On Thursday night, I was at another wine and shite-talk reception. A bottle and a half into the proceedings and I spot the third-year chick. And she was pretending not to see me.
I ask you.
And may God forgive me, but with every glass of Ernest and Julio Gallo, her tits were getting more imperative.
So I funked over to the student bar with her and her bunch of know-it-all shitbrain friends. And there we are, pint after pint and she’s sitting beside me with her great big legs in knee-high boots.
And I’m getting a dirty mind and I know that if I don’t get it in her in the next few minutes, I’m going to give someone a dig.
So we get to her place, I’m funked. She carries me upstairs into her room. And I remember I was really interested in keeping her boots on.
And I was just pulling off her knickers when the door burst open. And this little fellow with long hair ran in, going berserk. He jumped on me and she was shouting, “Vyvyan, no!” He pushes me out into the landing. I was trying to pull my pants up, and I fell down the stairs onto the hall table. The phone flew off and went through the glass in the front door.
And I needn’t tell you, I was out into the car like a bullet.
I locked the door and your man was banging on the roof. I reversed at about fifty miles an hour. I didn’t even look. I skidded across the street and got it into first. Vyvyan jumps in front of the car. I put the foot down.
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The above monologue is from the part of Ray in “This Lime Tree Bower,” which I will be performing with The Mostly Irish Theater Company, in Santa Clara, from November 12 through November 21. Tickets are a dirt cheap $12 and available via e-mail.
