"Retchin' Ricci"
e
she forever the tempering influence, the frowning Buddha-forehead brow of
Irish-Italian jadedness that squints, raises an eyebrow, and laughs with a puff
of the lips that breathes with the release of society's fetid, unwanted
expectations as she toddles off in leather pants like a world-weary canary and
might stop half-way up the block and turn around to see if your eyes are still
following her. Like a voracious reader of 1940's detective novels, when the
hard-boiled private eye stays up nights trying to shake off the effects of "a
Mickey Finn"-- a poison slipped in his drink to keep him groggy and off-balance.
Actually, the origin of that concoction was a laxative in order to get a
loud-mouthed, offensive drunk "off the premises" when the bartender polished a
shot glass and sized up the situation as he knelt behind the bar "and gave him
the works". Sometimes shipwrecked sailors on an island cannibalize each other,
and asked if they once knew somebody-- why, yes. . . . . they certainly did. So
much, that they consumed them and ultimately shat out their essence into the
crab-ridden sands for the algae and bacteria to suck on and reduce back to a
more pathetic slurry to be recycled in the great cosmic shit-fuck of things.
No Offense, Darlin'.
*******************
"You want a-nuther song? Well I ain't plain' one mutherfuckin' note until someone comes up here and puts sum money in my god-damned tip-jar! You know I only came here for one purpose. . . . . to take yor fuckin' cash! Why, I could make more profit puttin' out my meth-head neighbor's asshole and ringin' a bell, hollerin' 'Man for sale! Man for sale!'
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
(Rheeee of Crickets)
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
("I heard that, Missy!")
© 2010 by Insufferable Industries
Drop "The Bard" a line at