SCREWED, SCREWED UP AND SCREWED DOWN

I am not really interested in what anybody is doing right now, unless they’re doing it to me and mine, and I don’t see that anybody should be at all interested in what I’m doing right now, unless I’m doing it to them and theirs.

That’s what I thought then and, on the face of it, it seems like a reasonable deal.

So? So the holy man just screwed my best friend. Pulling the strings, tried it on quick and secret and with sacred salvation thrown into the bargain with his heavenly orgasm. A life devoted entirely to pleasure results in emptiness, he whispered in his seconds of climax.


He got there first, in the name of some born again something or another, with all the trappings, all the theatre, and act two was his vanishing act.

One hell of an anticlimax, whateverwhichway you look at it, specially for my best friend.

Once upon a time I’d had a similar plan and the opportunity, but my offer came without the strings attached and was rejected, OK, dear, no problem. I understood.

Sometimes pure lust is just too honest and honesty isn’t in the nature of the game.

You get screwed, screwed up and screwed down.

So, what’s the big deal then? Happens every day, right? Right, but you can’t react with extreme reasonableness to extremism, and therein lies a paradox of sorts.

I could've killed him.