CAN I STILL CALL THIS
I am drinking heavily again and my words are
as slurred as my thoughts - sitting here like a beast
playing music. I have to listen to pigs - all these
bar-sorts, sitting around in their cantankerous marmalades
and off-beat sweetened fuck-drinks. The women want to be
women and they're better than men, they say - best of all.
Being equal 'that's the easy part, you dog-faced whomp.'
She actually said that to me; bitch.
All I wanted to do was put my leg up and fart - maybe
challenge her, one to one. 'Equal this, you Equalizer Fat
Bunny!' And then let a series rip. I figured (in a burp,
'bring me another!') she'd either match me or run. So,
oh, what? Then, anyway, they keep talking about 'equal',
how they want things in their offices to be, set-up with
equal opportunity. I call out instead, pretty wobbly, 'I
don't care 'bout that, let's talk about your orifices instead.'
I wonder - 'Did I already porter another order? I mean,
order another Porter.' Oh, shit. Hey, lady, c'mere -
'can I still call this a 'mandolin'?'