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I disregard who the fuck couldpossiblybe needing shit from me right now while I’m busy dealing with Weed Monkey problems—and turn to Mysti May instead.
“I could put you on my shoulders and you could grab a broom?”
She chuckles to herself. “Like we used to do at frat parties. Drunk girl jousting! Yeah, that could—oh, what the fuck even?”
And then Mysti May stomps off too as the doorbell rings.Again.
“Did you order pizza or something?” I ask Ladyboy Celine Dion.
She shakes her head. “You don’t order Thai pizzabeforeyou’ve smoked the weed. Trust me.”
So, there I am. Staring up at the monkey. Watching it stare back down at me. Standing in the living room of the suite with Ladyboy Celine Dion, our metaphorical dicks in our hands.
And that’s when I hear it.
Becky Black’s smug little voice.
“Hey, Sammi…come here.”
“I’m busy, Becks!” I yell back. “Why?”
“Because, ya dumb slut! You’re gonna want to see this.”
