“Watch my left hand, boy. This is how you control the skank. The right hand? That’s the finesse hand.”
Billy, stop teaching children about skank.
“I taught him how to punch dick. What else is left for a father?”
Anything else. Literally anything else.
“Nah, fuck that. I’m like Earl Woods. You know that black guy?”
I do. I wish you hadn’t referred to him that way, but I do know him.
“Shit, I got a bunch of other names for him.”
No, no, no. Let’s stand pat on “black guy.”
“Yeah, he’s an idol of mine. Took his kid out to the golf course when he was a baby, taught him the game. And now look how happy Tiger is.”
Tiger Woods seems like one of the most miserable human beings on the planet.
“But rich! And skank all over the place! Tiger’s got a great short game with the skank. Amazing putts.”
I see what you did there.
“Gotta start the kids early. Only way to get a head start. You know Mickey’s got a little boy, too, right?”
“Good kid, And, you know, I love Mickey like a brother. But I’ll be goatfucked if his kid is gonna out-skank mine. It’s like our song says: ‘One small boy of pride.'”
Point, Billy. One small point of pride.
“Ah, whatever. I don’t listen to the words. Y’know what I do listen to?”
“My heart! And my dick. Okay, you were right: I mostly listen to my dick. Sometimes, I listen to my nose.”
What does your nose say?
“‘Put cocaine in me.'”
Should have guessed.