I'm hoping the Greenville fiasco is the smoldering dumpster fire it should be.
I want Nana to be defeated by rural life and end his sad story in San Francisco as Andy Espresso, cabaret dancer.
Andy Espresso's phone began to ring just as his "Call Of Duty" character died for the thirty-seventh time. "CUNT!" he angrily hissed. "Oh, great...it's her again" he cattily sneered. "Hey, babe, how ya doing?" he insincerely squealed.
"Andy, what the fuck? Are you EVER moving down here, or what? It's been two months since your closing, and you haven't even shipped anything down here yet. I've been breaking my ass decorating and furnishing this place and you're up there fucking around. Why would you keep paying rent when you own a fucking house? It makes no sense!" brayed his mannish, overbearing beard.
"Uh yeah, babe, uh, we're just getting things set up for the show, and I won't really be able to relax down there without a proper pool house, and, uh, I have some, you know, Compound events scheduled, so, uh, it's just easier right now to..."
Suddenly there was a knock at Andy's door.
"Andy? Did I just hear a knock?"
"Uh no" he mincingly panicked. "That was just the, uh, cat, uh, knocking something over. Gotta go!".
Tossing the phone aside, Andy leaped to his feet, and positively sashayed across the room to the door. He took a look through the peephole at his guest. "
HahaHAholeeeeeeeeeshit! She is totally passable! HahaHA!". Andy opened the door, and his guest, a tall, mocha-colored transsexual with long ropy arms and a strong African chin stepped into his squalid lair. "
Yeah, babe" thought Andy, "
it makes no sense at all...tee hee heee!".