Green slug ritual

Following my daily ritual
I pulp the fat green slug
Twixt thumb and middle finger
Until here
Within this secret chamber
It yields its oozing slime
I press and pap its jellied guts
With ritual precision
Then daub its milky mucous
Across my throat
Across my cheeks
Around my gaping mouth
Careful not to fall foul of its mordant, oily unction

Surveying my best efforts at masking up my face
I recollect how ancestors would reach now for the blade

I rinse my hands
Replace the cap on Gillette gel
Grasp my Bic … and start to shave.