Watch me slurp phlegm and spit straight off the floor—wet, thick, and unapologetic. My tongue dives in, scooping up the gooey mess with loud, sloppy sounds that echo. The phlegm clings, the spit smears, and my cheeks flush as I lap it up. It’s a raw, dirty tease—every slurp a pulse of texture and taste that hooks you tight. This is filth turned into art.
