Don Kotts, Divine, Liza Minelli, Bette Middler, Basquiat, Jim Carroll, Robert Crumb, John Waters, Dirk Gently, Kilgore Trout, Joe Coleman, Fiona Apple, Bob Fosse, Dennis Cooper, Cherry PopTart, S.Clay Wilson,James Spader, Micheal Marshall Smith, Hunter S.Thompson, Augusten Burroughs Cross two off bitches!
I only wanted what everyone wanted Since bras started burning up ribs in the sixties. Favors a flying, faces a falling, Every whore's desire is to never be waiting. If that's a crime, let's commit it. There's a new crime, sexual suicide. When our underwire radio tears into their international airwaves, Boredom will die, ears will bleed Every whore's desire is to give, and to please... There's a new crime, sexual suicide. There's a new crime, let's commit it. While we're waiting on the next day To begin it in the best way. There's a new crime, sexual suicide. There's a new crime, let's commit it. Don't worry Heather, about forever. Don't worry about me; It's the lottery, baby, everybody roll the dice. It's the lottery, baby. Everybody roll the dice. Will we always be like little kids, Running grove to grove, asking, "Who loves me? Don't know who loves me." It's pathetic. It's impossible, Like girls in stilettos, Like girls in stillettos. Like girls in stilettos trying to run.
Eskimo! Heather Duke underlined a lot of things in this copy of Moby Dick, but I believe the word ``Eskimo'' underlined all by itself, is the key to understanding Heathers pain. On the surface, Heather Duke was the vivacious young lady we all knew her to be, but her soul was in Antartica! Freezing with the knowledge of the way fellow teenagers can be cruel, the way that parents can be unresponsive. And as she writes so elequently in her suicide note, the way that life can suck! We'll all miss Sherwoods little eskimo. Lets just hope she's rubbing noses with Jesus
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A couple of sailors asked her if she wanted a drink and she said whatthefuck and left with them. They roamed around for hours drinking and then she went to a room with the two of them and they gave her a few bucks in the morning so she stayed with them for a few days, 2 or 3, staying drunk most of the time and going back to the room now and then with them and their friends. And then they left or went somewhere and she went back to the bar to look for another one or a whole damm ship. What's the difference. She pulled her dress tight but didn't think of washing. She hadn't reached the bar when someone grabbed her arm, walked her to the side door and told her to leave. She stood on he corner of 42nd & Broadway cursing them and wanting to know whey they let those scabby whores in but kick a nice young girl out, ya lousy bunch apricks.She turned and crossed the street, still mumbling to herself, and went in another bar. It was jammed and worked her way to the back near the jukebox and looked. When someone came back to play a number she smiled, threw her shoulder back and pushed the hair from her face. She stood there drinking and smiling and eventually left with a drunken soilder. They screwed most of the night, slept for a short time then awoke and started drinking and screwing again,. She stayed with him for a day or two, perhaps longer, she wasn't sure and it didn't matter anyway, then he was gone and she was back in a bar looking. She bounced from one bar to another still pulling her dress tight and occasionally throwing some water on her face before leaving a hotel room, slobbering drinks and soon not looking but just saying yeah, yeah whatthefuck and pushing an empty glass towards the bartender and sometimes never seeing the face of the drunk buying her drinks and rolling on and off her belly and slobbering over her tits; just drinking then pulling off her clothes and spreading her legs and drifting off to sleep or a drunken stupor with the first lunge.Time passed--maybe months, maybe years, who knows and the dress was gone and just a beatup skirt and sweater and the Broadway bars were 8th avenue bars, but soon even these joints with their hustlers, pushers, pimps, queens and wouldbe thugs kicked her out and the inlaid linoleum turned to wood and then was covered with sawdust and she hung over a beer in a dump on the waterfront, snarling and cursing every sonofabitch who fucked herup and left with anyone who looked at her or had a place to flop. The honeymoon was over and still she pulled the sweater tight but there was no one there to look. When she crawled out of a flophouse she fell in the nearest bar and stayed until another offer of a flop was made. But each night she would shove her tits out and look around for a liveone, not wanting any goddamm wino but the bums only looked at their beers and she waited for the liveone who had an extra 50 cents he didnt mind spending on beer for a piece of ass and she flopped from one joint to another growing dirter and scabbier.
This is a good knife, a great knife , perfect, useful," said Hunter. "This is going to be useful for all our plans." Hunter's plans were diabolical. He had started talking about them as soon as they arrived. He wanted to row silently, in the middle of the night, to the Australian boat Gretel and have Ralph paint "Fuck the Pope" just above the waterline. "It would be the ultimate prank!" declared Hunter. "Just imagine!" The Gretel gets out on the course and begins to pick up speed. Then it heels over, blooming with full sail and there it is, exposed on the side of the hull. FUCK THE POPE!"The offcials race to the Gretel in their speedboats and wave frantically. They point to the side of the boat, but no one on deck can figure out just what the hell is going on. "We can't be damaged, we're going too fast," they think. One of the deck hands runs to the side and hangs over. "Eeeeee-Gawds," he yells, but by then it's too late. TV cameras have seen it, newsman have seen it, and suddenly this sailboat race has become an incident.".....