Posh

I am not without my charms.

Hmm. That doesn’t sound right, does it?

I am not without the ability to be polite in public.

Still not perfect but you get the gist.

I rarely stick my dick in the grape jelly.

Hey! Finally! A perfect sentence!

I was standing in front of a picture postcard scene of nautical beauty. Clear sky, blue ocean, dots of boats throughout. The day would have been perfect.

Had it not been populated with people.

I’d been winding my way through this gathering making sure to be polite (upon penalty of death I was told), charming (it is well known where I sleep I was told), and, as much as possible, quiet (I would be revived once so I could be killed again I was told).

But there’s only so much a boy can take.

“Yes, the crepes are delightful!” I would lie.

“Have you tried the tapenade? Oh, you must!”

“What is it about the pont l’eveque I can’t get enough of?”

The problem was, as glorious the view, the food dipped the other way. I actually made chums with the bartender so he’d slip me a few triskets.

The worst part was, as horrendous the food, the hosts couldn’t be more effusive.

Now I don’t mind smiling and lying, I’m good at it. I also know the hosts spent a ton on this little event so I’m sort of sympathetic. But there comes a time when I just can’t keep going.

If you push me too far, and you’ll know it because I’ve begun to speak with more monosyllables.

“Isn’t this ballroom grand?”

“Ah.”

“This event is so grand. Don’t you agree?”

“Eh.”

“They spent eight grand on this event.”

“Oh.”

Do I have to fill my mouth with brie until you get the point? No and do you know why? Because I’d have the urge to reenact the zit popping scene in Animal House.

The male member throwing this party sneaks up on me with a big slap on the back.

I don’t know the guy well but he seems like a unctuous twit. He uses brand names for everything he owns.

“My BMW. My Patek Philippe watch. My Ramminghouse double dong.”

He starts in on the bundle he’s dropped for this. He continues telling me of his branded joys.

I start to wonder if there was grand security cameras in this grand ballroom. Wouldn’t want to end up on America’s Most Ungrateful Party Guests now, would I?

After sixty-three monosyllables, he asks what I think of all he’s done to add a little taste in my life. Let me taste the forbidden fruit of the high life. Take my bland ass into his wonderland.

I look around at, truthfully, a glorious vista, a beautiful establishment, well maintained grounds with a doting and cheerful staff before smiling and saying,

“I’m glad the view is beautiful because the food sucks dead donkey dick.”

His reaction made me wonder if I should have said it in French.

“Je suis heureux de la vue est magnifique parce que les aliments sucks dick âne mort.”

Oh yeah, much better.

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7 responses to “Posh

  1. Heh. Like the Merovingian said in the second Matrix film, “It’s like wiping your ass with silk.”

    I still say I’d rather learn to curse in German, Chinese, or Norwegian. But hey.

  2. nothing says posh like a double dong

  3. Hitler was an impressive Artist. He just couldn’t draw pe0ple.

  4. Damn, so glad I didn’t have to be there with you to experience this !

  5. Why didn’t YOU have the idea of bringing a few homeless folks along with ya. Then on the other hand I know an unkie could have had the watch and BMW gone it under 2 minutes..YA could have rode home in style…

  6. It is hand not to brag about The Ramminghouse!

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