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443 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 14, 2025
If the Devil had sperm, I bet it would resemble Baked Beans.
Shuddering as she scoops the persistently clingy, gelatinous filth from the cans into the glass bowl - more frogspawn than edible treat that's for sure - and she has to swallow hard to stop her coffee rising from deep down.
Job done, she doesn't even wash the cans before throwing them out the window and into the recycling bin in the garden. She doesn't want to get its filth-juice on her fingers. Filth-juice on her feet is one thing, a thing she's paid handsomely to endure, but on her fingers? That icky tackiness on her hands? No, no, no, she won't abide that.
Tonight though, she'll be cashing in on the lesser-known Podophilia, which is not, repeat not, to be confused with Pedophilia. Switching out that first E with an O is really important, especially if one wants to keep the thing in her basement concealed and hidden from prying eyes; she doesn't need the police raiding her house because she made a faux pas with her vowels in a search engine.