A ROADHOUSE IN TEXAS IN THE SEVENTIES
“Good evening, ma’am. I noticed you from across the room; I noticed you noticing me, and you were right to notice. My name is Roy Head and I intend on making love to you tonight, preferably in the parking lot, preferably in the butt.
“First things first: yes, my name really is Roy Head. There ain’t nothing wrong with those pretty little ears of yours. And, yes: I’m that Roy Head.
“You should have heard of me.
“Anyway, sweetmeat, I’m gonna flag down the bartender and get you a Bloody Maria. That’s a Bloody Mary with Sangria instead of tomato juice. I been drinkin’ them since noon and, shit: I’m Roy Head, so how bad could they be, how ’bout that?
“May I interest you in a Quaalude? Or a Tuinol? A Seconal? A Black Beauty? I have every Seventies drug that there is. Would you like a little tootski? Take a tootski. No one turns down tootski.”
“OOOOhhh, that’s good tootski.
“Now, back to the situation that presents itself: I have crazy-bendy legs and a fine Cadillac outside. It is a Brougham, and has a Landau roof.
“It is not white. It’s eggshell.
“You would not believe the room this sucker has. You can get to just ’bout every position. There’s room for the Jetpack, and the Wheelbarrow, and the Dirt Devil, and the Funky Winkerbean, and the Shalom Aleichem, and the Sword in the Stone.
“The stone in that position is your butt, just so you know.
“Anyway, dumplin’: let’s get to humpin’. I’m gonna settle up this here bar tab and we’re gonna mosey on out to the parking lot – which, I have not mentioned, is pretty dang romantic as far as parking lots go. Let’s skedaddle.”
“Roy, I’m your wife and you’re in your kitchen. You gotta stop drinkin’ so goddamned much.”
“GET IN ROY HEAD’S CADILLAC!”