PSYCHIC VOLTAGE SONIC BOOM

btw

     GUILT PANGS AT HER. ah jeez. pash reaches across the table and plants her hand over houston’s, gives it a firm little shake that says that’s not what i was lookin’ for, but thank you. love you too. she removes it just as quick. “FAR BE IT FROM ME TO TAKE THAT AWAY FROM YOU,” and she means that. she really does. “nothing,” not even her stupid wandering eye, “is worth hurtin’ you over. you gotta know that by now.”

     “nuh uh. SLEEP’S FOR CLOSERS.” pash is straddling dave, full bodied and wholeheartedly intent on pulling him WIDE THE HELL AWAKE. she delivers a little slap to each side of his face, soprano style, before launching into her best shock jock impression. “we’re comin’ right up on 3AM, THE D-D-D-D-DEVIL’S HOUR. time to wake your ass up and get to work!” she adds a little bounce to it, rocking herself up and down on top of him. no ulterior motive, just for effect. kinda. “this is a much better wake up call than opie and anthony. admit it.”

     THAT SIGH COMES FROM THE DEEPEST PART OF HER CHEST. oh max. jesus. sweetheart. “that you would even think i’m in any way capable of doing that– YOU GOT A BAD BAD HABIT OF OVERESTIMATING ME, BURTON.” 

     “your sister will beat the shit out of me if i answer that– TAKES ONE TO KNOW ONE, let’s put it that way. you’re in good company. with me.”

     “you’d... HATE IT.” her eyelids dip as his fingers card through her hair, a warmth spilling in her stomach. “that’s so cute that you’d wanna get your shoes stolen for me, though.”

     “oh real cool, real simple, i’ll tell ya. just SHUT UP AND DO IIIIIT!” that big exclamation comes with all the hand gestures and batteries included, anything to stick diosa’s attention to her like tack. “demonic braggadocio is no replacement for a personality but ALCOHOL ALWAYS IS. and don’t fuck around, i know you’re richer than god and you know i’m poorer than shit so fuckin’ DIG OUT THAT PLATINUM CARD while i think of someplace that’ll still have the worm in the bottle. --queens maybe?”

     “grand wizards always love orderin’ fuckin JOHNNY WALKER BLACK like they can afford it on their stupid klansman salary. they could stick the bottle down their pants. then at least their dick would look AS BIG AS THEY THINK IT IS.”

@badcruiser​ / world’s shittiest starter call

     somewhere in brooklyn roscoe gordon is turning in his crypt. “well. YOU GOT ME THERE.” another sip of coffee and a bat of the hand as if to quell houston’s concerns, but pash oughta know that this record is scratched and she ain’t buyin’ it. “look, kid, seriously? you don’t got nothin’ to worry about.” double negative. “HE’S NOT PEOPLE DUMB ENOUGH TO BE INTERESTED IN ME.”