“And to think Brad is calling me up telling me I need to check in to rehab.”
Brad of course is Misty’s estranged husband.
“Brad,” I say “It’s because of you I ‘m on this shit and anyway please don’t call me with your new girlfriend in the background telling me what I do or don’t need. I’m not Lindsay Lohan you know that?!”
“No Misty, you’re nothing like Lindsay.”
“Hell no, if you can’t hold your liquor then don’t drink. It’s that simple. Silly girl. She shouldn’t be doing all that stuff in public. That’s a sucker’s game.”
Misty rolls on the floor and reaches for the rolled $20 bill before bringing it to the plate again.
“Well just don’t watch me, help yourselves,” she implores like a gracious host passing cup cakes with jasmine tea on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Except it’s a Wednesday night, deep past midnight, and the jasmine tea in this neck of the words has a got a stronger brew than you would be apt to find in most preferred tea rooms. But then again, Misty wouldn’t have it any other way.
Unlike most men who like to hold the purse strings, it’s Misty who holds the purse strings here. Only she can decide if you stay or go, whether more refreshments are offered and who gets to listen to what. At least she control something immediate in her surroundings…
“Don’t you like George Michaels Scallywag? ‘Careless Whisper.’ Gawd, I could die right now,” she says chain smoking into oblivion.
“And this girl Paris Hilton. What a numb nuts. What’s she doing driving with pot coming out of the window and all those goodies in her bag. Frankly I think she wants to get caught.”
“We all want to get caught,” I nonchalantly reply. “Including you Misty.”
“You’re too smart for your own good Scallywag. You just keep writing about all them media whores and leave me out of it.”
Michelle KNOWS, I introcuded her to the MapleLeaf’s Captain because he was the most handsome muscular man out of the lot of them.
And Michelle, I even introduced you MORON to the Mapleleaf’s Captain, HELLO!
NO! I know what I am talking about here. THEY WERE ALL COMPLETE PSYCHOMANIC AND SOCIOPATHOLOGICAL! AND sexually dysfunctional.
GO WITH THE COKE WHORE! You have your pick Metallica. Sue Ernst, Jacqueline Zima, Julie Capone, Barbara Mitchell, Tara McCabe, why I could introduce you to the LOT OF THEM! Stay the fuck away from me.
what a crock of shit. Complete fiction, no ring at all of authenticity.
more gag inducing pretension. this shit is all fake and vapid. useless, meaningless, soulless, talent less. write about something interesting for once. not about something we know; inbred rich people do blow. big. fuckin. whoop.