bring out the cosmopolitans, the olives, those lil' wienies and some cigars. 'cause we're gonna lounge like a mu'fucker. oh yeah! chaise lounge chairs and all. all the guys shooting the shit about how we've been bangin' our secretaries and how we like allen ginsberg. the girls talkin' about how they've just remodeled their living rooms. which i think is code for how they're boning the milk man. that handsome devil.
BUT ITS ALL GOOD!
because "Nega Do Cabelo Duro" is playing in the background.
and in a couple of minutes we are all gonna fuck the shit out of each other and then realize what a horrible mistake it was. because that look stan was giving me while i was on top of his wife, while he was under bills, told a story. a story of how these days were over. a story about how he can't take this anymore. about how he was gonna get the rifle over the mantel and start blasting away. starting by standing behind me and shooting the top of my head and her face with the same bullet. turning around and taking out poor bill and my wife. listening to the newly made widow scream out "holy shit!.. that was a great album. who brought it over?"
"oh, jimmy did. i should have thanked him. it's super cool."
and than they walk over the bloody mess, naked.
go towards the terrace.
hold hands.
then fly away.
well... it could happen.
WIENIES
un disco de astrud gilberto despues de uno de dark funeral?
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