Thoughts On The Dead

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

Jack Straw

“This is new.”

“Is it, Bob?”

“Never seen it before. Doesn’t, you know, augur well for the evening.”

“What’s he got in there?”

“Nothing good, Josh.”

“What’s on your iPad?”

“Franken’s book. This guy really hates Tom Cruise.”

“I’ll check it out. Seriously, we should do something about this.”

“Good idea. You talk to him.”

“Why me? You’ve known him for 50 years.”

“That’s why I don’t want to talk to him.”

“Sure. Um, Billy?”

“Fuckface?”

“Whatcha doing?”

“Getting my swerve on, hamster-style.”

“Uh-huh. What is it that you’re drinking?’

“If you soak weed in Bacardi 151 for a month, it turns into…like…I don’t know what the fuck it turns into, but it kicks like a rented whore.”

“You’re not drinking it straight?”

“I threw in some ice.”

“Wow.”

“And whisky.”

“Okay. Bob, can I talk to you over there?”

“Where?”

“In the next picture.”

“Ah. Sure, yeah.”

“He’s drinking rocket fuel.”

“Literally?”

“No.”

“Because, you know, he’s done that before. Doctor once told us Billy had the stomach acid of a condor. Can’t be poisoned.”

“No, it’s some sort of concoction, and I’m sure he didn’t even tell me all the ingredients.”

“He’ll survive. And, uh, it can’t be worse than whatever’s going on next to him.”

“True.”

1 Comment

  1. Sorry, but I laughed out loud at the last line…. Love ya Micky!

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