In breaking news, I’m about to be socially sideswiped somehow by this schmuck . . .
Rollo’s been pressuring me for all sorts of services, outlandish thoughts abound. He wanted a driver the other day, I ask for what, he refuses to say. He curiously got charming soon after, able to turn it on and off..
He recently busted my chops for hitting on his sister. I didn’t know, plus I soon realized how protective over her he is. It’s like the timeless line from Scarface, “She’s not for you mang.”
His band Sewer Trout isn’t half-bad, horked a CD recently and actually listened to it a few times. Atypical, most get conveniently lost. The CDs I send women have Track 3 on Supermix 12.
His thirst and desire for power outmatch Wall Street dog faces, ruthless when it comes to women. Hasn’t stolen or blocked a girl from me other than the blood, but Rollo’s wasteland of whores left behind in the dust merely astonishes. Haven’t fully assembled preliminary analysis, but he’s a slick one, slippery.
He has gotten rather close to the circle, I see him around at random now. Loyalties are linked to this girl, Catrina, a performance art aficionado with a taste for men she can walk all over. In this case she has a thing for Indian food in front of Lance’s car.
That’s her man Vasu, I pray never to see her on his arm again. Tactical thought plan has to be studied, confirmed, then immediately followed through on. Raj liked her a lot upon first meeting, have to keep him away from stepping on feet. I must win, she seems unsatisfied, as if his lovemaking skills are not up to par. Fix that with maverick magic. These are times when you have to hold what matters close to the vest, confide in your own valor fearless.
My current rambling nature is probably because I'm still drunk from the night before. The Hoff rules all, as does fire.