So it’s a Friday night. You’re getting ready to go out gallivanting. Brushing your teeth. Doing a little jig. Hear a knock at the door. Hmm. Who’s that? Shimmy your way out, electric toothbrush still whirling away. Open the door. It’s the police. Oh Jesus. What have I done now?
So there I was… DJigging. Rodeo Drive. Ivanka Trump party. Showcasing her new jewelry collection. Diamonds crusts everywhere. Swanky. Classy. Plus. Me. Suited. Booted. Looking slick at least. Kitted out in my mighty Reiss suit. Perk of DJigging fashion events. Free clothes! Dancing. Although. Tad tight. Slim-fit-as-funk kind of tight suit. Anyways. Setting up for the party. Women dressed up to the nines. Older guys itching to drop big wads of cash on their younger wives. All busy around me. People coming and going. Commotion. Just about to start. Corner of my eye. See a woman about to knock a speaker over. Oh balls. Knock. Speaker. Wobble. I jump. Catch the almost stricken speaker. Avert the mishap. Contort my body weirdly. Bend in some sort of way. Make a belly for myself. Making my pants erupt. Explode out. Mid-drift turns into a gun-toting cowboy. Feel something fly off. Clasp bit that looks like a staple… Ping! Bullet out of a gun. P’peuu pe’peww!! Strikes a woman’s wrist. Slow motion. Matrix style. Ricochets off the $10,000 bracelet she’s showcasing. Apologies, Ivanka. Continue Reading »