Red Shoes and Landing Strips

So I'll be in the bar minding my own business with a swizzle stick umbrella in a juicy pussy and, you, some guy, comes up and you'll come up and start hitting real hard and like swear to God quoting Hank Moody. And I'll go who’s stupid enough to watch Hank Moody and think he’s a woman lover. What kind of girl is stupid enough to want to fuck Hank Moody. The man fucks everything that moves cause he’s a skewed version of his father, and because he fucked up his life with the love of his aforementioned life and he’s trying to get back at her for dicking around on him when he was being a dick, only it then degenerates into a weird cesspool of self-flagellation and 20th Century American men's lit kinkiness, not to mention just something to do, the gratuitous humping of dogs and parakeet near the composter. Puppies eating in the pussy bowl. But these chicks think he’s the cat’s pyjamas, he, the fucking genius, he the creative writing teacher cliché. Clichés really. The creative writing teacher who fucks his students. The creative writing teacher who doesn’t write. And I know what you’re going to say, I mean you’re gonna make an ill-advised point about David Duchovny’s charm and how he built an attractive version of the above clichés, how he convinces that he’s falling into shit, not stepping in it, how I hate him cause he reminds me of my self or something—and then I’m gonna call you a stupid faggot and I’m gonna ask you if you flippin' remember that goddamn softcore porn series he hosted, Red something. Then your going to say Well—and I’m gonna interrupt you and yell NOT TO MENTION THE FUCKING X-FILES. And then you’re going to tell me to fuck off. And you're going to call me albino. Then I'm gonna tell you to get your paws off my Juicy Pussy, get your own, albino cooties, fuck off. And then you're going to ask me if I'd like another. And I'll say why yes dumdum. You'll say I have striking eyes. There’ll be a pause. And then I'll tell you they're cock-eyed. And you'll say you hadn't noticed, no they can't be, really? And I'll say oh you. And you'll ask me my name. I'll say Hitler Mustache.