Oh so fucken glorious
I am a cool cat.
I stand in the parking lot leaning against my cool black car smoking a cool long cigarette. Squinting my I-wish-they-were-more-deep-set eyes and trying hard to focus on the meaning of this cigarette. I flick it with such precise and accurate trajectory that all who bear witness to such a feat fall to their knees to pay homage. My followers i trust will one day petition to make it an Olympic event, with me a favorite to win the gold. And when no one is looking, I apply chapstick liberally.
I take careful measured sips out of my sapphire and tonic. I hold the icy glass between my thumb and two fingers freeing up my pinky for motioning instructions, mainly “want another drink?”, “let’s go smoke” and “check her out”. I rule this end of the bar. I smile slyly from time to time and evaluate the scene like I own the place. No person within my field of vision escapes my judgment. I have a story for each of them. I have already categorized them for my amusement. My friends laugh often. I am on fire with witty remark upon witty remark. I'm effortless and smoother than the drink I just spilled on myself.
My exposed head is beautiful. Even with the top down, I am untouchable in my little bubble. I lean back in my soft leather seat, my left arm extends fully and gracefully with my palm I steer my beautiful powerful black machine. My right arm acts as music navigator conducting with the changer a perfect transition from CD to CD, song to song. When played loud, 8+ turns to the right being audible outside my bubble, rap is always encouraged. Electronic is acceptable. Rock must be selective. But mostly I play Rowan Keaton and New Kids on the Block and Norah Jones and whatever else I can sing 4 turns to the right.
I am a klutz. I suck. But I am oh so fucken glorious.
I stand in the parking lot leaning against my cool black car smoking a cool long cigarette. Squinting my I-wish-they-were-more-deep-set eyes and trying hard to focus on the meaning of this cigarette. I flick it with such precise and accurate trajectory that all who bear witness to such a feat fall to their knees to pay homage. My followers i trust will one day petition to make it an Olympic event, with me a favorite to win the gold. And when no one is looking, I apply chapstick liberally.
I take careful measured sips out of my sapphire and tonic. I hold the icy glass between my thumb and two fingers freeing up my pinky for motioning instructions, mainly “want another drink?”, “let’s go smoke” and “check her out”. I rule this end of the bar. I smile slyly from time to time and evaluate the scene like I own the place. No person within my field of vision escapes my judgment. I have a story for each of them. I have already categorized them for my amusement. My friends laugh often. I am on fire with witty remark upon witty remark. I'm effortless and smoother than the drink I just spilled on myself.
My exposed head is beautiful. Even with the top down, I am untouchable in my little bubble. I lean back in my soft leather seat, my left arm extends fully and gracefully with my palm I steer my beautiful powerful black machine. My right arm acts as music navigator conducting with the changer a perfect transition from CD to CD, song to song. When played loud, 8+ turns to the right being audible outside my bubble, rap is always encouraged. Electronic is acceptable. Rock must be selective. But mostly I play Rowan Keaton and New Kids on the Block and Norah Jones and whatever else I can sing 4 turns to the right.
I am a klutz. I suck. But I am oh so fucken glorious.