The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / Re: Richter and Me, a Prohibition Tale (in installments)« on: March 05, 2016, 02:30:39 am »
"You finally hit too much of that crap?" Roger offhandedly mentioned.
"They cut our shi..." was about all I got out. No good. We got burned, and I has been hitting off a bag padded out with cultural appropriation.
"I need feathers." My eyes were wide. Stock straight, and trying to immitate a nickel I'd seen once.
"OK. You're not new to this, ride it out. And you sound like a tool."
"Some braids. I don't care, I've ripped enough Irish through my nose, I'm the next best thing to Blackfoot..." I was removng my trousers and improvising a breechclout from my shirt. I was eyeing the barkeep's toupe for a scalp to hang from my belt.
"Cut teh crap. Fast. We've got work to do and I need you at least passing for professional"
"Don't make me pull a fucking rain dance! I'm thunderbird material right now. I need to use every part of a whole hobo to buckskin some..."
About then Roger kaiboshed my misbegotten high with a barstool. I woke up in the trunk a few hours later a boot of the ford.