If you were anybody you were kicking it at the most exclusive party. Where that party was only you know (and us of course). There were exclusive parties and even triple exclusive parties. You were crooning in the background, making out with that hot model, actress, billionaire and even making frequent flier trips to yours truly. It was your big night and we there, too, to witness it- your big night and how you fell for it.
We witnessed the French sailor outfits you were donning, the high heels you were falling over, the Marlboro lights you were chain sucking like your life depended on it. We witnessed the lies you were telling, the vodka you were downing and even the way you kept looking for the next party to hit. Halloween. Your big night and you had to make it work. Halloween the childhood pageantry you had on the block.
Sienna Miller, Teddy Wong, name drop, name drop, you can’t get enough. Out the cab, past the doorman, splash a dab, don’t come off as a drab. In you go, you hot thing, slow motion is the way we like it and you my dear have got the look. Take out your cell phone, party favors and love are only a keystroke away- you my dear have got the look.
Tell the world who you are, swap some tongue juice and whatever hype you can get out of your lungs. Wander to the bar, it’s a hot look, but what the hell is s/he doing there— but what the hell did you expect? It’s your collective nightmare but it’s fine cause you’re dressed like one, too.
The inhibitions aside, you’ve got a lot on your mind, a lot of bunk to unwind, a whole lot of spunk to rewind. It’s Halloween and the whole world has finally given you permission to be a punk, a hunk, a slow motion nigga on the top ten countdown. That’s right, you’re acting like a real lunatic, like the slut you pretend you never are and that’s all fine cause ‘mother fuckers’ it’s your big night.
Let’s listen to the lyrics- “I’m a ho and just for show,“ or how about the one that goes “take me on a trip I want to go away, you will be my American myth,,“ – stick it to her in the rear. C’mon Dracula teeth, it’s money and you’re just my honey— never mind that you’re a wannabe celebrity. But it’s all about modesty. Never mind the vomit on the floor or even the load you want to unload- the taxi is always on the go.
Off you stumble, trick a treat, watch the vomit, it’s starting to get all over the floor, and for crying out loud don’t get run over before you make it to Rose Bar. After all, we all saw you there.
The rumors are off the hook but then again so are you. In you go, looking glam, with your gram, it’s your eternal prom and your harem of shame. Girls, plenty of them, overpriced douche bags you need to be friends with and myths that you never tire of. My lord you all look so dashing, (never mind those little white lines). You are my kind of snob and god damn it you’ve got all the snow!
What’s it all about? It’s Halloween after all, and you’re having a ball, so sick of the shopping mall. But then again isn’t where you bought that overgrown looking ball attached to the back of your shopping catalogue. I know, I know, at least you applied your own make up show. God, you looked so delicious before you passed out in front of the Rose bar stall.
Halloween- it’s the monster in you that you’re obliged to show cause one day you’re gonna have to absorb it all- but of course it wont be Halloween anymore…
The jet set rumored to still be doing more blow despite the size of the bathroom stall.
Listen, Blah (if that is your real name), we dont know what IBS is. We assume it is a medical thing as you are name dropping conditions like a pharmaceutical rep. Jargon aside, you are acting like a twat. Keep reading!
S&V
“If you were anybody you were at the most exclusive party”…..do I need to read anymore? Like I said: this guy writes like paper trying to decipher the words of an asshole with IBS.
ITs not fantastic. You really fucking suck at writing
And it is fantastic.
dude, you write like an ADD meth addict