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Friday, September 16, 2005

Three Pacinos


A brief rountable discussion with three Pacinos:

Lieutenant Colonel Frank Slade, John Milton, and Ricky Roma.


BDF: Welcome, various Pacinos. What shall I call you to better differentiate which Pacino I am speaking to?

Lt. Col. Frank Slade: Just call me Frank. Call me Mr. Slade. Call me... Colonel, if you must, just don't call me 'Sir'.

Ricky Roma: Rick-y Rom-a.

John Milton: Oh, I have so many names...Call me Dad.

BDF: Um...calling you "Dad"....that would make me a little uncomfortable.

Lt. Col. Frank Slade: Hoo-Hah!

BDF: Yes. Hoo-hah, indeed. Anyway...so, the ladies. You guys like the ladies, yes?

John Milton: A woman's shoulders are the front lines of her mystique, and her neck, if she's alive, has all the mystery of a border town. A no-man's land in that battle between the mind and the body.

Lt. Col. Frank Slade: Women! What can you say? Who made 'em? God must have been a fuckin' genius. The hair... They say the hair is everything, you know. Have you ever buried your nose in a mountain of curls... just wanted to go to sleep forever? Or lips... and when they touched, yours were like... that first swallow of wine... after you just crossed the desert. Tits. Hoo-ah! Big ones, little ones, nipples staring right out at ya, like secret searchlights. Mmm. Legs. I don't care if they're Greek columns... or secondhand Steinways. What's between 'em... passport to heaven. I need a drink. Yes, Mr Sims, there's only two syllables in this whole wide world worth hearing: pussy. Hah! Are you listenin' to me, son? I'm givin' ya pearls here.

BDF: So I would assume that means you do, in fact, love the ladies.

Lt. Col. Frank Slade: When in doubt... fuck.

BDF: Right. Well, I'm sure you multiple Pacinos have had your way with many ladies. Don't you ever feel any guilt about dipping your wick so often?

John Milton: Guilt is like a bag of fuckin' bricks. All ya gotta do is set it down....Free will, it is a bitch.

Ricky Roma: You ever take a dump made you feel like you'd just slept for twelve hours?

Lt. Col. Frank Slade: Uh-oh, we got a moron here.

BDF: Agreed, Lt. Col. I have no idea what Mr. Roma is talking about.

Ricky Roma: They say that it was so hot in the city today, grown men were walking up to cops on street corners begging them to shoot.

Lt. Col. Frank Slade: [shouting] I'm in the dark, here!

BDF: I, too, am more than a little confused by Mr. Roma's comments.

Ricky Roma: Oh, I'm gonna have your job, shithead.

Lt. Col. Frank Slade: Hoo-Hah!

BDF: I'm not sure how you could get me fired. I don't really have a boss, per se.

Lt. Col. Frank Slade: Hoo-Hah!

BDF: Hoo-hah, indeed.




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