosher. I bet you you're such an indecisive creature, that you don't know what you do like and what you hate and what you love…"
"That's a lie!"
"That's the truth!"
"A lie!"
"The truth!"
"All right, God damn it! I'll tell you what I like!"
"Tell me!"
"I'd like to fuck your cunt! I'd like to cram my cock into your fucking mouth! I'd like to ram my prick into your ass until it comes out of your fucking ears! I'd like to shove these barnacles and mussels and starfish into your pussy 'cause you said you like fish so fucking much! There! How's that for licking something? Huh? How 'bout it, fish-lover? Whatta ya say to all that?"
God, what could she say to all that?
No man had ever propositioned her quite like that before.
God, there was something so macho about the way he said he'd like to cram his cock into her mouth and cunt and shove spiny things into her asshole 'cause she liked fish so much!
Eula looked embarrassed and red, as red as the clingy dress she wore that clung to her tits and hips like Saran Wrap. Then she could tell her dress was clinging like Saran Wrap because of the way Kirby was looking at her taut tits and tauter hips.
He had that look of a he-man, hungry for pussy. Desire was in his eyes. Passion in his breath. Ecstasy in his expression.
God! No man had ever propositioned her so crudely before and looked at her so crudely before. Like he looked very capable of shoving his cock in her three holes – no, not at the same time, but at different intervals… and without coming.
Eula started to back away from Kirby.
Kirby kept advancing.
Kirby had changed. It was a slow metamorphosis. Like a butterfly coming out of a cocoon. But it had all happened so fast. As if his transition were taking place on super-fast film.
Kirby knew why he was changing. He had not fucked a woman in three weeks. And, in the last three weeks, he had been so caught up with being a rich man and redecorating his home and getting settled into his role as a wealthy man that he had not had the time for fucking or sucking or beating or jacking.
And now, Eula, to his desirous eyes, looked very good. Very ravishing. Like bait for Jaws.
He tried to imagine what her tits would look like as he trapped her in the corner of the room where the whale-patterned wallpaper met the porpoise patterned wallpaper.
And all Kirby could see were her tits. Tits that looked very firm and proud as they made crinkly mountains of Eula's red crepe dress.
Eula tried smiling. "Now, surely, Mr. Mosher, you don't think I'd fall for an old line like that… do you? Huh?"
Kirby nodded, ready to spring to his right if she dodged to her left. "Fucking-A right! I can tell you're one of them artsy-fartsy bitches who gets turned on by words like fuck and suck, cock and cunt."
Eula retried smiling. God, how did he know? How could a crude lazy asshole like Kirby Mosher know that words like fuck and suck, cock and cunt, made pudding out of her pussy, made her tits scream to be unwrapped from the Saran.
"Oh, but you're absolutely wrong," Eula said fearfully, ready to jump to her right when Kirby lunged at her. She knew he was going to lunge because he looked like a water buffalo in heat, like a panther with his balls on fire, like a great white shark that ate pussies for dessert.
"Bulishit, Eula! I can tell you like fucking and sucking. Shit! Look at your tits! I betcha your tits are all hard and ready to be sucked. I betcha your pussy's just like pudding right now – ready for me to eat. I'll even betcha your asshole's tingling right now."
Eula cringed with desirous fear, or fearful desire. How did he know! How did that lazy asshole know that her tits were hard and hot, eager to be sucked?
How did he know that her pussy had made a gelatin-like mess of her sea-green bikini panties?
How did he know her asshole was tingling?
No, that wasn't true. Her asshole wasn't tingling. Her spine was tingling – an itchy twitchy feeling that ran along every vertebra, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and also the few hairs on her asshole.
Oh God! She wanted to be fucked so bad, yet she didn't want to be fucked so bad.
Shit, why did she have to be a woman and have to hold back all that wanting for cock? Why couldn't she be like other normal women who spread their housewife cunts for their husbands, or their boyfriends, or for the Roto Rooter man?
"Come on, Eula," Kirby snarled as his hands were within reach of her titties. "What's it gonna be? You want me to eat your cunt and stick my tongue into your asshole before I fuck your brains through your mouth? Or you want me to suck your titties while my cock's fucking your pussy?"
Eula cowered against the wallpaper porpoises.
What should she do?
What could she do?
Oh God! Decisions, choices, alternatives and options!
She decided to gasp. Because Kirby's hands were on her hot taut titties and he was feeling all those delightful things that he said her titties would become – suckable, edible, chewable.
"Oooooooohhhhhhh!" she gasped.
"See, you fucking smart-ass bitch! I knew you'd love it when I got my hands on your tits. Betcha can't wait for me to get my hand underneath this artsy-fartsy dress and fuck around with your cunt?"
Oh God! What to do: There was still time to run over to the whale-patterned wall and make her escape.
But… oh God, the feelings in her tits were driving her crazy. His hands were making her tits feel like Pillsbury buns warm and hot and edible.
Then his hand sneaked under her dress.
And Eula spread her thighs, stretched her sea-green panties so that he could feel how much cunt-juice was on the crotch.
"You fucking bitch! Jesus Christ! Your cunt's burning up!Feel that! Jesus Christ! Your clint feels like a fucking swamp!"
"Ooooooooohhhhhhhhhhh!" she gasped.
Kirby pinned Eula in the corner, his hands on her hips beneath the crinkly crepe dress, pulling down her sea-green bikini panties.
He held the frilly lace like a triangular gauze curtain between their faces. "Look at that shit on the crotch! Look at that! Christ! It's nearly black around the crotch while the other parts still look piss green!"
Eula nearly died.
Nobody had ever described her panties like that! Nobody had ever described how she felt so crudely. She couldn't believe the wonderful sensations that were running up and down her spine, making her asshole tingle as much as her neck.
The sea-green panties drifted to the ocean-blue rug.
The crinkly crepe dress was lifted higher and higher.
Crinkle. Crinkle. Crinkle.
And Kirby took a good look at her pussy.
"Motherfucker! Look at all that fucking juice coming out of your cunt!"
Eula didn't want to see how much juice was dripping out of her pussy. She didn't have to look because she could feel those rivers of pussy-juice coursing down her thighs to puddle like pudding on the sea-green panties that lay on the ocean-blue rug.
"Oooooohhhhhh! Godddddddd!"
"God ain't going to help you now, you bitch!" Kirby smirked as he lifted the red crepe dress.
Crinkle. Crinkle. Crinkle.
"Motherfucker! Look at your tits!Look at how fucking hard your nipples are!"
Eula shook her head. She didn't want to see how hot and hard her nipples were. She didn't want to see because she couldn't, even if she had wanted to see. Kirby had lifted the dress so that it had draped over her head and her ears were filled with the crinkle, crinkle, crinkle sound of her red crepe dress.
"Ooooooohhhhhhh, God!"
Kirby surveyed his handiwork. There was a lot to survey. Like the mountains that were her tits. And the slight chuckhole that was her navel. And the furry forest of her pubic hair. And the valley of her cunt.
He licked her hot nipple.
"Aaaiiieeee!" Eula said with muffled voice beneath the crinkly dress that was draped over her head.
He licked the other nipple.
"Aaaaaaiihiieeeeee!"
Crinkle. Crinkle. Crinkle.
Now Eula didn't have to try to hide because she was hidden. Her eager expression, her lips that drooled with the hunger of wanting to suck cock, her eyes that had wanted to see how big his prick was before she sucked it – all were hidden by the crinkly crepe dress as it tented like a parachute over her head.
Now she would not be betrayed. Now she could be fucked and sucked without showing him how much she wanted to be fucked and sucked. Typical woman.
"Oooooooohhhhhhh!"
Kirby smacked his lips against her tits. His mouth had made a droolly mess of all that tit-flesh. His little love bites and snakey tongue were doing amazing things to her tits.
And Eula could feel those amazing feelings in her tits. Her nipples were as hard as granite. And her tits felt more like Grand Tetons than something that she tucked into her double-C Maidenform before she went to work every day.
"Oooooooohhhhhhh!"
Kirby's tongue was moving down her tits. Heading south, hacking wet snail halls on the path to her pussy. Yeah, she had seven ribs – easy to count as he tongue each bony ridge. And yes, she had one navel that was relatively clean of lint and dust. And yes, she had numerous cunt hairs that would have taken hours to count.
And yes, she had one pussy. A hot pussy. A pussy that pissed lots of cod liver oil 'cause she liked to eat fish.
"Aaaaaiiiiieeeee! Ooooohhhhh, Goddddddddddddd!"
He tongued her cit.
"Aaaaaiiiiieeeee! Ooooohhhhh, Goddddddddddddd!"
Crinkle. Crinkle. Crinkle.
He tongued in the hole that his cock was going to be going into.
"Aaaeeeeaaaaaggggghhhhh! Aaaiiieee!"
Now Kirby had a hard time holding onto the firm cheeks of her ass.
Eula was shoving her cunt at his tongue, bouncing her ass against the whales to the left and the porpoises to the right.
Kirby licked up to the cut, then down to the asshole, gathering fishy juices at the top and letting them drip off his tongue at the bottom.
"Ohhhhjih! Shheeeeeiiiiitt! My clit!My cunt! My asshole! Aaaaaiiiieeeee!"
Then he repeated the tongue-wash – clit to cunt, to asshole.
"Aaaaiiieeeee! My clit! My cunt!My asshole! Ooooohhhhhh!"
Crinkle. Crinkle. Crinkle.
Then again – clit to cunt to asshole. Like a chant. Like musical chairs. Like Tinkers to Evers to Chance.
"aaaaaihieeeee! My cunt! My cunt! My asshole!"
Then there was silence. An ominous silence. And Eula sweated underneath the red crepe dress that fit over her head like a parachute shower cap.
Oh no!
Fumble. Fumble. Fumble.
Oh no!
Crinkle. Crinkle. Crinkle.
Eula knew it was coming. She just knew she was gonna get it now. Somewhere out there, beyond the red crepe of her parachute shower cap, his cock was exposed, hard and eager to fuck her. She could feel it in her bones.
Then she felt the bone in her cunt.
"Aaaaaiiiieeeee! Oh God – fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!"
Kirby slammed his cock into her eager cunt, felt the lips of her pussy slide past his shaft as he rammed it home. Felt her pussy pooch out toward him, eager to embrace his eight inches of prime cock-meat.
"Aaaaiiiiieeeee! Fuckme! Fuck my clit! Fuck my cunt!Fuck my – oh no! No! I've never been fucked in the ass before! Aaaaaiiieeeee!"
Kirby made a moist mess of the crinkly red crepe dress where he had tried to kiss where he thought her mouth was, trying to shut her up so she wouldn't scream when he slammed his cock into her asshole.
And Eula's face was covered with sweat and Kirby's saliva that leaked through the crepe. And her asshole felt bruised and no longer tingly as she felt his cockhead banging against her shit-hole, trying to make her rectum into a cunt.
"Aaaaaiiiieeee! Please! Shove it into my cunt! Not my ass!Please! Not my ass!"
Crinkle. Crinkle. Crinkle.
And as the crepe dress crinkled, her asshole wrinkled in writhing agony because Kirby had managed to get a toe-hold, or rather a glans-hold on her shit-tube.
Then he lunged forward, up and in.
And Eula tried to backpedal up the porpoise side of the wall, but her sweaty spine slipped and she toppled against the whales and slammed down on his cock.
"Aaaaiiiiieeeeee! My ass! Oh God! My ass burns! My ass burns!"
Aspirins? Why the fuck would she want aspirins now?
Crinkle. Crinkle. Crinkle.
Slush. Slush. Slush.
Kirby's face was just as sweaty as Eula's now as he shoved all the way into her wrinkly asshole.
Eula was close to fainting and farting at the same time. Oh how her ass burned as Kirby's prick tried to make a womb out of her lower intestine.
Kirby withdrew slightly, seven inches slightly. With only one big fat inch of his cockhead still embedded in her asshole. He couldn't believe how tight her asshole gripped his cock. And every time she moved, her asshole would writhe around his cock.
He shoved into her ass all the way again. He knew it was in all the way again because his balls were big enough to slap against the wall that braced her ass from behind.
"Aaaaaiiiieeeee! Oh take it out! Please! My ass is burning up! It hurts! Please! Aaaaaiiiiieeeee!"
Kirby kept shoving in and out of her asshole. Kept fucking her rectum until he no longer felt his balls banging against the wall behind her because they had drawn up tight against his crotch.
Eula kept screaming because she knew he was going to come in her ass. She could tell because it felt like the head of his prick had become like a plunger. And she knew enough about pricks that when they became big and their heart-shaped heads began to pulse like mad, they were ready to spew out semen, or "jizz" as her ex-husband called it, or "nectar of the Gods" as her women's magazines called it.
Kirby felt as if his balls were going to explode, blow off bis crotch and volcano up his prick until his cock was spurting lava instead of nectar of the Gods.
"I'm cccoooommmmmiiinnnggg!Oh God! Oh God! Oh, fucking God!"
"Aaaaaiiieeeee! Easy! Shoot easy! Please shoot it easy!"
Kirby wanted to laugh. But he couldn't because his cock-cream was spurting out of his prick. No woman had ever told him to come easy. Shit, how could a guy who was fucking a virgin asshole for the first time come easy? Coming easy was just too hard. And coming hard was just too easy.
Kirby came hard easily. Oh God, three week's cock-cream had been stored in his balls. And now his semen came out in spurts and spews, in gushes and rushes, in gobs and wads.
"Aaaiiiiieeeeee! My ass! My ass! Oh God! You're ripping my ass!"
Crinkle. Crinkle. Crinkle.
Spurt. Spurt. Spurt.
Then one little spurt.
"Ohhhhhhh, God! Oh Kirby, my ass… oh God! My ass!"
Kirby collapsed against Eula's heaving body, his five-o'clock shadow scraping her hot tits, his sweaty hands limply falling off her ass to rest orangutan-like against his sides.
Then his cock oozed like a slug out of her pussy.
Plop.
Drip. Drip. Drip.