Re: Shoot Me Twice
In article <firstname.lastname@example.org>, CobraJet
> Kill me. Quickly.
It was obvious in this situation that I needed some spiritual
counseling; some enlightenment from the mouth of a leader of humanity,
a man with a clear head and a practical outlook on the relationship
between men and women.
I know, you're thinkin' I'm really cool for having the Pope's phone
number but hey, the old man bit the big one, and he ain't got no phone
where's he's goin'. I think. So, I called someone way better at this
shit, my cousin on the East Coast.
<ring ring. ring ring. ring ring. groggy voice answers>
"Hey what the ****. Who's dis? It ain't even noon, Snapperhead."
"Wake up, Andrew, it's me."
"Me who? If dis is a telemarketer, I'm gonna kick your ass."
"Nah, it's CobraJet, Dice Man, you ****in' jamoke."
"Hey Jet Man! That you? Hey, baby, how's the jewels, ah?"
"They're hangin' and clangin', buddy, how'z wit' you?"
"Ah, you know, anudder mornin', anudder broad I don't recognize I
gotta kick outta da bed."
"You gettin' soft, Dice? You shoulda bounced her somewhere between
"Yeah, baby, nobody smokes the baloney pony like you" and "Yo, bitch,
throw me a beer on da way out"."
"Yeah, I know, but she promised to clean my apartment if she could
stay. Chick's a real Hoover, if ya know what I mean."
"I gotcha, I gotcha. Listen, about that kinda stuff. I met this
chick the other day who's into the car thing. You know, straddlin' my
wavelength in the Blue Zone. You know what I mean?"
"I'm wicha, Jet. Hey, don't mind the noise; Little Dice gotta drain
a 12-pack this mornin', but I can piss and talk at the same time, 'cuz
I'm that kinda guy."
"You da Man. Anyway, this chick can talk real dirty with stuff like
"horsepower" and "camshaft" and shit like that, and of course her
panties needed a drip dry after I turned on the old Snake charm. I
mean, if I squint I can picture her servin' up the goods on skates at
the drive-up burger joint. But she kinda looks like she does her best
cruisin' down the ice cream aisle, if ya know what I mean. Dice buddy,
she left the door open, but I don't know what to do."
"I understand your dilemmafication, Jet, I really do. Times like dis
takes lots of uteroinspection and shit."
"Don't you mean introspection?"
"Hey, what's da diff, Snapperhead? Don't interrupt me while I'm
"Sorry Dice. Please continue."
"Anyway long story short, ya gotta ask yourself da ultimate
question, da one ting that tells you if the stiff you got from this
chick is a real bone or just another morning piss hard."
"Damn, give it to me!"
"The question is dis: would you **** dis broad on the 50-yard line
at half time on the Super Bowl so's everybody can see and shit? I mean,
would you bounce her butt into the Astroturf in front of a hundred
"I see what you're sayin', Dice. That's real brilliant, really some
genius shit there, man. And damn, I gotta say that I just couldn't do
it, on account of my reputation and all as a West Coast stud."
"Yeah, dat's it. Dat's all there is to it. Plus, you do one
chubster, an' before you knows it all da other local fatties want a
piece of ya, and pretty soon ya can't look at yourself or your pecker
in da mirror."
"Wow, man. I think you just saved my life there, Andrew. I knew I
could count on you."
"Yeah, hey, dat's what I'm here for. Now, if you'll excuse me,
little Miss Hoover's awake and she wants to hear some nursery rhymes.
"Hey, slide her some pork for me, and I'll be talkin' atcha later."
I'll tell you guys, I feel like a big weight has been lifted off me.
Maybe in more than one way. Now, I gotta go check out that Crown Vic.