It’s like your head is voting Republican, but your feet forgot that it was Election Day again.
“Well, you know, it’s like Walt Whitman said: I’m gonna shoot all of you from this tower.”
That was Charles Whitman.
“They were cousins.”
Don’t think so. So, Bobby, you been following the news about Harvey Weinstein?
“The guy who wrote Leaves of Grass?”
That was Walt Whitman.
“That is one accomplished family.”
No, Bobby. None of the people I’ve mentioned are related. Harvey Weinstein. The movie producer who enjoys rape.
“You’ll need to be far more specific.”
The fat, ugly one.
“You could still be talking about, like, a million guys.”
The Jewish one.
Okay, that wasn’t a help. Him and his brother Bob used to be concert promoters in Buffalo.
Ah. You remember him.
“Every time we went to Buffalo, man. Same shit from that guy. He’d tell me how pretty my hair looked.”
You did have pretty hair.
“Sure, yeah. But he was, uh, masturbating while he said it.”
“He was always trying to get me to watch him shower. Told me that if I did, he could make me a rock star.”
You were and are a rock star, Bobby.
“No, like, a real one. He was gonna get me an audition for the Eagles.”
“Finally, I just said ‘fuck it’ and told him to get in the shower and lather up.”
You watched Harvey Weinstein shower?
“No. You know Mickey’s duffel bag full of furious raccoons?”
“Yup. Parish nailed the door shut, too. Betty recorded the whole thing. We used to play the tape at parties.”
Proud of you, Bobby.
“Raccoons did most of the work.”