The Pig and Keith and Brent thing is well-intentioned, and the attention to detail on Phil is laudable, but if Billy or Mickey ever saw how small they were in comparison to everyone else, the rest of the afternoon would be measured in Holiday Inn bars, “borrowed” cars in ditches, and small East African military dictatorships that both flourish under Billy and Mickey’s benevolent, though confused rule, then implode into death and sin, when MIckey finds different native people banging on things and drags Billy along.
It’s a Stealie! Their faces make–
Yes, we allOOH, a Stealie!
—a Steal…you are a horrid thief: the thunder of others’ is your prize.
Plus, Billy and Mickey are staring fucking LOVINGLY at each other. It’s unsettling.
And where’s fucking Donna?