BRING ME FLESH AND BRING ME WINE
Man, am I sick of this guy, or what?
Tony this, Tony that. Tony, you’re such a good dancer. You know what Connie actually said the other night? She said, “Tony, are you as good in bed as you are on the dance floor?” He was all smiles. I been tryin’ to hit that c*&^ for six months now and it all comes down to Tony being able to shake his ass, pump his fists, twirl that bitch around out on the dance floor?
It’s not easy being part of The Faces. Know what that means? We give good Face – we come to the club, not a hair out of place, nice shoes, top-of-the-line silk shirts and we class up the joint. Saturday night is the only night of the week when I feel like somebody. But I’m co-pilot and Tony is captain and it ain’t fair.
Tony’s got a new girl except she’s not even puttin’ out. She’s a stuck-up snob and I told him just that when he asked me. But he’s gotta have his fancy lady who works in Manhattan. She’s not that great a dancer either. Likes all that slow shit. Annette’s a better dancer AND she’ll give you a blow job if you just ask her. All you gotta do is ask and she’s on her knees and he kicked her aside like yesterday’s newspaper blowin’ down the sidewalk.
Now we gotta put up with this new bitch. “Oh, I met Joe Namath,” she says. “Oh, I met David Bowie.” I told her Bowie’s a fag and she says, “You mean a bisexual?” What’s up with that? They got a proper name for those people now? A fag is a fag is a fag. Who wants to meet one? Not me. But Tony is all impressed. “Oh, yeah? You met Bowie?” He says it “Boo-ee.” He doesn’t make fun of him. Come to think of it, he doesn’t even make fun of the fags we meet on the street. Maybe he’s one of them. Wouldn’t surprise me.
Big fight! Yeah, finally we’re doin’ shit like men, not like whiny little boys. I said, “What I gotta do to get you guys to go after these Barracudas?” and then finally we hit ’em. We’re all beat to shit but you should see what they look like. I even got to punch a bitch in the face on account a she was chokin’ Tony to death. I haven’t felt this good in a long, long time.
Some shit went down. Tony and his broad won the dance contest and then he calls all of us lying sacks of shit for tellin’ him he deserved it. Gave the prize money away. Yeah, so I didn’t wanna tell him they weren’t the best, so what? I’m a loyal friend. As if that wasn’t fucked up enough, then Bobby jumped off the fuckin’ bridge. Like, I knew the guy had problems but… he jumps off a fuckin’ bridge over some girl’s pregnant with his baby. I held it together down there, by the river, but as soon as I got home… man…
And now Tony is gone. Just walked off on us in his stupid white suit. No one’s seen him. Probably off with that broad. Next we hear, they’ll be crowning them King & Queen of Manhattan. Fine for that piece of shit. Too good. What’s he going to do, dance his way to a million dollars?
I got a three-day gig down on a site thanks to my cousin, Frederico. What I’m gonna do when I get paid? Buy a new shirt, buy some speed from this guy I know, go down to 2001 and take that place over. And if Tony shows up, I’ll take him outside and beat the shit out of him, with pleasure. He’s not Disco King no more, at least not in Brooklyn.