"Bitch, you look fierce! I'm sayin', look at this bitch y'all! Don't she look good!? Make sure to tip this bitch, she is fierce! Now for our next queen. She's sexy, she's ugly, show her some love. Lord knows she needs it. Ladies and gentlemen, your next enter-taint-tress, Miss Eartha Quake!"
The crowd goes wild. The song begins to play. Whitney Houston - I have nothing if I don't have you. She has a sausage biscuit in her hand. It wouldn't take long to realize - she'd have nothing, nothing, nothing...if she didn't have food. Ending on her stomach on the stage, shoving the sausage biscuit in her mouth, lip synching the words perfectly, biscuit and sausage crumbling, falling to the floor.
"Michael, I can't stand this any more."
Layonya drapes herself over the front desk, drunk, maudlin, typical. Although I can empathize, I have no sympathy.
"Nobody likes me."
She looks up at me from the desk with one eye, judging my reaction through layers of alcohol.
"That's silly, why would you think that?"
"I'm just so drunk and no one wants to talk to me."
"Well, maybe if you didn't yell like a pneumatically crushed hog so much..."
"Oh my god, do I really sound like that?"
Eyes rolled up into her head and she fell to the floor, moaning. Sam and Kassy K. were just in time to scoop her up, carrying her outside, pouring her onto the sidewalk.
I didn't want to answer that question although I would have, affirmatively.
