“And I turn around and there’s this paparazzo pointing his camera at me, and all I can think is shit do you think there’s any of this white shit under my nose, cause you know how it is darling when those paps catch you with the naughties dribbling down your nose.”
She looks at me rather pleased and turns and offers the plate in my direction.
“I’ll just stick to the Chardonnay darls,” I respond.
“Well have it your way.”
At this moment she then does a little pirouette and starts waltzing to Dusty Springfield’s ‘The Look of Love,” before remembering there are another 7 people in the room who are probably craving the attention of Misty (pseudonym) our host.
“Well don’t just look at me, help yourself. Life is to be lived.”
A phalanx of Marlboro lights start to make a play in the room and the kids are frankly getting giddy. All I can do is smile gently, cross one leg from one to the other and take a deep drag of Misty’s Marlboro Light.
The way things work at ‘Misty’s’ is if she likes you you are always welcome to drop by her pied a tierre and share in the latest gossip, revelry and of course the good times that are always on tap.
Misty unlike most women who have a propensity for the perceived ills of society can afford to indulge in her own debauchery.
“It’s them guys that I hate the most. The ones who walk around with mounds of blow and think if they offer you a whiff then somehow they own you. Ha! Bitch! I own you.”
I smile a long look, my eyes glancing over the cool kids who by at this stage are remonstrating a supposed fantastic glamor, preening in front of each other, a couple of them huddling in a corner and starting to make out.
“If you’re going to make out, at least have the decency to make out with all of us darling,” she bemoans the Czech model-Sasha who is halfway in gorging herself on some young man’s tonsils.
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.