calculation is null

I tapped his trunk; the syrup was stale.
2001-07-23 18:32:30 (UTC)

Pancakes, tequila, and baseball bats. III.

Normally, this narrative would have been written in my pen
and paper journal, but I've recently not felt like using my
pens. And besides, I'm hoping a few people will empathize
with my story and chuckle a bit. Or cry. Or smoke a j and
laugh.

On the ride over to Neet's place, Seb played the Tom Waits
disc he'd bought. I wasn't in any sort of mood for his
gutteral moaning, so Tom came out and Ozzy went in.

"Freak."

He's taken with that word lately. Sort of like me
and "nuclear".

We got to Neet's just as "Believer" was coming on; that
song rocks your world. I turned up the volume to almost
blowing out the speakers; Seb frowned and reached for the
knob. "You're going to wreck my audio."

I caught his hand and doe-ed my eyes. "Please?" It was
really rather gross. He just looked at me. And looked at
me. Then rolled his eyes, smiled, and got out of the car.
By this point, Neet had come out onto her balcony, which
overlooked the parking lot.

"Fuck yeah, dude! Ozzy rocks!" She head banged for a few,
her red silk bathrobe-slash-trick-trapper bouncing around
her. "I'll buzz you in."

Upstairs, I modelled my outfit for Neet: the chaps, a red
thong, a red leather vest that Moira had been kind enough
to fashion for me, and Kyne's red boots into which I had
smished and mashed my feet. Seb was dashing in his Marlboro
Man -esque costume: lots of black leather, a long black
coat, and a cowboy hat. Mmm. And he hadn't shaved, so he
was all stubbley. Neet was just getting ready, so Seb and I
lit a bong with some of her supposedly phat stash.

Yes.

Phat it was. After two bowls, I was well on my way to
Venus. Seb never gets mad high, but he was definitely
feeling it. Neet came out of her room to his hand on one of
my bare ass cheeks and his tongue in my mouth.

"Not on -my- couch, bitches! How do I look?" She had donned
a lovely ensemble of flowy lace or chiffon or some shit
over a tight little leotard of faux leather. Her
accessorization was, as always, parfait. She took
the last few hits off our third bowl-- "We'll hit you back
tonight, Neet."-- and off we went. Five minutes later, Neet
remembered the bottles of liquor she had meant to bring--
tequila's nuclear-- so we turned around, she got the shit,
and we were on our way.

Eh. Okay. I swear the next installment will be fireworks--
"Yo daddy was fireworks, man!" Rocco's over, and he wants
to get lunch.

"You's a hungry mofo!"

"Ah'm a hongry mofo!"

Check it.