The OUTLAWS: Bringing It Back Comatose
Thanksgiving Eve. Swanking dizzily in the vulgarian gaudiness of local salvage biz whiz Bo Hardaway's ranch chateau (the king calamity vulture of North Texas and platinum hussy Mrs. are off holiday-tootin' through the capitals of Europe; sonny boy Randall taking keen advantage of their, continental trot to throw a combination "Gobble Gobble/Beat the Fuck Out of the Redskins" party).
The OUTLAWS: Bringing It Back Comatose
by j. m. bridgewater
Thanksgiving Eve. Swanking dizzily in the vulgarian gaudiness of local salvage biz whiz Bo Hardaway's ranch chateau (the king calamity vulture of North Texas and platinum hussy Mrs. are off holiday-tootin' through the capitals of Europe; sonny boy Randall taking keen advantage of their, continental trot to throw a combination "Gobble Gobble/Beat the Fuck Out of the Redskins" party). Flu bitten and feeling like a cigarette that'd been floating in an unflushed toilet for two months, I was ready to seize coat, cap, and the nearest exit after only a couple hours of half-hearted hoofiganizing; not even the whispered-in-my-ear announcement of anal debauchery being perpetrated on pool table green in the basement game room was sufficiently piquant to inspire more than an accepting nod from my swoozy head. And if this prospect couldn't put the pink back in my cheeks, I knew I was sick and ticketed for an early ambulance home. The only problem, where was Whip?