Lil _____: Lemme axe you suh-in.
Why you be all frontin’ wit da fake bling round yo neck like a damn dog collar
and cheap ass grill look like tin foil when evreebody know you po as the last
of the monf all monf long?
Britt Anlgo: Ah good query chap, I do
say. A ripe old conundrum no doubt but the least bit cogitation reveals itself
doesn’t it. Indeed, appearances matter my good man. Yes, yes, it is, better to
look good than to feel good. My fiduciary matters notwithstanding, I do, as
they say, make this look good. Cheery-o now.
Interlocutor: Oh snap oh no he didn’t
oh yes he did!
Maroon Kneck: You can bet yer beer
that looks matter and the south gone rise agin. Just uh soon as we mow this
here lawn and go fishin and change the oil and…
Lil _____: Dats my point yo. You don’t
look good, son. Look like uh a dirty wet dog in a doghouse made of shiz-it.
Interlocutor: Throwin bullets at
em!
Maroon Kneck: I had a dog named Skeeter for him was Chester and for him was Laverne but she got knocked up.
Dogs, they sure do do it, doggie style too.
Britt Anglo: Now listen here. This
can be a civil discourse only so long as we refrain from the ad hominem. And
certainly comparisons to the canine world are sufficient. Let me say this another way then my good man, taste
is subjective. You say tomato I say tomahto. You hear the difference? You see
vile tasteless kitch and I on the other hand see sartorial splendor on a par
with royalty if I do say so.
Interlocutor: Huh?
Maroon Kneck: Dogs is funny.
Laverne once ate her own poop.
Lil _____: Dogs is funny dough.
Still, look fake and broke down, like this cracker’s car.
Interlocutor: Oh snap, agin. Word.
Probably the solenoid. Chi-wi chi-wi.
[sick drum beat enters at max
volume with distorted guitar melody of When Johnny Comes Marching Home till a dope-ass
record scratch fades to bagpipes playing God Save The Queen]
SCENE
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