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“What is that?” Becki says, hearing the chorus that goes, “Fuck foreeeeevvvvveeerrrr.” “It’s called Fuck Forever,” I say. “It’s not very Thankgivingy.” “It’s a short song. When it’s done, I’ll put on Arcade and Fire, okay?” I am antsy about Maggie and sitting across the street, waiting to speak at greater length and threatening to and buzz the door. If the latter occurs, everyone around the Thanksgiving table will have more to talk about than the skyrocketing price of real estate in Park Slope and the detestable nature of the proposed Frank Gehry basketball arena and high rise residential and office complex. Elizabeth (Your Mother-in-Law): “Becki tells me you’re screwing a whore mayor from Massachusetts.” Becki: “Henry’s fucking a slut mayor, mother.” You: “I’m not sleeping with….” Becki: “Fucking. Say, ‘fucking,’ Henry, not ‘sleeping with.’ Don’t sugarcoat it.”
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