Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Come To Billy

billy cometobilly“Come to Billy.”

Jesus, man. You’re getting weird.

“Let Billy hold you in his arms.”

When did you start referring to your self in the third person?

“After Billy’s psychotic break.”

Knock it off.

“Fine, but come to Billy. Get in my nook.”


“Nook up. My nook is you-shaped. Fill it.”


“Fill my nook, fucker. C’mon, now. Get in here.”

Okay, what’s happening?

“Get in here and get it done with. Let’s just do it and not discuss it, okay?”

We are going to discuss this.

“I’m queer testing ya.”


“Queer test. I wanna know if you’re a nancy, so I’m going to test you.”

Why don’t you just ask?

“You a ‘mo?”

Not that it matters or is any of your business, but I am not.

“Typical homosexual perfidy.”

Perfidious are the homosexuals?

“Hence: the test. You get on over here and nook up, really lean into me: make me your everything. And you’re gonna grind on up in a crotch-on-crotch fashion. I would say mano y mano, but it’s our potato salads, so it’s more like papa y papa.”


“And I’m hairy all over you. There is musk. Muted belching. I may caress both your lower and upper back in a manner that is neither completely angelic, nor totally wicked. I will not thrust.”

Good to know.

“How tall are you?”




That’s as low as I’m copping to.

“No problem, just checking to see if we’ll fit. So: you ready to do this?”

First off: no; second: how is the hugging a “queer test?”

“If you get a boner.”

I’m not talking to you anymore tonight.

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