A Recounting of Our Monday Night Activities to a Fictionalized Version of My Ninety-Five Year Old Neighbor
“Well, dear, I think it’s just so good that you kids are so active. It sounds so fun, having a wonderful view of the bridge and the sunset after a nice run.
Stinky Floss? And Chicken Bone Her? That’s a tad rude, don’t you think, dear? Well I understand pseudonyms, goodness knows I won’t repeat what I was known as back in the day… Well, I’m glad they did a good job, and you all didn’t make them drink too much. Oh, they brought special vessels for some birthday boys? Such thoughtful girls, and even giving them cake?
Oh. Oh, dear. Well, I’m glad this “Cuming Mutha” enjoyed being doused in egg, beer, and flour. And Hoseblower did a strip tease for the tourist bus? Did no one call the police?
You should count yourselves lucky that you have nothing on your permanent record. Well, yes, I guess if even Crabs can get a job, then you have nothing to worry about. And with friends like this Deadbeat you can’t get your hopes up. But if Sleazy Like Sunday Whoring’s employers ever find out…
It’s great that even your co-workers are joining you, but don’t you think making fun of Just Liz’s chest might make Tuesday morning more awkward? Oh, water jugs, I see, but you still don’t want to embarrass her in front of everyone else, you know.
Yes, I see how Just Ben carrying a shoe around might be humorous. But you don’t have to make people drink for everything that sounds silly. I’m sure this Good Shit Lollicock character had a perfectly good reason for being on all those street corners.
And teasing Primal Vagina for spending time with her girlfriend? We are in San Francisco you know… well, yes I understood immediately her girlfriend was a dyke… oh, bike, yes, I’ll add new batteries to my grocery list.
Oh, if people like Ska Skank, Drunkin Honuts, and Code For Penis come back to you, you must be doing something right? You have a point, my dear, but I’m not sure it is what you think it is.
You know, by now you’ve gotten all the rises you could out of me—I’ve seen more in my day than you’ve seen in years! So let me give you some advice. When you have participants like Cirque du So Lame and John Handcock, Geordi La Foreskin will come calling. And any one with sense should expect Sister Fister to draw out the Princess Labia in all of us. You’d have to be an Udder Moron to think differently.
Please point Yes Sir She’s Just Fat towards Dick Simmons—from what you tell me about his Facebook updates, just following him could lose you Six Tits A Week.
I hope you treated your out-of-towners well. Life is tough in this city, by now there’s a little Rent Whore in all of use, but if you’re Just Lucky you’ll find your way through. Just don’t be a total Douchicorn, and for heaven’s sake try not to Minor 69er, or you’ll get the Shaft faster than you can say Saigon Sally. And remember if you Jizzard during your Weekend At Abba’s, please Wash This Asshole before you Ru Ru Rimmin the mistakes you’ve made.
And if you have a Cowlick of sense, you’ll eventually reach the day you can say “Now I Know My STDs,” but let’s all hope you don’t have to be On All Fours with a Pharma Ho to get there.
I should stop carrying on, my reputation must’ve gotten a bit of a Brown Eye, if you know what I mean. I hope you took an Uber Luber home, dear, I do worry when you’re out late. Well, goodnight, it’s time for me to do some laundry, goodness I hope I can get these Tears of Semen out in the Backwash!”