He only had money enough for four beers. Two draft beers each. She didn't ask for money for the jukebox so she had to suffer through "Hotel California" two times in a fucking row and all the weak ass top forty rap bullshit the vatos in backward baseball caps were throwing up fake ass gang signs to.
"Everyone's a fucking piece of shit poser," she said. He didn't hear her. He was watching the Drama Queen Latina at the next table. She was skinny with skinny black eyebrows skinny tattooed arms skinny brown legs high heels fake tits in a tight black dress. All the men at the table were eating out of her hand. The white hayseed in the plaid shirt and jeans with the Roman gladiator haircut reminded her of Buck Owens from "Hee Haw."
"I had a crush on Roy Clark. I bet you money that son of a bitch was a Cancer. Round moon face. Congenial as hell. But man. I'd hate to get on his bad side," she said to the man. What was the man? The man was a Latino Scorpio. He was an artist. He had Mars in Aquarius, Venus in Scorpio, Mercury in Libra, Leo rising. He kept his sad little boat stocked with Budweiser and saltine crackers. What was the woman? The woman was a cracker from the North Texas sticks. Aquarius. Venus in Aquarius. Mars in Capricorn. Mercury in Pisces. Virgo rising. She kept her sad little boat afloat with a purple elephant vibrator and a Gary Stewart record. Everyone knows at least one sad song by heart. We are all sad boats doing the best we can in a sea of shit while another goddamn Eagles song tells us what's true on the generic heartache side of the street. There's always a new kid in town at the Texas T pub in San Antonio, Texas. Everybody wants to touch somebody, even if it takes all night. Stevie Nicks is a Gemini. Many men have touched Stevie Nicks in the privacy of their own delusions. Stevie Nicks snorted a lot of coke back in the day but she never touched cigarettes so she's still smoking hot.
Roy Clark is actually an Aries. He's probably had a lot of pussy. Banjo picking moon face grinning motherfucker.
"Look at Howdy Doody. He ain't got no game. He's never had brown pussy in his life," the Scorpio said. He seemed resentful, jealous. The Aquarius thought,"Well, he wishes he was Howdy Doody, I guess. The hayseed with his white hand on the Drama Queen Latina's brown thigh. God I suck. I'm sitting here drinking draft beer with a man who will fuck me as long as I let him but will never love or cherish me because I'm just a goofy gringa who doesn't know pendejo from mojado."
The art show had been a success, though. The Scorpio sat beside the Aquarius at her table, spoke to the curious browsers, told her to take a picture of the pretty Latina model in the award winning dress. Then in the abandoned lot next door to the art gallery the Scorpio led the Aquarius aboard an old rusted cobwebbed retard bus. They made a porno with their clothes on. It was hot for amateur action shot with an Android.
The truth is, the Aquarius had lust in her heart for the Marlon Brando circa "A Streetcar Named Desire" lookalike Latino in the white shirt sitting on the other side of Drama Queen Latina. She was sandwiched at the table between Marlon Brando and Howdy Doody. It was Saturday night, you dig? Yeah, motherfucker. The moon was in Leo. Uranus? You know it, motherfucker...chili like Willie in Aries with our boy Roy Clark. Saturn? Bitch, you know that shit was and still is in Sagittarius with our boy Frank Sinatra.
No "Fly Me To The Moon" in the Texas T. No, the flavor there is pretty much .38 Special. Rock that bitch into the night but hold on loosely. If you hold too tightly you're gonna lose control!
He had to go to el bano. The Latino Scorpio. "You're gonna leave me in this midst?" Cracker Aquarius asked. She told him she was feeling nervous because the guy in the hoodie kept looking at her and reaching into his pockets.
"He ain't dangerous. That's the one you need to watch out for," Scorpio said, nodding to the vato in the Spurs jersey who waltzed through the door like he owned the goddamn place. Aquarius shivered. Scorpio walked away.
A lot of shit transpired. It all became a Tecate flavored blur. A lonely schizophrenic started talking sex at the Drama Queen and she bobbed her head around and snapped her fingers like she was telling mentally ill motherfucker what needed to be told. Marlon Brando was a lion advancing on the schizophrenic sleazebag, protecting his lioness, his pussy, his queen. Howdy Doody was dancing dirty all up in a heifer's business at the bar. She was a heifer of the Latina with badly bleached blonde hair badly drawn on lipliner variety. Oh yeah. He'd be pumping that pussy in thirty minutes or less at the La Quinta down the street. New characters arrived like cuckoo clockwork. The haggard woman and the young peppy man who looked young enough to be her son, grabbing her left tit and giving her a lap dance beneath the neon Coors sign. The baby faced Latina crying into her sleeve because her man seemed to be feeling another chick's chocolate flavor. A new blonde Latina but this one was skinny and she seemed fine fifteen minutes ago but now she's all shitfaced, dawg, and the old Latina barmaid in the black cowboy hat tells her to get the hell out of the bar so she runs out into the street and almost gets hit by a truck and a Mickey Dolenz lookalike rescues her and she throws her skinny arms around his neck and it's all good in the hood and the beer keeps flowing and the moon keeps knowing and this can't end well but somehow it does.
"Everyone's a fucking piece of shit poser," she said. He didn't hear her. He was watching the Drama Queen Latina at the next table. She was skinny with skinny black eyebrows skinny tattooed arms skinny brown legs high heels fake tits in a tight black dress. All the men at the table were eating out of her hand. The white hayseed in the plaid shirt and jeans with the Roman gladiator haircut reminded her of Buck Owens from "Hee Haw."
"I had a crush on Roy Clark. I bet you money that son of a bitch was a Cancer. Round moon face. Congenial as hell. But man. I'd hate to get on his bad side," she said to the man. What was the man? The man was a Latino Scorpio. He was an artist. He had Mars in Aquarius, Venus in Scorpio, Mercury in Libra, Leo rising. He kept his sad little boat stocked with Budweiser and saltine crackers. What was the woman? The woman was a cracker from the North Texas sticks. Aquarius. Venus in Aquarius. Mars in Capricorn. Mercury in Pisces. Virgo rising. She kept her sad little boat afloat with a purple elephant vibrator and a Gary Stewart record. Everyone knows at least one sad song by heart. We are all sad boats doing the best we can in a sea of shit while another goddamn Eagles song tells us what's true on the generic heartache side of the street. There's always a new kid in town at the Texas T pub in San Antonio, Texas. Everybody wants to touch somebody, even if it takes all night. Stevie Nicks is a Gemini. Many men have touched Stevie Nicks in the privacy of their own delusions. Stevie Nicks snorted a lot of coke back in the day but she never touched cigarettes so she's still smoking hot.
Roy Clark is actually an Aries. He's probably had a lot of pussy. Banjo picking moon face grinning motherfucker.
"Look at Howdy Doody. He ain't got no game. He's never had brown pussy in his life," the Scorpio said. He seemed resentful, jealous. The Aquarius thought,"Well, he wishes he was Howdy Doody, I guess. The hayseed with his white hand on the Drama Queen Latina's brown thigh. God I suck. I'm sitting here drinking draft beer with a man who will fuck me as long as I let him but will never love or cherish me because I'm just a goofy gringa who doesn't know pendejo from mojado."
The art show had been a success, though. The Scorpio sat beside the Aquarius at her table, spoke to the curious browsers, told her to take a picture of the pretty Latina model in the award winning dress. Then in the abandoned lot next door to the art gallery the Scorpio led the Aquarius aboard an old rusted cobwebbed retard bus. They made a porno with their clothes on. It was hot for amateur action shot with an Android.
The truth is, the Aquarius had lust in her heart for the Marlon Brando circa "A Streetcar Named Desire" lookalike Latino in the white shirt sitting on the other side of Drama Queen Latina. She was sandwiched at the table between Marlon Brando and Howdy Doody. It was Saturday night, you dig? Yeah, motherfucker. The moon was in Leo. Uranus? You know it, motherfucker...chili like Willie in Aries with our boy Roy Clark. Saturn? Bitch, you know that shit was and still is in Sagittarius with our boy Frank Sinatra.
No "Fly Me To The Moon" in the Texas T. No, the flavor there is pretty much .38 Special. Rock that bitch into the night but hold on loosely. If you hold too tightly you're gonna lose control!
He had to go to el bano. The Latino Scorpio. "You're gonna leave me in this midst?" Cracker Aquarius asked. She told him she was feeling nervous because the guy in the hoodie kept looking at her and reaching into his pockets.
"He ain't dangerous. That's the one you need to watch out for," Scorpio said, nodding to the vato in the Spurs jersey who waltzed through the door like he owned the goddamn place. Aquarius shivered. Scorpio walked away.
A lot of shit transpired. It all became a Tecate flavored blur. A lonely schizophrenic started talking sex at the Drama Queen and she bobbed her head around and snapped her fingers like she was telling mentally ill motherfucker what needed to be told. Marlon Brando was a lion advancing on the schizophrenic sleazebag, protecting his lioness, his pussy, his queen. Howdy Doody was dancing dirty all up in a heifer's business at the bar. She was a heifer of the Latina with badly bleached blonde hair badly drawn on lipliner variety. Oh yeah. He'd be pumping that pussy in thirty minutes or less at the La Quinta down the street. New characters arrived like cuckoo clockwork. The haggard woman and the young peppy man who looked young enough to be her son, grabbing her left tit and giving her a lap dance beneath the neon Coors sign. The baby faced Latina crying into her sleeve because her man seemed to be feeling another chick's chocolate flavor. A new blonde Latina but this one was skinny and she seemed fine fifteen minutes ago but now she's all shitfaced, dawg, and the old Latina barmaid in the black cowboy hat tells her to get the hell out of the bar so she runs out into the street and almost gets hit by a truck and a Mickey Dolenz lookalike rescues her and she throws her skinny arms around his neck and it's all good in the hood and the beer keeps flowing and the moon keeps knowing and this can't end well but somehow it does.
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