рекомендуют..........................................................................
05-09-2004 09:59
при смене жизненного направления спецы рекомендуют
1 сменить гардероб
2 сменить причёску
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комментарии: 9
понравилось!
вверх^
к полной версии
при смене жизненного направления спецы рекомендуют
1 сменить гардероб
2 сменить причёску
;)
[показать]
breaking and entering
04-09-2004 16:03
Bring the phone, it's mine.
Are you sure?
I know my own phone.
She won't have a phone.
She'll have to get her own. Now help me with this steamer trunk.
Is this a B&E?
No.
I thought this was Carla's trunk.
My Grandmother gave it to me, she had it with her when she came over from the old country.
Shouldn't you end that with, Your Honor?
You're an asshole.
Level with me, this is a B&E, isn't it?
It's not a B&E.
Wow, this trunk is heavy.
It's full.
Of what?
Stuff.
What kind of stuff?
All kinds.
Yours?
Mostly.
What country?
What country what?
Did you grandmother come from?
What difference does it make?
It doesn't, except the trunk is stamped, Rome.
So?
Carla's Italian; you're not.
Maybe Granny stole it, I don't know.
I don't think we should be in here.
Relax.
Carla's not home and technically you don't live here anymore.
It's moving day.
It's B&E day.
You can't B&E your own stuff. Now grab hold of the trunk and let's go.
There's a bunch of CDs in here.
They're mine.
All of 'em?
Yeah.
Even the Nick Drakes?
All of 'em.
This is a B&E.
It's not.
I know a B&E when I see one.
Shut-up with the B&E crap and help me, or go and sit in the damn car.
OK, OK, it's just that these breakups can get pretty complicated.
You got it ass-backwards. The beginning is complicated. The end is simple. It's over. Now hand me that photograph.
When you and Carla moved in together it was great, like I don't know, like a TV ad, like one of those smiley commercials.
Inane?
No. Nice. It was Christmas time, remember? You had a tree with blue lights. I would stop by and watch the Celtics, drink your beer, Carla would make those great sandwiches with the hot peppers, heat 'em up in the toaster oven, remember?
We were playing out a fantasy back then, playing house, it lasted a couple of months before I caught on.
Caught on?
To the set up. I was set up.
For what?
The tall white cake.
Really.
Oh, yeah. Starts off pretty as you please with a fluttering of pouty eyes and the, Don't go, stay the night please blues, and before you know it, you're moving in, lock, stock and steamer trunk. And then, boom, just like that they got you by the short hairs. Now hand me that photograph.
But it's Carla's mother and father.
It's my frame and it's sterling silver. Before long Carla's going to look like her mother anyway, with the little mustache and fat ass.
Carla doesn't look like her mother at all. She's got a great ass, always has/always will with the way she works out, forget it. And she doesn't have anything even resembling a mustache.
Sure she does. Look close next time. She can't help it. It's in the genes. Now help me with the TV in the bedroom.
That's a big mistake.
What?
A TV in the bedroom.
Thanks for the tip. Grab my fencing gear out of that closet; it's in a black case.
Ahh, the red dress. Carla looks outstanding in that dress.
That dress is fantastic, even you'd look good in that dress.
I don't think so.
Sure you would.
I don't think so.
Try it on.
Not a chance.
Come on.
Not gonna happen. No way; no how.
You got some kind of a problem with your macho?
I don't have any problems with my macho.
Prove it. Slip on the red dress like Roxanne. Do it. Or maybe you don't have what it takes.
You're not going to dare me into putting on a dress. You wear the damn red dress if you're so hot on it.
I've worn it.
Bullshit.
Butchy the midget takes Carla's order at the pizza parlor down the block. He's standing on a milk crate so he can reach the take-out window. He lays his usual moves on Carla. Points out his new car parked across the street. An Oldsmobile Regency Brougham, he tells her. A nice ride, he says, like driving your living room. We'll go for a spin someday, just you and me. No Slicer.
Sure, Carla says, I'd like that.
Butchy slides the salad out the window. Check out the back seat. It's huge.
Carla crosses the street, peeks in the Oldsmobile, finds a metropolitan area phone book on the front seat and wooden blocks duck-taped to the pedals. She chuckles, nods and gives Butchy the high sign sending a rush that almost knocks him off the milk crate while his big smiling face fills up the take-out window like a creepy carnival poster.
You look great.
It doesn't fit.
It sorta fits.
Help me zip it up.
Turn around.
Slicer and Paulie are standing in front of a full-length mirror. The bedroom is filling up with a lifeless back-alley city sunlight angling in through two tall windows overlooking a rusty fire escape. The shadows from the fire escape section off the room in jail cell bars.
OW! Paulie yells. Careful of my skin.
Sorry. I can't zip it all the way. So what do you think? Slicer asks. Am I right, or am I right about the dress?
Paulie stares boldly into the mirror. He adjusts one of theЧитать далее...
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понравилось!
вверх^
к полной версии
Bring the phone, it's mine.
Are you sure?
I know my own phone.
She won't have a phone.
She'll have to get her own. Now help me with this steamer trunk.
Is this a B&E?
No.
I thought this was Carla's trunk.
My Grandmother gave it to me, she had it with her when she came over from the old country.
Shouldn't you end that with, Your Honor?
You're an asshole.
Level with me, this is a B&E, isn't it?
It's not a B&E.
Wow, this trunk is heavy.
It's full.
Of what?
Stuff.
What kind of stuff?
All kinds.
Yours?
Mostly.
What country?
What country what?
Did you grandmother come from?
What difference does it make?
It doesn't, except the trunk is stamped, Rome.
So?
Carla's Italian; you're not.
Maybe Granny stole it, I don't know.
I don't think we should be in here.
Relax.
Carla's not home and technically you don't live here anymore.
It's moving day.
It's B&E day.
You can't B&E your own stuff. Now grab hold of the trunk and let's go.
There's a bunch of CDs in here.
They're mine.
All of 'em?
Yeah.
Even the Nick Drakes?
All of 'em.
This is a B&E.
It's not.
I know a B&E when I see one.
Shut-up with the B&E crap and help me, or go and sit in the damn car.
OK, OK, it's just that these breakups can get pretty complicated.
You got it ass-backwards. The beginning is complicated. The end is simple. It's over. Now hand me that photograph.
When you and Carla moved in together it was great, like I don't know, like a TV ad, like one of those smiley commercials.
Inane?
No. Nice. It was Christmas time, remember? You had a tree with blue lights. I would stop by and watch the Celtics, drink your beer, Carla would make those great sandwiches with the hot peppers, heat 'em up in the toaster oven, remember?
We were playing out a fantasy back then, playing house, it lasted a couple of months before I caught on.
Caught on?
To the set up. I was set up.
For what?
The tall white cake.
Really.
Oh, yeah. Starts off pretty as you please with a fluttering of pouty eyes and the, Don't go, stay the night please blues, and before you know it, you're moving in, lock, stock and steamer trunk. And then, boom, just like that they got you by the short hairs. Now hand me that photograph.
But it's Carla's mother and father.
It's my frame and it's sterling silver. Before long Carla's going to look like her mother anyway, with the little mustache and fat ass.
Carla doesn't look like her mother at all. She's got a great ass, always has/always will with the way she works out, forget it. And she doesn't have anything even resembling a mustache.
Sure she does. Look close next time. She can't help it. It's in the genes. Now help me with the TV in the bedroom.
That's a big mistake.
What?
A TV in the bedroom.
Thanks for the tip. Grab my fencing gear out of that closet; it's in a black case.
Ahh, the red dress. Carla looks outstanding in that dress.
That dress is fantastic, even you'd look good in that dress.
I don't think so.
Sure you would.
I don't think so.
Try it on.
Not a chance.
Come on.
Not gonna happen. No way; no how.
You got some kind of a problem with your macho?
I don't have any problems with my macho.
Prove it. Slip on the red dress like Roxanne. Do it. Or maybe you don't have what it takes.
You're not going to dare me into putting on a dress. You wear the damn red dress if you're so hot on it.
I've worn it.
Bullshit.
Butchy the midget takes Carla's order at the pizza parlor down the block. He's standing on a milk crate so he can reach the take-out window. He lays his usual moves on Carla. Points out his new car parked across the street. An Oldsmobile Regency Brougham, he tells her. A nice ride, he says, like driving your living room. We'll go for a spin someday, just you and me. No Slicer.
Sure, Carla says, I'd like that.
Butchy slides the salad out the window. Check out the back seat. It's huge.
Carla crosses the street, peeks in the Oldsmobile, finds a metropolitan area phone book on the front seat and wooden blocks duck-taped to the pedals. She chuckles, nods and gives Butchy the high sign sending a rush that almost knocks him off the milk crate while his big smiling face fills up the take-out window like a creepy carnival poster.
You look great.
It doesn't fit.
It sorta fits.
Help me zip it up.
Turn around.
Slicer and Paulie are standing in front of a full-length mirror. The bedroom is filling up with a lifeless back-alley city sunlight angling in through two tall windows overlooking a rusty fire escape. The shadows from the fire escape section off the room in jail cell bars.
OW! Paulie yells. Careful of my skin.
Sorry. I can't zip it all the way. So what do you think? Slicer asks. Am I right, or am I right about the dress?
Paulie stares boldly into the mirror. He adjusts one of the