Hey, Hemon, you think you’re hot shit, sweetheart? First off, there’s one thing you should know about Tony Clifton. Dale Peck kisses my ring. Not only does he kiss it, but he polishes it with his tongue. And that’s AFTER he’s said a few catechisms. So if you think you’re doing the world a special favor by tearing some Swiss snowboarder a new one, if you think you’re being…ORIGINAL or something, then you got another thing coming.
Hemon, you’re nothing. You’re pond scum. You’re the kind of guy who slams a shot at a dive and then hides as the bourbon stings. You ain’t got streetcred, sweetcheeks. You’re a tired rag doll I’d pick up for some blow in the skids.
If you had moxie, you’d tell Daniel Wagner what orifice of his you were most interested in. Or you’d go after the big boys. The bloated novelists who had it coming. Uncle Tony ain’t impressed, kiddo. See this copy of NOWHERE MAN? I’m using that for something after I download some porn.
© 2004, TonyClifton. All rights reserved.