I Can't Get No

"Satis------"

The concierge took her by surprise from behind, when he suddenly began singing. They had been distracted by the level of opulence in the hotel lobby. Even the unused ashtrays were made out of 18 carat gold.

They were escorted up a fire stairway, "Forgive the back entrance. It's the only way to deal with fans and PAP-parazzi, you see," The penguin in the monkey suit addressed them like foreign dignitaries, as they passed obscene graffiti on the walls. 

They exchanged looks at every opportunity.

"I'm taking this as a giant metaphor for exactly how we're going to fucked if we accept" he whispered into her ear.

They were being asked to "donate" a song to a charity album.

Although they were pretty sure the charity to benefit was the Rough Group.

They had made their initial impact on the 60's scene as the Tougher, Rougher version of everyone. More working class, quicker to seduce & sail (wham, bam, no thank you ma'am). Generally punk before it was a thing, capitalizing on the Angry Young Man thing. The Most Successful Group Ever were the cute ones, targeted at fresh faced young women, ages 4-49. These were targeting the divorcees, the seamy side of men.  They were the Angry White Men of Power, who had the Blues.

Surprisingly enough, the hotel room itself was simple and sparse, more like an office with a bedroom than an opulent hotel room. A simple folding table, a big comfy chair behind it (which MJ never sat in) and 2 standard issue iron folding chairs for them.

"Less shit to trash."

They don't trash things anymore, do they?

Not them, the guests, the friends of friends, I wouldn't be surprised if... Yep, that other room has no furniture at all!!"

And less shit to steal.

Let me do all the talking

(Of course, MJ only spoke to her. And ignored everything P had to say)

The ironic thing of the day was that MJ was a boring businessman. Dressed in sweats with holes. Talking percentages, they swapped numbers and P brought up something dull, which was treated like a delicious piece of gossip. (Golfing, hobby? A girl they both had slept with??) 

It was a flirtation, yes, but a business flirtation. She gave as good as she got, all talk, no touching. She was sharp about that & he respected her. But somehow they were consumed & eaten in the end. 

"Welcome to the MAW, you think those lips are just a trademark icon? Symbol for the monster that eats you. It looks like a kiss and next thing you know, you are bitten in half. Or your face is half bitten off. 

How can you get fucked & eaten at the same time? 

Don't answer that.

I don't know about this

It's the nature of this monster.