My Last Duchess

I preferred a different title, the one that, I'd decided, would appear with the enlarged version of Thaddeus' portrait on the billboard I'd hired for a year. After twelve months of Amanda displayed, larger than life, by the side of Interstate 95, for millions to see, I figured my revenge upon the bitch would be nearly as complete as that of the duke who'd displayed the portrait of his last duchess upon his castle's wall. (A "close reading" of the poem's text, literary critics contend, suggests that the speaker of the poem, the duke, murdered his mistress, but there's a limit beyond which I am unwilling to go, even in the interest of art--or revenge.)

To say that, a week later, Amanda Johnson was turning heads on I-95 is an understatement. She damned near caused wrecks!

Of course, there have been legal actions by "outraged" citizens, mostly puritanical parents of small children, who have demanded that my masterpiece be removed; some even want the billboard itself torn down. Of course, I have no intention of removing my artwork. After all, it's a masterpiece. I call it Amanda Johnson's Coming Out Party. There's even a subtitle, of sorts: There's More to Her Than Meets the Eye!

The final revision, which cost me an extra two grand, by the way, but was worth every cent, shows her cock and balls; her dick stands proudly upright, before her concave tummy, and her balls are risen inside the contracted pouch of her tightened scrotum. (In the photo that Thaddeus used as his model, Amanda's prick is flaccid and her balls hand loose inside her slack scrotal sac.)

In addition to the public's protests and demands for the removal of my billboard-size portrait of Amanda, which, my lawyers assure me, I can tie up in court for at least a year, I've had the pleasure of hearing from Amanda herself. In teary (and unanswered) appeals left on my cell phone, she threatens, demands, begs, and cajoles, beseeching me to "please take down that monstrosity."