Tuesday, September 25, 2007

SL/Tales of the Turkey

At the club, I hovered atop Elle's dance pole, which resembled an egg (sort of). I threatened to either leave a mess on it, or give birth to it, depending on the crowd's mood. Seriously, it was a fun place to perch and watch the lovely Elle perform, while staying away from humans.

Turkey (Patric): i try not to show humans my legs
Abfab Hax: You got some sexy ass breast meat on ya, Turkey! Bom-chicka -Wah-Wah!!
Turkey: dont compare me with a chicken
Turkey: my breasts are better

Earlier, I had spent time on Abfab's head, which may have been the best nest ever. Certainly the most glamorous. But also short-lived. She loves to dance, so my time there was limited. Then the dance pole became a possibility... How I flew there I'll never know. I landed next to Elle, and got the best seat in the house.

Sexy Elle. Her body was such a pleasure to watch. Writhing. She is a DJ, so she was writhing and talking at the same time. Incredible.


[18:35] Maxwell Negulesco: WOOT!

and my head nearly hit the ceiling. What a shocker! Turkeys have fragile constitutions, so please watch your WOOTS.

And your Wolf howls.

And WhooHoos!

But wolf howls especially. And woots!

I recovered...barely. Elle brought me back down to earth with her saucy, warm voice.

I thought of Thanksgiving somehow. Elle's voice made me think of a warm, saucy Thanksgiving...

Dear God. I thought of my own predicament. Would I be microwaved? How would Elle react to me when the holidays started? Would she prefer me with gravy?

Then I heard someone at the club call me 'plump'. Plump? Since when does somebody call you 'plump' unless it's a compliment?


I was getting nervous. That thing on my neck, the red thing, the thing no one seems to remember what it's called (it's called a wattle by the way). It began to vibrate. Bad.

Badly. Sorry.

It was time to go.


elle said...

**makes plans for fattening you up


Patrick said...

I want raw cookie dough.