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Hunter Thompson, In The Off Beat Chance Of Cunnilingus (Prose Poem) by horus8
Once while having dinner with Sandy Gallen
Carrie Fisher, and David Geffen at Geffen's Malibu
Beach compound I saw president Clinton land in a
medium sized helicopter with an interesting
Paint job. The two men shook hands, had a one
minute conversation, and then parted ways as
if it were all just a continuance.
Still seated at the large wooden dinner
table with Sandy, and Carrie, I couldn't help
but feel like a seal turned game
ball in a killer-whale's match of tail-toss.
Sandy was eye-ballin' me like a rack of pre-cooked-ribs
While Carrie venerated on and on about when
she landed Harrison Ford during the making
Of Star Wars. (Due to her mother's purchase of
philosophical tutorials for young Carrie) She
was able to seduce Harrison with her new found wit...
Thank god I was immune, due greatly to her
performance in the space classic having turned
me into a cynical dyke. See, I always thought her
and Luke should have banged one another before
finding out that they were brother and sister,
forcing her to move on to 'The Older Man'.
Anyway, I couldn't figure out what I was eating
There was some kind of fungus, and perhaps veal?
Geffen had purchased my time for the night for an
unspecified price, my hair was dark and short.
I was wearing lovely yellow glasses, and new
black Guess jeans. It was raining out, and the sun
had just kerplunked into a pool of golden blood,
and oranges.
After dinner the fiasco continued, and gained speed
We were to watch a movie together, all of us, in
Mr. Geffen's private home movie theater. The picture
Was Boiler Room. A miserable movie starring Vin Diesel
And Christian Whatever about some telemarketers
Wallowing in their own shit and genius. Before
The flick, Geffen passed around a wooden box full
of drugs. Happily, I shoved my face into it and
Bobbed for anything that would fit in my mouth.
The movie started, I nodded off thinking Christian
Whatever looked like a young version of Bob Evans.
I might have even said it out loud. Ruining
My chances for any big money having let the cat
Out of the bag. Everyone realized I wasn't just any
Ordinary-Orange-County-Hick. I'd been mentored,
I'd been groomed.
When the movie was over, and it was only Geffen
And I remaining, he showed me what big money could
Really do. He flipped on some DJ Quick, and revealed
That his entire body had electrolysis, and
For a short man, he was swinging a big stick.
I gulped nervously, shit, no matter how many times -
- I watch those skinny little guys disrobe I'm always
Blown away to see such huge dicks? What the fuck?
It's just not proportionate in an architectural
Sense damn-it... Now comes the hard part
Where to draw the line, but not get the
three hundred dollar early dismissal,
but rather the overnight Jeep Cherokee deal
behind curtain number 3. I gathered my
Resources, punched in the clock,
And carefully went about my work.
Back to poem details
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